Treasure of the High Seas: Ch. 8 (Patreon)

I avoid Lady Harrington for most of the next morning. There’s plenty of work to do, pushing The Maelstrom into the sea and loading her cargo. I throw myself in the thick of things, hauling ropes and hollering orders. My side and chest ache, but even with cracked ribs, I won’t let my crew bend their backs alone.

As Scrumpy and I roll the water barrels up the gangway, I feel a prickle on the back of my neck. There, sheltered beneath a stubby palm tree, is Lady Harrington. She fans herself with a floppy hat, sipping from a canteen.

A smirk tugs my lips. This time, she hasn’t volunteered to join the crew. Lady Harrington might be made of sterner stuff than most nobles, but she must be worn through as an old boot. I hope her every muscle sorely regrets yesterday’s work.

My own muscles remind me how heavy the barrel is. Grunting, I shove it onto the deck. Sweat breaks on my brow as I squint at the burnished bronze sun. It’s coming on noon, and we’re almost ready to cast off.

I glance over the railing. Lady Harrington is still lounging in the shade. She lowers the canteen, wiping water from her lips. 

“Captain?” Scrumpy nudges my shoulder.

“Hm?”

His eyes crinkle at the corners, and he smiles a sly, gap-toothed smile. “Cloud-gazing, or…?”

I roll my eyes. Damn. Lady Harrington intrudes upon my peace enough as it is. No need to waste time staring at her. 

“Hurry up, Scrumpy. These barrels won’t move themselves.”

Together, we haul the barrels down into the hold. It smells fresher than usual, having been scrubbed and aired out while the ship was careened. Its occupants are smelly as ever, though. The nanny goat watches with large yellow eyes, her square pupils fixed on me.

“Leave me be, devil,” I grumble, “or it’s the stewpot for you.”

The goat proves how little she cares for threats by showing me her rump.

Scrumpy’s baritone laugh echoes in the hold. “Aw, Captain. Old Nana never meant no harm.”

“Old Nana is a month away from mutton.” I give Scrumpy a friendly nudge of the elbow. “Go on, then. Collect our esteemed guest. Once Her Ladyship is aboard, we can finally leave.”

He hops to. “Aye, Captain.”

As he leaves, one of the birds decides to shit on my boot. I roll my eyes. Double damn. Even the bloody animals have lost respect for me after Lady Harrington’s bull-headed stunt.

I’m in danger of stewing on the issue, so I wipe my boot and help the others haul the rest of the cargo. Then I stroll the deck to make my final inspection. The Maelstrom’s rigging has been repaired, the tears in her sails patched up. As I pass the fished mast, I give her an affectionate pat.

I cup my hand beside my mouth. “Haul away!”

The cry carries across the ship in many different voices, a sailor’s joyful choir. “Haul away!”

With a stiff breeze at our backs, we haul away from the island. The Maelstrom cuts across the open water like a blade, her sails billowing in the wind.

A lovelier sight I’ve never seen, and if I believed in the Triumvirate, I’d sing their praises. We’re only a few days from Bride’s Mercy. Then I can wash my hands of Lady Harrington. She’ll be Will’s problem until the ransom exchange. 

I stand at the prow, closing my eyes as the salt spray kisses my face. The fresh ocean air breathes new life into me. I allow myself a brief smile. With my ship on open water, part of me has been made whole again.

I just wish Bertram could enjoy it, too.

His loss is a harsh blow. Such a promising young lad. Cheerful, loyal, with the heart of a lion. Charlotte is due his share of Lady Harrington’s ransom, plus the portion of his take set aside for next of kin.

I have to see this through, for Bertram’s sake as well as mine. He’d been  keen as the rest of us to stick it to Lord Pennyford, and for good reason. He knew the dishonorable governor’s sins better than most. Cold comfort to Charlotte, though.

The deck groans softly behind me, and I hear unfamiliar footsteps. My fingers twitch toward the hilt of my cutlass, but I clench my fist and turn. There stands Lady Harrington, wearing a canvas shirt and trousers likely borrowed from Penny.

