As we turned the corner, the dank air perspired with the stench of too many unwashed bodies crammed together in close quarters.
Then I saw them.
Confined in one large hold behind an iron gate, sweaty men stood shoulder to shoulder, coughing, stinking, and spreading disease. I took in the shadowed landscape of unkempt beards, gold earrings, jackboots, distrusting glares…
Captured pirates.
Lord Cutler was a pirate hunter. Of course, I wasn’t his only prize. But twenty…thirty…forty of my kind? It was horrifying.
Worse, he meant to imprison me with the animals. I was one of them, after all, driven by the thrill of raiding, killing, and raising hell on the high seas.
With one distinct difference.
Dozens of eyes slid in my direction. Hungry, predatory eyes that saw only a female, a body to rut, and nothing more. I wouldn’t survive a night in that cage.
The lieutenants shoved me toward the gate.
My heart slammed in my throat. “How long have they been in there?”
“Some of them a month or longer.” One of the officers jabbed a key into the lock.
The clicking sound drove my pulse too hard, too fast, terrorizing my veins. Memories flooded, transporting me back into the body of a fourteen-year-old girl fighting for her virtue beneath the brutality of the Marquess of Grisdale.
My skin shuddered, tightening and pulling away from my bones. I refused to be violated like that again. Not by a marquess. Not by forty pirates. Not by any man.
But what if I didn’t have a choice?
A scream wavered on the end of my tongue, urging me to call for the commodore and beg him for mercy. But he’d ordered me down here, knowing exactly what awaited. He would grant no quarter, and my useless demands for special treatment would only reveal my crippling fear.
One thing I could not do was enter that enclosure showing weakness. The pirates would scent it, feed on it, and become rabid.
As the lieutenants shoved me forward, I fought fearlessly, furiously, thrashing, spitting, and doing what any man would do in my position. Instinct took over until all that existed was the savage impetuosity to protect myself.
But in the end, I was too small, unarmed, outnumbered, and quickly subdued.
My knees scraped along the planks as the lieutenants shoved and kicked me into the hold. I landed on my backside, and the sound of the gate locking surged bile through my chest.
I was a pirate captain, dammit. I’d maimed, tortured, and slaughtered some decisively evil and scary men. I didn’t possess Priest’s magnetic ability to win over a crowd, but I could command them with my eyes closed. I just needed them to see beyond my femaleness.
A pair of trousers would have been splendid right now.
Breathing deeply, I slowed the heave of my lungs, rose to my full height, and steeled my spine. Then I turned and faced forty ravenous rogues.
“Point me to your captain.” I searched the overcrowded space, taking an inventory of scars, long greasy braids, suspicious skin sores, and creatures crawling in beards.
If I’d kept Priest in the bilge for a month without a wash bucket, would he have reached this level of pungency? I didn’t think so, but I was rather inclined to favor his appearance, no matter everything else that was wrong with him.
The pack of thieves leered with wild eyes. Some sniffed the air in front of me. Others grunted throaty noises.
None pointed out the captain.
My teeth sawed the insides of my cheeks. It didn’t matter if they all came from the same crew or met one another in this hold. Pirates were a democratic breed, and they always had a leader.
“Were you hit on your heads?” I balled my hands at my sides, concealing the nervous shaking. “Or do you not speak the king’s English?”
“The king doesn’t speak English, lassie.” The low, rough Scottish accent came from somewhere in the back.
It was true that King George—who hailed from Germany to England—refused to speak in the tongue of his inherited realm. But that was neither here nor there.
What concerned me was the owner of that Scottish brogue. He was the leader, and if he knew things about the English king, he wasn’t without intellect. That didn’t bode well for me. Neither did the rising agitation rippling through his men.
I faced the direction of the voice. “Show yourself, Highlander.”
The stench of body odor shifted around me before ruthless fingers captured my wrists. Innumerable hands. There were so many attackers all at once it only took seconds to restrain my limbs and shove me deep into the sticky horde of bodies.
When I hit the back wall, I could no longer see the gate. Half a dozen men held my arms and legs, stretching me like an X with my spine against the wooden rib of the warship’s hull.
Full-body tremors pummeled through me. It couldn’t be helped. My arms twisted in sweaty clutches, my hands slipping uselessly, unable to find a gripping place. The more I struggled, the stronger and heavier my attackers became, multiplying in numbers and moving like a tidal wave until they formed a single unpreventable force that crashed against me, bruised my skin, and bellowed vile promises.
“Back off!” I screamed and gnashed my teeth. “Release me! I can help you!”
Everything stopped. The pirates who restrained me didn’t let go, but the others fell back. The swarm divided, leaving a narrow path for one man to approach.
The captain.
Long red hair tangled around a matching beard that hung to his chest. Luminous green eyes shone out of a narrow face that might have been attractive, if not for the foreboding sneer that slashed across it.
He prowled toward me, tall, lean, and shirtless. The scars on his freckled torso and arms painted a gruesome constellation. Frayed trousers sagged low on trim hips. No boots. No jewelry. Nothing to indicate who he was.
But there was only one known redheaded pirate captain from Scotland, and his noxious reputation preceded him.
“Madwulf MacNally.” I jutted my chin, my nostrils pulsing with the rush of my breaths. “I’m Bennett Sharp.”
My name flickered recognition in his eyes before they hardened into cold green jewels. “I dinna care if you’re the Countess of Nithsdale. Right now all you are is caged, just like the rest of us.”
My stomach clenched, but I made my mouth smile. “I can help you escape.”
“You?” His chuckle spread a chill across my skin. “The only release you can provide is the one I’ll be taking between your bonny thighs.”
My pulse quickened, but I didn’t fight the hands that held me. I forced myself to remain calm and unruffled.
If I told him the notorious Priest Farrell was going to stop this warship from reaching England’s shore, he wouldn’t believe me. Or maybe he would, but it wouldn’t dissuade him from his cruel intentions.
No, I couldn’t mention Priest. Not without risking the commodore hearing my rescue plan.
“How about I save my bonny thighs to trap Lord Cutler?” I grinned despite my surgent nausea. “I’ll obtain a private meeting with him, put him in a scandalous position, and—”
“If his lordship was interested in you, you wouldn’t be here. With us.”
Hard to argue.
My stomach sank.
“I dinna mind his cast-offs if they all look like you.” He crowded in and traced an overgrown fingernail along my jawline, making me gag. “Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen on the high seas. Right, lads?”