My heart slammed in my throat. “How long have they been in there?”
“Some of them a month or longer.” One of the officers jabbed a key into the lock.
The clicking sound drove my pulse too hard, too fast, terrorizing my veins. Memories flooded, transporting me back into the body of a fourteen- year-old girl fighting for her virtue beneath the brutality of the Marquess of Grisdale.
My skin shuddered, tightening and pulling away from my bones. I refused to be violated like that again. Not by a marquess. Not by forty pirates. Not by any man.
But what if I didn’t have a choice?
A scream wavered on the end of my tongue, urging me to call for the commodore and beg him for mercy. But he’d ordered me down here, knowing exactly what awaited. He would grant no quarter, and my useless demands for special treatment would only reveal my crippling fear.
One thing I could not do was enter that enclosure showing weakness.
The pirates would scent it, feed on it, and become rabid.
As the lieutenants shoved me forward, I fought fearlessly, furiously, thrashing, spitting, and doing what any man would do in my position. Instinct took over until all that existed was the savage impetuosity to protect myself.
But in the end, I was too small, unarmed, outnumbered, and quickly subdued.
My knees scraped along the planks as the lieutenants shoved and kicked me into the hold. I landed on my backside, and the sound of the gate locking surged bile through my chest.
I was a pirate captain, dammit. I’d maimed, tortured, and slaughtered some decisively evil and scary men. I didn’t possess Priest’s magnetic ability to win over a crowd, but I could command them with my eyes closed. I just needed them to see beyond my femaleness.
A pair of trousers would have been splendid right now.
Breathing deeply, I slowed the heave of my lungs, rose to my full height, and steeled my spine. Then I turned and faced forty ravenous rogues.
“Point me to your captain.” I searched the overcrowded space, taking an inventory of scars, long greasy braids, suspicious skin sores, and creatures crawling in beards.
If I’d kept Priest in the bilge for a month without a wash bucket, would he have reached this level of pungency? I didn’t think so, but I was rather inclined to favor his appearance, no matter everything else that was wrong with him.
The pack of thieves leered with wild eyes. Some sniffed the air in front of me. Others grunted throaty noises.
None pointed out the captain.
My teeth sawed the insides of my cheeks. It didn’t matter if they all came from the same crew or met one another in this hold. Pirates were a democratic breed, and they always had a leader.
“Were you hit on your heads?” I balled my hands at my sides, concealing the nervous shaking. “Or do you not speak the king’s English?”
“The king doesn’t speak English, lassie.” The low, rough Scottish accent came from somewhere in the back.
It was true that King George—who hailed from Germany to England— refused to speak in the tongue of his inherited realm. But that was neither here nor there.
What concerned me was the owner of that Scottish brogue. He was the leader, and if he knew things about the English king, he wasn’t without intellect. That didn’t bode well for me. Neither did the rising agitation rippling through his men.
I faced the direction of the voice. “Show yourself, Highlander.”
The stench of body odor shifted around me before ruthless fingers captured my wrists. Innumerable hands. There were so many attackers all at once it only took seconds to restrain my limbs and shove me deep into the sticky horde of bodies.
When I hit the back wall, I could no longer see the gate. Half a dozen men held my arms and legs, stretching me like an X with my spine against the wooden rib of the warship’s hull.
Full-body tremors pummeled through me. It couldn’t be helped. My arms twisted in sweaty clutches, my hands slipping uselessly, unable to find a gripping place. The more I struggled, the stronger and heavier my attackers became, multiplying in numbers and moving like a tidal wave until they formed a single unpreventable force that crashed against me, bruised my skin, and bellowed vile promises.
“Back off!” I screamed and gnashed my teeth. “Release me! I can help you!”
Everything stopped. The pirates who restrained me didn’t let go, but the others fell back. The swarm divided, leaving a narrow path for one man to approach.
The captain.
Long red hair tangled around a matching beard that hung to his chest. Luminous green eyes shone out of a narrow face that might have been attractive, if not for the foreboding sneer that slashed across it.
