Within A Captain's Hold. Lisa A. Olech

up her spine again. Wait. Her bag. The meager remnants of her life’s possessions were in that burlap sack.

      She pulled out of his grasp. “Did you find a small bundle? I left my…provisions in that awful hold.” Just the mention of food sent her stomach on another tumble. She clutched at his arm to steady herself and made the mistake of falling into the changing depths of his blue eyes. His dark brows knit into a scowl. A growth of beard shadowed his jaw and framed his grim mouth. Her traitorous leg failed her again.

      He caught her. “You’re still green around the gills. I doubt you’re thinking about food. You’d better lie back down and rest that leg.” Before she could respond, he scooped her up and laid her back in the softness of his bed.

      The intimate gesture startled her.

      “I’ll see your bag is found, and I give you my word you’ll get it back.” He pulled a thick blanket over her and paused to brush his fingertips across her cheek. “If you answer my questions.”

      CHAPTER 4

      Jaxon rubbed a weary hand over his forehead. The constant frown he was destined to wear around her tugged at his new stitches. He could not decide between strangling her or sweeping her into his arms again. Her body leaning against him as he carried her, with the thinnest of cloth between her and nakedness, played havoc with his mind. And his body. After laying her upon the bed, with her flaming hair fanning the pillow, a sudden, foolish urge to kiss her swept over him.

      “Let’s begin with your name.”

      She raised herself and sat, blinking at him with wide eyes. They were the most unusual color, like rich Spanish gold.

      “Your name?” he insisted.

      Giving a small, resigned sigh, she looked away before answering. “Anna…Annalise.”

      “What’s your surname?”

      She frowned and shook her head. “My name doesn’t matter.”

      He snapped. “Just answer the damn question.”

      She pulled the blanket up tight and shot golden sparks at him from her lovely eyes. Her mouth formed a stubborn, silent line.

      Jaxon planted his hands on his hips. This woman wore away his last hint of patience. Forget the bloody kiss. I’d rather toss her over my shoulder and dump her over the rail.

      “Must you curse at me?”

      “Yes, dammit,” he growled. “If I didn’t curse at you, I’d be wringing your damn neck.” Or tossing you onto your back.

      She tucked her chin and pressed those damnable lips of hers together.

      Jaxon snapped. “Answer me.”

      She jumped when he bellowed. “Gatherone. Annalise Gatherone.” Golden eyes sparked.

      “Mistress Gatherone.” He tipped his head. “How did you get information about the course of my ship?”

      “The information was obviously wrong.”

      He shot her a stare that would have most men dropping their weapons and tossing their hands high in surrender.

      “We listened to the lad in the Harbor Master’s employ. His name is Liam. He’s sweet on Gertrude, our scullery, and he told us the Scarlet Night was leaving that night and would be the only ship heading to Port St. Maria for weeks.”

      “Wait, did you say we? Are there more of you in my hold?”

      “No.” She paused and glanced away from him. “It’s just me.”

      “I can’t tell you how happy that makes me.” His head began to ache again. “Go on. What’s so urgent that you were fool enough to stow away aboard my ship?”

      “We needed to leave London, immediately. Separately. If we could both make it to St. Maria. Meet there. We’d be safe.”

      “Every answer you give me only stirs up more questions.” He went to his desk and pulled brandy from its drawer, poured two pulls into glasses, and brought her one. “Try not to spill this.” Retrieving the bottle, he sat on the low trunk again. “Why the rush to get out of London?” Jaxon tossed back his drink and poured himself another while Annalise sat staring into hers.

      “I was in danger.”

      He snorted. “Foolish girl, don’t you know you’re in danger now?”

      She met his gaze. “At least aboard your ship, I have a fighting chance.”

      Something in her reply or the look upon her face brought him up short. She held his stare. The golden sparks in her eyes gave way to a gilded determination. Who was this woman? And why did he feel the sudden need to protect her? The fierceness of that need surprised him. For a moment, it blotted out all the rest.

      His anger softened. “What about your family?”

      It took her a moment to answer. “I’m currently without.”

      Jaxon studied her closely, watching for any evidence of guile. No need to guess at her feelings. Her emotions were clear upon her face. Whatever happened had wounded her deeply and sent her racing into a desperate move.

      She lowered her gaze and stared back into her glass.

      “You keep saying ‘we.’ Clearly, there is someone missing you. Couldn’t they have protected you?”

      “They did.” She tossed back her drink, put the back of her hand to her mouth, and coughed. She looked at him with shining eyes. “They found me your ship.”

      * * * *

      Jaxon paced the length of his deck. The polished gunwales and rain-scrubbed ruby cedar under foot shone in the sun. Three masts of white sails bowed against the deep blue of the sky. Aye, she was a beauty, his ship. He passed a row of cannons strapped into their holdings and a steaming pot of tar to paint the rigging before the salt air and seawater destroyed their strength. Standing in his favorite spot, the farthest point of the bow, Jaxon stared out past the bowsprit toward the endless depths ahead. The strident rush of the water past the prow was music to his sailor’s ear.

      With the storm behind them, the day burned bright and promised a fine stretch of good weather. Daily chores occupied the crew. The boatswain ordered the polish of the brass top of the capstan and the sail maker repaired a torn topsail. Other seamen coiled ropes into barrels and tightened lines. Those few with hearty voices kept a lively tune.

      Everything as it should be. Nothing seemed amiss. Below deck, however, was another matter. Bloody hell. He was getting soft. Why did he care what happened to this chit? The first sign of womanly tears and he’d given the wench quarter, for Christ’s sake. He was forgetting she’d end up getting him killed.

      Cookie appeared at his side with a tall leather tankard of ale and passed it to him.

      “Capt’n.” The grizzled seaman leaned close. “How is she?”

      “She’s come to and seems intent on living.”

      “Good to hear. Learn who she be?”

      “Her name is Annalise Gatherone. Insists she isn’t a guest of anyone on the crew. Said she’s running from some kind of trouble and looking to make it to Port St. Maria.”

      “Ain’t she heard the news? Ye’re a dead man if you set foot there?”

      “Makes no difference which way we head. If anyone finds her aboard, I’m a dead man no matter what.” Jaxon drained the cup and handed it back. “That’s all I’ve learned. Dammit to hell, she’s as forthcoming as you are handsome.”

      “Mayhap this’ll give ya a better clue.” Cookie opened his hand. The white of pure silk was blinding next to the dirt of the man’s palm. “I set to cleanin’ the hold. She brought along food and water, but the rats made short