WITHIN A
CAPTAIN’S SOUL
Captains
of the Scarlet Night #5
by
Lisa A. Olech
Genre: Historical Romance
Pub
Date: 8/1/2017
Stormy
seas, a captive heart, and a coupling that breaks all the rules . . .
After years
of committed service, Captain William “Bump” Quinn has finally
taken the helm of the pirate ship Scarlet Night. But when rough
waters send the Night off course, William winds up shipwrecked and
alone on enemy shores—and prisoner to China’s most powerful
pirate queen.
Captain
Jian Jun is as alluring as she is formidable, and she’s careful not
to let anyone too close. But the silence of the handsome Jamaican
pirate in her custody intrigues her. Tempted by his topaz eyes and
the strength of his character, she allows the captive into her inner
sanctum. Though their bond defies all convention, Jun finds she is
powerless against the emotions Will stirs in her. She prays their
first union will not be her last. But with danger lurking in
unexpected places, her beloved pirate may soon get the chance to
prove he is every inch the hero he seems in her arms . . .
Chapter 1
Madagascar, 1717
William Quinn hated
the dark. His companion had taken the lantern when she left. He could still
smell the spiced honey of her skin and the musk of their sex in the rumpled
sheets. She’d been a tiger in bed. His flesh still burned where her nails had
raked his back. He’d lost himself for an hour or two between her smooth dark
thighs. He only wished he’d learned her name.
Will lay in the bed
and closed his eyes to the darkness. It was easier to visualize the layout of
the room from memory this way. The door was to starboard. A three-drawer chest
sat a foot to port. His pants were another matter. Where had she tossed them?
She’d been in a terrible hurry to put her mouth on him. When she’d stripped him
and seen his engorged cock, a smile spread across her shining face as if she’d
discovered some long lost treasure. After that, she was driven by a
single-minded desire. She’d been a most eager partner.
He rose and found his
pants along with the wide blood-red sash he wore about his waist. And one boot.
All the while, his limited sense was still on high alert. In this darkness, it
would be easy to hide and ambush him. It wasn’t as if he’d hear anyone
approaching, but having lost his hearing at such a young age, over his
lifetime, he’d honed his other senses to razor sharp. Will lifted his nose and
gave another sniff. No, he was alone.
The heat along this
stretch of the world limited his choice of clothing. Bare chested, he slipped
into a tooled leather vest. He patted the breast pocket. His lusty partner
wasn’t interested in his winnings from tonight’s poker tables. As the daughter
of one of the local pepper merchants, money was not what she longed for.
Madagascar pepper was considered black
gold along this great
treasure route. Her father was one of the wealthiest men in the city.
Will found his other
boot, and sat on the edge of the bed to slip them on his feet. He sat there for
a long moment. The hollow beating of his heart echoed in his chest. Even after
hours of pleasure, the only thing sated was his body.
This girl, whoever she
was, hadn’t been interested in his newfound wealth or even knowing who he was.
She’d only been interested in lying with him. It was the same wherever he went
these days. He’d become a novelty.
Sex with the silent man.
It wasn’t as if he
could brag about his conquests. Tell tales of your night in his bed. He wouldn’t
bore you with long stories, or shout demands. He was deaf and never learned the
basic fundamentals of speech. For some reason that made women eager to spread
their legs for him. At least for one meaningless night.
Making his way to the
door, Will wasn’t surprised to find the public rooms below still doing a brisk
business. Time held no meaning to these establishments. Glancing toward the
back corner, the poker game still wore on. He was tempted to add to his already
bulging purse. Tonight’s profits had come too easy, but then it had always been
a talent of his to read faces. Call it a lucrative byproduct of being deaf.
Whether bluffing at cards or dealing with his crew, he could spot a liar at
fifty yards.
Will’s long legs
carried him quickly through the dangerous dark streets. At more than six and a
half feet tall, he made an imposing figure. The three-pistol baldric and side
cutlass helped. As did his permanent scowl. He pulled a short knife from a
leather sheath and carried it at his side. For two reasons. A handy weapon was
never a bad idea, and the high polish on the blade gave him the perfect view of
anyone trying to approach him from behind.
