Carly didn't know which was worse, being locked in a cramped cabin filled with terrified women, or not knowing what was happening on deck. Her sky blue eyes flickered around the stuffy cabin in despair, wishing she were able to do something, anything to aid their plight, rather then suffer the pitiful moans of the women.
Opposite Carly sat a frail elderly woman, her trembling hands clutched tightly in her lap as she prayed under her breath. The plain, middle-aged woman beside was her recently widowed daughter. Antoinette, a governess in her early thirties who Carly had come to know and like, sat stiffly in the corner, tears trickling down her pale face. Carly's mistress, Lady Miriam, sat beside her on the tiny bunk clutching Carly's hand as she sobbed into a lacy hanky. The faces of the women were white with fear, and Carly knew, no different from her own.
She gazed down at the slightly oversized silk gown she wore, crushed from her cramped position, and she gently tried to smooth it over her slender legs. The material was soft and luxurious, so different from the simple gowns of pale blue or gray she usually wore. Miriam had begged her to swap gowns, fearing that as a woman of breeding she would likely suffer most at the hands of the pirates that had been bearing down on their ship since dawn. With a wry twist of her lips, Carly noted that Miriam was quick to assign that same fate to Carly.
That Miriam and Carly were half-sisters went unsaid in the Montague household. Lord Montague neither confirmed nor denied the rumors, yet the active dislike of his wife, Lady Annabelle, for the beautiful young girl seemed to confirm the whispers. Miriam and Carly both possessed the same silvery blonde hair and light blue eyes of their father, but where Carly was tiny and petite, her curves gently rounded, Miriam was tall and angular, her features pinched.
That Miriam had never shown her a moments kindness no longer disturbed Carly overly much. Yet she was more than grateful when Miriam, soon to marry a Duke she had never laid eyes on, had begged her parents to allow Carly to travel with her to his Island of the coast of France. Her life was one of misery under the strict rule of Lady Annabelle, who took great pleasure in meting out subtle punishments on the young Carly. Often things would go missing, only to be discovered a short time later by the Mistress upon searching Carly's tiny room in the servant's quarters. She would be punished as a result, but Carly had forbidden the other servants to stand up for her or inform her distant father.
Carly was jerked back to the present by the thud of something heavy against the thin wooden door, and the sounds of muttered curses. Her wide eyes met Miriam's as the door thundered under another assault, her heart racing.
It wasn't supposed to be like this, she thought desperately. This was supposed to be a fresh beginning for her, away from the cold, watchful eyes of Lady Annabelle.
Muffled screams filled the cabin as the door began to splinter under the forceful attack. The old woman started praying out loud, her small fist clutching her cross, and not for the first time did Carly fervently wish that there had been a pistol to spare.
Someone screamed as a bloody and torn sleeve appeared through the splintered door, fumbling with the small latch that was their last protection from their determined invaders.
Carly moved before she realised. Tugging a hair pin from her upswept mane, she crossed the cabin and stabbed at the grasping hand. A rough curse filtered through the door as the hand reached blindly through the cracks, shoving Carly away from the door.
Carly fell, hitting her head on the edge of a chest and knocking books to the floor beneath her. She cried out from the pain, dizziness overwhelming her as she tried to scramble to her feet, but the roll of the ship tumbled her back on the floor.
She heard the scrape of wood on wood as a chest barring the door slid across the floor from the forceful shoves of the pirates, and her mind screamed 'No!' She felt the trickle of moisture down the side of her face as she tried to sit up, but it was too late. Three men, bloody and disheveled, their tanned faces fierce, thrust themselves into the cabin, their weapons drawn.
"On yer feet, ladies. Capt'n wants ye on deck."
Rough hands grasped her by the upper arms, dragging her to her feet. The smell of sweat and sea assailed her. "You first, lassie. I'm keeping me eye on you."
"Take your filthy hands off of me," she demanded, struggling in his grasp as he held her by the upper arms.
"Aye, a feisty one, lads."
"Capt'n will like that," another muttered, and her ears burned as they snickered.
She was pushed from the cabin and along the dark hallway and up the narrow stairs, the other women not far behind.
Carly blinked as the harsh sunlight hit her eyes, then everything came swimming into horrifying focus. Blood washed the deck, cloth from a torn sail blew gently in the breeze, the familiar faces of the crew either sat or laid on the deck, bound and gagged.
She fought back the nausea as she was forced to her knees, her eyes over the other women as they were pushed down beside her. Angry tears filled her eyes at her helplessness, and she blinked them back, unwilling to allow the pirates to see her distress.
Men swarmed over the deck, seemingly directed by one man, different from the rest. Her eyes were drawn to his broad as he shouted out orders. He was tall, and golden, long black glossy waves brushed the collar of a white linen shirt. Tan breeches clung to his muscular thighs to his knees, disappearing into knee-high polished leather boots.
As if drawn by her turbulent gaze, he slowly turned, hands resting lightly at his hips. The breath caught in her throat as she met deep green eyes that seemed to burn through her as though she wore nothing. The flash of teeth in the deeply tanned face made her stomach clench, and something stirred in her memory.
His gaze left her, flickering over the woman at her side, and he barked out an order to the man that had forced her up on deck, before turning his back to them. She didn't catch what was said, his words lost to the wind, but her eyes widened as the elderly lady and her daughter were dragged to their feet by loathsome pirates. Without thought Carly was on her feet, but a thick arm anchored around her waist, lifting her clear off the ground. She struggled, her fingers clawing at the arm, before another man stepped forward and slapped her across the face. The soft skin of her face burned from the contact, and she cried out, black dots appearing before her eyes.
She continued to struggle weakly, and she saw the arm raise again, and she steeled herself for the brutal blow.
"Hold," a stern voice ordered, and a large tanned palm caught the upraised arm. "She is a mere scrap of a lass. Tie her up if need be, but don't bruise that soft skin."
Carly flinched as a gentle finger brushed her temple, coming away with sticky blood. She watched as he rubbed the blood between thumb and forefinger. "Don't make this harder than it has to be," he warned, capturing her chin with his fingers and lifting her face so that they locked gazes. Her lips parted on a silent gasp at the heat in those deep sea green eyes seared her before he abruptly turned and strode away from her.
She was too stunned to resist as a dirty hand grasped the hem of her skirt and tore a large strip off of the delicate material. She blinked back tears as her arms were caught in front of her and her wrists bound tightly with the cloth. She was forced back onto her knees, and knew that she would have purple bruises on the morrow. If she survived.
What followed seemed the longest hours of her young life as booty was transferred from the Ambassador to a smaller, swifter boat over a narrow makeshift bridge. She cringed as nimble lads climbed like monkeys across the narrow plank of wood, moving with the ups and downs of the waves. Only one crate was lost to flounder in the sea.
