Bring Me the Horizon (5 page)

Cutler grimaced. People were quick to place blame. It must have been hell for Graciela and her sister to be accused by the whole town for the plague.

“She protected me,” Graciela whispered. “We were all we had—each other.”

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Her focus sharpened, the direct look she pinned on him penetrating. “Then Carrion came. ’Twas like with Jacob all over. Only worse. He took her. He took Sarah from me.”

She stood, knocking back the chair. “We have to go now! We have to find him.” She choked on a sob.

He stood, too, rounded the table, and grabbed her arms. “We will, lass. We will.”

“Now!” She gripped his forearms, her eyes crazed. “He cannot get away with this. He cannot!”

“Calm down, Graciela.”

“Please! I must find him!”

He gathered her into his arms. She clutched him, her arms barely reaching around his girth. Her shallow, panicked pants gave way to wracking sobs. Cutler held the wee lass a bit tighter, surprising himself with how much he didn’t want her to cry. “Hush now, sweet,” he whispered. Cutler rubbed her back, hoping to soothe away her tremors with the sway of the rocking ship. “Shh. I’ll get Sarah back.”

Graciela must be terrified for Sarah. To not know how her sister fared, to allow her mind to tread through images of the agonizing mistreatment Sarah faced. Carrion was a wretched, grisly bastard known for torturous tendencies. Graciela had much to fear.

Her breathing evened and she leaned back, staring at him with red-rimmed, tired eyes. The lines on her face smoothed, a sad smile tinkered at her lips. “Thank you. For...everything.”

Cutler nodded. “Certainly.”

She stretched up and planted a delicate, rum-dusted kiss to his mouth. He pressed her for more, making the kiss last a heartbeat longer.

“’Twas a disastrous start to the evening.”

“Aye,” he agreed, though not entirely. He learned much about her. And more importantly, he sampled her flesh, savored her mouth.

“I don’t suppose I fulfilled my end of the bargain,” she said sheepishly.

“No, lass. You did not. You only managed to hoist my—”

“Capt’n!” Kipp hollered from the companionway. “We need ya topside. Squall’s throwin’ us off course.”

Cutler sighed. He wanted more time with the bonny girl, even if not between the sheets—yet.

“Meet you on deck, Mister Kipp.”

He let Graciela step out of his embrace. “We will postpone our,” he smirked, scooping up her stays from the floor, “business, Miss DuBois.”

Graciela’s gaze hit the floor before rising to meet his. “Yes, Captain.”

He opened her cabin door, strode inside, and removed her rum bottle. “When we do, you will be proper and sober.” He stifled a chuckle at her indignant shock and locked her inside.

Topside, the squall howled and the sea gnashed. The noise roared so, Cutler could hardly hear the booms of thunder as lightning split the sky. His long hair fallen from the ribbon at his nape lashed across his face stinging with the wind-driven rain. Frothy waves slapped at
Rissa’s
decks.

“She’s angry.” Willie, the helmsman shouted. Water dripped from his wayward sandy blond hair into his pale eyes and off his crooked nose. “Suppose it’s the girl?”

Willie, too? Superstitious cove. Cutler shook his head. “Nay.”

“Pushin’ us hard west.”

Cutler glanced up at the furled sails wrapped tightly around the yardarms. “How far are we from the coastal reefs?”

“Reckon a few miles”

Too close. Cutler grabbed a fo’c’sle hand scuttling by. “Bring me a rope,” he ordered. The lad nodded and hurried away.

“Maintain a northwest heading. We’ll tie the wheel, but only if necessary.”

Willie was far more confident than he about
Rissa
holding fair in the storm. Verily, ’twas Willie who convinced Cutler the ship was worth any risk to seize. Said the ship had the heart, soul, and grit of their likes. Cutler couldn’t claim such things about ships. But he knew there was no better helmsman than Willie, and
Rissa
thus far had sailed remarkably well. If Willie believed Rissa would be profitable, so shall Cutler.

The deck hand returned with the rope and Cutler prepared the knots should Willie need them. “Make the sea work for us,” he shouted.

“I’ll drop sails and tack ’er, if I have to,” Willie answered.

If the sea was feeling generous,
Rissa
remained afloat, and if Willie and the leadsmen skills stayed true, they wouldn’t be too far off course once the storm subsided.

