Page 10 of Kidnapped by the Pirate
He tightened his fingers on Nathaniel’s neck. “Your father and his cronies damned me and my crew to the gallows without a second thought. They took that galleon for themselves, sending little of the treasure to England’s coffers from what I heard later. Your father is a greedy liar. You’re probably just like him.”
Nathaniel struggled for air, his hands coming up to grip Hawk’s wrist, skittering fear clawing. Surely he won’t kill me yet!
Blessedly, Hawk loosened his fingers. The rail dug into Nathaniel’s back, and he cursed his father.
Damn him and his insatiable greed.
Nathaniel had heard stories of the New World’s rampant corruption, and a Spanish treasure ship would certainly have been a tempting prize. Once again, he loomed large over Nathaniel’s life even in his absence.
Nathaniel gazed up at Hawk’s grim expression and the bitter twist of his full lips. Walter could wait—he must deal with the villain who currently clutched him in his talons, the scent of sweat and seawater filling Nathaniel’s nose.
Hawk continued, “Your father and his conspirators underestimated my men—Mr. Snell and many of this crew. They overpowered the force sent to arrest them and rescued me from my cell. We reclaimed The Manta, but that was a name for a lawful ship. Since we’d been branded pirates, I thought a change was in order. She’s The Damned Manta now.” He tightened his hold on Nathaniel’s throat. “And I give no assurances on the well-being of prisoners.”
With that, he pushed Nathaniel back belowdecks and toward his cabin, where a jittery crew member stood with a metal tool in hand. “Lock’s fixed, Cap’n.” He handed over the iron key.
Nathaniel found himself sprawled on his face as Hawk shoved him inside, narrowly missing the edge of the desk. He pushed up to sitting, hating how he cowered, yet tempted to crawl under the desk as Hawk towered over him. The thought of being choked again was unbearable.
The pirate sneered, then turned and stripped off his long coat, hanging it on a hook. His dark, open-necked shirt billowed slightly at the sleeves. As well as his sword and pistol, Nathaniel glimpsed the handles of two daggers tucked into Hawk’s belt, one of them Nathaniel’s own.
His head spun with the rush of shame. What a failure he was. He hadn’t even managed to scratch the fiend with his blade before it was snatched away as if from a naughty child. What would Mr. Chisholm think?
That I’m a failure in everything, not only my studies.
He blinked as the door shut, the key scraped in the lock, and Hawk was gone without another word. Thank the Lord for small mercies. The less he had to suffer the brute’s presence, the better.
Still on the floor, Nathaniel surveyed his cell. Sunlight warmed the air through the square windowpanes across the stern. On the port side, bookcases were built into the hull, thick books and rolled nautical charts tucked away neatly. He didn’t bother going closer to see any of the titles.
To starboard, there were built-in drawers and a large chest on the floor from which Hawk had plucked the blanket. Nathaniel could hardly bear to touch it and kicked it into the corner.
He sat there and pulled his knees to his chest, thoughts tumbling through his mind willy-nilly. Could he have done more with the dagger? Mr. Chisholm’s face filled his mind, and a pang of longing chimed through Nathaniel. His tutor had always seemed so capable, so strong and intelligent.
Nathaniel closed his eyes and conjured Mr. Chisholm’s square jaw, his green eyes, and blond hair pulled back in a queue. The width of his shoulders and the way his coat had hugged his broad chest.
Mr. Chisholm winked. “It’s a dangerous world over in the colonies. On land and at sea.”
Nathaniel gingerly examined the gleaming metal in his hand, turning the smooth wood handle between his fingers. “You’re giving me this?” His heart thumped almost painfully.
“I know most tutors would bestow a book or some such thing, but I fear it would be rather wasted on you. Don’t you agree?”
He did indeed. Nathaniel longed to throw his arms around him and press his lips to the strip of bare skin above Mr. Chisholm’s cravat. Since he was a boy he’d dreamt of it, knowing his tutor was a good, decent man, not a sinner like Nathaniel. Admiring him for it whilst despairing of it.
After he shook Mr. Chisholm’s hand like a gentleman, he watched him, heart in throat, as Mr. Chisholm rode to the end of the drive, around the bend, and was gone forever.
Fighting a rush of tears, Nathaniel opened his eyes. He was still sitting on the floor of the pirate king’s cabin. It was truly happening. He’d been kidnapped. It wasn’t some nightmare that would soak his nightshirt with sweat but leave him unscathed.
