Page 77 of Captive of the Pirate King
“I’ll go along with whatever you need to do,” I tell him. “If it’s to keep us both safe.”
“You may have to—fondle me a bit. Moon over me, play with my hair, things like that.”
“If I must.”
He lifts his eyes from my cleavage to my face, and I smirk at him. Desire flares in his gaze, and something else, too—longing, maybe. Or perhaps that’s my own vanity, casting the hue I want to see over his expression.
“What you did that night in the Scarab Archipelago—was it only for payment?” he whispers. “It did seem as though you enjoyed it, just a little.”
I pucker my lips and release them again, and his eyes follow the movement. Slowly I drift nearer to him. “Are you asking if I enjoyed sucking you?” I murmur. “If I liked the taste of you in my mouth?”
He inhales raggedly. “I never know what to expect from you. The cautious runaway, the bitter girl with blood magic, the sly temptress, the moral judge.”
“And I never know what to expect from you,” I retort. “The kind sailor Locke, the brutal Pirate King, the drunken captain who gropes me in front of his crew, or the gentle man who took care of me when I was in pain. Which is your truest form? Or maybe none of them are.”
Locke reaches out, cupping the side of my neck with one warm hand. His thumb brushes my collarbone, stroking lightly. “Perhaps our real faces will appear in Ravensbeck, love. Until then, you are the beauty I claimed because I needed someone to service my untameable lust.”
“Agreed.”
He kisses my mouth softly, much too briefly, and then he’s gone, off to his captainly duties.
I clutch the railing tighter and stare, awestruck, as the coastline of Ravensbeck fills my sight.
59
Ravensbeck is no ramshackle village. It’s a bustling town, with a sprawl of sturdy docks cluttered with casks, trunks, and crates. Besides theArdent, three other ships are in port. A small, light vessel, birdlike and quick, floats near a heavy galleon. The third vessel looks like a merchant ship, commandeered by pirates and refitted to suit its new buccaneer captain.
Thanks to the depth of the bay, theArdentis able to move right up to one of the docks—a high platform with a mechanical contraption for lowering the gangplank. The presence of Captain Neelan’s head on the prow has already drawn some interest, and the minute the gathering crowd catches sight of Locke in all his glory, they begin to shout and cheer. More people come at a run—buxom women in loose ruffled blouses, swarthy men in leather vests or open shirts, and a few children. Everyone looks healthy—nothing like the gaunt starved folk of the Scarab Archipelago. Gold hoops and jewels glitter at throats and along ears, and the clothing of the townspeople is well-made, if a little grubby.
As the gangplank is latched into place, Locke’s fingers glide around my neck, and I feel cool metal brushing my skin. “Only for show,” he whispers, and then he moves forward. There’s a tug as he moves—he fastened a thin band around my throat, attached to a slim golden chain that he holds in his hand.
So I’m to be led into Ravensbeck like a possession. His pretty pet on a leash.
Gritting my teeth, I hold my head high and follow Locke across the plank to the dock. The few items I possess will be brought along later, to whatever palatial residence the Pirate King occupies. Firmly I hold the concept of a hot bath and a soft bed in my mind. Whatever indignities await me, I can suffer them all if I’m treated to abathat the end of the day. I crave hot water like I crave the broad-shouldered man who strides in front of me, clasping hands with people, clapping the shoulders of men, kissing the knuckles of women.
They’re all clearly shocked that he was aboard theArdent, but despite the blazing curiosity in their eyes, none of them question him openly. Locke makes some sweeping promise of a gala to be hosted tomorrow at his residence, where all questions will be answered. But I’ve no doubt the pirates of theArdentwill have passed the tale along by then. By nightfall the taverns and inns of Ravensbeck will be buzzing with the story of the Pirate King’s secret voyage and the execution of the rebellious Captain Neelan.
The other pirates remain behind to unload, and Locke gives a brief order for the former crew of theWending Willowto report to Riddle Street for their tattoo sessions later that evening.
Surrounded by the eager crowd, the Pirate King and I pass through the cluttered dock area and move toward the nearest street. Ravensbeck towers high above me—rows upon rows of tall buildings, each four or five stories high. Colored pennants flutter from lines stretched window to window, and wooden shop signs creak in the brisk salty wind—signs mostly advertising various types of ale, rum, and mead at bargain prices. There are cobblers, leather-workers, woodcarvers, and mapmakers—shops that sell sextants and star charts, signs advertising tarring and weather-proofing services for ships. One shop offers intricately designed lanterns and lamps of all sizes. I can’t see the wares as clearly as I’d like, because of the crowd and also because Locke keeps tugging lightly at my chain whenever I don’t hurry after him.
With a start I realize that there are guards flanking us now—six of them, three on each side. I have no idea where they came from. They’re all dressed differently, save for one common element of clothing—thick vests of black leather, imprinted with the Crowned Skull-and-Bones in gold across the back.
These are Pirate King’s men. They’re here to protect him with their lives. My stomach thrills at the realization of the power he wields, the authority he commands.
Ravensbeck isn’t nearly as dirty or wild as I expected, though judging by the number of taverns and brothels I’m seeing, it might become so at night. There’s a heavy odor of alcohol in the air, but it’s mingled with the scent of woodsmoke and the rich aroma of baked bread and fried seafood. From one open doorway floods a warm, sugary scent, while another shop issues an herbal smell, tangy and fresh, corroborating its window placard advertising soaps and tinctures.
The cobbles beneath my feet are neatly placed, if well-worn, and there are ditches and grates for the drainage of rainwater and offal. Merry shouts, beery voices, snatches of song, the clang of metal, and the rattle of wheels—all the sounds testify to a town that’s as healthy and thriving as its people. Vices they may have, and I’ve no doubt blood runs into the drains occasionally—but Ravensbeck has a hearty, irresistible energy that almost makes me forget I’m being led through its streets like a captive.
A captive I am, I suppose—though Locke rarely makes me feel like one. Especially when we’re alone, he treats me with a respect that’s unheard-of from a pirate—or from men in general.
So when he mounts the step into a waiting carriage and jerks on the chain to hurry me along, I don’t spring forward and smack him, even though I want to. I flounce into the carriage after him, languidly draping myself against his shoulder.
There are horses waiting for the Pirate King’s guards, and they mount quickly, flanking the carriage as we begin to move up the street. The carriage is an open affair, drawn by a pair of glossy black mares, so we’re on display to everyone we pass.
“Where did this carriage come from?” I mutter aside to Locke. “They didn’t know you were arriving on theArdent.”
“I’m the damn king, love,” he says, collecting my hand. “My people are devoted to me. When I need something, they make it happen—sometimes before I ask.”
