Page 5 of A Captain For Clarissa
She was in a tiny room, she discovered, with nothing in it except the narrow bunk attached to the wall, the same one she was sitting on.
“Who are you?” she demanded, fear and anger making her voice shake. “What do you want with me?”
One of the men who had snatched her from the house sneered at her, looking her up and down in a way which made her feel deeply uncomfortable, especially given that she was still dressed only in her nightgown. She snatched the thin blanket from the bed, wrapping it around herself.
A sharp voice barked an order in that foreign tongue, and the man’s eyes widened fearfully, nodding and backing out of the room.
No, thecabin, Clarissa realised, feeling stupid that she hadn’t recognised it at once. She must be aboard a ship.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked, her voice high-pitched with fear.
Another man stepped into the doorway, tall and burly, scars marring a face which might once have been handsome. He smirked at her and spoke in heavily accented English.
“Your father,” he said in a mocking tone, “will pay whatever I ask for your safe return, yes?”
Clarissa swallowed hard, forcing her voice to remain steady despite the terror coursing through her veins. “Yes,” she replied, her chin held high with defiance. “He is the Earl of Creighton, and will spare no expense to ensure my safety.”
The captain let out a guttural laugh, his eyes narrowing with amusement. “Do you think I would risk sailing anywhere the English Navy holds sway? Your father’s gold is of no use to me if I end up with a stretched neck.”
He leaned in closer, his breath hot and foul against her face. “No, my dear girl. It’s the slave markets of Algiers where you shall fetch a pretty price for me.”
Clarissa’s stomach churned at his words, bile rising in her throat. She fought to keep her composure, her thoughts racing as she considered her next move.
“Please,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I beg you to reconsider. There must be another way.”
The captain merely smirked at her plea, clearly enjoying her fear and desperation. “Keep your begging for the market, girl,” he sneered, before turning away and slamming the door in her face. A key turning in the lock cemented her new reality – a prisoner.
Don’t panic. Don’t panic, Clarissa tried to order herself. But as she looked around the dingy little cabin, desperate to find something useful which might aid her escape, the sound ofcreaking timbers and the slow sway told her that even if she could get out of the cabin, it was too late.
The ship had set sail.
Chapter Three
The sun was setting,casting a golden-orange glow across the Mediterranean sea as Captain Rafael de Silva stood on the deck of his ship, the wind blowing through his dark brown hair as he scanned the horizon for any sign of trouble. Born into a noble Portuguese family, he’d fallen on hard times when the Peninsular War had destroyed his ancestral home. Now his vessel was part of a squadron patrolling the seas in search of pirates and corsairs preying on innocent people.
Rafael leaned on the rail, watching a school of flying fish burst out of the water. A seabird swooped down to catch one of them, scattering the remainder in all directions.
“Captain!” One of his crewmen shouted up from the main deck, startling him out of his thoughts. “Sail sighted off the starboard bow!”
Rafael turned to look in the direction indicated, squinting into the distance.
“I know that ship,” he said after a moment, recognising the sail plan. “Ghazi Khadra, up to his old tricks.” The other vessel was close to the North African coast, probably hoping to avoid the patrols which operated further out to sea. He barked orders to his crew, turning his ship to intercept the corsair.
“Bring us alongside that ship,” he commanded. “And train your weapons on her.”
“Heave to!” his bosun bellowed, repeating the order in Portuguese, English and Berber when the men aboard the other ship pretended not to understand.
Rafael grinned as the corsairs looked at each other nervously. Flying the Algerian flag, they could hardly pretend not to understand their own language.
“Qewwed!“ one of them shouted back, with a rude gesture.
“Fire a shot across the bows,” Rafael ordered. His gun crews already had the cannon loaded, and there was barely a moment’s delay before the deck shook beneath his feet, the boom echoing across the water. The shot skipped across the waves, splashing down barely fifteen feet in front of the corsair’s bow.
“Do you think they will return fire, Captain?” his first mate asked.
“Ghazi Khadra isn’t stupid,” Rafael replied, still watching the other vessel. “He knows we outgun him. I imagine he’s below decks right now, hiding his ill-gotten gains and praying we don’t find his secret compartments.”
“Not throwing it overboard?” the first mate asked, looking at the water behind the corsair.