He prowled toward me, tall, lean, and shirtless. The scars on his freckled torso and arms painted a gruesome constellation. Frayed trousers sagged low on trim hips. No boots. No jewelry. Nothing to indicate who he was.
But there was only one known redheaded pirate captain from Scotland, and his noxious reputation preceded him.
“Madwulf MacNally.” I jutted my chin, my nostrils pulsing with the rush of my breaths. “I’m Bennett Sharp.”
My name flickered recognition in his eyes before they hardened into cold green jewels. “I dinna care if you’re the Countess of Nithsdale. Right now all you are is caged, just like the rest of us.”
My stomach clenched, but I made my mouth smile. “I can help you escape.”
“You?” His chuckle spread a chill across my skin. “The only release you can provide is the one I’ll be taking between your bonny thighs.”
My pulse quickened, but I didn’t fight the hands that held me. I forced myself to remain calm and unruffled.
If I told him the notorious Priest Farrell was going to stop this warship from reaching England’s shore, he wouldn’t believe me. Or maybe he would, but it wouldn’t dissuade him from his cruel intentions.
No, I couldn’t mention Priest. Not without risking the commodore hearing my rescue plan.
“How about I save my bonny thighs to trap Lord Cutler?” I grinned despite my surgent nausea. “I’ll obtain a private meeting with him, put him in a scandalous position, and—”
“If his lordship was interested in you, you wouldn’t be here. With us.” Hard to argue.
My stomach sank.
“I dinna mind his cast-offs if they all look like you.” He crowded in and traced an overgrown fingernail along my jawline, making me gag. “Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen on the high seas. Right, lads?”
The men cheered and whistled in agreement.
“Momentarily, I’ll be using your wee cunt quite thoroughly against this wall.” Madwulf pawed between my legs, beneath the shirt, skin against skin. “You’re going to cry, but dinna fash yourself about that. I want your tears, daughter of Edric.”
“No.” A hot ember formed in my throat, and I squirmed helplessly. “Not this. I’ll give you something else. Anything. Name it.”
“This is all you have to give, lassie.” He dug a thick finger into my dry flesh and thrust.
My entire body cringed and bucked, but there was nowhere to go. Too many hands held me in place. Too many mouths panting against my face. The reek of rotten teeth made my gut turn.
“But I’m nae a selfish man.” He stabbed deeper, scraping broken fingernails along my insides. “I always leave a wee bit of something to share with my laddies, and they prefer it to still be a-kickin’.”
“I don’t need her kicking, Captain, or breathing,” a voice shouted from the crowd. “Just so long as I get me some relief in one of them holes.”
Laughter erupted as the knaves shoved one another in excitement.
My joints locked to the point of pain, and tears rose, burning the back of my throat. But I kept it at bay and held Madwulf’s gaze, my eyes dry and stony.
His cock was out, the bulbous head of it ramming against my naked thigh and drooling thick beads of slime. The thought of having that thing inside me dropped a hot, jagged rock in my stomach.
There was no stopping this. Even if I possessed the intelligence to talk my way out of it, Madwulf wasn’t a person who could be reasoned with. All I had left was my anger, and I let it burn me up from the inside out.
“What a strong, fearsome man you are.” I chewed each word and spat it between my teeth. “Forcing your lust upon a woman while she’s held down by forty scoundrels. Praise be to God for big, tough Madwulf MacNally. Your kin must be proud.”
With his chest so close to my mouth, I jerked forward and bit down on a hunk of sweat-slick flesh. Hard enough to make him bleed.
His hand swung, colliding with my cheekbone, as he roared with laughter.
I tasted blood, from the bite, from the strike of his fist. Instead of swallowing it, I worked it around with my saliva and spat the whole mouthful at his face.
It landed on the corner of his lips, clinging to the wiry hairs of his red beard. A depraved smile contorted his expression, and his tongue snaked out, licking the blood-tinged spittle.
Then he returned to my bone-dry flesh and the finger that he was jamming harder and faster inside me.
I fought tears and gulped down the impulse to scream. For every sob that burned through my nose, I swallowed three more. I would not cry.
