WITHIN A
CAPTAIN’S SOUL
Captains
of the Scarlet Night #5
by
Lisa A. Olech
Genre: Historical Romance
Pub
Date: 8/1/2017
Stormy
seas, a captive heart, and a coupling that breaks all the rules . . .
After years
of committed service, Captain William “Bump” Quinn has finally
taken the helm of the pirate ship Scarlet Night. But when rough
waters send the Night off course, William winds up shipwrecked and
alone on enemy shores—and prisoner to China’s most powerful
pirate queen.
Captain
Jian Jun is as alluring as she is formidable, and she’s careful not
to let anyone too close. But the silence of the handsome Jamaican
pirate in her custody intrigues her. Tempted by his topaz eyes and
the strength of his character, she allows the captive into her inner
sanctum. Though their bond defies all convention, Jun finds she is
powerless against the emotions Will stirs in her. She prays their
first union will not be her last. But with danger lurking in
unexpected places, her beloved pirate may soon get the chance to
prove he is every inch the hero he seems in her arms . . .
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Chapter 1
Madagascar,
1717
William Quinn hated the dark. His companion had taken the
lantern when she left. He could still smell the spiced honey of her skin and
the musk of their sex in the rumpled sheets. She’d been a tiger in bed. His
flesh still burned where her nails had raked his back. He’d lost himself for an
hour or two between her smooth dark thighs. He only wished he’d learned her
name.
Will lay in the bed and closed his eyes to the darkness. It was easier to
visualize the layout of the room from memory this way. The door was to starboard. A three-drawer chest sat a foot
to port. His pants were another matter. Where had she tossed them? She’d been
in a terrible hurry to put her mouth on him. When she’d stripped him and seen
his engorged cock, a smile spread
across her shining face as if she’d discovered some long lost treasure. After
that, she was driven by a single-minded desire. She’d been a most eager partner.
He rose and found his pants along with the wide blood-red sash he wore about his waist. And one boot. All the while, his limited sense was still on
high alert. In this darkness, it would be easy to hide and ambush him. It
wasn’t as if he’d hear anyone approaching, but having lost his hearing at such
a young age, over his lifetime, he’d honed his other senses to razor sharp. Will lifted his nose and gave another
sniff. No, he was alone.
The heat along this stretch of the world limited his
choice of clothing. Bare chested,
he slipped into a tooled leather vest. He patted the breast pocket. His lusty partner
wasn’t interested in his winnings
from tonight’s poker tables.
As the daughter of one of the local pepper merchants, money was
not what she longed for. Madagascar pepper was considered black gold along this
great treasure route. Her father was one of the wealthiest men in the city.
Will found his other boot, and sat on the edge of the bed
to slip them on his feet. He sat there for a long moment. The hollow beating of
his heart echoed in his chest. Even after hours of pleasure, the only thing
sated was his body.
This girl, whoever she was, hadn’t been interested in his newfound wealth
or even knowing who he was. She’d only been interested in lying with
him. It was the same wherever he went these days. He’d become a novelty.
Sex with the silent man.
It wasn’t as if he could brag about his conquests. Tell tales
of your night in
his bed. He wouldn’t bore you with long stories,
or shout demands.
He was deaf and never learned the basic fundamentals of speech. For some
reason that made women eager to spread their legs for him. At least for one
meaningless night.
Making his way to the door, Will wasn’t surprised to find the public rooms below still doing
a brisk business. Time held no meaning to these establishments. Glancing toward the back
corner, the
poker game still
wore on. He was tempted to add to his already bulging purse. Tonight’s profits had come too easy, but then it had always been a talent of his to read faces. Call it a lucrative byproduct of
being deaf. Whether bluffing at cards or dealing with his crew, he could spot a liar at fifty yards.
Will’s long legs carried him quickly through
the dangerous dark streets.
At more than six and a half feet tall, he made an imposing figure. The
three-pistol baldric and side cutlass helped. As did his permanent scowl. He pulled
a short knife
from a leather sheath and carried it at his side. For two reasons. A handy weapon was never
a bad idea, and the high polish on the blade gave him the perfect view of
anyone trying to approach him from behind.