CHAPTER 4

Gracie awoke to the steady beat of her heart—in her head. Pain throbbed behind her eyes and in her temples. She groaned, easing to sit up. Her stomach rebelled and queasiness roiled unmercifully. Damn it. She had drunk far past her limit last night. Why would she...

Her sleepy vision sharpened on the carved door. Oh my!

Frantically, she searched her hazy mind refusing to give up the vestiges of the night before.

What happened? She kissed him. Attacked him, if she were honest. She momentarily forgot about the dull ache threatening to explode her head.

His mouth was firm, his kiss magical.

Shame took shape as she remembered nearly stripping out of her clothes like a cheap strumpet. But, oh, how he devoured her. He stirred a passion within her she didn’t know existed. Then he pushed her away and she cried like a wee child. She couldn’t remember much else, except the rocking of the ship and her pillow.

Desire and embarrassment took turns battering her emotions, adding to the churn in her gut. How did he feel about what happened last night? Did he pity her, a pathetic hussy? Or did he share the same lust for her as she did for him. Heat from the blush burned her cheeks at the vision of his tented trousers.

Either way, she wanted to see the captain by and by to end her suffering. The sooner she faced the judgment he reserved for her, the better. Then she would be better able to determine how to proceed. Most notably because she still had a debt to pay. She couldn’t overlook that he didn’t take advantage of her in her inebriated state. Another honorable, uncharacteristic oddity of the pirate captain.

I light rap sounded at the door. “Miss. DuBois,” Richard called. “May I come in?”

Only half-dressed as she was when the captain left her last night, Gracie wrapped the blanket around her shoulders to cover up and smoothed her frizzy hair in vain. “Yes, please come in.”

The lock clicked and Richard entered, cradling a tray with one hand. “Good morning, dear. Captain Banning thought you might like some fresh mango and guava slices, a bottle of wine, and a pitcher of sweetwater. The wine will chase away the ill-effects of drink, and the water, your thirst.”

He knew. And she felt foolish, like a mischievous child expected to repent. “Thank you, Richard.”

“’Twas quite a night, and then the storm.” He set down the tray and poured her a cup of wine.

“Um, yes, quite.”

Unblinking, he handed her the drink. “Should I pray for you again?”

So he knew she had been besotted but not whether she shagged with his captain. Banning hadn’t boasted about what they
had
done. Curious. Didn’t all men exaggerate and brag to friends about dallying with women? Hmm...maybe not to friends who were also priests. But with the way Banning enjoyed making Richard uncomfortable, she’d have guessed he would at least hinted to what happened. Another layer of Banning revealed. Gracie didn’t want to be smitten by him, but he made it hard.

’Twasn’t Richard’s business what happened between her and the captain, and she didn’t particularly like his prying. “My virtue is as it was before I boarded this ship,” she assured him.

His shoulders visibly relaxed. “There is still hope, then.”

She was unsure what to make of his relief. “There is always hope. You just have to know where and with whom you place it.”

Richard smiled. Gracie liked to see him smile. There was warmth and acceptance and it drew her in to want to please him—as a father, as a friend.

“You are a wise and delightful lady,” he said.

Quite suddenly, his back straightened stiff as a ship’s mast. Like a dark cloud passing over the sun, the light in his eyes dulled. “I must go. Enjoy your wine.”

Gracie floundered in his harried departure. Instead of deciphering the meaning of Richard’s visit, she decided it was simply concern and curiosity. She’d sip her wine, will away the thrumming in her head and soothe her choppy stomach. And plot. Plot and prepare for the battle ahead with Carrion—and Banning.

A couple hours later, Richard returned to take Gracie for a walk topside. Captain’s orders.

With her hand in the crook of his arm, they strolled the decks. The air was wet and oppressive. Decking radiated heat from the midday sun. Sweat beaded on Gracie’s forehead despite the sea breezes pushing the
Rissa
forward. The dips and swells the vessel took wreaked havoc on the stomach. No bother. It felt good in the warm sunshine. To hear the ship carving through the blue water was divine. Every nautical mile brought her that much closer to Carrion.

Toiling crewman spared glances at her as Richard escorted her across the waist. Most eyed her suspiciously, a few whispered to one another, and one pushing a mop toward them did a complete turnaround in the other direction.

