The Prize. Brenda Joyce
backed away instantly, nervously, suddenly awash in confusion.
“Get her to the Defiance. And if she even looks at the water, blindfold her,” he snapped to Gus.
Virginia stared. He stared back. In that moment she knew that in any battle that ensued between them, she simply could not win.
Male arms lifted her over a hard shoulder. She cried out, but it was too late, for Gus was climbing down the rope ladder to the dinghy, holding her like a treasured sack of gold. Upside down, she met the pirate’s eyes. It was hard to see clearly from this humiliating position, but she could have sworn that he was frowning harshly at her now.
And by the time she was right side up and seated in the bow, he was gone.
CHAPTER FOUR
FROM THE DECKS OF THEAmericana the seas had looked pleasant enough. The moment the dinghy was set free, the small boat leapt and bucked wildly as two sailors rowed it toward the hulk that was the Defiance. Virginia gripped the edge of the boat, sea spray soaking her. A minute ago, the Defiance had seemed so close by. Now it looked terribly far away.
A huge wave took the rowboat high up toward the sky. Virginia bit her lip to keep from crying out and then they were cast at breakneck speed toward the pit of the rushing seas.
But they did not go under. Another frothing swell raised them up again. Virginia hadn’t eaten since that morning, but she realized she was in danger of retching. She managed to tear her gaze from the violence of the ocean and saw that none of the sailors seemed at all concerned. She tried to breathe more naturally but it was impossible. Then her gaze met Gus’s.
Instantly he looked away at the mother ship, his cheeks crimson.
What nonsense, she thought angrily, to order the men to avoid looking at her. “Gus! How will we disembark?” she shouted at him. An attempt to do so now seemed suicidal.
Another huge sea spray thoroughly soaked her; Gus acted as if he hadn’t heard her question. The ocean was very loud, however, so she repeated herself, now hollering. His shoulders squared and he refused to look her way.
Finally they reached the other ship. A sailor tossed down ropes and a plank attached to the ship was lowered, answering Virginia’s question. She could not wait to get out of the bucking rowboat.
The sailors above were staring at her. Their rude gazes gave her a savage satisfaction. Gus said tersely, “She’s the captain’s. No one’s to speak to her, no one’s to look at her, captain’s orders.”
Four crude gazes veered away.
As Virginia was helped onto the plank by Gus, who held on to her with a firm grip, she wondered at the control that O’Neill had over his men. How did he instill their instant submission and obedience? Undoubtedly he was a cruel and harsh master.
“This way,” Gus said, not looking at her. He’d released her arm now that they were on the vast main deck of the frigate, for she rode the sea more gently than the dinghy and even than the Americana.
A sick feeling began. Virginia gazed about her at the huge pirate ship, wishing she knew her fate. She found herself being led across the deck, where word of the captain’s orders had obviously spread, as she was studiously avoided. A moment later she was in a small cabin with her single valise, the door closed behind her.
Virginia hugged herself. It had happened. She was the pirate captain’s prisoner—she was in the pirate captain’s cabin.
She shivered, realized she was trembling from the cold—she was soaked from head to foot—and she blinked and glanced around at her new accommodations. The cabin was about four times the size of the berth she’d shared with the Davises. It was, in fact, luxuriously appointed. Just beyond the doorway there was a low four-poster mahogany bed, bolted to the floor and covered with paisley silk quilts in a bold red, black and gold pattern. Gold-tasseled red velvet pillows were piled high on the bed, looking distinctly Eastern. Two rows of shelves were on the wall above the bed and two dark red Persian carpets covered the floor. A desk covered with books, maps and charts was in a corner of the cabin.
There was also a fine, small dining table in the cabin, gleaming with wax, its pedestal base incredibly carved, clawed and detailed. Four tall, elegantly upholstered striped chairs graced it. A black Chinese screen, inlaid with mother of pearl, was against the fourth wall. A closet seemed to be built into the wall. A porcelain hip bath was there, as well.
Virginia grimaced, terribly uneasy. She hated being in his quarters, surrounded by his personal effects. Worse, it bothered her to no end that the appointments were far more elegant than those of her own home. She walked over to the bed, ignoring it, but helplessly wondering where she was going to sleep. There were some folded garments on one shelf—she saw what she thought were drawers and stockings. There was a mirror, a razor, a thick shaving brush, a toothbrush and a gold-engraved porcelain bowl. There were also several candles in sterling-silver holders.
Dismay somehow joined the unease.
On the higher shelf were dictionaries: French-English, Spanish-English, German-English, Italian-English, Portuguese-English and Russian-English. And then there were two small, tattered books, one on common phrases in the Arabic language, the other Chinese.
Was her captor educated? He’d had a heavy Irish brogue, but he’d also had the airs of an aristocrat. In fact, he hadn’t appeared at all the way she would expect a pirate to appear—he hadn’t been toothless, smelly and dirty—except for the blood. It crossed her mind that he had been clean-shaven, too.
She couldn’t stand it. The cabin, filled with his presence, now threatened to suffocate her. She rushed to the door and tried it, expecting to find it locked. To her shock, it opened instantly.
She wasn’t locked in.
The door ajar, she peered out and saw that the preparations on the Americana were almost complete. A new mainsail was being unfurled, which meant only one thing—the ship would soon begin to sail. If only she could manage to get back on board, she thought.
She stepped out of the cabin. It was growing later in the afternoon now and a swift breeze had picked up, chilling her more thoroughly. She shivered, shading her eyes with one hand and gazing out at the Americana. No dinghy remained tied to its side, so even if she could have thought of a way to get back over to the other ship, it was too late; the ships were casting off.
Cautiously, Virginia glanced around. Men were climbing the masts, unfurling some sails, reefing others, and other men were hoisting a huge anchor. No one seemed to be aware of her presence.
She hesitated, then saw him on the quarterdeck. Virginia stilled. He was obviously giving orders. The strong wind was now blowing strands of his hair wildly about, even though he wore it tied back, and it was also causing his billowing and still-bloody shirt to collapse against his torso, defining ridge after ridge and plane after plane of muscle. His presence was commanding. Far too commanding for him to be some farmer-turned-pirate. The man was an aristocrat, she decided instantly, an aristocrat gone bad.
He saw her and across a vast distance, he stared.
Virginia found it hard to breathe.
A moment later he put his back to her. The Defiance suddenly bolted as if it were a horse let out of a starting gate. Virginia was thrown back against the outside wall of the cabin.
Gus appeared. “Captain asks that you stay below, Miss Hughes,” he said, refusing to make eye contact with her.
“Then why doesn’t he lock the door?” she asked tartly.
“Please go inside, Miss Hughes. Captain’s orders,” he insisted, crimson-cheeked once again.
“Gus!” she snapped, gripping his wrist. “I don’t care what he’s ordered, as he is not my captain!”
Gus blinked and, for one moment, regarded her with disbelief.
She felt a tiny surge of triumph. “Please look at me when you address me. I am not a door