Chapter 5

"Oof!"

A sharp blow from the pirate's shoulder jabbed Avaline in the stomach when he jumped from the railing onto the pirate ship. He carried her across the deck, his steps soft despite the hard muscles quivering from repressed energy beneath her.

"Cut her loose."

His baritone vibrated through his back, stirring a feeling in Avaline that she couldn't quite construe.

She had expected him to be filthy and unwashed and stink as wild as he looked, but to her surprise, the only unkempt part of him was the dark scruff on his jaws and the too-long hair, and he smelled of sea and sunburn, spiced with a hint of… masculinity?

A shiver traveled through her. She released the stiff grasp around the pirate's sash and gathered what little dignity she managed to summon in her humiliating position. "I wish to be put down."

Much to her amazement, the pirate accommodated her wish, and she tumbled onto the deck in a heap of muslin. She scrambled to her feet, but the wooden planks gleamed, polished clean of any dirt that might stain her white attire. The Ranger hadn't taken a single shot from Captain Neville's guns. She smoothed her dress and draped her shawl over her shoulders.

"Lieutenant," the captain barked at the sturdy mate who had dared to lay his filthy bear paws on Molly and now stood watching Avaline with a pensive look on his scraggy face. "Take us west by southwest."

"Aye, Captain," the lieutenant confirmed.

His hair, pulled back in a queue, was pitch black except for a few silver streaks coursing across his temples. The same silver touch lined his dark beard.

The lieutenant's voice roared as he repeated the captain's command to the aft deck above them. The order triggered a flurry of running steps and instructions hurling back and forth, and the Ranger crew swarmed across the railing from the Chirton like an ant colony fleeing a flood.

The pirates unhooked the mooring lines, and square-rigged sails flapped and strained above Avaline's head, harnessing the wind until the ship trembled with wild energy beneath her, just like the captain.

"No," she whispered, watching the waves force the two ships apart. Her belly knotted, and numbness spread through her limbs. "No, no, no!"

Molly shouted something, her arms flailing in the air, but they were already too far away to distinguish her words over the rush of the ocean.

The overwhelming devastation draping Molly's form touched something inside Avaline. She whirled around to the man responsible for her maid's agony. "How dare you treat me in such a barbaric manner? You're not a man of honor. I'm an English subject and demand to be returned to the Chirton immediately."

She understood her mistake the moment the word honor slipped her tongue. The nearest pirates tensed up, their eyes flicking between Avaline and their captain. An ominous silence settled across the deck as if a single word would be the match igniting the powder keg beneath their feet.

The captain's gaze hardened, and his mouth set in a grim line.

Blasted. Her stepmother was right. One day, that sharp tongue of hers was going to be her undoing. By all accounts, that day was today.

"Let me put one thing straight." The pirate captain spoke with a deadly calm, but the air around him crackled with a seething fury that paralyzed her. "I'm no gentleman, but don't ever question my honor."

The cold hatred in his eyes made her courage dissipate like morning mist in the sun. He was right; he was no gentleman. He was a ruthless pirate, stopping at nothing to get what he wanted.

"Scott!" The bark startled Avaline, and she blinked as if the captain had shouted at her. "Escort the English woman to the grand cabin and make sure she stays there."

The English woman.

A young pirate, not much older than herself, appeared. His shoulder-length copper spirals swirled in the wind, and a generous sprinkle of freckles scattered his cheeks and the slightly upturned nose. A boyish grin played on his lips, accompanied by coal-dark eyes sparkling with carefree flirtation.

"Aye, Capt'n." He nodded at Avaline and gestured toward the aft of the ship. "This way, miss."

The captain turned his back on her and ascended to the aft deck without offering her another glance. His strong legs rolled with the ship as if he were born to be at sea, his movements soft and stealthy.

"Now 'ere's a spoil!"

Avaline whipped her head away from the captain, only to find herself face to face with a pudgy pirate. Wide-set eyes raked over her form, flaying off her clothes in the process. His gaze lingered on the white lace frill framing her bust, and he grabbed the front of his stained pants. Avaline pulled at her shawl, wishing she had worn the cape she used when promenading.

"Me be 'appy to find me berth between 'em legs."

