Rum Sodomy and the Lash Ch 11
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It had been relatively easy to slip unnoticed into the large chest of finest Nottingham lace that had lain unheeded on the bustling quayside. Such was the merry melee of jolly jack tars and haggling merchants that nobody had noticed a ragged youth picking a stealthy way over to where the goods were loaded high and wide, ready to be carried on board the East India Company clipper bound for the Americas.
The Americas and a new life, away from all the trouble and danger of the present here in Bristol.
The bolts of delicate fabric made an acceptable bed, and Kit Tremayne burrowed down, trying to sleep to pass the dark enclosed time before it would be possible to emerge and claim a place in the ship’s crew to earn passage. The lurching and swaying motion into which Kit was swung within the hour was unexpected, but probably attributable to being carried on the shoulders of men who had been availing themselves of their last few hours ashore rather too thoroughly. There was a roaring sound that was difficult to place, and then a long and blessed silence. Yes! In the hold of the Western Rose, bound for Boston and freedom. It would be a few scant hours before Kit could prise off the lid and experience the voyage from the upper decks. A sailor’s life for me.
In the event, Kit did not need to employ any feats of escapology. Blinking up into the gloom of the hold, the stowaway was rudely awoken from slumber by two raggle-taggle shipmates, who made short work of hauling their unexpected guest out of the frilly nest and up to the Captain’s quarters.
‘We’ve got a stowaway, Captain,’ opened the taller of the men grimly, pushing Kit through the door so that an undignified entrance on hands and knees was effected.
Captain Jake Prince looked up from the documents he was perusing with an expression of long-suffering irritation. A tall, lean man of about forty, with luxuriant black hair both atop his head and around his face, which sported a long slash of duelling scar, Captain Prince did not suffer fools on his vessel. He stood up, his manly figure enhanced by the billowing black shirt and tight black trousers that he wore, swaggering boots up to his knee and a variety of belts and gleaming blades arranged around his person.
Kit’s lips parted in dismay. Who was this? Not Captain Forrester of the Western Rose, surely. Forrester was an older man, grey-haired and respectably clad. This was…not right.
Kit shrank back as Captain Prince took a few steps closer, jingling as he moved, his eyes alert and questioning.
‘Where did you join us?’ he rasped.
‘Bristol, Captain.’ Kit made every effort to sound as gruff and hard as possible, but the Captain smiled, almost laughed. Damn! Did he know?
‘You must have come in those chests of lace we stole from the quayside. I suppose you think you’re going to seek your fortune in America, do you?’
Kit nodded mutely.
‘Bad luck,’ said the Captain mockingly. ‘You’re on the Occidental Orchid, uninvited guest of myself, Captain Jake Prince. Kit gasped. The Black Prince. This was the most miserable luck, Prince was the most notorious pirate working the Meditterranean, a dreadful blackguard of whom the most bloodcurdling tales were regaled in every inn on the coast of Britain and beyond.
‘Ah, so my reputation precedes me.’ Prince’s voice was striking, rich, deep and with a deadly smoky allure. Kit could understand why he was considered a legendary womaniser. ‘You have heard of me. Have you also heard how we deal with extraneous crew?’
‘No.’ Kit’s negative came out as a strangled sob.
‘We lash them till they can barely stand, then send them down the gangplank to give the sharks a treat.’ Captain Prince left a beat of silence during which he smirked, revealing a prominent gold tooth, at Kit’s stricken face.
‘Of course,’ murmured Prince, his lips disconcertingly close to Kit’s ear, ‘I would never use the cat o’ nine tails on a woman.’
Kit froze, barely daring to breathe. Goddamn him, how could he look at this grubby bag of rags and see femininity?
‘I’m not a woman,’ gritted Kit stubbornly.
‘Really? Then take off your shirt.’
‘I will not!’
‘I can’t imagine why you think you are in a position to defy me. Take it off, or I’ll take it off for you.’
