At first Frederica was irritated to be called away from
her mending, but upon hearing she was to tend to a
wounded crew member, curiosity boosted her spirits.
Bradford led her to the patient, a man who flopped about
on deck like a fish pulled from the water. His hat
drooped, dripping sea water, and she held back a smirk
when he removed his soggy gold brocade jacket—which was
similar to Humphrey’s purple waistcoat—and wrung it out.
Similar to Humphrey’s purple waistcoat, the fancy jacket
was the sort of extravagant apparel worn by men who
commanded pirate ships.
“Over the side, eh, mate?” Tiny took the man’s clothes
and finished squeezing out the water over the ship’s
railing. It was odd to see such an ox of a man tend to
another man’s laundry.
“‘E’s got a bad gash in ‘is arm, milady. Cap’n thought
you could see to it,” Bradford said.
Frederica nodded, staring into the one brown eye that
belonged to the new passenger; the other was covered by a
black patch. Gazing at her through his good eye, the man
seemed to see straight through her, and a shiver danced
down her spine.
As he removed his shirt, she couldn’t help but notice his
burnished skin rippled with muscles. His biceps bulged,
and the planes of his stomach appeared to be carved with
a knife. Long matted hair formed thin locks that fell
past his shoulders, making him appear wild, yet with a
hint of civility and charm. And rather handsome for a
drowned bilge rat.
The man bowed dramatically at the waist. “Mademoiselle, I
am Gaston Galette. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
She nodded curtly. “You are French?”
“Oui, oui. Do you speak French?” he asked.
She shook her head no.
“A pity. The French language is exquisite—not unlike
yourself.” He lifted an eyebrow flirtatiously.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “I see. My name is
Frederica Beauchamp. My ancestors did speak French, but
alas, I am only an Englishwoman. Is that the injury of
which they speak?” She pointed at the red gash.
“Aye.”
“Let us find something to clean it with.” She nodded to
Bradford.
Bradford escorted them to a small room below deck and
brought a number of supplies, including turpentine, soapy
water, rags, and bandages. He also gave Gaston a cup of
grog to drink before excusing himself.
Gaston perched on a barrel against the wall. Frederica
knelt beside him, dipping a rag into the bucket of soapy
water.
“The sea water is a blessing and a curse. The brine
cleanses the wound, but the water can introduce infection
as well.” She laid her hand on his knee, causing him to
jump.
She giggled. “Calm yourself. I haven’t done anything
yet.” Then she poured a cupful of the turpentine into the
cut. He winced as the antiseptic permeated the broken
skin.
“You know what you’re doing?” he asked, his voice
strained.
“My father was a physician. I picked up a few things.”
“Now what is a physician’s daughter doing sailing the
ocean with this motley crew of scallywags?” His dark eye
twinkled.
“Long story,” she said, wiping the wound with the rag.
He leaned back and set his feet up on another barrel.
“I’ve got nothing but time, Princess.” Ignoring him, she
asked, “What happened to your eye?”
“Wood splinter. Canon fire can be a nasty business.
Here,” he said reaching for the rag. “I’d like to cleanse
it.” He lifted the patch away from his eye, at the same
time shielding Frederica from seeing the site of the eye
injury and dabbed at it, squeezing the rag until soapy
water dripped down and dribbled off his well-trimmed
beard.
“I’m supposed to do that,” she said.
He smiled and handed her back the rag. “You may finish
up, my dear.”
“What makes you think you can call me that?” She pushed
back, hands settling on her hips. He sighed as if he
found her tiresome. “I just did, didn’t I?”
She folded her arms and gave him a dirty look. “I’m not
your dear,” she said through gritted teeth. “You may call
me Frederica or Miss Beauchamp.”
“I see. And how did you come to join a pirate crew,
Frederica?”
She softened. “I’m not a member of the crew. I am their
prisoner, taken on my way to the colonies.”
“Taken? So that’s how you wound up with this scurrilous
crew.”
“I was aboard the passenger ship, the Adelaide, when
Captain Humphrey and his men attacked us.” The corners of
her mouth fell.
“What happened?”
“They stole everything of value, then killed everyone.”
She shrugged at the senseless loss of life and dropped
her eyes to the floor.
“How did you escape?”
“Captain Humphrey took me as his prisoner. I think
Bradford gave him the idea. He saved my life, Bradford
that is. I was struck in the head and collapsed in his
arms. I don’t think he had it in him to kill me. So he
convinced Humphrey I’d be useful. I don’t remember
anything after I got hit in the head.”
“And since?” he asked.
“I’m a slave to Humphrey. I do his bidding. He keeps me
locked in his chambers. Says it’s for my protection…” her
voice trailed off.
Gaston took a sip of rum. “So now you’re Humphrey’s
whore?” “I most certainly am not!” she exclaimed
indignantly.
“Let me see if I understand this correctly… You sleep in
the captain’s bunk, you care for him, he offers you
protection from the rest of the crew, what else would you
call it?” He rocked his head back, amused.
“I do not lie with him.”
“You don’t?” He winked at her. “Be honest. A comely wench
like yourself… The man would have to have a defect not to
be bedding you.”
“I cannot speak to that, but I can assure you that I
sleep on a pallet on the floor, and the captain sleeps in
his bed. I am nothing more than a slave and companion to
him.” For some reason Galette made her defensive, and
what she told him was true… for the most part.
“If you say so.” Gaston leaned forward, brows knitted
together. “What about when you first came aboard… did he
get close to you? Rub up against you?”
“Monsieur Galette!” She pretended to be slightly more
outraged than she really felt, though she wasn’t sure why
it was important to her what this pirate thought of her.
“Did he?” he persisted.
Taking a deep breath, Frederica considered. Rolling her
eyes, she answered, “Yes.”
What happened?”
“I’m not sure how that is any business of yours,” she
answered petulantly.
“Frederica, I am but a lonely man, injured in battle,
barely having escaped harm’s way with my life. When that
happens to a man, he finds great joy in the simplest of
life’s pleasures. Having a lively conversation with a
beautiful woman, for example.” One corner of his mouth
lifted, rendering him impossibly charming. “Merely
attempting to be friendly, my dear.”
She ignored the endearment this time. “He only rubbed
against me. That is all. Then he became frustrated with
me. Angry too, I suppose.”
Gaston stroked his beard. “Interesting. Then what
happened?”
“Nothing. When he calmed down, he left, and I prayed he
wouldn’t hurt me anymore.” “And has he?”
“Not regularly. When he’s quite drunk or angry he
occasionally likes to punish me.” Gaston nodded
thoughtfully.
Feeling as though she should provide further explanation,
she added, “Sometimes I read to him. And do some mending.
It gets rather boring. I wish I could join the men on
deck and do something useful.”
“So he’s not bedding you—”
“No! How many times must I say it?” She rolled her eyes
again.
“May I hazard a guess that you are not yet in touch with
your true carnal nature?” He eyed her seductively.
“I’ve never lain with a man before, if that is your
inquiry, though I don’t know what business it is of
yours,” she said haughtily.
“That’s a shame,” he said, his eyes roaming over her
body.
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