Her blonde hair is playfully tousled, her cheeks flushed pink. If it weren’t for the scoop of her shirt and the womanly curve of her waist, she’d look like a plucky young boy playing sailor.

Will is beside her, dressed much the same. He leans casually against the railing, watching us. Of course my little brother wants to witness my humiliation.

“Captain Lockheed?” Lady Harrington’s freckled face, with its prissy upturned nose, is the picture of smugness. “I’ve come for the lesson you promised.” Her eyes drift toward the cutlass at my hip.

I resist the impulse to roll my eyes. “I’m an alpha of my word, but won’t your father and fiancé disapprove? Swordplay is hardly an appropriate pursuit for an omega of your station.”

All five foot two of Lady Harrington’s tiny frame bristles. “They care nothing for my opinions, so why should I care for theirs?”

Interesting. Grating as she is, at least Lady Harrington sees her father and Lord Pennyford for the useless fops they are. It pleases me to imagine the governor with such a disobedient mate, one who utterly despises him. She’ll make the rest of his life a misery, if I’m lucky.

Although even Lady Harrington doesn’t deserve to be bound to that wretched monster.

“Is that why you want to learn?” I ask her. “To spite them and me?”

She shrugs. “An added benefit to the development of a practical skill.”

“A practical skill for sailors, not nobles.” I fold my arms, shifting my weight back on one hip. “Don’t tell me that playing pirate has given you a taste for the real thing?”

Lady Harrington tosses her hair. “Hardly. I find you and your kind detestable.”

“Good. I find you equally repugnant.”

William snorts with laughter.

Lady Harrington’s cornflower blue eyes widen, and I catch a spark of fire there. “Regardless of how repugnant you find me, if your word is your vow, you shall fulfill the terms of our agreement.”

Though I grind my teeth against a protest, I have no choice. To deny her means going back on a promise in front of my crew. Will won’t hesitate to tell the others if I refuse. 

That doesn’t mean the lady’s lesson must be pleasurable.

“Will,” I bark. “Sword.”

Will draws his cutlass and tosses it to me. I catch it smoothly, then turn the handle, offering it to Lady Harrington. Her eyes light up. She grabs for the hilt, but I pull it back.

“This is no child’s toy. It’s spilled many a sailor’s blood. If you disobey me, it will drink yours as well.”

A brief shadow falls across Lady Harrington’s face. She nods somberly before grasping the hilt. This time, I let her take it.

More of my crewmates gather round, whispering amongst each other. They form a loose circle around us. Wonderful. An audience to witness Lady Harrington’s humiliation.

I draw my cutlass.

“Cutlasses are short blades, meant for tight quarters,” I say, circling Lady Harrington. Her stare follows me until she can turn her head no further, but I feel its heat even so. “It’s neither a weapon of finesse, nor defense. It has one purpose: to cut your enemy down before they do the same.”

Lady Harrington pivots toward me. “Understood.” She tilts her blade, admiring its glitter in the afternoon sun. Her eyes light up and a pleased smile spreads across her face. How odd. I’ve never seen a noble so enamored of a sword. Once she sees real blood, I doubt the fascination will last.

I raise my blade. “Do what I do.”

A look of determination fixes on Lady Harrington’s flushed face. “Very well.” She stands up straight and squares her shoulders, giving me her full attention.

I demonstrate a downward chop.

Lady Harrington observes, then attempts the same.

I tap her elbow hard with the flat of my blade.

She gasps, jerking her arm away. “Excuse me?”

“Arms in. No room to flail about on a ship. Keep every cut close.”

I repeat the gesture, chopping downward and stopping an inch above her sternum.

Even with the edge of my blade resting over her heart, Lady Harrington doesn’t flinch. She copies me, keeping her elbow folded in.

I swat her blade aside, then kick her shin.

“Gah!” She yelps and drops her sword, reaching for her bruised leg.

I tap my boot on the edge of Will’s sword, raising the hilt toward my waiting hand. “There’s two more lessons for you. Never drop your weapon, and never expect a fair fight. When a gentleman fights a scoundrel, the scoundrel always wins.”

Several crewmates chuckle and nudge each other’s ribs. I’ve taught them all the same lesson in equally painful fashion.

