Chapter 7

"I want revenge. Over Francis Ashcroft."

The door banging shut behind the captain held Avaline's gaze in a blank stare.

Revenge? Why?

A cold sweat broke out on her forehead. How could Lord Francis Ashcroft, esteemed navy captain and British Governor of Barbados, have wronged a petty pirate to the extent he captured his betrothed for ransom?

No.

Francis had nothing to do with this villain besides upholding the law and thwarting his merciless pillaging of innocent people. There could be no other explanation.

But whatever drove the pirate's dark deeds, her scheme to bargain with him on the grounds of her father's wealth had just proven futile. This American scoundrel was no random pirate. He had a sinister purpose for capturing her: a personal vendetta against her betrothed.

Her father had spared no effort to ensure her safe voyage. A select few had been privy to the details. One of them had betrayed him.

The coachman who brought her to Davenport? Her father's solicitor, who made the arrangements? Captain Neville? Her stepmother?

Avaline's mind raced with questions spinning so fast she felt dazed. One of them had passed the information on to the American.

Captain Hainsworth. Of the Ranger .

The man was a brute, a rascal with no sense of decorum. That disregard for etiquette meant he would likely reprise his habit of intruding without warning. Who knew what he would do to her the next time he came.

She slammed the door's metal bolt into the slot on the frame with a loud clang and leaned back against the coarse wood. At least a locked door would buy her some time.

Time for what?

The Chirton was days away from Barbados, and the damages inflicted on the ship during the Ranger's attack would further delay Lord Francis's realization of her disappearance.

"I want revenge. Over Francis Ashcroft."

Avaline let out a shaky exhale and closed her eyes. The uncompromising face of the American rogue lingered in her mind, etched into her memory with sharp details—the mesmerizing blue eyes, the hard line of his lips, the chiseled cheekbones, and the strong, defined chin, teased by the untrimmed ends of sand-colored hair.

Her eyes sprang open, erasing the disturbing picture.

How long would it take for Lord Francis to comply with his wishes, and what would the captain do to her in the meantime?

And what if Lord Francis didn't meet his demands?

What were his demands?

Her eyes stung, and she sank onto the ledge running along the stern below the windows. Tucking her feet under her, she rested her brow on the cool glass and gazed at the moonlight shimmering in the crests of the ocean. Her shoulders slumped as if the strain of the past hours weighed them down.

Molly's panicked words resounded in her head, dulling the creaking and groaning of the ship. The moisture scorching her eyelids spilled over, and she hugged her shawl tighter around her shoulders. A sob escaped, then another one, but she brushed away her tears with a swift wipe.

I must not lose hope. I must do something.

The ledge she perched on was hardly wider than the length of her foot and would offer no comfort or relief throughout the night. The lantern had died out, and the cabin shimmered silvery in the moonlight filtering through the gallery windows. She swept an exhausted gaze over the space, pausing at the berth looming in the corner.

It was the hard floor or the captain's berth.

Despite being a pirate's bed, it looked soft and inviting. With a last check of the latch, she unfastened the locket from her neck and hung it with her shawl next to the captain's shirt on the hook above his sea chest.

Lord, have mercy on me. Please don't let him return to his cabin tonight.

She lined her boots on the floor and slipped into the berth, leaving her dress on as protection. The captain's scent clung to the blankets, a fusion of brine and zest, his essence enveloping her. She snuggled into the pillows and closed her eyes.

Sleeping in a pirate's bed was possibly one of the worst things that had happened to her. But she was tired and had bolted the door, so at least she could rest assured he wouldn't come barging in.

Notwithstanding, the moon had traveled a fair distance in the night sky before her eyelids grew heavy and her mind relaxed enough for darkness to swallow her.

A thundering blast exploded through the air, jolting her out of her restless sleep.

Lord in Heaven!

The attack on the Chirton flashed through her mind, and in an instant, she was back in the cramped cabin with a hysterical Molly, hoping the cannons would miss their mark.

Squinting at the sharp sunlight, Avaline whirled around, her breath stuck in her chest. Wood splinters littered the floor, and a thin haze of dust shimmered in the sun rays filtering through the windows.

Instead of the door, the massive form of the pirate captain filled the opening to the companionway.

Her gaze latched onto the red gash on his throat, and she absorbed the consequence of her actions in the bright morning sunshine. The fine hair on her arms lifted, and her eyes shot to his. The fury blazing in his blue depths settled like a cold cape around her shoulders, and she clutched the blanket to her chest.

"This is my cabin, and I shall have unhindered access at all times."

He stepped inside without taking further notice of the havoc he had wreaked. Avaline's eyes traveled from the tense, shaggy jaw to his tousled hair.

An incomprehensible flutter wobbled inside her. She swung her legs over the edge of the berth and stumbled onto the floor.

Thank the Lord Almighty she'd had foresight enough to keep her dress on, however rumpled sleep had left it. She sought safety from his wrath behind the large oak table, though it hadn't done much to protect her the night before.

She couldn't keep her wild tongue in check despite his foul mood. "You have unhindered access—there is no door anymore. Besides, you should perhaps have thought about that when you placed me here."

"I'm warning you." He shot her a sideways look. "I have spent the night ondecks, and my mood is simmering accordingly. Don't push me."

"I'm a woman on board a ship with more than one hundred and fifty pirates. I simply protected myself."

"Nobody will dare to touch you as long as you're under my protection. They know what happens if they do."

Her eyebrows lifted. "Pray, what is that?"

"I told you: I'll flay the skin off their backs."

The captain's crude words haunted her.

I would rather not flay open the skin on the back of a good sailor because you saunter around and tease their fantasies.

He loosened the belt and sash and removed the pistol from his waistband. Then he tore off his coat and splashed some water from the mug on his face. A few droplets ran down his neck, catching in the sunlight like diamonds.

