Julia London - Devil In Tartan

He glared across the room at the lady, wondering how to navigate this predicament.

God’s teeth, but he ought to swing alongside these thieves for having been so bloody stupid. He was a grown man, not a lad, and yet he’d behaved like one, fixated on the woman the moment he’d caught sight of her. He’d been stunned stupid by her beauty and his common sense had walked off a damn plank. He’d been transfixed with the creamy skin of a shapely leg as that gown had slid up and up, oblivious to what was happening around him, and practically salivating like a lad. It was a naïve mistake and he despised himself for it.

The ship lurched to starboard. Bloody hell, he needed her to wake. Aulay tried to shout, but the sound of his voice was muffled by the gag and the winds howling around the ship. He spotted a pair of his boots tucked in next to the desk. He rolled onto his side, and with his free leg, kicked them. They toppled over, but the soft leather didn’t make enough noise to wake her. He looked up to the desk. There were several things there, including an octant and compass. Aulay slid his free leg beneath him and pushed up the wall to his feet. He hopped closer to the desk and with one swipe of his bound hands, he sent the instruments tumbling to the floor.

The lass’s head snapped up with her gasp of fright. She jerked around, her hair flying, and stared at him, blinking, as if she couldn’t quite place him. But she quickly gathered her wits and leaped to her feet and backed out of his reach.

The ship suddenly rose up on a wave and just as quickly sank again, heeling right, and she was knocked off balance, crashing into the wall just below the porthole before catching herself on the sideboard. They would capsize if the ship wasn’t sailed properly, and somehow, he needed her to understand that. He looked at his desk. He grabbed a quill in his fist, and fumbled with the lid of the ink pot, spilling some ink onto a map. He picked up a chart and wrote reef. He pushed it toward her.

She stared at him with those wide, Caribbean-blue eyes. She pushed a tangle of hair from her cheek, then craned her neck to try and see what he’d written from where she stood. Of course she couldn’t, and shrank against the wall. “I know what you must think,” she said.

What a ridiculous creature. She could not possibly fathom that he was imagining that slender neck in a noose just now.

“But this is no’ what it must seem to you.”

Not what it seems? What it seemed was piracy. Was he not bound? Were his men not lost to him? Had his ship and his cargo not been stolen? Aye, piracy was exactly what it seemed.

The ship heaved again and she stumbled, catching herself on the bunk. She put her hand to the forehead of the man who lay there, then pulled up the coverlet—Aulay’s coverlet, thank you. His bunk, his bed, his linens, his pillow.

“We donna mean to keep your ship, on my word.”

Aulay arched one very dubious brow above the other.

“Once we reach port, we’ll return the ship to you as we found it, aye? You have my word,” she said, and pressed a hand to her heart as if to pledge it before being tossed again by the ship’s heaving.

Bloody ignorant wench. If he’d been able to speak, Aulay would have cursed her. There was no time for her excuses. He glared at her and pointed to the chart.

But she moved away from the chart, putting the table where he often took his meals with Beaty between them. “You need no’ look at me in that manner,” she said. “I know you’re quite angry. On my honor, I canna convey how much I regret that it has come to this, aye? But we were taking on water, and we’ve a mission that canna be delayed. We were hopeless, and I’m afraid there was naugh’ to be done for it. But that in no way eases my deep remorse, Captain.”

Did she take him a fool? Aulay wanted to strangle her. Unfortunately, the more important issue was the matter of the ship.

“As you can see, my father is badly wounded,” she continued, ignoring his dark look. “They...they meant to draw straws to see who would drown and who would accompany us in the jolly, and I couldna bear the thought of it, aye? But then you appeared! Out of that gray mist, you suddenly appeared like an angel from heaven,” she said, her voice full of awe.

The ship rose up; she was very nearly tossed into a chair. “Your crew is to be commended, Captain. You didna see them as you were unconscious, but on my word, they put a good fight, they did. We were armed, so naturally, we had the advantage.”

He suddenly remembered Beaty asking if they ought to pick up arms and his nonchalance about it. Aye, he was going to kill her with his bare hands, limb by lovely limb. Aulay shouted through the gag, which was really more of a hoarse throttle, as the gag prevented the use of his tongue.

“Diah, of course, you want to speak,” she said sympathetically. She glanced back at the man on the bunk, then at him. “If I remove the gag, do you promise you’ll no’ scream? It willna matter if you do—there’s no one to hear you, really.”

His heart raced wildly at that—what did she mean, there was no one to hear? Where is my crew? Who is at the helm?

“Aye, all right,” she said, warily eyeing the ropes at his wrists and the blood on his cuffs, the shackle around his ankle. She winced at the sight of it. “How you must loathe us.”

Loathing was too good for the likes of her. But Aulay maintained his composure with the hope she’d free him of the goddamn gag.

She approached him cautiously. “Ah...you’re quite tall, are you no’? Will you bend your head, then?”

His glare only deepened, but he did as she asked, bowing at the waist like a bloody supplicant.

She worked at the knot of the cloth at the back of his head, her fingers brushing against his neck and tangling in his hair. The gag fell away from his mouth and he coughed when he was free of it.

She moved away from him, staring at him, eyes wide with what, fright? He was the one trussed up like a Christmas ham.

“Who is at the helm?” he asked hoarsely. “Is it my man, then?”

“Ah...no,” she said, then turned and hurried to the sideboard, twice pausing to steady herself when the ship pitched beneath her.

“Who then?” he asked impatiently. “Whoever is sailing the ship must reef the sails.”

“Pardon?” She’d reached the sideboard and was struggling to pour water from the ewer into a cup.

“If he’s no’ reefed the sails, he must do it now or we’ll capsize. If he doesna know how to sail in these winds, give him my first mate. Beaty is his name and he can sail through the worst of storms.”

She began the unsteady trek back to him, but with a sudden lift of the ship, she spilled quite a lot of the water onto the floor of the cabin. Another wave pitched her forward, and she caught herself on Aulay’s arm, then quickly yanked her hand away, as if he might burn her.

“Do you hear me, then?” he demanded loudly. “We’ll capsize if you donna do as I say.”

“Gilroy is a captain,” she said evenly, and tried to hold the cup to his lips.

Aulay jerked his head away from the cup, causing her to drop it. That distracted her, and he seized the moment and caught her by the throat. His wrists were bound, but he could still wrap his hands around her neck, could still squeeze the life from her.

She gasped, and tried to claw his grip free of her throat with one hand, her eyes bulging with fear. “I ought to snap your neck here and now, aye?” he breathed angrily. “Can you no’ feel that we’re tossing about like a child’s boat in the bath, lass? Your captain doesna know how to sail it, and if you donna wish to drown us all, then by Diah, put Beaty at the helm.”

Her eyes dropped to his mouth, and Aulay’s fool heart skipped a single beat, but then began to race as he felt the cold steel of a gun suddenly jab him in the neck. “Let me go,” she croaked, “or I’ll blow your bloody head from your shoulders.”