Within a Captain's Treasure (3 page)

“Two years? I think I would recall—” He frowned.

Alice knew the moment Quinn recognized her. His eyebrows pushed toward his hairline. “Bloody hell, you’re the woman from the cave. Port Royal. The one who shot, then tried to behead a duke to rescue Captain Steele and his wife.”

She’d traveled hundreds of miles to escape the blackest moment of her past, and who should she cross paths with? Someone who had a firsthand accounting of the day that continued to haunt her nights. Alice gave him a contrite grin. “That would be me.” She held out her tattered skirts. “Alice Tupper.” She dipped into a quick, if sarcastic, curtsy.

“Members of this crew still sing the praises of the
great
Alice Tupper. It may make things easier for you.” The edge to his voice told her he didn’t think there was anything “great” about her, and she was about as welcome as a case of the pox. Quinn reached out to shake her hand. “Welcome aboard the
Scarlet Night
.”

The wound of her upper arm bit when she shook his hand. She fought the gasp catching in her throat. It triggered her eyes to water. Alice pulled her hand from his and lifted the tatters of her sleeve away from the gash in her arm. “I’m sure the tale has been embellished along the way.”

He frowned again. “You’re hurt.”

“It’s nothing. A scratch.”

“From a flying piece of debris, by the look of the wound. It needs to be well cleaned and dressed.” He moved to open the cabin door and called down the galley way, “Neo, bring some fresh water.”

Alice heard the answering “Aye, Capt’n.”

Quinn hung up his coat, stopped to roll his sleeves, and began gathering things: clean linen strips, needle, thread. He poured a single glass of brandy and handed it to her.

“You needn’t fuss, Captain. I can tend to it myself.”

“If it’s not done properly, I’ll end up tending a feverish woman.”

His distain was palpable. Condescending. She didn’t care how striking a figure he made with his dusky-gray eyes and chiseled jaw. Alice’s quick dislike for the “great” Captain Quinn heated her cheeks. “I’m betting it’s been quite a while since you tended
any
woman.” She spoke into her glass before swallowing the brandy in a single gulp. It burned through her like her growing anger.

“Certainly
never
on my ship.” He snatched a clean shirt from another cabinet and added it to the growing stack of items. “Women are two things I can ill afford. Nuisance and distraction.”

Alice planted her hands on her hips. “Really? Shall I toss my
womanly
self over the rails, or would you rather I throw myself onto your sword? I suppose I should thank you for saving
me from the
Delmar
, but I’ll not stand here and put up with your…your… arrogance.”

The captain stood to his full height and crossed his arms over his chest. “You’ll ‘put up’ with whatever I say. You’re not at some garden party. You may have a champion or two aboard my ship, but most of my crew will help you over that rail. And the others—well, they’d more want to throw you onto your back.”

Her jaw dropped. “And what
you
have failed to understand,
Captain
, is I am more than capable of handling myself. I neither require your protection nor your champions. Give me a pistol and a cutlass and find the closest port. I’ll happily be gone from you and your ship.”

“And clothing?” He swept a hand the length of her. “Let us not forget clothing to cover your obvious charms.”

Alice clamped her mouth shut to keep from telling him her charms had already gotten two men killed today.

“It will have to be breeches,” he continued. “We rarely see the need for skirts.” He was close enough for Alice to see the frost of his stormy-gray eyes.”

“How uncanny, I was debating the very thing earlier. Skirts are quite cumbersome when you’re trying to escape being raped.” Her glare locked with his.

A quick knock on the door broke the ice dam forming between them. Alice pulled the rags of her top to cover as much as she could and crossed her arms over her chest. A huge man carried in a hogshead of water with a brass tap in its end. He set it next to the pitcher and bowl. The man’s skin was the color of polished mahogany. His scalp was shaved. Wide gold earrings ran through both ears. The play of muscles in his thick arms and across a battle-scarred chest made him an intimidating character. Eyes black as jet pierced her with a stare.

“Thank you, Neo.”

“Capt’n.” He lifted a wide hand and tapped a quick salute before leaving.

Quinn pulled the stock from his neck and pushed his sleeves past his elbows. “Where were we?”