Some of the nearby pirates jeered in agreement. Dressed in filthy clothes topped with beards and hair that hadn't seen a knife for months, they eyed her with hungry stares.

Her blood drained from her face, and her belly churned.

She'll be ravished and killed!

"Morris!" The name shot through the air like a whip. The pirate captain stood with a wide-legged stance on the aft deck next to the wheel, commanding attention and respect with his authoritative posture. "Get back to work."

The crowd around her split like somebody had dropped a hungry fox into the henhouse.

"Aye, Capt'n," Morris muttered. With a last look at Avaline, the pudgy pirate called Morris returned to his duties.

An unfurling sail rapped above her head, followed by a gentle tug in the ship beneath her, and she swayed, unsure whether it was due to the movement or the panic simmering beneath her skin. She drew her breath and followed the younger pirate, who disappeared through the hatch, but she came to a halt at the opening.

What would meet her in the dim hold?

A chill ran through her at the thought of descending into the heart of the pirate ship, but she had few other options. The Chirton was already more than a hundred yards away, the distance increasing with each swelling wave.

Avaline shifted her eyes from the ship her father had thought would be safe and met the hostile looks stealing her way. Her fingers cramped around the ends of her shawl, the delicate silk doing little to comfort her.

"I suggest you get a move on." Avaline jumped when Mr. Scott's freckly face appeared from the shadows beneath the opening. A wide smile stretched his lips. "The captain doesn't take lightly to anybody disobeying orders."

With a shudder, she climbed down the ladder to the dark waist, away from the glowering stares. The smell of tar was overwhelming, but there was no hint of the musty and damp wood that had permeated every corner of the Chirton .

Avaline followed the bouncy curls dancing around Mr. Scott's neck as he led her aft. The ship bell blasted with a piercing sound above her head, and she leaped forward.

"Seven bells," he explained, sending her a winning smile over his shoulder.

At the end of a narrow companionway, he opened a door and revealed a spacy cabin running along the width of the ship.

"Here we are." He stepped inside and nodded at a door on the side wall. "The door leads to a private privy, and there should be water in the beaker."

He had the same colonial way of speaking as the pirate captain—a lazy and tonal drawl so rich in volume it did a splendid job ridiculing the fine English jargon it derived from.

Despite his easygoing manners and flirtatious demeanor, she positioned herself behind the enormous table in the middle of the cabin and eyed him warily.

He wore brown breeches of a coarse material and a white, loose-fitting shirt embellished with a ruffled front and lace-flared cuffs. Avaline decided not to pursue the thought of how he had reaped ownership of such an expensive garment.

"You seem like you don't belong on a pirate ship," she tried. "Will you help me? My father, Lord Hawthorn, is the Earl of Dorset, and he will reward you generously if you do."

The flirty tilt of his eyebrows lifted into a more apologetic angle. "I'm sorry, miss. I can't help you, and I don't recommend you try to escape. There is nowhere for you to go, and if the captain finds out, which he will, he'll most likely react poorly."

The way the captain's hands had plastered onto her thighs returned some of her fighting spirit. "He abducted me. I'm innocent!"

He shrugged. "I'm sorry, miss." The inner corners of his eyebrows shot upward and met above his nose like the sharp ridge of the stable roof at Hawthorn Manor. "If the captain kills me, I won't have much use for your father's money. I wish things were different, trust me."

A cold claw gripped around her heart. "So, he is planning to kill me?"

"I can't account for the captain's plans." Mr. Scott's flirty look returned, and he shot her a disarming grin. "But it would sure as hell be a waste to kill someone as fine as you, and I don't know that he has ever killed a woman before."

But he had killed.

"How many women has he degraded himself to abducting before?"

"None," Mr. Scott offered helpfully.

None? "What does he want from me?"

He shrugged as if it didn't matter why she was here as long as the captain wanted it. "The captain will inform you of his plans in due time."

"He is an arrogant bastard! A cruel person."

Mr. Scott opened the door to the companionway but turned his head before he stepped outside. "I would be careful with the insults, miss. The captain has been in, uh… a black mood lately." He raised a finger to the curls dancing on his forehead. "I bid you good night."

