Page 70 of Captive of the Pirate King
“I like your spots,” says a tiny girl shyly, touching the freckles clustering thickly over my arm.
“Thank you. I like your hair.” Lightly I stroke the feathery blonde wisps that halo her small face.
The pirates from the skiff pass me, carrying barrels and crates, so with a nod to the children I follow them. They enter a big building that must once have been very fine. Its inner walls appear to have been paneled once, perhaps with gildwood—but all the planks have been ripped away and replaced with ill-fitting strips of driftwood.
In a large room outfitted with a massive table and rickety chairs, Locke and Neelan stand amid a knot of islanders. Locke is wearing his black crown today, and a long black coat, but there’s no shirt beneath it, so he looks impossibly sexy.
“Ah, here is the next installment,” he says, spreading a hand toward the supplies his men are carrying in. Then his gaze latches onto me, in my ruined skirt with my barely-there corset. Several of the children have followed me inside, and they cluster around me, examining the jewels I gave them, clutching my skirts, inspecting the freckles on my arms and fingers. I smile helplessly at Locke, and he gives me a sudden, magnificent grin that turns my heart inside-out.
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For another hour Locke speaks with the island leader, a gaunt, earnest woman with graying hair. Meanwhile the pirates bring in more gifts and supplies—more, I suspect, than the share Locke originally intended to provide. For a pirate, he’s shockingly generous, and the realization warms me all over.
While I chat with the children, I’m half-listening to Locke’s conversation with the island leader, hearing his insistence that the bounty be shared with the settlements on the other islands in the archipelago. The woman readily agrees, and offers their meager hospitality for the night.
“We’ve not much to offer the Pirate King,” she says. “But what we have is yours, with our deepest thanks. And if you are ever in need of a place to lie quiet while a storm passes by, we can provide that haven.”
“I thank you,” he says. “My people will dine and sleep aboard ship tonight, but perhaps my woman and I and my first officers could stay here?”
“I’ll have rooms prepared,” says the woman eagerly.
Again I admire Locke’s handling of the situation. To impose the entire crew on these people would be a hardship, but to refuse their hospitality outright would hurt their pride. He has skillfully arranged a compromise between the two. And he’s keeping Neelan on land with us, so there’s no chance for him to attempt a midnight mutiny.
Also I get to sleep in a bed that’s not on a ship.
The other pirates return to theArdent, while Neelan, Dolomon, Shem, and Hanschel remain on the island with Locke and me. We arrived late in the afternoon, and veils of purple darkness are already falling across the island, softening the harshness of its edges. But the sourness in the air remains, saturating my clothing and my very pores, it seems. I struggle to eat a respectable amount of the fish stew and brittle bread we’re served—but Locke consumes it all with enough gusto for both of us, and he polishes off my portion as well.
Afterward we move out of the big building into the street, where a bonfire has been lit. The children I met earlier seem fascinated with the size of the fire. Perhaps the villagers don’t indulge in a bonfire often, since their island has scarcely any trees. The gildwood trees must have been the primary species, or perhaps their existence was entwined with that of the other trees on the island, because I’ve seen nothing taller than a scrubby prickle-bush about my height.
At Locke’s urging, Neelan agrees to join him in a song. Despite his significant failings, the former captain has a stunning tenor voice. Blended with Locke’s satiny baritone and Hanschel’s gravelly bass, the effect is no less than brilliant. The islanders listen enraptured, and I’m just as entranced, sitting amid the swarm of children who seem to consider me their dearest friend.
At last, when the darkness has thickened, Locke rises and bids everyone good night. He jerks his head to me, a brusque summons that he might give to any woman who is paid to share his bed. Sighing, I disentangle myself from the children and follow him.
The room we’ve been given is on the first floor of the building, near the back. Like everything else on this island, it smells of fish and sour mold, but the islanders have filled a vase with strongly-scented herbs. I suppose they have few flowers here—I’ve seen none, though the weather is warm.
In a small adjoining room, there’s a beaten copper tub filled with lukewarm water. I let Locke use it first, so he won’t have to sit in blood-tinged water. When he’s done, I wash up quickly. I’ve never liked to bathe during my bleeding time, though I do prefer to stay as clean as possible.
When I return to the bedroom, Locke is sprawled face-down on the coarse sheets, entirely naked. His crown sits on a side table, and his clothes are puddled on the floor. I don’t blame him for luxuriating; the bed is twice as large as the bunk we’ve been sharing in Neelan’s cabin.
The sight of all Locke’s flesh at once triggers a vibrating heat in my throat and chest, spreading to lower parts of me. He has such a magnificent back, so beautifully tattooed with that crowned moth, and the spray of knives. And his ass is well-muscled but just soft enough—I desperately want to smooth both my palms over it, or maybe—maybe sink my teeth into that firm curve of man-flesh—
He turns his head to face me. I’m wearing a virginal-looking nightdress with buttons from the floor-length hem to the ruffled collar.
“You have too many clothes on,” Locke says disapprovingly. “No self-respecting whore would wear something like that.”
“It’s borrowed from one of the islanders,” I tell him.
“At least undo a few of the buttons.”
“I’m not sure you heard what you just said,” I retort. “ ‘Self-respecting whore?’ Is there such a creature?”
He props himself on his elbows. “I don’t think you realize that some people provide services for money because they enjoy sex, and they’re good at it. Like anyone else with a talent, they want to share it.”
“I’m good at it, but I don’t go around giving it to everyone—” But I stop myself, because I did give it to everyone, back home, when I was obsessed with defying my mother.
Locke lifts an eyebrow. “And there it is, love. You gave it away, and you didn’t even get paid for it. Nor did you get a husband out of the deal, or any lasting affection from a devoted partner. I only hope you got some pleasure.”
“Most of the time,” I say grudgingly. “Not always.”
