Paid to the Pirate by Una Rohr

Chapter 19

Charlotte

Iawoke alone in Colt’s cabin. Bolting upright in the bed, I quickly scanned the room to ensure I was, in fact, left to my own devices.

My heart leapt at finding the room to be utterly empty and I crept from the bed, rubbing my curiously sticky lips with the back of my hand.

Where was Colt? Had he slept beside me or taken a chair or perhaps he’d gone to drink with his men without returning to his cabin at all?

What I most needed was to find something that would help me learn the truth of my past, but second best would be access to the ship’s schedule, if they kept one. A man as fastidious as Colt must have some general plans noting where The Dread Night intended to dock after my “check in” back with Mrs. Penningham. I suspected they’d sail north to Charles Town to restock supplies our small outpost lacked. If I could confirm and get word to Daniel, I could convey what I’d learned: how many men aboard, how they fought, who to fear. We could quickly work between our settlements to set up an immediate ambush.

At the very least, I could copy any schedule I might find and relay it to those in larger settlements with more men and arms at their disposal. They might have time to prepare a defense or to set a trap, thus ending the piracy of Colt the Cruel once and for all.

I smiled to myself at the same time my foot hit a squeaky floorboard and I froze. The sound echoed throughout the cabin and sure enough, the door swung wide, revealing a grinning Conks in the doorway.

“Glad to see you’re up and about,” he announced.

There was no point in pretending he didn’t know what I was up to.

“I’m famished,” I grumbled, smoothing my skirts and acting indifferent. “I’m going to get breakfast with Miguel.”

“I’ll join you,” Conks said, patting his stomach.

#

The hours passed uneventfully. Still unallowed to socialize with most of the crew, I spent half the day reading one of the captain’s books and the other half helping Miguel pluck a recently-slaughtered chicken. Conks kept a watchful eye and regaled us throughout with stories of his pirating youth.

I’d initially wanted to balk at the request to touch the dead bird, but curiosity got the better of me. Though I’d never handled a chicken in such a state at the tavern, the lowly act of plucking fowl felt oddly familiar. Almost… therapeutic.

After I resolved to at least observe the crew from a distance, if not converse directly, I headed above deck to enjoy a pleasant day at sea.

The men were practicing with both wooden and metal swords, as well as grappling on the quarterdeck. For an hour, I watched them. Conks and Johnson wouldn’t put up much of a fight when it came to battle. Their hearts might be in it, but they hadn’t developed superior fighting skills. As they whispered in each other’s ears or caressed overlong, I understood now they were in a relationship of some kind. Though that knowledge could be leveraged against them when it came to a fight, the idea saddened me.

Robert the Red and Sedge, a man with a shaved head, presented the biggest problem (aside from the captain himself.) Sedge, slight and serious, didn’t look like much of a fighter, but I’d never seen a man move so quickly or wield a cutlass with such prowess before.

Useful information to convey to Daniel, at least.

I wondered if I could convince Daniel and the rest of our town to spare Conks… and Johnson… and Miguel. Conks, with his tonics, had been kind to me. And an eloquent man like Johnson certainly wasn’t cut out for the pirate life. And Miguel was just the sweetest. Colt, however, needed to be lashed and hanged for what he’d done to me. For violating a woman, he should have his eyes gouged. For touching a lady, he should have his hands sliced from his body. Those talented hands… rough and big and capable of unimaginable pleasure… I bet he could fit an entire breast in one of those large hands…

My thoughts were interrupted by a shout from a man halfway up the ratlines.

“Captain!” he called down. “Cork in the tub!”

What did that mean?

“Sails!” someone shouted, answering the question.

Colt snapped to attention. “Colors?”

“She’s a… small merchant ship from the looks of it,” the watch guard shouted. “Local traders. Doesn’t look to be threatening. Coming up fast with the wind though. She’s gonna reach us.”

Colt raced onto the afterdeck and I quickly followed. “If she’s no threat why is she coming so hard for us?” he asked.

The rest of the crew quickly filled the deck and Colt swiped a spyglass from a nearby man to see for himself.

“They’re either looking for help or to make a trade,” James offered. “Could be good for us.”

Colt didn’t reply and everyone waited tensely while he examined the other ship. Slowly, he lowered the spyglass and brought his fingers to his lips, rubbing as he stared.

