Authors: Miranda Jarrett
Not that she would have gone even if he’d ordered her to. Gabriel had asked her to stay, and nothing would persuade Mariah to do otherwise.
Heedless of the hours that stretched through the night and into early morning, she stayed beside him as he gave the orders that closed the gap between the sloop and the hapless French ship, and then | the last careful advice to the gunners as the decks were I finally cleared for action. | Through Gabriel’s spyglass Mariah could see the panic on the French ship, the tiny figures of crew members running aimlessly about as the captain, the only one in a cockaded that, gestured with both arms.
Gabriel had been right, the little brig was heavily burdened, wallowing in the same choppy water the Revenge’s sharp lines cut through so neatly, and Mariah caught herself making the same greedy speculations on the French cargo as everyone else did on board. Rice, most likely, since they were so near to Charles-town, or maybe indigo. Either one would bring a good price in Newport. The only guns that Mariah could spot were a pair of old stem chasers that none of the French sailors seemed to know how to load or fire, and from the amount of hand wringing she could see through the glass she guessed that the French had no intention of putting up any sort of defense.
This was, she decided merrily, almost too easy, and she let herself think of what lavish gift she’d buy for her mother. Her mother liked presents, complaining that they too seldom came her way. Gold and coral beads, perhaps, or maybe even a sapphire ring. Far too easy, thought Gabriel, and that alone was enough to make him doubly wary. This early in the war, odds were that this French captain had scurried out to sea, hoping to run for home before any Englishmen put to sea in pursuit, but experience had taught Gabriel that suspicious men tended to live the longest. He studied the brig’s sides for disguised gun ports, and he scanned the horizon for another ship that might claim this one as wandered from a convoy. Although he was nearly certain the French captain would strike to him without a fight, he decided a well-placed shot across their bows wouldn’t hurt.
“Cover your ears, poppet,” he said to Mariah, settling his that more firmly onto his head. Earlier he’d had Ethan fetch his coat and a silver-laced that along with his sword and a pair of Spanish-worked pistols. Cutting a stylish figure was good for his reputation. Clean linen with lace, he’d found, could be every bit as daunting as a sword to a harried captain forced to surrender.
“We’ll give them a taste of our fireworks, just so the lads can keep their hands in it.”
Marian’s eyes widened with joyful, childish delight.
“You’re truly going to shoot at them?”
“Truly, you bloodthirsty creature.” They’d swung round parallel to the brig, not one hundred yards away, as pretty a shot as any gunner ever had.
“Alien Welsh, there! When you’re ready!”
The gun fired instantly, the explosion echoing across the open water.
The brig’s bowsprit shattered and crumpled into the water in a trailing tangle of lines and canvas. Immediately the blue flag with the white lilies dipped and jerked as the French captain himself pulled down the color. In less than a minute, with only one shot fired, the Revenge had made her first capture.
The Englishmen exploded in frenzied rejoicing. Gabriel grabbed Mariah by the waist and swung her, shrieking with surprise, high in the air, and as he lowered her to the deck he gave her a loud, boisterous kiss that made her giggle as she shoved him away.
“I told you how easy this privateering was!” she teased, tossing her hair from her face.
“You sailors only brag about your dangerous exploits to keep away the competition from farmers!”
“Any landsman’s welcome to try his hand,” Gabriel an e swered, wondering if she’d any idea how delectable she looked with her hair loose around her sunburned cheeks. Soon, very soon. “Or hers.
Yours. I give you joy of your first prize, my lady owner. “
Laughing again, she dipped in as neat a curtsy as she could manage on the rocking deck, and only with heavy reluctance did Gabriel turn away from her and to the business of securing the captured brig. Already the Revenge’s boat was heading across with a party to bring the French sailors as prisoners and jury-rig the bowsprit for sailing. He handed Mariah his glass so she could watch, and headed below decks to make arrangements for the prisoners. He’d lose a dozen of his own men for the prize crew, but the space below would still be tight. Oh, Lord, and then he’d have to suffer the company of the French captain, too, until he could be put ashore, when he’d been counting on having Mariah to himself.
Alone at the rail, Mariah idly watched the Englishmen repair the French brig. Her brig now, once the court had condemned the prize.
