A | B | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14A | 14B | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30A | 30B | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37 | 38 | 39 | 40 | 41A | 41B | 42 | 43 | 44 | 45A | 45B | 46A | 46B | 47 | 48 | 49 | 50 | 51 | 52 | 53 | 54 | 55 | 56A | 56B | 57 | 58A | 58B | 59 | 60 | 61 | 62A | 63 | 64A | 64B | 65 | 66 | 67 | 68 | 69 | 70 | 71 | 72 | 73A | 73B | 74A | 74B | 75

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PART III

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JUNE 1780
AMSTERDAM, HOLLAND

AS HE HAD SO long ago—had it only been four months?—he was awakened by the sound of Georgina entering the cabin. But this time, it was just dark enough that she had to carry a lantern to light her way. Instead of laying out their supper, she crept to the bed, her eyes carefully averted from him and focused on Celia.

Thus, she squealed in fright when he grasped the hand she’d reached out over him.

“What is your business, sailor?” he growled.

She stared at him, half terrified, half betrayed, and stammered, “I— Ah, Cap’n Dunham— Ah, he requests—” Her eyes filled with tears and her chest heaved until she could not breathe, much less speak.

“Release her, Elliott,” came Celia’s calm voice. He felt her hand flat on his chest, the wisp of her hair over his shoulder, and her mouth in his ear. “She is a girl and a simple sailor. She is no threat.”

He stilled, then released a long, weary breath once he realized what had spurred him to this. Slowly he loosened his grip and pulled away from her. A child. Bloody hell. Kitteridge was dead and one girl-child sailor who could have been his daughter should not have provoked such.

“Forgive me, Georgina,” he muttered, embarrassed.

“Cup your hand over your mouth and breathe into it until you are collected,” Celia instructed her gently.

It took a mite for her tears to cease and her breath to return to normal. She lowered her hand slowly and hiccupped. “Your—your father wishes to, to sup with you, Cap’n,” she stammered, “and, and the other captains and officers of our fleet. The leftenant men—mentioned to him neither of you may be able to, but he bid, bid me ask could you—could you host—”

“Send him to the salon on the Silver Shilling,” Elliott sighed. “’Tis large enough to host any contingent amongst us. Why can he not host, if he is the one issuing the invitation?”

“Ah … he— He wants our—”

“He wants my food,” Celia said dryly. “Make it so, George.”

“Aye, Cap’n,” she whispered, backing away and watching Elliott warily. Once she was sufficiently away, she turned and bolted, slamming the door behind her.

“Oh, God,” Elliott moaned, covering his face with his hands and taking a deep breath that hurt his midsection. He laughed suddenly and without humor. “She reminds me of my little sisters. My nieces.”

He felt Celia’s chuckle as she shifted. “And you are bound to spoil her as you do all the women in your family.”

“Likely not now that I’ve succeeded in terrifying her.”

“She was terrified of Miss Simpleton’s outbursts, too, and she knew it was an act. I will explain to her in those terms.”

“Ahhh, speaking of sisters—”

At that, Celia stiffened. “Lady Camille,” she said with a sneer in her voice, “will be given a choice. She may endure a flogging now or be sent to Coventry until she breaks and begs for it. Do you contest—”

“Avast, Madam,” Elliott said, gently laying his hand across her mouth. “I am a commander of long experience, remember. I ken your position, and she already knows I will take your side in this. I told her the only measure of intervention I would take would be to ask you to take a vote, but I find your solution more than reasonable for the offense.”

“She saved your life.”

“And as a reward, I will advise her to take the flogging immediately and without a peep.” He paused. “I suggest you and I assist each other in dressing and attaining the Silver Shilling. It will be good to be home again.”

She started, then began to laugh. “Are we not a pair? I decried the Thunderstorm as my home, yet it felt so wonderful to return to it. And here, you had left the Silver Shilling forever.”

“Alas, I find that more pathetic than humorous, but what will we do when we have truly left them behind?”

