The Captain's Rebel (Irish Heroines) Read online

  Jacob shrugged. “Johnny always did have a big mouth. Can’t keep a secret for nothing. He was a fool to trust one of us. He told Brian all about you.” He brushed his lips against my ear. “Told him all about how wet ye get, how you moan when ye come.”

  I shoved him away. “Shut up! You’re bloody disgusting.”

  Jacob shrugged. “Johnny told Brian where he hid the papers. Ye know, in case something happened to him.”

  My hands trembled, and I clenched them tight in my skirts. “Get to the point.”

  He stood up and folded his arms across his chest. “I took those papers.”

  All the air escaped from my lungs, my throat tightening. “You bastard!”

  He smiled. “Figured they might come in handy at some point.”

  I slinked away, my chest tightening. “What do you want, Jacob?”

  He snatched my hand, pulling me to standing before I could protest. I swallowed a lump of bile in my throat at the stench of manure on his shirtsleeves and stale beer on his breath.

  “I think ye know what I want, Mary.”

  “And if I give it to you, will you tell me where you hid the papers?” I forced my eyes to stay upright, but I had noted Jacob’s knife strapped to the side of his waist.

  His mouth widened in a sickening grimace.

  Swallowing my pride, I took hold of Jacob’s shirt. “I’ll do what you want. Just tell me where the papers are.”

  “Oh, I’ll tell ye, Mary. But ye’ll need to please me first. Please me like ye did yer little lordling.”

  My teeth ground in my skull, but I took a deep breath, trying to maintain my focus. My hands itched for his knife, but I had to wait for the right moment.

  “What do you want?” I said in a low voice, my hand relaxing in his.

  “Ye show me, Mary. Show me what ye did with Johnny.”

  I crushed my lips against his, smothering the revulsion bubbling up in my throat. Kissing Jacob was like kissing a swine, the bristle on his chin scratching my face. My heart raced, blood thundering in my ears as I slipped his knife from his holster. Like candy from an overgrown baby.

  I broke off the kiss. “Take off your trousers, Jacob,” I said in a husky voice, my hand tightening around the knife.

  “Mmmm…are you ready for me, Mary?”

  “Yes,” I whispered, slipping the knife up close to his shoulder.

  Jacob made a low grunting sound, and his fat fingers scrambled to undo the buttons on his trousers before they pooled to the floor. He glanced down to kick them away.

  With a raging scream, I slammed the knife hard into his shoulder. Once. Twice.

  “Ahhhhh!” He let out a high-pitched squeal.

  “Shut up!” Hot blood spurted across my hands, and with a sharp movement, I kicked him in the balls. He staggered to the floor, wheezing and grabbing at his crotch. Jacob fell to his knees with a shuddering groan, his face turning white, his hand trying to hold back the gushing wound. I raked my fingers through his hair and brought the knife sharp against his neck.

  “Tell me where the papers are!”

  “I don’t have them!” he cried.

  I pressed the knife in deeper, the metal stabbing into his flesh with a satisfying sensation that sent bolts of lightning up my arm.

  “Don’t lie to me.”

  “I burned them!”

  With a savage shove, I threw Jacob to the floor. Blood thundered in my ears, the walls of the root cellar caving in on me. All the proof of Johnny’s betrothal lost because of this boorish, jealous oaf. I thrust forward, the knife cool in my hand, ready to strike.

  Jacob cowered in the corner, his hand raised. “No, Mary! Mary, don’t kill me!”

  At the last moment, I grasped onto a shelf filled with ancient jars and pulled it on top of him. They shattered over his head, and he screamed, the glass cutting into his flesh as he writhed beneath the heavy shelf. Better than what he deserved. With one flying leap over his moaning body, I jumped over him and raced out the door, the cool night air hitting my hot cheeks like a flood of ice water.

  I stole for the stables, and the horses nickered and whinnied as I passed through the barn and grabbed reins and a bridle from the tack room. The smell of hay made me cough, and I squinted in the darkness in search of Johnny’s horse, Firebrand. The white diamond on the beast’s forehead was like a beacon in the night, and I made low shushing sounds as he bucked and grunted in its stall. He smelled Jacob’s blood on my hands, and the beast rolled his eyes, refusing to budge as I tried to bridle him. But with one firm cluck of my tongue, he settled, nostrils flaring and shaking his mane to the side before lowering his head. Clutching his reins with my slippery palms, I led him out of the stable before mounting him, squeezing my thighs tight around his glistening torso.

