the West Indies.
“Here, have another drink. I can hear your teeth clacking clear over here. Doomed to never have back me peace,” the Captain grumbled as he poured.
A plan seems required, she thought, as she stared into her glass.
As in what?
Now at his mention jumping carried its merits. Cate cut a clandestine look through the window at the Constancy rising and falling on the swell. Boats plied in a steady flow between the two ships as pirates looted the Constancy. She was a strong swimmer. Surely once she was alongside, the Constancies would pull her aboard.
And what about the pirates over there?
And the sharks?
Hmm…Yes, well, every plan has its flaw.
The island she had seen earlier was still in view, but now seemed so very out of reach.
A boat, then.
And do what?
There was no hiding on open water. She considered waiting until dark, and then stealing a boat. It would mean finding the distant island in the dark. To miss, however, would doom her to open seas, there to die of starvation and thirst. She secretly eyed the mizzenmast, collared by a rack bristling with cutlasses and sabers.
And do what? Your arms still hurt from the last swordfight. You plan to fight your way off the ship, and then what, escape? To where?
Pressing her fingers to the bridge of her nose, she thought longingly of lying down in a dark, quiet place for the next fortnight. The saltwater, gurgling in her ears and filling her sinuses, rendered her too thick-headed to effectively think anything through. If she had been surrounded by a forest, mountains, or wilds, she would have known what to expect, how to survive. With nothing but water around her, hope of escape verged on impossible.
“What do you plan to do with me?” she ventured to ask again, a bit more steadily this time. In lieu of her own plan, knowing his might help.
He closed one eye as he strolled around her, shrewdly evaluating her as one would when purchasing a horse. “Scrawny and a bit old aside, a thing such as you could bring a good price at several markets. However, Miz Littleton—”
“My name is not Littleton.”
The Captain batted his lids with affected patience. “Aye, but it is. You shall enjoy our hospitality until your father is contacted—”
“My father? He’s been dead for years.”
“Come now, luv.” He virtually purred as he slinked nearer. A wolf circling its prey; the black eyes and wild hair only added to the impression. “Your father is in Kingston. We’ll send a messenger with a—”
“No, no, no.” She might have been suffering from a number of uncertainties, but on this she was clear. “My father is—”
“Your father is the King’s Commissioner—new King’s Commissioner, that is—of Jamaica, and as such shall pay more, a good bit more than what might be gotten at the markets, for the return of both you and your mother, as soon as those thick-pated offscourings find her,” the Captain added, with a malignant look toward the Constancy.
“My moth…? You mean Mrs. Littleton? She and her daughter are dead.”
It was sobering to hear two lives memorialized so coldly.
“Some kind of fever,” Cate said dully. “It took Lucy first, Mrs. Littleton but hours after.”
“Why didn’t you sicken?”
“I suppose I was healthier,” she said evenly.
“Can’t argue with that,” Blackthorne muttered, more to himself. “No explaining sickness, especially on a ship. I’ve seen entire crews decimated, whilst others remained in the pink.”
None of this came as good news. He stalked the room, uttering a black-sounding tirade in something other than Spanish or French, and took a long pull off the bottle still clutched in his fist.
“This wasn’t my damned plan to begin with. I tried to tell those oysterheads this wouldn’t answer. And now…” He broke off, thinking better of what he was about to say.
He came at her, shaking his fist, the bottle’s contents sloshing. “I’ll have you know, I do not approve of women aboard. Noxious creatures! Nothing but problems. It puts the men’s minds on nothing but their cocks, as you already may have noticed.” He canted his head toward the main deck, where Scarface and his men would still be.
He drew up before the window, swallowing back several more remarks that bubbled to the surface. Her heart leapt at seeing his hand come to rest on the pistol at his belt. She braced, chanting inwardly that death might be the blessing she had hoped for.
“What is your name then, luv?” he asked over his shoulder.
It was a bit disconcerting