Alice marveled at the precise efficiency of the man. Every action deliberate and organized. Cool. Restrained. She almost preferred his angry glares. At least there was heat to them. “We were discussing the uselessness of skirts.”

He added a drying cloth to the small pile of items he’d gathered. “And what remains of your bodice, as well. Take it off, and I’ll see to your wound.” She opened her mouth to protests, but he raised a hand to stop her. “It is not something you can do one-handed. If it is your modesty, cover your breasts. I assure you the last thing on my mind is to ogle you. I have more pressing business on deck, so if you could please schedule your scathing remarks for another time, I would be grateful.” He poured fresh water into the bowl and carried it to his desk.

Alice narrowed her eyes and clamped her mouth shut. Snatching the shirt he offered, she then turned away and stripped out of what remained of her bodice.

When she’d covered herself with the drape of his shirt, she turned back to him. His eyes held a fury in them. What had she done now?

“Who marked you?” His voice was low.

Alice shook her head. “What?”

He gestured toward her. “You’ve taken a beating. Fresh bruising about your neck, across your back and shoulders. Who did this?”

She turned to give him access to her wound. “Pirates.”

“
Which
pirates?”

She lifted her shoulder and hissed at the pain. “It doesn’t matter.” She lied between clenched teeth. The adrenaline of the day had given way to the ache of her battered body. She couldn’t see the bruises he was talking about, but she was aware of every one.

“It does matter. If it was one of my crew, I’ll see the bastard flogged.”

Alice shot a glance over her shoulder. Quinn was close. She swore she could smell the sun and salt air on him. She held his gaze. “I saw the bastard killed.”

All at once, the horror of the day’s events tumbled down upon her. The protective look in his gaze shocked her. He wanted to avenge her attacker? Fight for her honor? When had anyone fought for her? A silent scream echoed in her mind.
Never.
She was always the one doing the fighting. It made her sick to think of it. More men had died at her hand today. More bloodstains on her soul never to be erased. Tears pinched the backs of her eyes, but she refused to let him see her cry. Alice swallowed the lump in her throat that threatened to choke her and turned her face away from him. A hardened resolve straightened her spine. She didn’t wince when he stitched her shoulder.

Quinn studied Alice Tupper’s profile. The life of a pirate was a heartless and brutal one. However, his men knew if he ever learned of any offenses toward a woman, he would be the first one to keelhaul the cowardly son of a cur. He might have little use for women—especially aboard his ship—but he wouldn’t tolerate any violence toward them.

Even this one. She had a rapier tongue that cut in a blink of those gem-colored eyes. Never had a woman raised his ire as quick. But then, he had seen her bruises, and an anger of another sort flared hot in him. The swift call to defend this woman surprised him.

He took care of her wound taking heed to make his stitches small and neat. She would still bear the mark, but she’d be left with the thinnest of silver lines across the creamy, smooth skin of her arm.

The entire time he poked, prodded for stray splinters, and sutured the wound closed, she didn’t flinch. Never shed a tear. Didn’t cry out once. A small tremor was the only indication of the shock she must be experiencing. He expected her to crumble into a heap at any moment, but she stood mast straight.

Taking long strips of clean linen, Quinn braced her elbow against his stomach as he wound the bandage around her biceps. Goose bumps rose along her pale skin as he brushed the tender underside of her arm.

Beyond the grime and battle wash, she was rather pretty. Her hair curled over her ear, and in dark spirals at the nape of her neck. The long braid she wore must tame the chestnut tresses.

He smirked remembering the last time he saw her. She was mud soaked and dripping wet from the drenching rains that fell that day. Not a woman who balked at a little dirt, this one. Nor did she faint at the sight of blood. Not even when she was covered in it. Not even when it was hers.

The room was silent save the creak of the hull and the rush of the ocean. After their earlier bickering, the quiet was unsettling.

“Almost finished. Tell me how you ended up on the
Delmar
swinging a boarding ax?”

“I was trying to stay alive. Rasher thought I was a witch. Believed I brought a plague ship upon them. Your ship. He planned on killing me. There were others. More women. I don’t know what happened to them.”