Will reached the docks
without incident and was finally able to breathe easy when he dropped down upon
the polished decks of the Scarlet Night. The gentle tip of the boards
shifting beneath his feet, the smell of tarred rigging, and the sight of her
three thick masts brought a smile to his face. He was home.
‘Captain.’ His first mate, Griffin, tapped his shoulder
to sign the word before giving Will a sharp salute. Will returned the salute
and replied with a few quick hand signals of his own.
‘Are we ready to leave at first light?’
Griffin nodded. Will
scanned the deck in a slow sweep. All looked as it should. The crew was busy
loading supplies of food and ale. Barrels of
powder and crates of
spices were all being stowed properly.
Will slapped Griffin’s
shoulder in praise. He was a good man. Smart. Responsible. And a damn fine
pirate. He could filet a ship with a single cannon shot down the length of
their hull and fight like a man possessed. Short yet sturdy, his strength
coiled in him like a taught spring waiting to unleash its controlled power.
Will was happy he was on their side.
‘Problems?’
His first mate shook
his head. Thankfully, Griffin was quick to pick up the basic hand signals Will
had adapted over the years to help him communicate. Between the use of bells
and signs and gestures, Will had been able to build a crew that could follow
his strict orders and knew exactly what was asked of them and when. No small
feat, but after almost two years at the helm, he’d amassed a fine group of
men...and one woman. He recalled the day he’d become Captain of the Scarlet
Night. He and the former captain, Tupper Quinn, had literally stolen their
ship back from under the nose of the British Navy. They’d been captured and
faced hanging for crimes against the crown, but what the wool-backed Brits
hadn’t counted on was the fact that not only did Tupper have friends in high
places with deep pockets, but Will had a hide thicker than a bull elephant. He
still had
the scars to prove it.
Three months after
their escape, as they made their way down the west coast of Africa, skirting
the British at every turn, hiding in every nook and cranny along the rugged
coastline, Tupper broke the news that she no longer wished to be called
Captain.
‘It’s yer turn now.
Ye’ve earned it. The Scarlet Night is in
yer blood. She’s yer soul. Hell, ye cut yer teeth on the riggin.’ It’s only
right to pass her on to you now.’
At first, he’d laughed
at her. She was talking crazy. Who ever heard of a deaf captain? But as time
went on Tupper cleverly stepped back little by little. With each new crewmember
they acquired, she planted the seeds of possibility. By giving him more
responsibility, more of her power, she opened the path for him to finally take
command.
It was only then he
learned the real reason why Tupper Quinn was stepping aside.
The muscle in his jaw
tensed at the thought. He turned back to Griffin. ‘How is she?’
Griffin jerked his chin toward the ladder way.
‘In her cabin.’
Will made his way
below deck to the rear of the ship. He’d swiped two bottles of her favorite rum
from the galley as he passed. He knocked on the thick wood of her door, but
didn’t wait to feel her stomp on the floorboards
to indicate he could
enter.
The Captain’s
quarters. Oak trimmed and impressive. Built-in cupboards and a carved niche
holding the bed. The choicest plunder filled chests and trunks flanking the
walls. A wide swath of diamond-paned windows followed the back curve of the
ship’s fantail. The polished floors now boasted a bright rug secured from a
Persian ship.
While Will came here
daily to work the logs and charts, it was still and always would be Tupper’s
quarters. He found her in bed, half sitting, half reclining. She was the color
of a dirty sail. When he placed the bottles on the desk, she opened her eyes.
She straightened and
ran a hand over her dull hair. ‘Bump, there you are. Where did you run off
to?’
The old nickname made
him smile. She was the only one to call him that anymore, and continued to do
so when they were alone. He’d been given the name when he’d first come aboard.
A filthy, spindly urchin rescued from the fetid gutters of Port Royal, Jamaica.
