In The Arms Of My Pirate

The Captain's Prisoner

Charles stared at the waif crouched on the deck before him. The words sent a shudder down his spine.

He grabbed the wretch, Octavian Palmer, by the neck and jerked hard.

"How do you know me?" he hissed.

Palmer's big brown eyes widened even more, and Charles could see his own haggard reflection in the inky depths. It made him pause. He hadn't seen a mirror in months. Was this truly his appearance?

A chain bit into the palm of his hand and he looked down. A silver locket dangled just beneath the waif's shirt.

Charles released his hold around the waif's neck and gripped the chain, snapping it away.

"No!" Palmer gasped, reaching for the locket.

"Captain Atwell," Benny's whiney voice pierced the night, "the ship's sinking. We'd best be off."

Charles gripped Palmer by the neck again and pinned the thin, struggling creature to his side.

"Move the loot to the Ghostess and prepare to sail," he ordered.

Palmer struggled against his side, but Charles hardly felt it.

The knife he'd given to Lord William Greyville hung heavy from his belt, the weight of the unknown driving his mind to the brink of insanity. Perhaps he could have passed it off as a coincidence... but the way the waif had said his name... there was no mistaking that. Somehow, this creature that he'd never seen knew his face, his name.

Charles hauled Palmer up to the railing as the ship listed dangerously to the side. The tormented wood groaned beneath his feet, the sound of a sinking ship achingly familiar.

"Let go—"

Charles ignored his prisoner's pleas and gripped one of the ropes leading back to the Ghostess's mast, dipping and swaying with the waves. He shifted his grip so that their sides were pressed together. Charles's fingers fit perfectly into the curve of Palmer's waist, the sensation giving him pause for a moment.

"Wait--!" Palmer's cries were lost to the wind was Charles jumped off the railing, dragging his prisoner along with him. The rope slid through his fingers and he landed easily on the Ghostess's manicured deck. His boots collided with the wood, sending up a satisfying spray of rain and seawater into the air around them.

Palmer's legs collapsed at the impact, but Charles hauled the waif upright again.

The other pirates followed behind him, young master Oliver slipping from his rope and tumbling to the deck with a shout of surprise.

Benny laughed as he landed behind him, kicking at the lad. Oliver scrambled to his feet and scurried to the edge of the deck, his small shoulders trembling.

Palmer struggled beside Charles, hands reaching out as if wanting to protect the boy. Charles tightened his grip.

"Git down below deck for inspection," Benny spat at Oliver. "Gotta check your nooks and pockets for treasure, ain't we?"

Oliver's eyes widened. Charles bit back a snort of anger. Benny delighted in humiliating the newest crewmembers, stripping them to their undergarments and forcing them to swab the deck or empty the latrine buckets.

"You, too," Benny gestured to the creature pressed against Charles's side. "Get down there. I like the look of that oilskin. I think I'll keep it—"

Charles twisted, blocking Benny's scrawny fingers from grabbing Palmer's shirtfront.

"This one's mine," he growled.

Bloody Benny opened his mouth to protest, but snapped it closed with a 'click' when Charles narrowed his eyes.