“Of course! But I thought… well, I will go see what I can find and bring it to you with hot water for tea, Missus,” he replies and trots off on my errand.
“He’s a good boy, Charlie,” a deep voice rumbles next to me. I was so enchanted by Charlie’s sprightly nature that I didn’t realize I’d been joined at the rail. The voice sends a shiver through me and I turn to meet the hard gaze of Captain Lennox himself as he leans his hip against the railing. I haven’t seen him since boarding the ship and didn’t expect to encounter him until our dinner in a few hours.
“It seems so, Captain,” I reply, holding his gaze.
“How do you and Lyra find your room?” he asks as he admires my dress, raking his eyes along my figure, not bothering to hide the boldness of his gaze. I wait, holding my breath under his scrutiny, expecting him to take the fabric between his fingers, but he places his hands on the railing and stands at my side so that we both face the open water.
“It’s satisfactory. Thank you,” I reply succinctly. From the corner of my eye, I discreetly look him up and down. A pistol is tucked into the waistband of his tailored trousers and a gleaming cutlass swings at his side. His coat is deep green and I can’t help but think about how it accents his dark emerald eyes.
“And your trunk?” he prods, smiling at my — apparently not so discreet — inspection. Perhaps he is a bit of a peacock after all. As he looks out at the horizon, I cut my eyes in his direction to admire his profile in spite of myself. His nose is straight and refined, his cheekbones high and sharp, and his lips are full with a permanent smirk. He is not difficult to look at, but I know a pleasant exterior serves a predator well as they lure in their prey.
“I am pleased with the items you sent. I am sure Lyra is as well. They seem very suitable for the journey.” I refuse to admit how the pieces are some of the finest I have touched in years, or that the colors he chose are the same as I would have selected for myself. I will not give him the pleasure of thinking I am happy about my situation, even if I do love the collection of finery he has provided.
“Very good. I look forward to seeing what you choose for dinner tonight.” He gives a wry smile and curt nod as he departs toward the stern of the ship.
As he walks away, I watch his graceful movements and admire the fine cut of his coat across his broad shoulders. Even if I dislike the man, I must admit he has a decidedly attractive frame to go with his handsome face.
In the sunlight, his hair isn’t entirely as black as I thought. In fact, it isn’t even as dark as my own. He wears it in a shorter style than many of the men on the ship and has always been clean-shaven instead of covered in days-old stubble like the older men in his crew. The younger men probably can’t grow facial hair even if they wished to. I wonder if he keeps this image to distinguish himself from the crew or if he has other reasons.
After my encounter with the Captain, I make my way back downstairs to check on Lyra. A pair of teacups and a teapot of hot water sit atop our small table awaiting my return. Steeping inside the pot are slices of ginger root and an additional piece is wrapped in a cloth on the table. The poor girl is still groaning on her bed when I step through the door. I give the root a few more minutes to steep while I open my trunk to make my decisions on what to wear to dinner this evening.
Unsure if I should simply anticipate a meal, or if I should be prepared for him to want to indulge other appetites, I pull all the dresses out of the trunk and lay them across the chairs and my small bed to decide. I should just continue to wear the same grey gown I’m already wearing – what is it to me if he is pleased by my appearance? But the hedonist in me wants to touch the beautiful fabrics and make the one choice I can control for the evening, so I inspect my options.
Finally, I settle on a midnight blue gown that shows my collarbones and skims my hips before pooling at my feet. It shows my curves, but not in an overt way – a refreshing change from the House. I allow my hair to fall from the braids I have worn all day and it flows in tight waves down my back, the salty air making them hold the style well. I run my fingers through the waves and leave it all down, foregoing my usual crown braid in favor of the less formal look to ease the tension I feel taking root in my head.
As I sit on my bed, I inhale deeply, letting it back out slowly to steady myself. I will not show fear of the Captain tonight, regardless of his actions. I will survive whatever he asks of me and collect my freedom at the end of this journey.
With that reminder repeating in my head, I prop the mirror I brought on my knees and line my eyes in kohl, but leave my lips bare. I will be just enough of the woman he saw in the brothel, but on my own terms. Satisfied with my reflection, I glance at the small clock that is tacked to the wall of the cabin — it's almost time.
Before I leave the room, I give Lyra a steaming cup of ginger tea to sip and instruct her to drink more from the pot when she’s finished if she can stomach it. She nods that she understands, but is still a sickly shade of green when she smells the spicy aroma of the ginger. Charlie — the sparrow — is flitting about outside our door when I step into the hallway, just as I expected he would be.
“Ready for dinner, Missus?” Charlie asks as I close the door behind me.
“Yes, Charlie. Please lead the way.”
We walk silently along the deck and to the door of the great cabin. A few members of the crew still man the deck, though I assume the majority are below for their meal. They watch me as I pass, but I keep my eyes focused on the backlit windows of the cabin ahead of me where candles flicker behind the wavy panes. Charlie doffs his hat and gives his little bow to me when we reach the doors.
Before he can bound off, I ask, “Can you please ask the cook to send broth, and only broth, down to Lyra? She is still quite sick and I am afraid anything more will make her vomit again.”
“Oh! Of course! I’ll make sure of it myself, Missus,” he responds and heads to what I presume is the galley to relay my message.
I’m alone at the precipice. I know I have no option but to go inside to dinner, but I still hesitate. No one willingly walks into a lion’s den. Resigned to my fate, I take a deep breath and knock on the door.
Chapter 6
Captain Lennox opens the door himself and a small black cat darts from the room, startling me. I certainly didn’t expect to be greeted by a pet.
I hardly recognize the Captain without his overcoat. Much more relaxed than I’ve ever seen him, he wears a fitted white linen shirt with dark trousers tucked into knee-high leather boots. His sleeves are rolled up to reveal well-muscled forearms with tattoos covering tan flesh.
Hesitant to look too closely for fear he will think I am admiring him again, I only allow myself a quick glance at the inkwork which disappears under his sleeves. Some appear to be nautical symbols like I’ve seen on most seafarers, but I am confused to see other symbols closely associated with the Goddess intermingled. His pistol and cutlass are laid aside for the meal and Lennox welcomes me with a sweep of his arm as he steps aside from the doorway.
I step through like a queen — shoulders back and chin high to view the large great cabin. The back of the room is covered in windows overlooking the dark water and starry skies beyond. There is a table that can seat six to one side and an ornately carved desk perpendicular to it covered in maps and stacks of books.
On the opposite side of the room is a large bed, neatly made with a dark coverlet and plush pillows. I glance toward it briefly, but refocus on the table set for dinner. Carpets woven with exotic designs decorate the floor and I pretend to be overly interested in them as I slowly walk toward the table. Everything in his cabin is opulent, which I suppose makes sense for a pirate captain.
The seat to the right of the captain holds a second place setting, next to the head of the table where I assume he sits. An elaborate silver candelabra illuminates our meal of roasted chicken with potatoes and carrots laid out alongside a decanter of red wine and various fruits and hard cheeses. I haven’t eaten anything since my meager breakfast and my mouth waters at the sight of such rich dishes.
I can feel his eyes on me, the Captain inspecting his purchase as closely as I inspect the food. I wonder if he’s salivating as much as I am. He steps closer, moving behind me, his breath tickling my hair, causing my breath to catch momentarily. Then, he lightly brushes against my arm as he reaches past me to pull my chair out to sit. I fear my legs might buckle and I’m relieved to have a place to land, hoping he doesn’t notice the thrill I feel at his touch. He moves to his own chair and sits before taking a sip from his wine goblet. My eyes remain focused on the candelabra in front of me until he speaks.