Page 28 of The Black Lion
Clearing her throat, Arabella tore her gaze from his and attempted to engage their dinner guests. If they kept making eyes at one another, she wasn’t certain Drew would be able to keep from casting his men out and dragging her to the bed.
“How did you all come to be aboardThe Sea Lion?”
Rory, who was seated at Drew’s right, set his fork beside his plate and grinned. “As ye may know by now, I was a Royal Navy man like the cap’n.”
She nodded between bites of a delicious roast pork—which she’d been surprised to learn had come from a pig slaughtered just this morning. Apparently, the cargo hold of the ship also included cattle and chickens for the production of fresh eggs and meat. Drew had warned her that the meals would become less grand as they got closer to home and their supplies ran low, so she was determined to enjoy the fare while she could.
“Yes, he told me about theHannibalmutiny. Were the rest of you there as well?”
“Only I,” said a blond man seated near the middle of the table, half his face marred by scars left over from a nasty burn. His accent was that of England. “Half the crew were, too.”
“And you?” she prompted, glancing at Big Jack, who sat at her left side.
The bosun had a fearsome aspect, but had proven to be kinder and gentler than she’d have thought a pirate could be. Big Jack had spoken of his son over dinner with pride and fondness in his voice, and was clearly a devoted papa.
“The cap’n rescued me, my wife, and my boy fromThe Enterprise… how long has it been now, Cap’n?”
“Three years now, Jack,” Drew supplied.
Jack nodded and smiled, turning back to Arabella. “The Enterprisewas a slave ship. Your man overtook her after a fierce battle, findin’ her holds crammed to the brim with starvin’, sick, and miserable slaves on their way to Barbados.”
Arabella’s appetite suddenly fled, recollections of what she’d read about the conditions aboard slavers coming to mind. Many of her father’s slaves had come to Greenhill malnourished and barely recovered from their arduous journeys. She’d heard rumors of such ships losing half their human cargo due to harsh conditions and disease, and other tales of people being thrown overboard to ward off the depletion of food and fresh water.
“My God,” she whispered. “How horrible that must have been for you.”
Big Jack nodded, his expression grim. “When the Cap’n found us, he put the officers to death and took the ship for himself. Most were already dyin’ from typhus or wasting disease—including my wife. But those what could be saved were nursed back to healthy, and the Cap’n gave us all a choice—be taken toÎle Saint Mariewhere we could live free, or join the crew of his ships and make our fortune as pirates. With my boy to think of, there was only one choice for me.”
Arabella leaned toward him, brow furrowed as she reached out to place a hand atop his. “And your wife?”
His dark eyes grew mournful as he shook his head. “Dead, ma’am. She never recovered from wasting disease.”
Her heart ached for the man, her fingers tightening around his. “I am so very sorry.”
Jack nodded in acceptance of her condolences, but then smiled. “The Cap’n gave us our freedom, so we gave him our loyalty.”
She turned her gaze to Drew, who merely sat in silence and observed the exchange. He seemed to conceal whatever he felt at being the object of such praise, merely bowing his head at the bosun.
“I didn’t give you freedom, as being free was your right at birth. I merely offered you a chance to expand your horizons. Any slaver who crosses my path will go to a watery grave.”
“And I’m grateful, Cap’n.”
“To the Cap’n!” Rory said, raising his goblet, his eyes now heavy-lidded from drink. “Down with the slavers!”
Cups were raised and shouts of ‘to the Cap’n!’ and ‘to hell with the slavers!’ rang out amongst them.
Dinner resumed, and Arabella learned the stories of the rest of the officers—all of whom had been liberated from terrible situations by Drew. Freed slaves and indentured servants, abused seamen, poor beggars, and even a disgraced priest. They would hardly seem to belong together in the eyes of those who didn’t know them, but being in their midst Arabella experienced the tight bonds of their brotherhood. The world would call them criminals, but they only took from those who stole from others—those who traded in human cargo or exploited slave labor for riches. That they’d all become wealthy as a result, with Drew living in the manner of a grand lord on his private patch of the island, seemed just after all they’d endured.
Several toasts were made throughout the course of the meal—to Drew, to her, to the success of their mission in Falmouth and their impending return home. By the time the men excused themselves, Arabella was languid with contentment. Her belly was full, her mind and heart were at peace, and her head swam from the effects of drink. The Madeira and sherry flowed like water, and she allowed herself the indulgence of several goblets with no one here to remind her that good young ladies did not over-imbibe.
The priest was the last to depart, a man Arabella knew only as ‘Padre’—as the rest of the crew was fond of calling him. He paused in the doorway, giving them a meaningful look as Drew rounded the table to take Arabella into his arms. Her pirate captain seemed oblivious to the company of another as he lowered his head to kiss her, but was brought up short by the other man loudly clearing his throat.
Drew paused, lips hovering an inch from hers, his eyes darting toward the man lingering on the threshold. “Padre?”
The priest grinned at the impatience threaded through Drew’s voice, but seemed in no hurry to depart. “Well, I was only thinking, Captain … once our prisoners are disposed of, a wedding might be in order. We’ve never had one aboardThe Sea Lion,so I think it’s high time.”
Drew raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?”
“Quite so.”