Avaline stared at the closed door, listening to the footsteps receding down the companionway. Her belly churned like it had done without mercy during the first days on board the Chirton before she got used to the constant swaying.

She stepped toward the door and was about to open it, but then the chilling faces of the pirates flashed through her mind, and her hand fell. Even with an unlocked door, there was nowhere to go.

"Oh!" The whimper broke free before she could restrain it.

She turned to the gallery windows arcing across the stern of the ship and extending seamlessly along each side. The Chirton bobbed on the waves, Molly still rooted to the deck.

At least Molly was safe from the pirates.

And herself, what did the future have in store for her? Would she ever see Molly again? Would she survive? And if she did, would Lord Francis still want to marry her?

Avaline felt the spirit in the ship beneath her feet, and Molly grew smaller and smaller until the Chirton blurred against the darkening skies. Moisture clouded Avaline's vision, and she clutched the locket with her mother's portrait to her heart.

Tramping feet echoed above her head, and commands blasted through the air. The wood beneath her groaned and complained as the ship gained speed.

She turned away from the disappearing Chirton . The captain might be busy, but he would soon enough show up in the cabin. Surely, that black soul coveted her father's wealth more than her life and could be swayed to release her. Why else would he capture her if not for riches?

The odds loomed over her like a dark cloud, but the spark of defiance and bravery she had inherited from her mother didn't let her give up without a fight.

She needed a weapon. What she would do if she managed to incapacitate the captain, far out at sea and surrounded by wild pirates, she didn't know. But the thought of defending herself carried some much-needed comfort.

Avaline made a quick survey of the sparsely furnished cabin. The colossal table, sitting on a plush oriental rug, dominated the space. Maps and charts lay strewn, marked with tiny rows of crosses and circles—undoubtedly their route and the hapless vessels that had run into them. The drawer beneath the tabletop caught her interest, but it remained stubbornly shut when she yanked at the brass handle to explore its contents.

A built-in berth occupied a significant part of the side wall opposite the privy, but where she would expect a curtain allowing privacy, there was nothing. She looked away from the captain's bed, cursing silently at the heat spreading on her cheeks.

Next to the privy, a beaten sea chest sat beneath a row of hooks on the wall. A wash basin with a silver bowl and pitcher and a small mirror stood next to a dark oak bookcase with wired fronts.

Books? Why would a savage pirate care about the written word?

She edged nearer and squinted over volumes on naval tactics, trade, and history. Still, between the fact books, she found a few examples of fiction: Robinson Crusoe, Candide , and Gulliver's Travels.

An adventurer.

And then—Charlotte Lennox's The Female Quixote .

Avaline raised an eyebrow. The book was one of her favorites and not one she would suspect to find on the bookshelf of a pirate captain.

A loud clank followed by a sharp command from the deck above shook Avaline out of the literary distraction.

She flung open the lid of the sea chest and rummaged through the contents: clothes, a spyglass, more clothes, some blankets—and a pistol.

She reached for the weapon but then hesitated. She had never held a gun before, let alone used one. What if it exploded? She had heard tales about such undesirable events while eavesdropping on gentlemen debating the war against the French.

She wrapped a careful hand around the pistol, catching her lower lip between her teeth. It was heavier than she expected, and she had to steady it with both hands. The wooden stock was smooth against her palm after years of use, except for a few scratches and dents, and intricate carvings embellished the metal pieces.

She placed the pistol on the table, pointing at the door, and proceeded to look through the cabin for more weapons.

A few minutes later, she inspected the ensemble of armaments scattered on the table: the aforementioned pistol, a spyglass, a five-branched silver candelabra, a sextant, and a letter opener.

The pistol provided the most effective protection, but she had no idea how to use it. Both the candelabra and the sextant offered sharp metal edges that could inflict some damage in an unguarded moment. On the other hand, the letter opener seemed most handy, though she would need to aim for the right spot.

She curled her fingers around the cool metal.

Would she dare to use it?

A sharp smack followed by thudding footsteps bouncing off the panels in the companionway jolted her out of the pondering. She tucked her hand in between the folds of her skirt just as the door to the grand cabin flung open.