“Make our new home together,” she murmured. “Is that not our entire goal?”

“Aye,” he whispered, bringing her knuckles to his mouth to kiss. “Aye, it is.”

• • •

FOUR HOURS LATER, there were five captains gathered around the dining table in the Silver Shilling’s salon along with many of their officers, the remains of their meal littering the table.

They were also all completely pickled.

Dunham was larger than Elliott and, perhaps, the largest man he had ever met. And it was no exaggeration to say that Celia had taken after him. Yet her face, the one she decried as compared to her mother’s, was very much, in fact, like her mother’s. Her father’s influence simply overwhelmed her mother’s—much like his personality, as he was also the jolliest man Elliott had ever met.

The old corsair was a brilliant storyteller and kept them all rapt the entirety of their meal and beyond.

Yet all but two of them were laughing and contributing. Elliott was, by this time, weary and still in a bit of pain, so he simply lounged in his chair with his arm around Celia’s shoulder, keeping her close, playing with her hair. As the relative newcomer to pirate life and this particular milieu, he remained silent and watched the longstanding camaraderie of people who had known and worked with each other for years. They’d taken to Yeardley as if he were an old friend they hadn’t seen in years. Solomon was as taciturn as Elliott, which seemed to be his normal state of existence, but Elliott realized the physician was keeping an eye on both his patients.

“Well, Judas!” Dunham nigh bellowed, slapping his hand on the table, and startling him, “I see ye’ve’na come to any ill will for all Jack was bound to kill ye in Sint Eustatius.”

“Oh, nay, I’ve come quite a lot,” he said innocently enough, causing everyone around the table to roar with laughter. Celia’s cheeks reddened, but she laughed just as loudly and punctuated it with a long swig of rum, which she then thumped on the table. “And she nearly killed me a fortnight ago.”

Dunham looked confused then, but Celia began to describe their escape from London in such a way so as to avoid explaining why they were escaping from London. She also made her own handicap seem as if it came through battle and not some mysterious female ailment.

That still rankled, but Elliott quashed his irritation and determined that though he would rather hear Celia sing, he would enjoy the yarns being spun. And as he listened, he cast glances down at his lover from under heavy-lidded eyes, watching how she laughed and shot grins at her father, whose expression could not be mistaken for anything but immense pride.

… he is and mayhap always will be disappointed in me. I will never be able to make him happy … Because I am female.

Elliott watched the play between father and daughter a little longer before he realized she needed the man’s words, as she could not see that his every glance, his every word, his every inflection bespoke his love for and pride in her to the world.

Dunham could have had no son of whom he could be more proud. Elliott could understand this, as Henry Raxham had deliberately wed a strong-willed and intelligent woman, had taken pride in and made use of his wife’s talents, given her as much freedom as she wanted. Likewise, Henry had expected his daughters to rise to their mother’s level.

Elliott could not say whether or not his father would have been happy with such a one as Celia, but then, she was beyond anything the earl could have imagined of a woman. Indeed, Henry’s taste in women had been discouraged and ridiculed, and his treatment of the females in his family had been considered shameful. Scandalous. He had made no apology for it and, in fact, reveled in it. But Elliott would wager Celia’s gold-packed figurehead that she would have taken even Henry broadside.

No, Celia could not see that which was plainly written on Dunham’s face, and Dunham could not see that she did not ken his true opinion of her—and may never, even if he did say the words.

He remembered her reaction to officially meeting Milly as Miss Simpleton, the vague hurt and longing for that which Milly had and who she was …

Though Celia was of a once-powerful ancient lineage, she bore the name of a wealthy and powerful baron. She had had a right to expect the life of a noblewoman, a life of ease and pleasure, one without scars to mar her beautiful body.

Then the light dawned. Nay, it was not Dunham’s approval she sought. Whether Dunham said he loved her or not, she was secure in the knowledge he would always give her a place to light. It was Bancroft’s approval she wanted so very badly—he who had cast her out under threat of death, never searched for her, never sent a ship to demand Dunham return her. Contrasted with what Marquess Rathbone had done—vowed to continue to do—to find his daughter …

Elliott sighed, now even more disillusioned with his mentor, and left off those thoughts, as he could do naught to repair such a wound.