Blowing a blonde curl off her forehead, Lady Harrington throws me a hateful glare. A rosy flush fills her cheeks and her fine jaw clenches. I wait for one of her smart remarks, but she extends her hand without a word.

I offer the cutlass again.

She snatches the hilt from my hand, bracing her feet on the deck.

I chop downward from the opposite side. She tries to block with her blade. I sweep it away, aiming another kick at her legs. This time, she hops back.

“Good.”

While her eyes are downcast, I bring the hilt down on top of her head—lightly.

Lady Harrington grunts, but keeps hold of her cutlass. She takes a wild swing at my midsection.

I side-step away.

She snarls in frustration. My nostrils flare with the scent of her sweat, her hatred. She smells like cinnamon.

Her cutlass swings in from the right. I send it skidding away.

She stumbles forward.

I jam the hilt of my cutlass into her sternum.

With a soft ‘oof’, she sags forward, wheezing loudly.

The crew hoots with laughter, and her face turns cherry red.

“Didn’t I tell you?” I say, sheathing my blade in the sash around my waist. “Keep your arms close. Don’t overextend.”

Lady Harrington clasps a hand to her chest. Sweat shimmers above her heaving bosom. She’ll have a lovely bruise there later.

“My palms are more scab than skin,” she says. “I can hardly grip the hilt.” Nevertheless, she raises the cutlass with a trembling arm. “Show me again.”

I arch a brow. If she were anyone else—someone less spoiled and arrogant—such a show of stubborn grit might make her impressive. Not to me, though. Not her.

“Turn around,” I say.

Lady Harrington’s eyes narrow. She looks like she wants to spit in my face, but to my surprise, she listens. She turns away with a huff, as though she can’t stand the sight of me one moment longer.

I walk up behind her. The smell of cinnamon rises in my nose. I reach around her, following her arm with mine. My fingers curl over hers, adjusting her grip on the hilt. The back of her hand is warm beneath my palm, even through the linen bandages.

“You’re holding it wrong. Grip it higher.”

Her breath hitches as I mold her fingers into the proper shape, but she doesn’t protest my touch.

“Relax your shoulder.”

She does so.

I move her arm with mine, guiding her through a slow downward swing from the right.

A shiver courses through Lady Harrington’s slender frame, but she follows my lead. Interesting. For the first time since our meeting, she isn’t fighting back.

I pull her arm back, leading her through a side swing. As she follows along, her body melts into mine. I feel her rapid heartbeat where her back is pressed into my chest. Her blonde curls are soft as silk beneath my chin. She’s a pretty thing—or would be if she wasn’t such a brat. Governor Pennyford doesn’t deserve her. 

I lead her arm in a downward strike from the left, then a sideways cut. The motion flows through my body and into hers, gaining speed. I nudge my hip against hers, urging her to step forward with the opposite foot.

We move together.

Step, swing. Step, swing. We fall into a rhythm as I lead her through the dance. Slowly and deliberately, I demonstrate the correct movements. Our breaths line up. The curves of her body meld with mine.

I speed up, placing my other hand on her hip. When I press my palm in, she steps back along with me. I repeat the same cuts, this time walking backwards. She stumbles briefly, then adjusts, following the guidance of my hand.

Back and forth we glide, until our movements feel fluid and free. My heart pumps and my blood roars in my ears. Heat gathers in my lower belly, sinking between my legs. I drop Lady Harrington’s arm and step back, panting. Her cinnamon scent lingers in my nose.

Lady Harrington turns to face me. Her wide eyes are bluer than blue and her soft golden locks shine in the afternoon sun. She licks her lips, and my gaze drops. Her mouth is soft and pink, with a tempting line in the middle of her full lower lip.

All that poison from such a pretty mouth…

My nose wrinkles as I realize what’s happening. Ugh. Pheromones. An omega’s scent can make fools of the strongest alphas, but I am no fool. I won’t be ensnared, especially not by a noble.

I turn away, brushing my braids over my shoulder. Most of the crew is staring at us, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. My nostrils flare as the bitter smell of alpha sweat overtakes the tempting scent of cinnamon. I press my own pheromones outward, sending a commanding wave toward them.