Will reached the docks without
incident and was finally able to breathe easy when he dropped
down upon the polished decks of the Scarlet Night.
The gentle tip of the boards shifting beneath his feet, the smell of tarred
rigging, and the sight of her three thick masts brought a smile to his face. He was
home.
‘Captain.’ His first mate, Griffin,
tapped his shoulder
to sign the word before giving
Will a sharp salute.
Will returned the salute and replied
with a few quick hand signals of his
own.
‘Are we ready
to leave at first light?’
Griffin nodded. Will scanned
the deck in a slow sweep. All looked as it should. The crew was busy loading
supplies of food and ale. Barrels of powder and crates of spices were
all being stowed properly.
Will slapped Griffin’s shoulder
in praise. He was a good man. Smart. Responsible. And a damn fine pirate. He
could filet a ship with a single cannon shot down the length of their hull and
fight like a man possessed. Short yet sturdy,
his strength coiled in him like a taught spring waiting to unleash its
controlled power. Will was happy he
was on their side.
‘Problems?’
His first mate shook his head. Thankfully, Griffin
was quick to pick
up the basic hand signals Will had adapted over the years to help him
communicate. Between the use of bells and signs and gestures, Will had been
able to build a crew that could follow his strict orders and knew exactly what was asked
of them and when. No small feat,
but after almost two years at the helm, he’d amassed a fine group of men...and
one woman. He recalled the day
he’d become Captain of the Scarlet Night. He
and the former captain,
Tupper Quinn, had literally stolen their ship back from under the
nose of the
British Navy.
They’d been captured and faced hanging for crimes against
the crown, but what the wool-backed Brits
hadn’t counted on
was the fact that not only did Tupper have friends in high places with deep pockets, but Will had a hide thicker
than a bull elephant. He still had the scars to prove it.
Three months after their escape,
as they made their way down the west
coast of Africa, skirting the British at every turn, hiding in every nook and cranny
along the rugged
coastline, Tupper broke
the news that she no longer wished to be called Captain.
‘It’s yer
turn now. Ye’ve earned it. The Scarlet
Night is in yer blood. She’s yer soul. Hell, ye cut yer teeth on
the riggin.’ It’s only right to pass
her on to you now.’
At first, he’d laughed at her. She was talking crazy. Who ever heard of
a deaf captain? But as time went on Tupper cleverly stepped back little by little.
With each new crewmember they acquired, she planted the seeds
of possibility. By giving him more responsibility, more of her power, she opened the path for him to finally
take command.
It was only then he learned the real reason why Tupper
Quinn was stepping aside.
The muscle in his jaw tensed at the thought. He turned
back to Griffin. ‘How is she?’
Griffin jerked his chin toward the
ladder way. ‘In her cabin.’
Will made his way below deck to the rear of the ship. He’d swiped two bottles of her favorite
rum from the galley as he passed.
He knocked on the
thick wood of her door, but didn’t wait to feel her stomp
on the floorboards to indicate he could enter.
The Captain’s
quarters. Oak trimmed
and impressive. Built-in cupboards and a carved niche holding the bed. The choicest
plunder filled chests and trunks flanking the walls. A wide swath of
diamond-paned windows followed the back curve of the ship’s fantail. The
polished floors now boasted a bright rug secured from a Persian ship.
While Will came here daily to work the logs and charts, it was still
and always would be Tupper’s quarters. He found her in bed, half sitting,
half reclining. She was the color of a dirty sail. When he placed the bottles on the desk, she opened her eyes.
She straightened and ran a hand over her dull
hair. ‘Bump, there you are. Where did you
run off to?’
The old nickname made him smile.
She was the only one
to call him
that anymore, and continued to do so when they were alone. He’d been given the name when he’d first come
aboard. A filthy, spindly urchin
rescued from the fetid gutters of Port Royal, Jamaica. Imagine a deaf child on
a pirate ship. How he survived was a true miracle.