He kicked my legs apart.
There were no atheists in the hangman’s noose. As I faced the first of forty men to take a turn with my body, I found I wasn’t godless, either.
Lips clamped, eyes closed, I prayed to whatever divine being that listened. I didn’t make excuses for my life. Didn’t beg forgiveness for the unchristian things I’d done. Didn’t make solemn promises to be a chaste, obedient woman.
I just asked for strength. Courage. And breath. I needed to keep breathing, no matter how badly it hurt. If I held still and endured, I would get through it. I had to.
Keeping my eyes squeezed shut, I focused on praying and tuned out the vulgar shouting around me. I couldn’t turn off the physical agony, but I didn’t need to watch it or hear it.
Lost in my head, I let my body sag against the grips of brutal men as Madwulf jabbed his erection, searching for my opening. Tears gathered behind my closed eyes, silent and trapped.
Don’t cry. Keep breathing.
Everything inside me wanted to die.
“Open your eyes.” Madwulf grabbed my throat. “Or I’ll peel them—”
A deafening explosion rang through the cage. Dust fell from the rafters. Pirates collapsed to their knees, and a pained scream erupted beside me, bringing my gaze to the man now writhing at my feet.
Blood bloomed from a hole in his thigh and spread a red puddle beneath him.
A gunshot.
Who the devil sneaked a pistol in here?
Madwulf released me, staggering backward. But he didn’t go far. A large blade appeared beneath his chin. Another caught him under the withering sag of flesh between his legs.
Lord Cutler stood behind him, holding both daggers. His eyes, like twin flames of violent blue, roared at me over Madwulf’s shoulder, seizing my breath.
“Which one do you want to keep?” He put those shapely pink lips at Madwulf’s ear. “The beard? Or the beard-splitter?”
“The beard-splitter!” Madwulf strained his eyes downward, trying to see the lethal blade against his penis. “You hear me? Keep my cock!”
“Wasn’t asking you.” Lord Cutler regarded me, his gaze enigmatic. He wanted me to choose?
His lieutenants flanked him, aiming dragoon pistols. Not one pirate attempted to touch the commodore. They were too frozen in fear.
The starch hadn’t left his expression. But something new flashed across his flawless features, an unnamed emotion, for it was there and gone before I could identify it.
As the wounded man bled out on the deck, his mates continued to restrain me against the wall. No one moved. No one spoke as they stared at the blades that held their captain hostage, waiting for my answer.
Which one did I want Madwulf to keep?
I should choose the beard and let Lord Cutler sever the scoundrel’s manhood, so it could never threaten me again. But when the time came for
Priest and me to take command of this ship, we would need a pirate crew to overrun the soldiers and keep them in line.
As much as I hated it, I couldn’t afford to make enemies with these ruffians.
I met Lord Cutler’s incisive eyes and shrugged. “He can keep the pisser.”
With a flick of his wrist, he sliced through the hair at Madwulf’s chin and caught the wiry red nest before it fell.
Then he sheathed his blades. No expression. No fear.
Madwulf growled like an animal and swung away, straightening his trousers. When he turned back, he glowered at me as if this were my fault.
“Honest to God, Madwulf, you look better beardless. Really brings out your long dainty neck. I daresay castration wouldn’t have had the same effect.” I yanked against the hands that held me and hardened my voice. “Now call off your men.”
A muscle flexed in his jaw.
“I want her alive when I deliver her to the gallows.” Lord Cutler clasped his hands behind his back. “But the rest of you? I really don’t give a damn. Release her or…” He glanced at his armed lieutenants. “Don’t.”
The prisoners tensed, looking to Madwulf. He ground his teeth, and a moment later, gave them a nod.
One by one, sweaty fingers sprang open and slipped off my body, leaving me to stand on my own, unfettered, and mostly covered by Priest’s shirt.
“You.” Lord Cutler slapped the severed beard into my hand. “Come with me.”
He pivoted on his gold-buckled shoes and strode out, expecting me to obey.
For better or for worse, I tossed the beard to Madwulf and followed.