“What are you idiots standing around for? The ship won’t sail herself.”

Everyone’s spine stiffens in unison. One look into my eyes, and they break away in twos and threes, scurrying off to make themselves useful. Or to gossip. Probably a bit of both.

Only Penny and Will remain. Being family, Will is accustomed to my scent and doesn’t always feel the need to obey. Penny, meanwhile, folds her arms and glares at me. I don’t like the look in her eyes one bit.

“Will?” I say. “Escort Lady Harrington to her quarters.”

Lady Harrington’s chin juts forward. Like her cheeks and the middle of her bottom lip, it has an endearing dimple. “But the lesson—”

“—is over.” I jerk my head toward the stern. “Go. You’re a nuisance, and a distraction to my crew.”

She flashes her teeth, her upper lip peeling back. “A distraction?”

I push my scent toward her. The moment it hits her nose, the stiff line of her shoulders loosens. Her eyes turn glassy, but then she blinks, seeming to remember her anger.

“If I am a distraction, it is no fault of mine.” She scoffs and rolls her eyes. “Perhaps you should instruct your crew to be more civilized—if you are even capable of civility.”

I close in, casting my shadow over her. I want to grab her by the throat and throttle her. “Perhaps not, but I am more than capable of tossing you over my shoulder and hauling you back to my cabin by force.”

Lady Harrington opens her mouth, but her words catch in her throat. She looks at me for a long moment, her pupils growing large and round. An artery throbs at the base of her slender throat. From the soft hitch of her breath, I know my scent is working. She’ll bend.

“Captain,” Will says, shouldering part-way between us. His scent mutes ours, sweet and calming.

I start. When had he gotten here? When did my face drawn so close to Lady Harrington’s? Her eyes are still locked with mine, as though searching for something. Weakness? Loathing equal to hers?

I don’t look in Will’s direction. I won’t be the first to break our stare. “Go look after Lady Harrington’s bruises.”

Will takes her arm. “Let’s go, Cecily.”

Lady Harrington presses her hand atop his, a wordless signal to wait. “And the sword?” she asks, still looking at me. There is the slightest tremor to her words, but her scent stays strong. She isn’t backing down.

“It’s Will’s blade,” I say. “He can do as he pleases.”

“Later.” Will tugs Lady Harrington’s elbow again. This time, she lets him lead her away. She flounces off, her curls swishing behind her, as though she’s wearing an expensive gown instead of Penny’s slops.

I sigh, drawing in the crisp sea air. It’s a greater relief than I would like to admit. Lady Harrington’s presence was muddling my thoughts. It’s shameful how much she angers me. I should have far better control of my emotions.

A hand clasps my arm. Penny has come up beside me. Her dark features are hard and tough as mahogany wood. I can tell she’s about to lecture me. She’s the only one aboard The Maelstrom who can.

“Keep making a fool of yourself over that girl,” she says, “and the others will think you’re smitten.”

I pull a face. “Ugh. How much rum have you had today? Or is it too much sun?”

Penny shakes her head. “This isn’t like you, Eliza. You aren’t given to petty rivalries.”

I stalk over to the railing, bracing my elbows against it. The sea is dark azure, with small, choppy beneath the whipping wind. “What rivalry? I refuse to acknowledge that brat as any rival of mine. If I had one, it would be her fiancé, and he’s less than worthy of the term.”

Penny follows, leaning against the rail beside me. “Exactly. Whatever Lady Harrington’s faults, your resentment of him is clouding your judgment. Taking lashes for her? Making bets with her? Teaching her to use a sword? You see where this is going, don’t you?”

“Please,” I drawl. “Enlighten me.”

“Pitting yourself against her in these stupid games makes her seem like one of us. Part of the crew. She’s already won most of them over, and why not? She’s surprisingly likeable, for a noble.”

I sputter a laugh. “Likeable?”

“Even you admire her grit,” Penny says.

“I—”

“How do you think the crew will feel when the time comes to hand her over?” Penny says. “They’re loyal to the end, but the more she befriends us, the more angry they’ll be when you return her to her family—and the Pennyfords.”

