Page 8 of A Captain For Clarissa
“Oh… Athens.” She struggled to piece together the ordeal she’d been through. “Four—five days ago? I don’t know. It was dark all the time in the cabin. He opened the door and gave me food, I think, twice a day.” Every time she had cowered back against the wall, terrified of what he might try to do to her. The food had been meagre—stale bread, and a bottle of foul-tasting wine—but she had forced it down, determined to try and keep up her strength for the fight to come.
“I understand.” Rafael nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. “Can you tell me your name?” he asked.
“Clarissa Creighton,” she said. “You needn’t speak to me as though I’m a simpleton. I’ve had a nasty shock but I’m going to be fine.”
A grin bloomed on his hawkish face, making him suddenly a great deal more handsome, and she returned the smile.
“I am glad to see you have your spirit still, at least. Well.” He gestured about him. “We must remain aboard this nasty little vessel until we dock in Valleta in the morning. May I attempt to find you something to cover you better, and perhaps something to eat?”
“Yes,” Clarissa said, realising that she was starving hungry. “Please.” She pushed herself to sit up, clumsily grabbing at the blanket as it fell away.
Rafael kept his eyes averted, Clarissa noted, and despite her lingering confusion and disorientation, she sensed that she could trust this Portuguese captain with the striking sea-green eyes. For now, at least, she would place her faith in him and hope that, together, they could navigate the uncertain waters that lay ahead.
He allowed no one else to enter the cabin, stopping a man at the door and then bringing her a simple meal of bread, cheese, and a wine far better than any she’d tasted in recent days. He remained, standing at the door, until she had finished eating, and then said;
“I will stand guard outside your door until the morning. You need not fear your sleep will be troubled, and tomorrow, we will determine our course.”
They entered the harbour at Valletta in the early hours of the morning, met by the authorities who were happy to take custody of the corsairs and undertake to return the Greek captives to Athens.
Rafael had left Clarissa alone to rest, secure in the captain’s cabin with two of his most trusted men at the door to keep watch, but returned to ask her what she wanted to do.
“There are English families on Malta who would be glad to take you in,” he began.
She immediately shook her head. “I need to get to Florence. Lady Glenkellie and Lady Ginori will have sent word there of my disappearance and my aunt will be beside herself.”
Rafael nodded thoughtfully. “It might take some time to find a ship bound for Italy. I will take you myself.”
“Oh... but aren’t you bound elsewhere?” Clarissa hesitated to ask any more of him. She already owed him her life.
“I am master of my own destiny,” he said, somewhat arrogantly. “I determine the disposition of my ship, and where she will go. I shall take you to Livorno, and thence to Florence.”
“Well... thank you,” she said finally.
Rafael inclined his head. “I will see if some more suitable clothing can be obtained for you before we depart Valletta,” he said rather abruptly, before leaving her alone again.
Later that day, a young woman scratched at the door. “I am Ana,” she said in accented English, with a smile and a little curtsy. “Captain de Silva, he hire me to be your maid. We go to Florence, yes?”
“Yes,” Clarissa said with relief.
“I have dress here for you. More, on other ship. You change, and we go?”
Of course, they would be leaving the corsair ship here, Clarissa realised, and Rafael had sent Ana and the clothes so that Clarissacould look respectable while transferring to the other ship. She had realised, sometime during the dark hours of the night, that she was utterly ruined, despite having been rescued before the worst could befall her.
Her disappearance from Athens could not be explained. Lady Glenkellie and Lady Ginori would have raised a hue and cry, for which she would not fault them; they would have been in a panic at her disappearance. Reappearing again in Italy more than a week later, on a Portuguese ship, with no explanation for what had happened to her... Well, it would be a scandal of the highest order.
But for now, she pushed those thoughts aside and changed into the dress that Ana had brought her. It was a simple, modest gown of pale blue, with a high neckline and long sleeves. Clarissa pulled it on gratefully, relieved to be out of the filthy, torn nightgown she had been wearing for days.
As she emerged from the cabin, Rafael was waiting for her on the deck. He had changed into a fresh uniform, and looked every inch the dashing naval captain.
“Are you ready, my lady?” he asked, offering her his arm.
She took it, feeling a strange fluttering in her stomach. “Yes, Captain,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.
They disembarked from the corsair ship and made their way to the other ship, a sleek, modern vessel flying the Portuguese flag. The crew bustled about, preparing for departure, and Rafael only nodded to them, gesturing them to go below.
Ana confidently led the way to a large, airy cabin at the stern of the ship. “The captain’s cabin, miss,” she said with a nod. “He say, you safe here. Lock on door, see?” She held up a key. “We lock door and be safe.”
Clarissa nodded, feeling a sense of relief wash over her. She was safe, and she was with a man she could trust. Rafael had been kind to her from the moment he had found her on the corsair ship, and she felt a sense of gratitude towards him that she could not quite put into words.