  “Go, Firebrand!” I cried out, leaning forward.

  Shouts rang out from the castle, but Firebrand was well-trained and longing for a good jaunt since Johnny had left. The wind whipped through my hair, and lightning flashed on the horizon, slick rain pelting sharp against my face. I glanced back only once, the lights of Dunraven growing smaller until they disappeared into darkness.

  Chapter Five

  Weeks later, I stood in the middle of a courtyard, my eyes squinting against the dazzling sunlight shimmering off the rooftop of the garrison in Gibraltar. Commanders shouted out orders, sailors scrambled across the dusty stones, and all along the docks, strongmen hoisted crates up into the holds while others rolled cannon after cannon up the planks.

  I had sold Johnny’s horse in exchange for a miserable passage on a merchant ship, living off salt pork and moldy biscuits for the past week. My feet ached on the burning cobblestones, and my stomach rumbled, my throat dry as sand. I stood alone, sweaty and dusty in nothing but the dress I wore when I fled Dunraven, my purse almost empty.

  Wanted for theft and murder, I had no choice but to follow Johnny to this ramshackle place on the edge of the continent. But now, with a sea of strange faces swirling around me, a sinking weight filled my chest. If I didn’t find him, I had no way home, no way to even buy my next meal. He had to be here. There was nothing else to do for it.

  A hard shoulder dug into my back, and I stumbled forward.

  “Excuse me, Miss.” Hands gripped my elbow, straightening me.

  I whirled to face a tall man with sandy-blond hair framing his narrow face.

  “’Tis quite all right,” I said beneath my breath. I bowed and made to move on, in search of Johnny, but the stranger’s hand lingered on my elbow.

  He smiled down at me, his teeth too small for his wide mouth. “Please, Miss. The garrison is no place for a lady. Is there something I could assist you with? Are you lost?”

  I swallowed hard, a blush creeping up my neck as sailors paused to stare at us, jeering to each other as they walked past. Shaking off their ogling glances, I straightened my shoulders and raised them higher. “I am not lost, sir. I am looking for”—I hesitated over the word for a moment—“my fiancé. Lieutenant Brighton. The regiment in Belfast said he would be here. Would you know where I could find him?”

  The man smiled wider and nodded. “As a matter of fact, I do know where you could find Lieutenant Brighton. Would you follow me?” He extended his arm, and I locked my hand over his. A wave of relief passed through me, and I grinned back at him.

  “Is this your first time in Gibraltar?” he asked.

  I nodded. “There has been some trouble at home, and I had to come to him immediately. Do you know Lord Brighton very well?”

  “Of course I know Johnny.” His eyes glittered, and I shrank away at the dark shadow passing over his face. He chuckled beneath his breath, and it sent a shiver of caution up my spine. He must have noticed, because his hand brushed against my arm, and he flashed me a wide, reassuring smile.

  “We served together on the Artemis.” He clutched at his heart. “He is a dear friend of mine.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” I gave him a thin smile, but my stomach churned
, warning bells sounding in my head. I pushed them down, my desire to see Johnny giving over to everything else.

  “He should be right through here.” The man gestured to a side door, and he held it open, its hinges creaking. “Please. Ladies first.”

  Darkness lay on the other side of the door, and I peered inside. “Johnny is in there?”

  The man nodded, his eyes narrowing. “That is what I said.”

  I cleared my throat. “Perhaps you could ask him to come out here to speak to me.”

  Something felt very wrong about this lanky man in his ill-fitting officer coat, and my skin prickled as he took hold of my hand with a firm grip. I pulled away, taking a step back, but he grasped me tighter.

  “I am afraid that is not possible, Miss,” he replied. “You must come with me now.”

  I wrenched my hand away. “No, thank you. Please go in and ask for his presence. I shall wait for him.”

  The man’s gaze swept behind me. “It is not proper for you to remain unattended out here.”

