Within a Captain's Treasure (5 page)

Alice started to pace. “Insufferable oaf. Present myself
properly
. ‘
Not unless you think you can make it to Virginia on your own.’
” She blew out an angry breath. “And what was the look on his face when he came in? Lust? Revulsion?” Hadn’t she always heard of Gavin Quinn’s fine character? She remembered overhearing conversations between Captain Steele and Annalise after he transferred the
Scarlet Night
to him. They had nothing but good things to say about the man. Trusted him above all others.

She paced some more. He’d startled her when he first came in. Her defensive walls had snapped shut. Fear was quick to flash into rage. But was it misplaced?

Alice rubbed a hand over her eyes. The faces of the other women passed through her mind. Poor, sweet Milly. What hell had she endured? And those black men and women. Treated like something inhuman. It all added to her fury.

Captain Quinn, while boorish, had done nothing untoward. He’d brought her onto his ship, tended her wounded arm, clothed her. He was prepared to sail her to Virginia, and she’d insulted him, and taken over his quarters. It wasn’t his wish to violate her. She was here as a protection until he could gage the crew’s reaction to her being aboard. Where was he to sleep tonight? And more to the point, why did she suddenly care?

Alice squeezed her eyes tight. She cared because her future was in his hands, and she’d taken his brash-edged compassion and thrown it back in his face. She cared because she was beginning to despise the woman she was becoming.

Deep fear and mistrust and a cold ruthlessness surrounded her when she was threatened. The speed and brutality with which she could defend herself stunned her. When had she turned into a heartless killer? Alice stopped short. She knew the very moment. It played over and over in her mind. That single life-shattering second when she raised a cutlass high above her head out of fury and not out of fear.

The room closed in on her. Panic nipped at her heels as memories trapped her in the nightmare once more. She crossed the cabin and tested the door, knowing it would be locked and fearing the wave of terror that would follow. But the door opened. Alice peered down the galley way. It was empty. No guard posted to keep her in. Quinn told her to stay here for her safety, not because she was a prisoner.

At her feet, a trencher of food had been left. She hadn’t heard it arrive. The smell of rich stew and bread had her stomach protesting the emptiness of her belly. When had she eaten last? She couldn’t remember. After bringing the long bowl inside, she attacked the food until she could eat no more.

Wrapping herself in a thick wool blanket she curled up in the oak-paneled niche which served as Quinn’s bed. Captain Quinn’s distain, prisoner or no, intolerant crewmembers, and a future of deadly uncertainty wrestled within her mind until she couldn’t think any more. The gentle roll of the ship and a full stomach lulled her to sleep.

* * * *

Alice snapped awake. The morning burned bright through the sparkling diamond windows. Where had the night gone? She had slept straight through to morning. By the look, the captain had been true to his word and not returned. If given the chance today, she would behave more graciously toward him. Thank him. Apologize for her rudeness. Then perhaps he would apologize for his.

A quick knock tapped upon the door. Alice tried to smooth the unruliness of her hair. A young boy—no more than a child—entered carrying a small pile of clothing and a pewter plate of bread and cheese. He wore a wide-brimmed gray hat trimmed with a froth of white feather upon his head. It was much too large for him. After he placed his burdens upon the desk, he lifted his chin and peeked at her from under the hat. Large dark eyes within a thin pinched face captured hers. He couldn’t have been more than five or six years of age. Whatever was a boy so young doing on a pirate ship?

“And who are you?” Alice tipped down to peer beneath the wide brim.

He watched her mouth and frowned before removing the hat and adding it to the pile of clothes. His hair was a tangle of short dark ropes. He turned without a word and left.

“Wait,” she called, but the door shut, and he was gone without a word.

She washed using what was left of the water in Quinn’s pitcher and looked over the clothing brought to her. The rough-weave, wide-sleeved shirt fit her perfectly and fell to mid-thigh of the snug tan breeches she already wore. A wide leather belt the color of burgundy was loose for her waist but rode low on her hips. Knit stockings fit snug upon her legs, but the tall black boots were too large. Short of going barefoot, they would have to suffice. The crowning glory was the hat. Gray tooled leather with a plume of white curving to meet the band. One side stood proud giving it a dashing look.

Alice secured her hair into a long braid to drape one shoulder and pushed the hat upon her head. Captain Quinn possessed only a small looking glass, to presumably shave, but looking down, she supposed she looked like a proper pirate. Did this mean she was ready to venture above deck and report to Quinn?