“She’s fast, alright… small for a merchant ship though… can’t be supporting too many men…”

“I think I see a white flag,” a crewman on the ratlines shouted. “They must be needin’ something.”

“If we can’t outrun ’er anyway, might as well see what they’re offering,” someone else chimed in.

Colt withdrew a long breath, then turned his hard gaze to the assembled shipmates.

“The only thing that ship is offering is death,” he proclaimed, pointing. “It’s a trap.”

Murmurs ran through the crew. I gulped.

“That’s a masquerade ship. They might not have large numbers, but they’ve got speed and they’re planning on using stealth,” Colt explained, storming off the afterdeck and forcing us all to stumble as we followed. “They’re going to try to board us under the guise of needing assistance or wanting to trade. But once we allow them onto deck, they’ll turn and attack.”

“So let’s give ’em a fight!” Robert roared. “Johnson, turn her ’round! Conks, ready the cannons!”

Men instantly sprang into action, hands on the hilt of pistols and racing to what I assumed to be battle stations while my heart galloped in my chest.

Colt’s eyes quickly flicked to me and he commanded, “No!”

The crew halted.

“If we start blowing holes in each other’s ships we’re both going to come out the worser,” he declared. “We play along. They don’t know that we know. We’ll hide half our men. Those above deck, act the part. We’ll allow them all aboard and keep our weapons at the ready.”

My heart continued its thunderous beat. Were we really going to allow the enemy aboard? Willingly? Dazed, I watched the crew split, the men dividing by half and then again, to take secreted positions below deck.

“Rum!” Colt ordered the remainders. “Break out the rum, quickly! Drink it, spill it, show it!”

The crew hurried to obey.

“Smile like idiots, men! Let them think us merchant fools amidst a celebration. And when I give the signal, we’ll attack them.”

The crew cheered. I gulped again.

“They’re gaining!” came the shout.

“Conceal your weapons,” Colt ordered. “Wait for my signal. Charlotte!”

Colt turned to me, grasping my biceps. “Go to my cabin. Stay there no matter what you hear from above. Do you understand me?”

Nodding vigorously, I clutched my skirts and ran below deck and into the relative safety of Colt’s quarters. A strange sense of déjà vu fluttered in the corners of my mind, as if I’d hidden here another time. I locked Colt’s door and backed away, shaking. Determined to protect myself, I grabbed the heaviest candlestick holder I could find and held it aloft, bracing for an attack I imagined might come any second, before realizing I wasted my energy and let my arm slacken. Gripping the chairback, I waited, imagining the game of pretending above deck as each crew attempted to fool the other.

I heard the first shouts from above and a split-second later, pistols fired. I covered my mouth, straining my ears to hear every sword clash, every battle cry, every thud that might indicate a fallen man.

Colt, I thought, and it was as if my heart beat his name in time. Did I care? Didn’t I want him dead?

Then why did my heart pound in fear for him in particular?

My stomach flipped when I heard fast-approaching footsteps and my mouth ran dry as the door handle jangled -- then stopped. Nothing but my frightened breaths filled the quiet air for a moment. Then, a shot rang out and I jumped, knowing whoever was on the other side had blown the handle clear off the door.

I heard a kick and then a man burst into the room. He bore long, black hair to match his long black beard, nearly trailing to his chest. His grin resembled a snarl. He was too large to dream of fighting and winning.

That didn’t mean I wouldn’t try.

Having spent his shot on the doorhandle and seeing he only faced one unarmed girl, the intimidating man re-holstered his pistol, eyes never leaving me. He wasn’t as tall as Colt, but he was wider, muscle cording his sizable neck.

Lowering my head and narrowing my eyes, I gave my attacker the deadliest stare I could manage above my fear. His own eyes twinkled with malice. Through simple body language everything was communicated in seconds. He intended to defile me, hurt me, perhaps kill me after. I intended to fight him with everything at my disposal.

Sadly, that was merely a candlestick holder and grit, but I tightened my grip on my weapon and braced.

When the man advanced, I swung, but he easily blocked my blow with his own. Hard muscle crashed against my soft arm, feeling as if he could have cracked my bone without much more effort. I whimpered and dropped the makeshift weapon as the man grabbed my wrists and yanked me tight against his body.