  “Nor do I believe ’tis proper for me to walk into a pitch-black room with a man I don’t know,” I replied, retreating back a step. “Go see to Lieutenant Brighton. Now.”

  The man raised his eyebrows, and with one quick movement, he snatched hold of my elbow. “Now, you see here—”

  “Let me go,” I argued, twisting away.

  “What is the meaning of this, Lieutenant Andrews?” A voice thundered behind me.

  My attacker, presumably Lieutenant Andrews, dropped my elbow like a hot frying pan. A wave of recognition passed through me, and I stared up at him. Andrews. Of course. That rake who convinced Johnny to go off to war with him. Rage boiled up in my belly, and I clenched my fists, my only desire to see him swinging from the gallows, ravens poking at his empty eye sockets.

  “Captain Grant!” Andrews squeaked as he straightened his pose and saluted.

  I turned and squinted in the sun. The Captain’s features were cloaked in darkness, his broad shoulders and towering figure casting a shadow over me.

  “This man accosted me.” I darted away from Andrews, straightening my skirts.

  Andrews snorted, pointing his weasel finger at me. “This whore is claiming to be Lieutenant Brighton’s fiancée.”

  “I am his fiancée!” I spat.

  “I don’t care who she is,” Captain Grant roared. “The midshipman has been looking for you for half an hour. Get yourself to the Elizabeth immediately.”

  Lieutenant Andrews bowed and scrambled away, and the Captain disappeared back into the throng of sailors.

  “Captain Grant!” I dogged his heels, pushing sweaty strands of hair back from my face. “That Lieutenant attacked me. Aren’t you going to do something about it?”

  The Captain continued through the chaos of the docks, and I weaved in and out of the mob of sailors and their leering stares in pursuit of him.

  “Captain Grant!” Panting and sweating from the midday sun, I slid in behind him, calling over his shoulder while he conversed with a rough-looking man holding a thick ledger. “I said that Lieutenant attacked me!”

  I might as well have been a mosquito buzzing in his ear with all the attention he paid me. My breath hitched in my throat, tears threatening to press against my eyelids.

  “I’m looking for Lieutenant Brighton.” I dug my fingers into his arm and whirled him around to face me. “My fiancé. Please!”

  He turned, and a pair of sapphire eyes burned through heavy eyelashes, a deep frown line cutting across his brow. I swallowed the last of my speech, my eyes widening, my body shrinking beneath his towering frame. For a brief moment I forgot everything about Johnny Brighton and Dunraven. I think I forgot my own bloody name. An enraged stare twisted his handsome features, snatching all the air from my lungs. In that moment all I wanted to do was run as far as I could from the immense power in the man’s shoulders, his thick arms bulging beneath his coat.

  “I…” My lip trembled, and I dislodged my hand, hiding my shaking fingers in my skirts.

  His face softened, and he dismissed the sailor beside him.

  “I apologize,” he said in a clipped English accent. “Your fiancé is not here. Lieutenant Brighton’s ship was intercepted by Willaumez.”

  My knees buckled, my chest tightening. “Intercepted? What—what does that mean?”

  “He could be held captive. He could be dead.” The Captain turned and barked an order to a sailor carrying an inconceivable amount of rope on his shoulders. “McKellen! Have you seen Billy?”

  McKellen turned, nearly knocking down a line of sailors racing past him.

  “The cabin boy, sir?” he drawled. “Keating said he done jumped aboard the Grey Lady this morning. Bound for Shanghai, he is.”

  The Captain bit back a curse and shook his head. He looked back at me, and a storm cloud of anger swarmed in his eyes. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, my lady, but you must excuse me. We are leaving tonight for the West Indies in pursuit.” He glanced at his ship and back at me again. “If your fiancé lives, we are his only chance.” With a tight bow, he turned and darted after the sailor with the rope.

  In spite of the heat, a cold chill ran down my spine, the shouting din of sailors invading my ears and crowding out my scattered thoughts. I gazed at Captain Grant’s broad back as he tore through the throng of sailors, breaking apart like the Red Sea as he approached.

  We are his only chance.