Strange to think herself the owner of two ships, and stranger still to think of what was happening between her and Gabriel. Swear you “II stay with me. She smiled happily. Tonight she was quite sure he would still be speaking to her.
She swung the glass along the deck of the brig. Fan-and two other Englishmen stood by the rail, each with drawn cutlasses. One by one the sad-looking French sailors were being herded over the side and into the longboat. The French captain waited, his logbook and a strongbox under his arm, his face long beneath his cocked that. He kept trying to speak to Farr, who steadfastly shook his head, refusing whatever favor was being asked. Suddenly the French captain dropped his strongbox and rushed across to the companionway. Mariah frowned, wondering what kind of mischief the Frenchman planned. She’d heard they were wily, the French, not to be trusted.
But all he did was bend to help a woman up the steps, a young woman with bright gold hair so much like Jenny’s that Mariah’s fingers tightened around the polished brass. Leaning heavily on the arm of the captain, her movements cautious, the young woman was clearly with child, and in her arms was a small boy, his face buried against his mother’s shoulder. They were followed by two more French sailors hauling a large trunk and several smaller bundles to the deck. Fair took one look at the trunk, shook his head first at the sailors and then, when the woman turned to him, he shook his head at her, as well, his arms folded sternly across his chest. Her shoulders drooped with dejection, the woman pulled a stuffed toy rabbit from one of the bundles and handed it to her son. She hesitated for a moment before pointing to the second, smaller bundle for the French captain to carry, and then resolutely turned her back on all her belongings.
Slowly Mariah lowered Gabriel’s glass. Somehow, for her, the joy of privateering had just vanished.
0 landing on the quarterdeck with his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, Gabriel frowned down at the little French captain twisting his cocked that anxiously in his hands. Once Capitaine Cherault, late of the brig Marie-Claire, had learned that the enormous English pirate spoke French, he had launched into a high-pitched torrent of complaints, the words streaming so indignantly from his round little mouth that Gabriel could only grasp every fifth one. Not that it really mattered to Gabriel. Long ago he’d learned not to become too involved with the woes of the men whose livelihood he’d just seized.
The fortunes—and misfortunes-of war didn’t encourage empathy.
He glanced over the Cherault’s stiff brown wig, still marked with the circle of his that, to the Marie Claire crew, looking sullen and betrayed and not particularly loyal to Cherault. Though they didn’t know it yet, Gabriel had every intention of releasing them in Bridgetown, where he wagered not a one of them would sign on again with Cherault. But whichever ship they joined, they’d carry tales of the ruthless Captain Sparhawk and the justly named Revenge and, men’s pride being what it was, how each one of them had fought for his very life—exactly the sort of polishing that Gabriel knew his reputation needed after two years hidden away on shore.
And then there was Deveaux. He wanted to be quite, quite sure that Deveaux knew he’d returned.
The little boy in the woman’s arms began to cry, a long, mournful wail that his mother frantically tried to quiet, and Gabriel’s frown deepened. Lord, they probably both believed he ate French infants for breakfast. He heartily wished the Marie-Claire hadn’t been carrying any passengers. Women and children complicated captures immeasurably, and though he tried to tell himself to be unsentimental, he still didn’t like knowing he’d fired on them.
“Who are they?” asked Mariah softly beside him.
“The woman, I mean.”
Cherault broke off abruptly and glared at her for interrupting.
Gabriel let his fingers tighten on his sword just enough for Cherault to notice, his eyes widening anxiously.
“The woman is the captain’s cousin,” explained Gabriel. “Her husband died of a fever, and now she is returning to her family in Bordeaux.
Or she was, until we came along. “
“Oh, Gabriel, that’s so sad! What will become of her?”
“They’ll come with us to Bridgetown. There they can make any arrangements they like.” With growing apprehension Gabriel saw the sympathy fill Mariah’s eyes.
“We’ve taken everything she has left then, haven’t we? All you’ll let her keep is what she can carry?”
Damn her for having a tender heart, or at least for having one right now!
“Mariah, I’ll treat them civilly enough, but they’re my prisoners.” He hoped she heard the warning in his voice.
“I’ll warrant Cherault here wouldn’t be treating you so genteel if our places were reversed.”