The Hollander was as loquacious as Dunham, each of them ever attempting to out-do the other with their tales. Then Celia raised a finger.

“Yet!” she interrupted the two old men, her voice slurred from the copious amounts of rum she’d drunk. It hadn’t taken Elliott long to realize she could hold her liquor as well as any pirate he’d ever known, but had also noted that she only drank to excess when she felt safe. And why wouldn’t she, moored in a harbor full of American, Dutch, French, and Spanish privateers all bent upon the same goal—profit? As far as Elliott could discern, aiding the Americans had little do to with it.

But if he wanted his land, he himself would have to fight for the American cause. He supposed, in a way, he already was an American, as he intended to become one did they win their independence from Britain as he had just won his.

“Jack,” Solomon said abruptly. “It is time for you and Judas to sleep now. Inyour own bunks.”

Dunham and the Hollander cast the Arab annoyed looks, but Celia ignored him.

She belched. “And yet!” she repeated. “I beheaded a man. One strike of the blade clean through his neck. Schwoop! And then! Mounted him on my bowsprit. Top that.”

“Child’s play!” the Hollander roared.

“Papa—” (hic) “—before I forget,” she said, ignoring her partner and looking to Dunham. “I have a matter of importance to discuss with you before Solomon tucks me in for the night.”

“Speak, Whelp.”

“Nay, ’tis private.” He opened his mouth, but she interrupted. “Mama.”

“Oh, aye, then. ’Tis late an’ I think I may have reason to fear yer doctor’s glare do we stay any longer.”

Elliott stirred. “Wait, not yet. I have a request.” Everyone stilled and as all eyes turned to him, he realized that he was in the midst of seafaring greatness. The only person missing was Covarrubias, and Elliott was not so witless as to dismiss his genius as an astronomer out of hand. To a certain extent, he even mourned the missed opportunity of knowing Covarrubias as a friend and ally, but all things considered, he would rather never see or hear of the man for the rest of his life.

“Boy!” Elliott bellowed. Two of his cabin boys entered and immediately began to clear the table of their repast. “Leave the drink.”

Celia laughed. “You don’t have to get me drunk to tup me, Judas.”

That surprised a smile out of Elliott. Dunham coughed, clearly disconcerted. Solomon rolled his eyes. The others roared.

“You’re already drunk, my love,” he purred, amused.

“Oh, aye? I ’spose I am, at that.” Then she giggled madly before tipping her head back and another bottle up to drink deep. God, what Elliott wouldn’t give to have a child or two with her, pass his name along with people made from that woman.

She thunked the bottle down and wiped her mouth across her sleeve. “Ask your question, Lover.”

Husband, rather.

Elliott looked to Dunham and said, “I want to wed your daughter and I want you to officiate. Before we set sail, although I do not know yet when the Arab there will allow it.”

The table sat in silent shock, Celia most of all, who pulled away from him slowly to stare at him. “You do?” she said in a small voice.

“Aye. I always have. There were simply too many things in our way. Now that we have disposed of them, I would wait no longer.”

“Ah … ” Dunham said, confused. “Are ye sayin’ Covarrubias is dead?”

“No, Papa,” Celia said low. “I simply have not had the opportunity to inform him that he must learn to live his life without me in it. That is, in fact, where we are bound next. I must return something he gave me in order to sever the ties.”

Again Dunham pounded the table, and again he laughed. “Goddammit, I like you, boy. O’ course I’ll give me consent, if that’s what ye’re asking for, but a woman who beheads her cap’n likely don’t need any. Jack, you wanna marry the boy?”

Celia smiled softly up at Elliott and he thought he might never be happier. “I do, Papa.”

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If you don’t want to wait 2 years to get to the end, you can buy it here.
Pirates!