Imagine a deaf child on a pirate ship. How he survived was a true miracle.
In the beginning, he
was always in the wrong place at the wrong time with ropes flying and blocks
swinging. Needless to say, he couldn’t hear anyone warning him to look out or
duck. It had taken weeks before he developed a sixth sense that something was
about to cleave his skull in two. Until then, he had more knots and scrapes.
His face spent more time on the deck boards than his feet. Earned the name
Bump. As with fool nicknames, it bloody well stuck and followed him clear into
adulthood.
But when Tupper made
the decision to give up her commission, they agreed Captain Bump was not a fit
name anymore. As it was, when Gavin Quinn, Tupper’s late husband and former
Captain of the Scarlet Night, brought Bump aboard, none knew his
surname. An old woman claiming to be the boy’s grandmother had pleaded with
Gavin to save him from the brutal life he was living on the street of Port
Royal. She’d told Gavin his given name was William.
Against all advice, Gavin Quinn had taken him
on as a fledgling cabin boy who could neither speak nor understand and who
spent more time those first few days bleeding from the head than performing any
duties. But Gavin became like a father to him and saved his life. Will would
forever regret not being able to save his. Captain Gavin Quinn died in the
great earthquake of 1692 that wiped most of Port Royal, Jamaica off the map.
Will witnessed the whole horrific event. Watched the sea swallow the land.
Helpless and heartbroken. He still remembered every detail of that awful day as
if it happened yesterday.
Will’s surname Quinn
was a gift from Tupper. He and the rest of the crew were arrested for treason
and piracy by the British. Not right to hang a man with half a name. All those
years he’d been like a son to Gavin and Tupper. When it came time to sign his
death warrant, Tupper made it official. He was a Quinn—at least ‘til they set
him swinging.
‘Pour me some rum, and
tell me where you’ve been.’ Tupper gestured as she swept her thin, pale legs over to hang
off the side of her bed. She was looking frailer by the day. She pulled the
shoulder of her shirt from drooping down her arm. Will handed her a mug. She
downed the strong drink in one swallow and held her mug out for more. He
refilled it. Gladly. They repeated this once more. It was taking more rum these
days to ease her pain. He’d feed her a barrel full if it meant she’d rest
comfortably.
Tupper patted his hand
and leaned back against the pillows. Will stowed the bottle as he eyed the
charts spread out over the desk. There was no question in his mind. His
original plan was not going to work.
With the route he’d
drawn out, they’d never reach China in time. He would have to risk crossing
paths with the British and navigate the Indian Ocean then through the
treacherous Malacca Straights past Singapore. These were unfamiliar waters, but
what choice did he have?
Tupper started to
cough. Her body wracked with each bark. She covered her mouth with a
handkerchief to whip the bloody spittle from her mouth. Seeing the blood,
Will’s stomach dropped. His hands curled into fists.
He had learned about
the progressive medicines now available in China. They were far ahead of
western doctors. He’d get her there no matter the cost. Will prayed their luck
would hold. They’d survived the harrowing trip around the Cape of Good Hope,
hadn’t they? It had been the quickest way coming west, and Will had accidently
discovered a small unknown secret to navigating the ‘Cape of good storms’ without
losing a single life. Tupper rapped her mug on the edge of the desk asking for
more rum. Will pulled the bottle and then poured her some more. They’d fought
the beast of Good Hope, and it was that hope he was hanging on to now. There
was one life he was determined not to lose. Not if he had any say in the
matter. Will raised the wick on the lantern and studied the maps. Time was the enemy
now. If he didn’t find the fastest route to China, Tupper would soon be dead.
Lisa A.
Olech is an artist/writer living in her dream house nestled among the
lakes in New England. She loves getting lost in a steamy book,
finding the perfect pair of sexy shoes, and hearing the laughter of
her men. Being an estrogen island in a sea of testosterone makes her
queen. She believes in ghosts, silver linings, the power of a man in
a tuxedo, and happy endings. For more please visit lisaolech.com.
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