  The bright sun lingered high in the sky, glinting off the pale ocean. My hands clenched at my sides, and I bit down on my lip, swallowing the scream rising in my throat. Turning back now was not an option. No matter where he was, no matter who had taken him captive, I would fight through a thousand French squadrons to find him, to ensure Dunraven would indeed be mine.

  My thoughts turned to the wayward Billy, the cabin boy bound for Shanghai. The handsome Captain would be desperate for an extra pair of hands to serve him, and with only hours before setting sail, beggars wouldn’t be choosers. I closed my eyes, a warm ocean wind brushing my sweaty hair away from my face. My thoughts returned to Ireland, thousands of miles away, and I recalled the starving cottagers huddled together on their dirt floor, grateful for a crust of bread and a few moldy potatoes. I tasted the salt air, and a memory of my mother swept over me.

  “Do you see that castle, Mary?”

  Her green eyes had flashed as she pointed to Dunraven rising dark and foreboding from the craggy hills covered in mist.

  “That castle belongs to the O’Malleys. To our ancestors. And one day it will be yours.”

  She had pressed her cool hand over the crown of my head, her fingers winding through my hair as I rested against her thigh. I had no idea then the price she would pay in her attempt to take back Dunraven from the Brightons, but somehow I knew if I found Johnny, forced him to marry me and make me the lady of that rundown old castle, somehow it would have made her sacrifice worth it. Her death would mean something.

  Gripping my near empty purse, I took off out of the garrison and raced back to town to find a new set of clothes—and a haircut.

  Chapter Six

  I stood on deck, praying no one could see my quivering knees beneath the legs of my trousers. The coarse material felt foreign between my legs, and my lungs contracted with each breath beneath the tight strip of linen binding my breasts. The salty air stung the back of my neck, and I resisted the urge to run my hands through my close-cropped hair. I cried when I took the scissors to it, long black ropes falling into my lap. Even now, standing on the rolling deck of the Elizabeth, I blinked back tears. But it didn’t matter. Hair would grow back. Johnny was out there somewhere, and I had to find him, force him to marry me so he could clear my name and ensure my title as mistress of Dunraven. Nothing else mattered beyond this.

  “Name.” The quartermaster, McKellen, eyed me up and down with beady black eyes. For a moment, I knew I’d been had, but he only repeated himself.

  “Name!”

  “Michael O’Brie
n, sir,” I lied, dropping my voice in the lowest register possible.

  The quartermaster shook his head. “Irish, eh?” He sneered. “You ever been on a ship before?”

  “No, sir.”

  He reeled on the young man standing beside me. “Where did you drag up this skinny little shite, Keating?”

  “Slim pickings, sir.” Keating, a young man about sixteen or so, shrugged his wiry shoulders. “He volunteered.”

  The quartermaster shifted his gaze back to me. “You’ll be serving all the officers tonight in the Captain’s cabin. Report to the cook and be quick about it.”

  I stood there, my eyes shifting across the deck of the ship.

  McKellen grabbed my collar and shoved me against the rail, pushing my chest back until I half dangled over the roaring waves. “When I give an order, you hop to.” He shook me hard. “You understand that, you puss-filled milk sot? The next time you hesitate, I’ll throw you overboard and let the sharks sort you out.”

  I nodded, staring in panic into the boatswain’s hollow black eyes.

  He threw me back onto the deck, and I took off at a mad dash, the rest of the sailors snickering behind me. Down below, I asked another sailor for the direction of the kitchen, and after winding through the narrow, rocking corridors of the ship, I found myself in the stifling heat near the ovens. A barrel-chested man stood over a cutting board, slicing carrots so fast, his knife moved in one big blur. He swiped them into a giant pot, slamming it on the stove with a clatter.

  “You here for the Captain’s supper?”

  “Aye, sir.”

  He pointed to a wide tray filled with plates of food. I had to kneel to place it on my shoulders, wincing beneath the weight.

  “Make sure not to drop it, or you’ll be sorry,” the cook barked.

  I set out to the Captain’s quarters, which I already recognized from the opulent door on deck. Keating, the wiry sailor who had recruited me back in Gibraltar, sidled up to me and opened the door.

  “I’ll get that for ye, mate,” he said with a wide, freckly grin.

  The tray knocked into the door jamb and wobbled dangerously. Keating straightened it, his eyes wide.