Prince’s strangely elegant hands drifted through the air towards Kit’s torn, stained chemise. Kit looked around blindly, considering making a run for it, but the facts had to be faced. There was nowhere to run, if you didn’t count the Bristol Channel. Grudgingly, and with face aflame, Kit lifted the disgusting garment over her grimy face and shorn matted hair, throwing it down with a challenging slap and failing to meet the Captain’s eye. He was bound to have the most enragingly arrogant look of triumph on his face and she wanted no accidental glimpse of it.
‘As I thought. I can smell the tang of female from across Billingsgate Market, you presented very little in the way of challenge, my dear. But we will discuss this further after you have been cleaned up. Moody, Fagin, scrub her up and bring her back to me. Without those filthy rags.’
‘You mean…naked?’ bleated Kit, all bravado tossed to the four winds.
‘As the day you were born, my dear,’ purred the Captain, as the two pirates grabbed an arm each. ‘And if I hear that either of you barbarians have laid a finger on her…female treasures…I will have the pair of you flogged until your spines are visible, is that clear?’
‘Yes, Captain,’ muttered the henchmen, and they dragged a topless Kit off to what she assumed was going to be the most humiliating experience of her life.
*
So far, her assumptions were not proving mistaken. Kit stumbled and lurched forward in the wake of her captors, highly conscious of her firm young breasts bouncing this way and that as they descended ladders to the deck. Curious glances, catcalls and whistles assaulted her ears and she wondered fearfully if she would make it back to the Captain’s quarters without some attempt on her maidenhead being made.
She had been an idiot, she could see it now. But she really had had no other course. She could not stay and be arrested for her uncle’s murder. Would the noose really be any worse than walking Prince’s plank though? Desperately, she played over the possibilities in her mind. Could she plead with the Captain to spare her life and drop her off at the next sea port? She would have to try.
While she was thus occupied in painful musings, Moody and Fagin were filling a large round wooden tub with soapy water. Their task took some time, and Kit sat down on the boards, crossing her arms over her exposed breasts and feeling the harsh sun on her back and shoulders. She had to admit, a bath would be welcome, she should make the most of what might be one of the last pleasurable experiences of her life.
It was difficult, though, when she had to pull down her britches in front of the two leering pirates and give them a good eyeful of her pubic bush and her nude behind before climbing into the tub and sliding as far into the water as she possibly could. From beneath the greyish bilge, she looked up at the crow’s nest and the men gesturing obscenely down at her in the rigging. One even had his hands down his trousers, either pretending or masturbating for real. Serve him right if he lost his footing and broke his back, she sulked. She immersed her entire body in the water’s warm embrace, feeling the week’s worth of dirt and degradation wash away for sublime seconds before having to come up again for air.
Too soon, she was chivvied out of the protective suds and handed a cloth to dry her dripping body. As she vigorously rubbed herself all over, it was hard not to notice the bulges in the trousers of her companions. It was like being in a dream, an awful dream from which one struggled to extricate oneself into the relief of full consciousness. But this dream would never end,
unless with her death. No, she must not allow herself to think such thoughts. Fortune favours the brave.
She held her chin up and stared straight ahead as she was led, completely naked, back to the Captain’s quarters, running a hideous gauntlet of unwanted lustful attentions.
The pirates pushed her through the door again and were dismissed. Kit maintained her defiant stance even as she trembled under the Captain’s fierce scrutiny. Hearing his footsteps approach, she noted that there were two place settings at his table and dinner appeared to be imminent. Her wandering eyes were soon forced back to her piratical prison warder, who was now towering over her and raking his eyes from her chestnut hair to her dainty feet and all points between.
‘A most unconvincing boy,’ he said softly, the lowness of his tone forcing her to look into his face to aid her concentration. Those eyes were too piercing, if she hadn’t been naked, she would have imagined herself to be, under that penetrating gaze.
‘Are you going to kill me, Captain?’ she asked bluntly. He smiled at her and took her chin between finger and thumb, prising her mouth open and inspecting her teeth.
‘You’re a fine specimen,’ he said evasively. ‘Good teeth are very rare. I suspect you of high birth.’