Nor had Deveaux been genteel with poor Catherine. The boy wriggled tighter against his mother, and the stuffed rabbit tumbled to the deck. At once the boy began to scream, pointing and waving at the dropped toy. To Gabriel’s dismay Mariah was the one who darted forward to retrieve the rabbit and place it in the child’s chubby hand. The Frenchwoman smiled timidly at Mariah, who smiled warmly in return. “Mariah.” His voice was icy cold with anger. He wouldn’t have any ship of his turned into a she-house. Already he could sense the change in the French sailors, clearly wondering if they’d misjudged the Englishmen, and his own crew, too, was shifting uneasily where they stood, worrying and doubting about whether their captain had turned soft. What kind of faith could they put in a man ruled by a woman’s niceties?
Mariah turned toward him, her eyes full of wounded surprise, but she didn’t come. “Mariah, remember that you are a loyal subject of King George,” rumbled Gabriel, “and bring your English backside over here now!”
Her chin shot up defiantly, but thank God she came. Gabriel could tease her all he wanted about flogging her for disobedience, but he wasn’t sure what he’d have done if she’d flagrantly crossed him before his men.
He looked across to the Marie-Claire, where the carpenter and the others had finished their repairs and were rowing back to the Revenge.
He beckoned curtly to the first mate.
“Fan-, you’ll give up your quarters to m’dame until we reach Bridgetown. Take her and Captain Cherault below and make them as comfortable as possible. Parker, you” — “No!”
Stunned, Gabriel stared at Mariah, her fury a match for his. The first moment they were alone he’d turn her over his knee and thrash her like the obstinate child she was.
“No, Gabriel, I won’t be party to stealing from that poor woman,” she declared, her eyes narrowed and each word clipped.
“She can stay on her ship with her baby and her belongings and go to Newport. I don’t care how the French would treat me. All I know is how I’d feel if someone came and ordered me out of my cabin and stole every last precious thing that my poor dead husband had given me! I won’t do it, Gabriel, and neither will you, because I own this sloop and I won’t allow it!”
Jesus Christ, the little fool was trying to pull rank on him! Before she could make it any worse, Gabriel bent down, grabbed her around the knees and flipped her over his shoulder. Awkwardly she dangled down his back, her small, bare, pink feet kicking furiously against his chest.
“I’ve changed my mind, Rawson,” he said over Mariah’s outraged shrieks, loud enough for the whole gawking, grinning company to hear.
“One bitch’s yapping is enough for me. Send m’dame and her brat and a Frenchman of her choosing to tend her, back to the Marie-Claire. Stow Cherault and the rest of them below wherever you can.”
“How dare you call me a bitch, you cowardly, black hearted thieving rogue!” With one hand Mariah struggled to hold her hair out of her face while with the other she clung to his coat, worrying that he might dump her with as little warning as he’d plucked her from the deck. She kicked at him again. He began down the companionway, the narrow steps swaying dizzily beneath her. “Damn you, Gabriel, put me down now!”
“Once I set you down, you foolish chit, and you see what I’ve in mind, you’ll be begging me to pick you up again.” He shoved open the cabin door with his shoulder and tossed her on her back onto the bunk.
Mariah landed with an indignant yelp, skirts and hair flying. She yanked her skirts over her bare knees as she scuttled against the bulkhead, her eyes glowing with rage.
“Begging you, indeed! I wouldn’t waste my wind begging you to do anything decent or gentlemanly!”
“Then you won’t be disappointed, will you?” Breathing hard, he unbuckled his sword belt and let it drop clattering to the deck, then pulled his arms free of his coat and let it, too, fall into a heap.
“You with all your orders, wagging your finger at me like some kind of preacher in petticoats! You’d unman me before my own crew!”
She watched as he tore off his waistcoat, buttons spinning across the deck. No doubt his breeches would be next. Deep down beneath her anger she realized she’d pushed him too far, and she didn’t care. No, more than that—she was glad. She’d rather have him shouting at her than more of that awful, icy silence.
“Since when has basic kindness become such a sin?”
“Sin, for all love! I’ll show you sin, Mariah, and by God, I’ll make you thank me for it!”
He lunged across the bunk and grabbed her ankles. She twisted and fought to free herself of his grasp, but he easily jerked her over the coverlet in one rough motion, leaving her with her skirts rucked up and her legs sprawled over the edge of the bunk.