Free The Pirate Captain by Kerry Lynne Page B

Witnesses?”
    “Six what are willing to step forward and claim inconvenience, but there be more what will help make the case, if need be.”
    “Very well, pass the word we’ll muster the Company after we’re aweigh. Make it so, Master Pryce.”
    “Is she the one we seek, Cap’n?” Pryce asked in an even more clandestine tone.
    Blackthorne paused to consider. “Dunno, Pryce. Dunno.”
    Blackthorne waited until the clump of Pryce’s boots had died, before calling, “You can come out now…if you haven’t jumped overboard again .”
    She stumbled back from the curtain, at first fearing she had been caught eavesdropping. With a hand that shook far more than imagined, she smoothed her hair and made herself as presentable as possible, when wearing nothing but a torn and blood-stained shift, to go meet her fate. At the last moment, her confidence wavered and she pulled the quilt from the bunk. Donning it like a cape, she settled the folds over her shoulders, feeling far less vulnerable as she stepped out.
    It was early evening, the cabin’s saturated colors of the day giving way to the muted, half-tones of impending dark. Blackthorne was in the midst of lighting the candles. One brow lifted under the edge of his headscarf at seeing her swathed in the quilt, but no comment was made. It was another one of his disconcerting habits: ignoring the obvious to pounce on the obscure.
    “You’re letting the Constancy go?” she asked, careful to strip all emotional inflection from her voice.
    Blackthorne stopped with the taper suspended over a wick. “Certainly. Why not? We have what we came for, or so it would appear.”
    His same brow arched, this time with suspicion. “What interest is it to you?”
    “Nothing. I was led to believe you…pirates,” she struggled with the word. He noticed and smirked. “That you always forced captives to join your crew, and then destroyed the ship.”
    He genuinely laughed, a flash of white splitting the black abundance of beard, and blew out the taper’s flame. “Aye, that can be the case. Forty more hands can make duties lighter. But,” he cautioned, wagging a finger, “Twenty souls here under protest can be even more burdensome. So, we take what we can,” he went on, tucking the book back into its place on a shelf, “And let them go, assuring of course, that their gratitude doesn’t come in the form of shooting us in the ass. With any luck and fair winds, we’ll be leagues away before they can make port and report us.”
    “That’s very generous.” She was afraid to hope the same compassion might be extended when it came to the dispensing of her final fate.
    Blackthorne shrugged off the compliment as he flopped down in his chair once more. “Generosity will get you killed, darling. Practicality: now there’s a friend you can count on.”
    Mindful of the quilt, she sat across the table from him. “So, you…pirates…share…everything?”
    “Aye,” he said affably, amused by the break in her voice at the word “pirate.” “We’ve a plunder book what lists all what’s taken; ’tis open for any man to see. The bosun and gunner get a share and a half. The quartermaster gets a share and three-quarter, and Captain—that would be me,” he pointed out, with a teasing glint, “receives two. But everyone gets a share of everything, no exceptions. ’Tis the Code,” he added with an underlining sweep of his hand.
    “How…” She gulped, the words not being where she had expected. “How many are there aboard?”
    Leaning his head back, he closed one eye in calculation. “A hundred and twenty-four now, but we’re still a bit short-handed.”
    “That many,” she said faintly. Struck by a wave of queasiness, she raised a hand to her head. Seeing it shake, she tucked both underneath her legs.
    “Are you well?” He lurched up and came around the table.
    “Yes,” she stammered, shying. “Why?”
    “You just turned the color of spoilt custard. You need