I did the only thing I could do -- raked my nails down his cheek, drawing blood.

“You bitch!” He snarled, releasing me only to raise his hand and smack me across the face so hard I saw stars.

I was too disoriented to fight much when he shoved me to the floor and pinned me with his massive weight. My nose was assaulted with the smell of ale and body odor. I screamed for all I was worth as he forced himself between my kicking legs. Large, hairy hands clutched my skirts, raising and bunching them at my waist. With Colt’s neglect on providing anything beneath those skirts, I was left with nothing left to protect me from the man’s attack. He shoved both my wrists into one of his large hands, using the other to fumble with his breeches.

That disgusting hand brushed close to my intimate regions, as if ascertaining their location. Then he returned to grasping his cock, ready to rape.

This is it, I cried, tears spilling over my cheeks. It’s over. I can’t fight him off.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I prayed to God to save me.

But it wasn’t God who answered my prayer. It was the devil.

I heard a door slam wide, causing my attacker to turn his head. He had no time to fight as Colt was upon him, jabbing his dirk into the man’s neck. The man howled as Colt shoved him off me. Despite the blade grotesquely sticking out of his muscled flesh, my attacker found the strength to stand and face Colt, now weaponless.

What had happened to his pistol, his cutlass?

The bearded man withdrew his own sword and swiped at Colt, who was forced to jump back. I didn’t think -- panicking, I threw myself onto my attacker’s back, trying to keep him from the captain.

In a flash, he bucked me from his massive back and threw me aside. My head slammed into Colt’s desk and, crying out, I fell to my hands and knees.

Momentarily distracted, my attacker was left vulnerable to Colt’s attack, and the captain managed to pull his dirk from the man’s thick, corded neck, and plunge it into his flesh once more.

This time, he struck a vital artery.

The man fell to the floor in a lifeless heap.

I managed to sit upright and rubbed my head as Colt knelt beside me.

“Are you hurt?” he cried, grabbing my biceps. His terrified eyes searched my face.

“I’m fine,” I whispered. “It’s you I’m worried about.”

Wait. I didn’t mean worried. Did I?

As if he’d been holding onto his last strength until then, Colt collapsed at my words.

“You are hurt,” I declared, wide-eyed as I took in the gaping wound on Colt’s arm.

“Captain!” Johnson called, bursting into the cabin. His clothing was askew and blood-splattered, but a quick glance told me it wasn’t his own blood. Despite being unusually disheveled, he seemed unharmed. He flashed a wide, white-toothed grin.

“The day is won.”

Relief flooded me as I realized I could hear the cheers from above. I’d been so caught up in Colt I hadn’t noticed.

Johnson’s eyes widened. “You’re injured,” he declared. “I’ll fetch Miguel.”

Johnson quickly disappeared before Colt or I even had a chance to say anything.

“Is he your cook and your surgeon?” I asked, with the hint of a joking tone as I tried to distract Colt.

He saved me, I told myself. I only care because he saved me.

Although I’d never have been in danger if he hadn’t abducted me in the first place, I argued.

Colt cocked a sloppy grin as if he tried to soothe me.

“He’s good with his hands,” Colt replied, lifting one shoulder in an attempt at a shrug. “He and Conks both.”

Johnson and Miguel arrived moments later.

“Casualties?” Colt immediately asked, as Miguel examined the bleeding gash on his arm.

“All souls accounted for,” Johnson replied.

“Injuries?” the captain asked.

“Several,” the gray-haired man admitted. “None to be fatal.”

“Prisoners?” Colt asked.

Johnson paused. He shook his head. “Redhands and Sedge slew them all.”

Colt’s eyes fluttered shut. He sighed. “Perhaps it’s for the best. Is the crew seizing-”

Johnson laid a protective hand on his captain’s head. The move touched me. Whatever Colt was to me, he was something else to his crew.

“It’s all under control. Conks is taking stock of the booty as Redhands and Sedge unload her supplies. They’ll sail her to Nassau alongside us. She’ll fetch a nice price in port.”

Colt nodded, letting his head tilt back, relaxed.

Johnson stood. “I’ll come back and check on you after Miguel patches you up. Rest. You’ve earned it.”

“Wait,” Colt protested. “She saved my life.”

I froze. Me?

