Within A Captain's Treasure. Lisa A. Olech

properly.”

      “I’m curious.” Alice stopped him with his hand on the door’s latch. “Which camp do you fall into, Captain Quinn? You’re not one of the pleased. Are you one of the tolerant, or one I should be wary of?”

      Quinn narrowed his eyes. “Disobey me, and you’ll have your answer soon enough.” He slammed out of his quarters.

      Alice fought the urge to hurl something heavy and fragile at the door. The nerve of the man. Frustration won. “Aaahh.” She pushed her hands into her hair and dropped onto the side of the bed. “Keep my head down and my mouth shut?” Neither was a practiced skill.

      Alice started to pace. “Insufferable oaf. Present myself properly. ‘Not unless you think you can make it to Virginia on your own.’” She blew out an angry breath. “And what was the look on his face when he came in? Lust? Revulsion?” Hadn’t she always heard of Gavin Quinn’s fine character? She remembered overhearing conversations between Captain Steele and Annalise after he transferred the Scarlet Night to him. They had nothing but good things to say about the man. Trusted him above all others.

      She paced some more. He’d startled her when he first came in. Her defensive walls had snapped shut. Fear was quick to flash into rage. But was it misplaced?

      Alice rubbed a hand over her eyes. The faces of the other women passed through her mind. Poor, sweet Milly. What hell had she endured? And those black men and women. Treated like something inhuman. It all added to her fury.

      Captain Quinn, while boorish, had done nothing untoward. He’d brought her onto his ship, tended her wounded arm, clothed her. He was prepared to sail her to Virginia, and she’d insulted him, and taken over his quarters. It wasn’t his wish to violate her. She was here as a protection until he could gage the crew’s reaction to her being aboard. Where was he to sleep tonight? And more to the point, why did she suddenly care?

      Alice squeezed her eyes tight. She cared because her future was in his hands, and she’d taken his brash-edged compassion and thrown it back in his face. She cared because she was beginning to despise the woman she was becoming.

      Deep fear and mistrust and a cold ruthlessness surrounded her when she was threatened. The speed and brutality with which she could defend herself stunned her. When had she turned into a heartless killer? Alice stopped short. She knew the very moment. It played over and over in her mind. That single life-shattering second when she raised a cutlass high above her head out of fury and not out of fear.

      The room closed in on her. Panic nipped at her heels as memories trapped her in the nightmare once more. She crossed the cabin and tested the door, knowing it would be locked and fearing the wave of terror that would follow. But the door opened. Alice peered down the galley way. It was empty. No guard posted to keep her in. Quinn told her to stay here for her safety, not because she was a prisoner.

      At her feet, a trencher of food had been left. She hadn’t heard it arrive. The smell of rich stew and bread had her stomach protesting the emptiness of her belly. When had she eaten last? She couldn’t remember. After bringing the long bowl inside, she attacked the food until she could eat no more.

      Wrapping herself in a thick wool blanket she curled up in the oak-paneled niche which served as Quinn’s bed. Captain Quinn’s distain, prisoner or no, intolerant crewmembers, and a future of deadly uncertainty wrestled within her mind until she couldn’t think any more. The gentle roll of the ship and a full stomach lulled her to sleep.

      * * * *

      Alice snapped awake. The morning burned bright through the sparkling diamond windows. Where had the night gone? She had slept straight through to morning. By the look, the captain had been true to his word and not returned. If given the chance today, she would behave more graciously toward him. Thank him. Apologize for her rudeness. Then perhaps he would apologize for his.

      A quick knock tapped upon the door. Alice tried to smooth the unruliness of her hair. A young boy—no more than a child—entered carrying a small pile of clothing and a pewter plate of bread and cheese. He wore a wide-brimmed gray hat trimmed with a froth of white feather upon his head. It was much too large for him. After he placed his burdens upon the desk, he lifted his chin and peeked at her from under the hat. Large dark eyes within a thin pinched face captured hers. He couldn’t have been more than five or six years of age. Whatever was a boy so young doing on a pirate ship?

      “And who are you?” Alice tipped down to peer beneath the wide brim.

      He watched her mouth and frowned before removing the hat and adding it to the pile of clothes. His hair was a tangle of short dark ropes. He turned without a word and left.

      “Wait,” she called, but the door shut, and he was gone without a word.

      She washed using what was left of the water in Quinn’s pitcher and looked over the clothing brought to her. The rough-weave, wide-sleeved shirt fit her perfectly and fell to mid-thigh of the snug tan breeches she already wore. A wide leather belt the color of burgundy was loose for her waist but rode low on her hips. Knit stockings fit snug upon her legs, but the tall black boots were too large. Short of going barefoot, they would have to suffice. The crowning glory was the hat. Gray tooled leather with a plume of white curving to meet the band. One side stood proud giving it a dashing look.

      Alice secured her hair into a long braid to drape one shoulder and pushed the hat upon her head. Captain Quinn possessed only a small looking glass, to presumably shave, but looking down, she supposed she looked like a proper pirate. Did this mean she was ready to venture above deck and report to Quinn?

      The thought of stepping out onto the decks brought a mixture of apprehension and excitement. She wiped at the dampness of her palms across the curve of her thighs. They looked odd in breeches. Alice was pleased with her new attire, however. There was something about a man’s garments. She liked the way they moved. The ease of motion. They gave her an unusual confidence no gown could ever give.

      Alice made her way along the galley way, her gait had a distinct—what was the word?—swagger.

      Chapter 5

      Light from above deck lit the dim hallway. The noise of the day’s activity beckoned Alice to the ladder. It was an odd sensation, stepping onto the deck of the Scarlet Night that first morning. Quinn assured her she was safe, but still instincts had her on edge. She had no weapon. The only things protecting her were the stories told by Jaxon Steele and those witnessing the battle aboard the Delmar.

      This crew was as fierce as they came. According to Captain Steele, many a ship had simply to see the red sails of the Scarlet Night to throw up their hands in surrender.

      Stepping into the brilliant light, she dipped her hat to shade her eyes. Around her, crewmen performed their duties. Their actions brisk and orderly. They were rough and gruff in appearance, but much less sinister-looking than those upon the Delmar. A few wore the remnants of military uniforms like Quinn. Were they former naval seamen, as well, or had they stolen them from men they’d captured?

      Alice weathered several curious looks as she made her way across the crowded deck. One man stopped winding a thick length of rope to tug at the front of his head cloth in greeting. She wasn’t sure how to respond other than to say, “Good morn.”

      She scanned the decks for Captain Quinn but didn’t see him. Could he still be below?

      “Mistress?”

      Alice spun back to find three men. The man who’d addressed her held his hat in his hands. Two others stood slightly behind. One grinned at her like a schoolboy—but with fewer teeth.

      “Mistress Tupper. I be damned if it ain’t a grand day te meet ya.”

      “And you as well.” She held out her hand.

      He stared at her hand with a frown for a scant second before realization lit his face. “Oh, beggin’ yer pardon. Done fergot me manners, I did.” He pumped her hand and looked back over his shoulder. “Not like we be used to manners, eh boys?” They