“Bringing me on deck is to show the men they’ve nothing to fear from me, am I correct?” Gracie was not blind. Captain Banning ordered Richard to bring her out not for the fresh air, but to alleviate doubts about her as a witch. What better way than parading her about with a priest.

Witch
, she hated the word.

“You cannot fault him for that, Graciela,” Richard said. “He must maintain surety and order. He is their shepherd and they look to him for intuitive leadership and conveyance, especially in the unknown. Their commission, the riches as well as the dangers they may face, are because of you.”

When he put it that way, she understood. Because of her, they were headed for unspeakable peril. But weren’t pirates used to danger and death? After all, theirs was a trade of larceny, blood, and evasion.

They strolled the deck and Gracie listened as her companion pointed out the various ropes, sails, equipment and their roles of the ship. He introduced her to several men, explaining their duties. Though they seemed cordial enough, she’d do well to keep her distance. Richard was a pleasing conversationalist and though he was a man of the cloth, he surprised her with his ability to make her laugh. Yet, she battled incessantly with nausea wrenching her belly. ’Twas difficult to stay focused and stave off irritability.

“Where
is
the captain? Will he show himself?” She was eager to see him—his handsome face, solid body—and settle up with her shame.

Richard cast her a sideways glance. “He is about,” he said. “A captain has duties that require him in his cabin more than on deck.” He let out a heavy sigh. “But he’ll want to see how his men are conducting themselves around you. He’ll be here soon enough.”

“I do hope he isn’t too long,” she grumbled.

The ship took a dip and Gracie groaned. She hurried to the gunwale and gripped the sun-baked railing. Concentrating on the swirling water, she breathed deep through her nose, exhaling through her mouth.

“Are you all right?” Richard gripped the underside of her elbow and bent to look at her face. “You’re pale.”

Her head grew dizzy and the pounding in her skull beat anew. She swallowed hard forcing her breakfast down. “I’m...I’m fine. Just a bit queasy.”

“Perhaps I should take you back to your cabin.”

“Already?”

Gracie twirled around, and cursed herself for the sudden movement.

Captain Banning sauntered over. If she hadn’t been breathing in through the nose and out the mouth, she’d have gasped. Every bit a pirate captain, Banning wore a red scarf wrapped around his head, long loose brown locks fluttered in the sea breeze under the cap. Tanned chest muscles—a chest as hard as marble—peeked from under his tunic. A large hand rested on the hilt of his cutlass. Formidable, unwavering, delectable. It amazed her that in her duress, she was able to still appreciate his allure.

“She’s not well.” Richard stepped forward, almost between them.

“The wine did not help?” He directed his question to her, looking over Richard’s shoulder.

“I...I’m not used to sailing.” Her gut bubbled and she placed her hand to her belly. “I...”
Oh, criminy
. The need to belch expanded in her chest, burned up her throat. She spun around and heaved, emptying her stomach over the railing.

Richard wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “’Tis all right, child. Let it go.”

Gracie couldn’t stop spewing, even after she had nothing left to purge. She was dizzy again, and her throat seared with each breath and swallow. When she was done making a mockery of herself in front of Captain Banning, she would be mortified, on top of her shame.

“Come,” Richard said, handing her a handkerchief. “You need to lie down.”

Nodding, she swiped her mouth with her shaky hand. But as she stepped away from the gunwale, she stumbled.

The captain swooped her up into his arms and strode to the hatch. “Have Hobbs bring her ginger tea.”

“Perhaps I should stay with Miss DuBois,” Richard offered, following close behind. “Your charge is to the crew and this mission. You needn’t worry with the lass.”

“She is the benefactor to this mission, Monk. Therefore
she
is my charge.”

Gracie kept the handkerchief pressed firmly to her mouth. Her head rested against the captain’s chest. She inhaled his salty musk, earthy, smooth, male. His scent was like a salve, comforting, healing.

He went to great lengths descending down the ladder and into the companionway with gliding steps as not to jostle her and her quarrelsome stomach further. When he reached her door, he bent to turn the knob. She groaned, wishing she was inside, prone on her bed.

“Sorry, poppet.”

He laid her down gently, arranging for her comfort. “How do you feel?” he asked, setting down the chamber pot next to the bed.

“Like death,” she managed. By heavens! Vomiting, in front of him.
Take me now.
She’d never be able to look him in the eye for fear of what she might find—revulsion.