‘No, indeed, Captain,’ flustered Kit.
‘What is your name?’
‘Kit.’
‘Your full name.’
‘Catherine.’
‘Your…full…name.’ His grip on her chin tightened painfully and her head was wrenched up to an angle that rendered avoidance of his gaze impossible.
‘Catherine Smith. Kitty. Kitty Smith.’
Captain Prince inhaled sharply, it was clear that he did not believe her. But he let the matter drop for the time being. He indicated the table with an exaggerated gentlemanly gesture.
‘Pray take a seat, Miss Smith. I would be most honoured if you would join me for dinner. I anticipated your hunger and have provided a repast which I trust you will find acceptable.’
‘Oh.’ Kitty was stumped. ‘Can’t I…dress first?’
‘Kitty, this is a pirate ship. We do not carry spare female costume. Please take a seat.’
Cheeks burning, Kitty sat in the chair Captain Prince had pulled out for her and watched as he seated himself opposite. A young lad of about her own age brought in a platter of cooked chicken, potatoes and vegetables, then a bottle of red wine. He seemed shy of the bare female flesh on display and kept his head bowed as he served them.
‘Thank you, Tom, you may go,’ said the Captain dismissively. Then he turned his attention to his shapely captive and commanded, ‘Tell me about yourself, Kitty.’
‘It’s Miss Smith to you,’ she said fierily.
‘No it is not, and I’d advise you to curb the feisty temperament in the circumstances. Kitty. So?’
Kitty felt hot with mortification and worry. What story could she spin him?
‘I’m just a poor street girl from Bristol, Sir,’ she mumbled. ‘My parents are dead and I’m alone in the world. I thought I could stay out of the poorhouse if I could jump ship to America and find my way in the new world.’
‘I don’t appreciate being lied to, Kitty,’ said the Captain, his voice dangerously silken. ‘You are certainly not a poor Bristol street girl. Where is your accent? There is nothing coarse or hard about you, my dear. Now give me the truth.’
Kitty chewed miserably on a piece of chicken. She ought to be relishing her first decent meal in a week, but it tasted of ashes and gristle. Her stomach was clove-hitched to hell. She thought she might be sick all over the Captain. That would impress him.
‘Please don’t kill me,’ she blurted, tears spilling at last from her depthless brown eyes.
‘Watering my tablecloth will not deter me from finding out your true story, Miss Smith,’ said the Captain severely. ‘Dry those tears and tell me the truth. I do not intend to kill you, though you may wish I had by the time I’m finished here tonight.’
Kitty choked down the sobs. What an unfeeling bastard! Did he expect her to be happy that she was facing an infamous rogue with no clothes on?
‘I’m…a poor….Bristol…street girl,’ she juddered obstinately. The Captain sighed, flung down his napkin and raised himself to his full six feet and one inch.
‘Very well, Kitty, you insist you are no lady, and therefore I will not treat you as such.’ He could capitalise on this foolish wench’s pigheadedness, and he planned to make the most of his unexpected female company. ‘Come here.’
Kitty covered her mouth with her hands apprehensively. She did not want to go anywhere near his force field of menace.
‘I’m waiting,’ he said, arms folded, tapping one foot impatiently on the wooden flooring.
‘What…do you want?’ whispered Kitty, terrified.
‘Come here and I’ll show you.’
Kitty rose on legs whose bone density appeared to have crumbled to almost nothing. She padded warily over to the looming dark figure of the buccaneering brute. She was still about a foot away when he snatched up one of her wrists and pulled her hard against his chest. She yelped in alarm, but he silenced her with a finger on her lips.
Taking it away when he was satisfied of her compliance, he bent his face down to hers until the tip of his prominently aquiline nose rested against her cheek, his lips laid lightly on her ear.
‘You, Kitty, have been a very badly-behaved girl today. You have lied to me, you have disrespected my authority, and you have failed to act with a befitting level of humility considering you came to me as a filthy little stowaway. Therefore, it is my view that you deserve to be punished. What do you say?’
Mhairi
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