That sobering statement hits like a splash of cold water after a night of drink and revelry. Penny is right. For reasons inconceivable to me, the crew has grown fond of Lady Harrington. And Governor Pennyford is a monster. Even though I despise her, it seems almost a sin to hand her over to him.

I can no longer pretend that she’s just a token, something to be traded for gold or vengeance. She is a person. A spoiled, impulsive, painfully stubborn person. But she deserves better than a rotten, sadistic slavemaster for a mate. No one deserves that fate.

I lean closer to Penny. “I assume you have a suggestion?”

She nods. “Claim her ransom. Then humiliate Governor Pennyford by sailing away with the money and his would-be bride.”

I raise an eyebrow. My word has always been my honor, something the average person wouldn’t believe a pirate captain capable of. I am many things—a plunderer, a murderer—but I am no liar.

“I promised to return her unharmed.”

Penny stares up into my eyes, her gaze sharp as a blade’s edge. “What is the greater sin, Eliza? Breaking your word to the man who enslaved your brother, or returning a young, vulnerable omega to his clutches? Which will stain your conscience more?”

Damn and damn again. Penny just keeps speaking sense. I look up at the sky, staring at the thin white clouds sailing by. The right choice is simple. “I’ve never cared much for my soul, but lying to that bastard won’t weigh heavy upon me.” A hint of a smile tugs at my lips. “I might even find some satisfaction in it.”

If bleeding Governor Pennyford of his coin is satisfying, denying him his promised omega will pour salt in the wound. I haven’t laid eyes on the bastard in seven years, but I can picture his doughy face clearly, red and bloated with anger.

Just this once, I will make an exception.

“And Lady Harrington? If I refuse to return her, what happens then?”

“I daresay her fate is in her own hands afterward,” Penny says. “Isn’t that all a person can hope for?”

I scrunch my nose, because I know what’s coming next. “You want me to give her a share of the ransom.”

Penny shrugs. “That’s up to the crew, but I think you know their answer already. She saved Red’s life and helped repair our ship. You can’t deny she’s earned her keep.”

I flick my braids off the back of my damp neck. The warmth of the sun beats on my skin from above, sending a trickle of sweat down my spine. Lady Harrington may be a constant source of annoyance, but if helping her wounds my enemy…

“On the bright side,” I say, “this plan might make her more cooperative.”

Somehow, I doubt my own words.

Penny smiles with white teeth and gold incisors. Her smiles are rare, but when they’re genuine, they light up her whole face. “You should keep up her sword lessons. An omega alone in the world needs some manner of defense.”

I click my tongue against the roof of my mouth. “You teach her, if you’re so keen.”

“She’ll learn better from you,” Penny says.

I shake my head at her. “Me? Have you gone mad?”

Penny just grins at me. “The lady obviously enjoys a challenge. Are you saying you can’t offer one?”

I know she’s baiting me, and I won’t give her the satisfaction of biting. I jerk my head toward the stern. “Make yourself useful and man the tiller, Penn. It’s what I pay you for.”

“Aye, Captain.” Penny pushes off the railing and strolls casually down the deck, weaving between the rest of the crew as they go about their business. If I’m not mistaken, she has a strut to her step.

Damn. Penny is always right, and she knows it, too. Her plan is a clever one. The crew will love it. Lady Harrington certainly will, if she despises Governor Pennyford as much as she claims. So why am I still hesitant?

I bring my sleeve to my nose and inhale. Her cinnamon scent still lingers in the fabric where my coat touched her skin. My lashes flutter for a moment before I lower my arm. She was a sweet, snug fit in my arms, and the way her body melded and flowed with mine was…unexpected.

My fingertips run along the damp wood of the railing, remembering the softness of her skin. My cheek remembers the warm caress of her breath. It has to be her pheromones. I’ve noticed her charms before—anyone with eyes would—but they’ve never proven distracting until today. 

I can’t afford distractions. The sooner Lady Harrington’s ransom is paid, the sooner I can wash my hands of her. My crew and I will be rich off a despicable slaveholder. We’ll invest in the smuggling networks Penny and I have planned. And Lady Harrington will cease to be a problem.

Wherever the wind takes her after is none of my business.