The captain dipped his head as he entered, his broad shoulders filling the doorway. He came to a sudden halt midstride when he spotted the weapon arsenal paraded across his meticulously marked charts. She thought she saw a swift rush of surprise whirl across his eyes in the soft glow from the lantern in his hand, but then his demeanor darkened. "Been busy, have we?"

The calm but cold voice cut across Avaline's flesh like a burst of icy rain, and she tightened her grip around the letter opener. She felt the crimson creep up her cheeks, but she beat down the impulse to step back.

She had noticed his powerful body and how he towered above most of his men, but right now, he seemed bigger than ever. Big and very threatening, draining the air from the cabin.

She seized the opportunity for a second look at him. He had a rugged face with a strong jawline that hadn't seen a razor for at least three days. His eyes were deep blue, like forget-me-nots on an overcast day. Shadowed by thick, flat eyebrows, they enhanced his hunter-like gaze and his predatory nature. His hair dazzled with the glow of the sun as if he had spent hours under its unforgiving rays.

Which he had.

Looking for ships to pillage.

He kicked the door shut with his heel and gestured with his head at the candelabra as he hung the lantern on a hook above the table. "Where exactly were you thinking of hiding that candelabra? In your chemise?"

Avaline blinked, cursing the sweat that made the letter opener slippery in her hand. "Where are you taking me?"

"I don't owe you any explanations."

She ignored his question. "It was no stroke of fortune the Chirton crossed your path. How did you know I was on board the vessel?"

"Allow me to rid you of the delusion that everyone around you is preoccupied with your well-being. What is your name?"

Had somebody revealed information about her voyage? Only a few people had known the details, and indeed, none of them would have leaked it to a pirate.

"My father has money," she tried. "He will pay you handsomely if you return me untouched."

"As I said, I have no interest in touching you, but I want to know your name."

Avaline ignored his request. "What do you want from me? You have no right to take me. You're nothing but a pirate!"

His demeanor darkened, and he leaned in. "Understand this: I'm not a pirate. I'm an American privateer sailing under a commission of war. The American Admiralty Court in Philadelphia warrants my voyages and my engagements."

"Does the American Admiralty Court in Philadelphia warrant you sailing around and kidnapping English women?"

"Something like that," he said with a stony voice and an even stonier face.

"I don't believe you. Nobody other than pirates degrades themselves to such barbaric activities."

"Watch your tongue."

"My father will see you hanged for this. You filthy pirate!"

His dark face turned steely, and he took a threatening step forward. Avaline recoiled in response, and the hand with the letter opener shot out as if it had its own will. The captain reared back, seizing her arm by reflex, and the letter opener clattered to the floor, but not before grazing the skin beneath his chin. He latched on to her throat and shoved her backward, pinning her against the bulkhead with his body.

The other hand sought his neck and caught the droplets running down his skin. He looked from the scarlet stain on his palm to the gleaming letter opener on the floor. "You foolish woman!"

He leaned close, his hissing breath hot on her ear. "Listen very carefully, Miss Hawthorn. You are ransom."

Avaline inhaled a sharp breath that pressed her bosom against his solid chest. Heat from his body seeped into her, and inside the cabin, his masculine scent was stronger and more potent than it had been in the breeze ondecks.

And more appealing.

"Your fate lies in my hands," he continued in a calm but menacing voice. "You won't touch anything that resembles a weapon for the rest of this unfortunate voyage, and you will do exactly as I say, or I swear I will rid myself of you once you have served your purpose. Is that understood?"

A stinging chill wracked through her, surging through her body like thick syrup, paralyzing her limbs, even her thoughts.

"Is it?"

He gave a slight tug to the hand clamped around her throat, smacking the back of her head against the wall. A wisp of her hair snagged in the coarse panel boards, stinging as her hair fluttered from the motion. The soft tips of her strands caressed his arm as if mocking his brute behavior.

"Yes," she croaked, sensing her throat vibrating beneath his grip.

"You will stay in this cabin unless escorted elsewhere. The Ranger is a large ship with more than one hundred and fifty men. They haven't seen a woman in a while and would sell their mother to get a taste of you. I would rather not flay open the skin on the back of a good sailor because you saunter around and tease their fantasies."

"My father will never pay you any money."

"I don't want money," he spat.

"But you said–"

"I want revenge. Over Francis Ashcroft."