“If Charlotte hadn’t bought time by attacking this man, by jumping on his back like a rabid dog, I wouldn’t have had the opportunity to slay him. Let the men know. I owe my life to Charlotte,” he said, gravely, holding Johnson’s eyes. “They owe their captain’s life to her.”

Johnson nodded sagely before departing.

“A rabid dog?” I asked, alarmed.

Colt laughed, then stopped when it pained his ribs. “Like a little terrier, climbing onto his back. All bark and no bite. It wasn’t funny at the time, but now…”

“Glad I amuse you,” I snapped.

“It was good to see a glimpse of the old Charlie,” Colt whispered, staring deeply.

Who was this Charlie? A girl with a boy’s name, who lied and thieved and attacked men and possibly murdered them? No, I refused to believe it of myself.

Miguel pointedly cleared his throat. He withdrew supplies from a bag he carried, and I determined to make myself useful. Kneeling, I brought Colt’s head gently into my lap and he winced at the movement.

To my surprise, Miguel handed me a bottle of rum and I looked up at him quizzically. Now is not the time for drinking.

“Pour it where he’s injured,” Miguel instructed, lifting his chin toward Colt’s bleeding arm.

My mouth dropped. “No.”

“It will help. I swear it.”

“You want me to infect his injury with spirits?”

Miguel shook his head. “It will heal, not harm. I don’t know how it works, but it does. We’ve been using rum on the injured for years now.”

I blinked as Colt nodded his agreement. Perhaps a pirate’s soul was so black, the devil’s drink soothed it.

“Wait,” Colt said, taking the bottle from my hands. He brought it to his lips and drank deeply, closing his eyes in relief.

Handing the bottle back to me, he said, “Okay. Now.”

After a moment’s hesitation, I tipped the bottle above the wound, letting the rum spill forth. Colt hissed, baring his sharp canines. I turned my own head in sympathy.

Finished, Miguel set about dressing the wound. Colt filled his surgeon-cook in on what happened and crew came to remove the dead man’s body from the cabin, even swabbing up the mess after they’d carried out my attacker’s lifeless form. I wondered if they’d toss him overboard, without a proper burial or even a funeral.

I didn’t care. Which shocked me, a little.

Miguel had a funny gleam in his eyes when he packed up his supplies and I realized I’d been unconsciously stroking Colt’s hair and his sweaty brow. I immediately removed my hand.

“Well then,” Miguel announced. “I’ll leave you two alone. We’ve got it all under control, captain. It’s as Johnson said. You need to stay down here and… rest.”

With the same twinkle in his eye, Miguel departed.

Alone, I felt even more self-conscious with Colt’s head in my lap.

“How is your arm?” I asked, attempting to keep the conversation on safe topics, such as injuries.

“Had I arrived seconds later, you’d have lost your virtue,” Colt declared, ignoring my question. Did he seem remorseful?

“You’re the one who’s kept me from breeches or undergarments,” I chided. “The man had ready access to violate me.”

“When we reach the next port, I’ll have a chastity belt made.” Colt lifted half his mouth into a small grin. It was frustratingly charming.

“Excellent idea,” I agreed. “It will keep out nasty pirates like yourself.”

“Oh no, Lady Charlotte. I intend to keep the only key.”

“If you weren’t injured I’d smack you.”

“If I wasn’t injured, I’d see to it such a move was repaid in kind. Elsewhere on your lovely body, of course.”

I rolled my eyes and looked away to hide my blushes. Why did the idea of being locked up for Colt’s use make me tingle in parts of my body a lady shouldn’t acknowledge? By God, Colt more than acknowledged them -- he examined them, played with them, aroused them.

For a moment, all was still and silent. I listened to the waves against the ship and watched the candlelight fluttering on the cabin walls. Had I missed someone preparing the captain’s quarters while cleaning up the body? Colt seemed deep in thought and I felt like he could see through to my own mind. It made me want to try to empty my brain so that he could not uncover any hidden desires there.

“Lay with me tonight,” Colt whispered, breaking the silence. “Just beside me, nothing more. Not because I’m tying you down or forcing you.”

I froze -- everywhere except my heart, which seemed to hammer in defiance of my stillness.

“Stay with me because you want to,” Colt implored, voice low.

How could a man so cruel look at me with such unguarded hope in his eyes? How did it work such magic to disarm me?