The thought of stepping out onto the decks brought a mixture of apprehension and excitement. She wiped at the dampness of her palms across the curve of her thighs. They looked odd in breeches. Alice was pleased with her new attire, however. There was something about a man’s garments. She liked the way they moved. The ease of motion. They gave her an unusual confidence no gown could ever give.

Alice made her way along the galley way, her gait had a distinct—what was the word?—swagger.

Light from above deck lit the dim hallway. The noise of the day’s activity beckoned Alice to the ladder. It was an odd sensation, stepping onto the deck of the
Scarlet Night
that first morning. Quinn assured her she was safe, but still instincts had her on edge. She had no weapon. The only things protecting her were the stories told by Jaxon Steele and those witnessing the battle aboard the
Delmar
.

This crew was as fierce as they came. According to Captain Steele, many a ship had simply to see the red sails of the
Scarlet Night
to throw up their hands in surrender.

Stepping into the brilliant light, she dipped her hat to shade her eyes. Around her, crewmen performed their duties. Their actions brisk and orderly. They were rough and gruff in appearance, but much less sinister-looking than those upon the
Delmar
. A few wore the remnants of military uniforms like Quinn. Were they former naval seamen, as well, or had they stolen them from men they’d captured?

Alice weathered several curious looks as she made her way across the crowded deck. One man stopped winding a thick length of rope to tug at the front of his head cloth in greeting. She wasn’t sure how to respond other than to say, “Good morn.”

She scanned the decks for Captain Quinn but didn’t see him. Could he still be below?

“Mistress?”

Alice spun back to find three men. The man who’d addressed her held his hat in his hands. Two others stood slightly behind. One grinned at her like a schoolboy—but with fewer teeth.

“Mistress Tupper. I be damned if it ain’t a grand day te meet ya.”

“And you as well.” She held out her hand.

He stared at her hand with a frown for a scant second before realization lit his face. “Oh, beggin’ yer pardon. Done fergot me manners, I did.” He pumped her hand and looked back over his shoulder. “Not like we be used to manners, eh boys?” They chuckled and shifted their feet. “Guess now we have a fine lady aboard we need to be learnin.’” He continued to pump her hand, squeezing tighter.

Finally released from his grip, she rubbed at her crushed fingers. “What did you say your name was?”

He laughed again. “I ain’t said. I be Finch, Miss. ’N these two be White an’ Summer. Wanted to meet ya, is all. We know what ye did fer Captain Steele. White’s workin’ on a song ’bout ya.” Finch hitched a nod in the direction of the grinning man. White’s face flamed as red as the sails.

“Mister Finch, Mister White, Mister Summer, it’s nice to meet you.” She nodded to each. “I don’t need a song, but I thank you.”

Finch burst out laughing and shoved against his companions. “Did ye hear lads? Misters we be now.”

Alice smiled at the trio. White stopped laughing and simply gaped at her. “We can drop all the formality then. Call me Alice.”

“Or Tupper?” Finch suggested. Summer agreed.

“Tupper.” She tested it on her tongue. She’d never had a nickname.
Tupper.
“I like it.”

Finch puffed like a china goose. “Then Tupper it be.”

A grizzly man shoved his way through the little welcoming group. “White, quit yer slobberin’. The rest of ye, git back te work.” He gave Alice a sharp side glance and sneered at the men. “Women aboard,” he grumbled. “Gonna be servin’ tea next?”

“Close yer hole, Jessup,” Finch snapped.

“She be ’ere less than a day and White be drooling on ’imself. Think he ne’er seen a pair o’ tits. Told ye she’d be nothing but trouble.” Jessup shoved White aside and moved on. White spun with his hand on the hilt of his knife. Finch grabbed at his arm.

“Let ’im pass. Ye ken the rules.” Finch spit in Jessup’s direction. “Best keep yer distance, Tupper. Be rotten clear te his backbone, that one.”

“I’ll remember.” She followed Jessup’s retreat, narrowing her gaze as he glared at her over his shoulder. “I should find Captain Quinn. I’m to report to him.”

“’Course, Miss…I mean, ’course Tupper. Capt’n, be forward on the Fo’c’sle checkin’ on those sick darks.”

“The slaves from the
Delmar
?”

“Aye. Some be in a bad way.”