She adjusted the shirt covering her chest and continued. “We were traveling to Virginia on the
Olivia Grace.
I’d secured a position as governess at a plantation there known as Pleasant Ridge.” Her brows knit together. “The men of the
Delmar
struck without warning. They wiped out our crew. Killed all the men.”

“You’re lucky to have survived. Rasher and his men are ruthless. And desperate by the look of it. Why else would a slave ship attack a passenger vessel?”

She turned eyes the color of spring grass toward him. “Captain Fredericks thought it might be a slave ship.”

“Aye. One of the worst.” He tied the ends of the bandage together. “The reason why we engaged them. Their treatment of the men, women, and children is the worst we’ve seen. They suffer horrendous conditions. Rasher loses more to disease and abuse than he brings to the trade market.”

“Human cargo. The very idea makes me ill.” She grimaced and tipped her arm to look at her bandage.

Quinn nodded his agreement. “I, as well. But this is one shipload we can return to their shores.”

Her eyes went wide. “Is that why you captured the
Delmar
? To save the slaves?” The tone in her voice sounded incredulous. Her attitude rankled.

“Yes, why else?” His jaw tightened.

Alice gave a tiny shrug. “You’re pirates.”

“Privateers,” he corrected.

“Still, the trading of slaves is very profitable. I assumed.”

Quinn finished tying off the dressing. “You assumed wrong. Some profits aren’t worth the cost. Buying and selling of these people is abhorrent. We pirate our usual marks. Our coffers stay full and keep news of our actions from reaching England. At the same time, we’re a serious threat to those who ply the African trade. They’re cocky. None dare challenge them. Except the
Scarlet
Night
.

“We drape the ship in black until we’re close enough to strike. Usually, we intercept the ships close to the point of capture and return the negroes before half of them die in those hellish holds. The
Delmar
was farther out than we expected.”

“So you bring them back.”

Quinn returned the items he’d finished using. “Aye.”

“I may have misjudged you.” Alice laid a hand over her binding.

He tossed the soiled wash water out the nearest window. “It doesn’t matter how you judge me, Mistress Tupper.” He latched the window with a snap.

“I didn’t expect it would.” She shook her head before worrying her lower lip. “Still I’m grateful to you for tending my arm.”

Her innocent gesture of biting her lip threw him. It was the first sign of anything less than brazen assertion on her part. Perhaps she wasn’t as tough as she pretended to be. “I’m needed on deck. Clean up if you wish. I’ll see about finding you some suitable clothing and food. Then we can discuss your fate while you’re with us. The men will decide what we’re to do with you.”

“Do with me?”

“Aye. The crew will vote if you stay. And for how long. Or if you go and when. Were it left to me, you’d be leaving at the first opportunity. The sooner you are off my ship, the better for all concerned.”

* * * *

By the time Quinn returned to the deck, the wounded from the battle had been treated, and the remaining crewmembers of the
Delmar
had been gathered and lashed together around the main mast of the
Scarlet Night
. Climbing into the rigging, Quinn swung over the gap between the ships to drop onto the decks of the
Delmar
. His quartermaster, Thomas Bellamy, stood with boatswain, Clyde Jessup, and Henry Robbins, a swivel gunner.

Bellamy shook his head. “Been below, Capt’n. Ain’t ne’re seen the like of it. Stacked like cordwood. More than seventy dead or beyond hope of ever seeing another day.”

Jessup spat upon the deck. “Whole ship reeks of death.”

Quinn’s lip curled at the smell. He was right. The stench was almost overwhelming. “What of the survivors?”

Bellamy hitched his chin toward the bow of the ship. “Brought ’em up into the light of day and be giving them food and water.”

“How many?”

“’Bout twenty. Five be alive, but hangin’ by a prayer. Sick ’ave been moved.”

“Good.” Quinn rubbed his jaw. “Jessup, you and Robbins, take the rest of the captives and get across to the
Night
. Bellamy, you and I have business with Rasher’s crew.”

Back on the ruby decks of the
Scarlet Night
, Quinn approached the mangy remnants of the
Delmar
. “Gentlemen, good news, you’re free to go.” Bellamy started to object, but Quinn held up a hand. “Mister Bellamy, release these men, and see they return to their ship. Unharmed.”

“This be some sort of trick?” One of the men narrowed his eyes at Quinn.