In the beginning, he was always in the wrong place at the
wrong time with ropes flying and blocks swinging. Needless to say, he couldn’t hear anyone warning him to
look out or duck. It had taken weeks before he developed a sixth sense that
something was about to cleave his skull in two. Until then, he had more knots and scrapes. His face spent
more time on the deck boards
than his feet. Earned the name Bump. As with fool nicknames, it bloody well
stuck and followed him clear into adulthood.
But when Tupper made the decision to give up her
commission, they agreed Captain Bump was not a fit name anymore.
As it was, when Gavin Quinn, Tupper’s late husband and
former Captain of the Scarlet Night, brought
Bump aboard, none knew his surname. An old woman claiming to be the boy’s grandmother had pleaded with Gavin to save him from the brutal life he was living on the
street of Port Royal. She’d told Gavin his given name was William.
Against all advice,
Gavin Quinn had taken him on as a fledgling cabin boy who could neither speak nor understand and who spent
more time those first few days bleeding
from the head than performing any duties. But Gavin became like a father to him and
saved his life. Will would forever
regret not being able to save his. Captain Gavin Quinn died in the great
earthquake of 1692 that wiped most of Port Royal, Jamaica off the map. Will witnessed the whole horrific
event. Watched the sea swallow the land.
Helpless and heartbroken. He still remembered every detail of that awful day as
if it happened yesterday.
Will’s surname Quinn was a gift from Tupper. He and the rest of the crew were arrested for treason and piracy by the British.
Not right to hang
a man with half a name. All those years he’d been like a son to Gavin and Tupper. When it came time to sign his
death warrant, Tupper made it
official. He was a Quinn—at
least ‘til they set him swinging.
‘Pour me some
rum, and tell me where you’ve been.’ Tupper gestured as she swept her thin, pale legs over to
hang off the side of her bed. She was looking frailer by the day. She pulled the shoulder of her shirt
from drooping down her arm. Will handed
her a mug. She downed the strong drink in one swallow and held her mug out for more.
He refilled it. Gladly. They repeated this once more. It
was taking more rum these days to ease her pain. He’d feed her a barrel full if
it meant she’d rest comfortably.
Tupper patted his hand and leaned back against the pillows. Will stowed the bottle as he eyed the charts
spread out over the desk. There was no question in his mind. His original plan
was not going to work.
With the route he’d drawn out, they’d never reach China in time. He would have to risk crossing paths with the British and navigate the Indian
Ocean then through the treacherous Malacca Straights past Singapore. These were
unfamiliar waters, but what choice did he have?
Tupper started to cough. Her body wracked
with each bark.
She covered her mouth
with a handkerchief to whip the bloody
spittle from her mouth.
Seeing the blood, Will’s stomach
dropped. His hands curled into fists.
He had learned about
the progressive medicines now available in China. They
were far ahead of western doctors. He’d get her there no matter the cost. Will prayed their luck would hold. They’d survived the harrowing trip around the Cape of Good Hope, hadn’t
they? It had been the quickest
way coming west, and Will had accidently discovered
a small unknown secret to navigating the ‘Cape of good storms’ without losing a single
life. Tupper rapped
her mug on the edge of the desk asking
for more rum. Will pulled the bottle and then poured her some more. They’d fought the beast
of Good Hope, and it was that hope he was hanging
on to now. There was one life he was determined not to lose. Not if he had any say in the matter.
Will raised the wick on the lantern and studied the maps. Time was
the enemy now.
If he didn’t
find the fastest
route to China, Tupper would soon be dead.
Lisa A.
Olech is an artist/writer living in her dream house nestled among the
lakes in New England. She loves getting lost in a steamy book,
finding the perfect pair of sexy shoes, and hearing the laughter of
her men. Being an estrogen island in a sea of testosterone makes her
queen. She believes in ghosts, silver linings, the power of a man in
a tuxedo, and happy endings. For more please visit lisaolech.com.
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2 comments:
Thanks, Nancy! Glad to be here!
I do love to read Historical Swashbucking Romances.
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