Avaline averted her gaze, anchored in the etiquette instilled by her upbringing, yet her nature betrayed her, drawn to his exposed posture despite her staunch resolve.

"As long as you stay here, you're safe," he continued.

"Without a door?"

"Even without a door. I'm not spending precious materials on your modesty. However, I can't guarantee your safety if you wander around alone."

"And who will protect me against you?"

He sent her a hard stare in the mirror above the washstand as he reached for a towel. The muscles in his shoulders bulged beneath his shirt when he rubbed the cloth over his face.

He lifted the lid of the sea chest and picked out a fresh shirt. Before Avaline could fathom his intentions, he turned toward her and stripped off his shirt, exposing his naked chest to her stunned gaze. The sight cut off any argument she might have had on her tongue.

A surge of heat spread through her core. She was unable to tear her eyes away when the captain stretched his arms and pulled the fresh shirt over his head. Her gaze followed the dark trail of hair tapering to a thin line that disappeared under the waistband of his breeches, accentuating his sinewy torso and inviting her to follow it with her fingers.

Wonder how…

Her wayward thoughts vanished when he lugged the shirt down his fit frame. She lifted her gaze and met his flinty eyes. The heat from her core crept up to her cheeks.

Darn!

He fastened the sash and leather belt around his waist and stuffed the pistol down his waistband again. "Let's go."

"Go?"

"The meal is served in the galley." He stepped over the debris and out into the companionway.

Eat in the galley? With his men? "I'm not hungry."

"There is no serving outside of meal hours," he growled. "So don't dawdle if you want to fill your belly."

Her stomach clenched but then thought better of it and grumbled with hunger as if rebelling against her fleeting idea of defiance. There was no telling how long the captain would hold her captive, and she had to stay sharp and ready to defend herself. She needed to eat.

Avaline stumbled after him as he led the way through the dim companionway. What sort of fare would pirates offer her? She pictured filthy hands heaping scraps into a pot and stirring them into a bland and mushy slop. Her belly churned at the thought.

When the voices and laughter from the galley intensified, her footsteps slowed. The obscene comments and insulting looks from the day before swirled in her mind, and she swallowed.

She was about to turn and leave when a firm hand settled on the low of her back. "Fear not. Everything will be all right."

The captain's voice vibrated close to her ear, stirring a quiver along her spine.

His wrist flexed on her back, exuding warmth and a touch of protective tenderness as opposed to the threatening black mood that tightened his lips. He was a riddle of contradiction, a blend of hate and care. Indeed, it had been unintentional, but it gave her a glimpse of another man beneath the harsh fa?ade that piqued her curiosity.

Who was Captain Hainsworth?

She dragged in a deep breath to steel herself as she stepped into the galley, expecting their looks to rip her clothes off and devour her like she was a mare for sale.

A warm and inviting aroma from the stew simmering on the brick stove welcomed her. Rows of burlap and canvas sacks filled with provisions hung from beneath the deck above, and sailors crowded the benches along the bulkhead on both sides of the ship.

As she had predicted, the laughter died out, and the conversations faded, leaving an awkward silence more pronounced than the creaking ship and the rushing waves.

Avaline's heart thudded as hard as Luna's after galloping along the beach, but she bit her teeth and lifted her head at the crowd.

Not a single hostile look came her way.

Instead, their eyes sparkled with curiosity, approval, even admiration.

Why…?

The captain's hand disappeared from her back, leaving a cold emptiness in its wake. "Sit," came the curt order.

Avaline lowered herself onto the coarse bench, careful not to draw any splinters and rip her dress, and the captain slid down next to her, wedging her in between himself and one of his men.

"Miss." A steaming platter materialized before her. "I hope ye be fancyin' some swine broth."

Avaline craned her neck to see a pirate whose head shone like a polished egg and whose ears and nose glittered with gold rings. He wasn't much taller than herself but broad as a water barrel. A jagged scar sliced his brow and crawled down to the tip of his ear, but his dark eyes were warm, and his lips curved in a clumsy grin that betrayed no malice.

"Thank you, uh…"

"Me be Freddie, the finest cook on the briny deep." The portly man handed her a fork. "And me can also chop off a peg if ye get in a scrape."

The captain's eyes drilled into her as she grabbed the fork, an unspoken threat that she better not use the metal prongs for anything but feeding herself.

Avaline cursed the flush rising in her cheeks and turned to her food. Though it fell short of the suppers she had shared with Molly and Captain Neville on board the Chirton , it was far from the mush she had expected.

She scooped up a small amount, and a spicy burst of warmth filled her mouth with a rich flavor unlike anything she had ever tasted.

"It is delicious, Freddie." She offered him a small smile, and Freddie's face lit up like a child receiving praise. A pang of guilt coursed through her, caused by her judgmental assumptions about the food. "Thank you."

"Arr, 'tis me true and solemn delight, as sure as the sun rises."

The conversations resumed to the level before Avaline's entrance. The captain's solid thigh grazed hers, his muscles bulging and rippling with every motion. Sparks of fire flickered through her, and she pressed her legs together to create space, but he was too close to be evaded.

She ate in silence, stealing looks at the crew and tuning in on the friendly banter in the galley. Mr. Scott flashed her a playful grin and winked at her while others bestowed admiring looks upon her.

Captain Hainsworth noticed because he smacked his mug onto the table and glared at his crew. Avaline leaped in her seat, and while every single pirate lowered their heads and concentrated on their plate, she lifted her gaze to him.

The crimson slash marred his tawny throat, an undeniable evidence of their encounter. Avaline's eyes flashed from his neck to his eyes, and the heat in her cheeks flared several notches.

Nobody had probably ever dared to do such a thing to the captain, and those who had…

Why had he not punished her?