Alice made her way from one end of the ship to another. Men stopped and watched her walk by, some glared as Jessup had. Most ignored her as they went about their work of securing sails and repairing the minor damage done by the
Delmar
. A tiny tread of fear tugged through her. Quinn had been right. She had to remember where she was. Their decision aside, she was still among a rugged band of pirates and needed to watch her back.

Climbing the ladder to the Fo’c’sle deck, Alice encountered the smell of unwashed bodies, sickness, and death. She put the back of her hand beneath her nose. This was the smell she couldn’t identify within Rasher’s cabin. It was the smell of suffering.

They’d turned the upper deck into something of an infirmary. Sailcloth stretched overhead to keep the heat of the sun off the wounded men. The bustle of activity hummed around her. Men came and went with practiced efficiency. Lugging this and toting that. At its hub was Quinn. His height and bright hair made him stand out on the sail-shaded deck.

Quinn was the very image of a captain in his navy wool justacorps with the wide cuffs and brass buttons. Against his white shirt, a black leather stock tied snug at this throat and a wide sash of red circled his waist. His baldric of cognac-colored leather held two pistols and his cutlass. He wore a second knife strapped to one thigh. Under the sail cover, he’d removed his distinctive hat and carried it under one arm. His hair pulled back, his skin golden from the sun. Captain Quinn cut a fine figure of a man.

He was deep in conversation with another man. Standing side by side, the contrast between the two was distinctive. Both tall and broad through the shoulders, but compared to Quinn, the other man appeared rough. More coarse. Black seemed his color of choice. Dark hair hung loose to his shoulders. A long scar split one cheek and disappeared into the scruff of his beard.

The young boy who’d come to Quinn’s quarters earlier was tucked tight to the captain’s side, his intent brown eyes taking in everything within his wide gaze. Quinn took a step, and then the boy took a step, as if he were his tiny shadow. While Quinn had yet to notice her, the child had. Alice smiled at him, but he ducked behind the captain only to steal a look at her again. What was he doing on a pirate ship? He looked far too young to be part of such a dangerous life.

Another young man approached Quinn. He was a gangly youth, all arms and legs waiting to grow into the tall man he was sure to become. There was something familiar in his comely face. Alice had seen it before. When he reached out and tapped the child on his shoulder, the boy nearly leapt out of his skin. Large eyes shot to him, and back at her. His reaction was somehow odd. The young seaman ushered the child toward the aft of the ship.

“Mistress Tupper, so nice of you to join us.” Captain Quinn’s condescending tone interrupted her musings. His gaze made a slow appraisal of her. She had a sudden urge to cover herself. Heat rushed to her cheeks. Regaining her composure, she removed her hat and stepped closer.

Quinn dismissed the other man with orders to set full sail after introducing him to Alice as his quartermaster, Thomas Bellamy.

“Follow me.” Quinn wasted no time with cordial pleasantries. “You’re to help with the worst of the
Delmar
slaves.”

She did her best to keep in step with his wide strides as he led her farther beneath the tented shade. The coolness under its cover was the only good she could find there. Men lay on low cots, sick and dying. Festering wounds and emaciated bodies. It was worse than she ever could have imagined.

The large dark man, Neo, stood when they approached. He wiped his hands. “Gonna lose two more ’fore the day be done.”

“Stay with them. Do your best. I believe they were lost days ago. Make their final hours as comfortable as you can.” Quinn slapped a hand on Alice’s shoulder. “Neo, this is Alice Tupper. She’s to work with you.”

Alice started to extend her hand in greeting, but the look on Neo’s face stopped her. “Aye, aye,” he grumbled as if he’d been given orders to braid the tails of the bilge rats. The side glance he gave her told her he was one of the tolerant—not by choice, by duty. “Come.”

She followed Neo through the makeshift infirmary. He pointed to the back corner. “Worst here.” Three men were laid out in close quarters. A fourth sat close to one. Alice could tell which two would not live to see the night.

“Bring them more water.” Neo pointed to a barrel.

Alice reeled. The smell was beyond anything she had ever experienced. She fought to keep from retching. Moving to the barrel, she clung to its rim to steady herself before finding the wooden dipper. The water tainted by the wood of the barrel was the color of weak tea. She crossed to the furthest man. Eyes no longer capable of sight stared past her as she lifted his head and tried to get the poor man to drink. Water ran down the side of his face soaking the cot beneath. She doubted any of the liquid managed to enter his mouth let alone slip down his throat.