Page 6 of Scandalous

Chapter Three

When Martín opened the door to the wardroom he found two similarly dressed people sitting across from Beauville and Daniels. Both people were fair-skinned and slim, their pale faces wan beneath their hats. One of them was female.

“Bonjour, Captain. Bonjour, madam? Mademoiselle?” He cocked an inquiring eyebrow at the woman. The gasps that escaped Beauville and Daniels told Martín his men had been fooled by her male clothing.

He turned to his first mate and made a tsk-tsk sound. “For shame, Beauville. How is it you could fail to notice a beautiful woman even when she is dressed as a man?”

The woman inhaled sharply at Martín’s inaccurate description. Her thin, pale face was, in fact, not particularly handsome. And, judging by the way she had fooled his crew, she must have a figure to match.

She glared at him. “My name is Sarah Fisher. Miss Sarah Fisher. And this”—she gestured to the man beside her—“is Mies Graaf, captain of the Blue Bird.” The blond man gave Martín a tired smile and lifted his shoulders, as if to say he was merely along on a whim.

Martín eyed the weak-looking slaver with scorn. It would be far more entertaining, not to mention humiliating, to deal with the captain’s excitable woman rather than the man himself.

Martín turned to her and bowed with a flourish. “Welcome to my ship, Miss Fisher. I am Captain Martín Bouchard. I take it by your presence here that you are going to turn yourselves and your ship over without any fuss, eh?”

She crossed her arms. “By what right do you claim Captain Graaf’s ship and cargo?”

Martín leaned across the table, both to get a closer look under her hat and to let her know he was not a man to be held at arm’s length by frigid looks. “By the power of the letter of marque granted to me by the British government, Miss Fisher.”

She glanced at the Dutchman, clearly hoping for assistance.

She received none.

Her eyes slid back to Martín’s face, but she let slip no indication of what she was thinking.

He smiled; such cool behavior was intriguing. Women usually flung themselves at him, or, at the very least, giggled and behaved foolishly in his company. Who was this plain woman with such self-possession and calm? And what was she to the mute, pitiful lump of man beside her? His sister? His wife? His whore? She flushed under his stare, as if he’d spoken the words out loud.

“The Blue Bird was in the process of returning to Ouidah when you stopped us, Captain. The people on the ship are going home. There is no need for you to interfere; nobody on that ship will be sold into slavery.”

Martín laughed and threw his hands in the air. “Enfin, mademoiselle, I see now that I have made a terrible mistake. You are free to go.”

The woman’s lips parted, and she looked sideways at the Dutchman. Neither spoke as they rose hesitantly to their feet.

Martín waited until they were standing before leaning across the table, no longer smiling. “You may go, but I will retain your ship, crew, and human cargo.”

The captain slumped back into his seat, but the woman flushed a deep red and planted both hands on the table. She glared down at him. “I am not interested in playing your games, Captain Bouchard,” she said, her words soft and menacing.

By God, she was a treat!

Martín leaned toward her until the brims of their hats touched.

“Oh? Whose games would you like to play, mademoiselle?”

Her eyes narrowed to slits. “We have one hundred armed men and twenty loaded cannon. You would be well-advised to let us be on our way or face the consequences.”

This time, Beauville joined Martín when he burst out laughing.

When they were able to stop, it was Captain Graaf who spoke. “They know we have fewer than forty men and only two guns,” he told the woman before turning to Martín. “I am in no position to fight, nor do I wish to. I daresay you can see I am not an experienced seaman or even a captain. This is my first voyage—I’m sure you have guessed I was put on this ship as a figurehead for my family. We were to have picked up an entirely different cargo in Ouidah, but something happened, and we would have left port empty. That was when my first mate took matters into his own hands.” Graaf frowned. “But I am not without blame—I’m afraid I was ill and not aware until we were well under way, or I should have stopped him from buying slaves. I—”

Martín snorted.

The Dutchman flushed, but doggedly continued. “I accept responsibility for all of it. I’d ask that you hold me on the slaving charge and my first mate for his role in the mutiny, but guarantee the rest of my crew will go free once we reach Freetown.”

Martín sneered at the apparently selfless demand. “Why should your crew not be punished? Did they not know they were engaged in slaving?”

“Yes, they knew, but they had no say in the matter.”

“They had no say? How is that, Captain? Do you employ slaves for a crew? Were they not free to decline to work when they saw what it was—who it was—you put into your hold?”