The Blac Hart

"There's no chance then?" Cassandra asked.

"I'm afraid not, my lady. With the wind and position being what they are... I can alter course to prolong the chase by some hours. But nothing more," the Captain stated bluntly.

"We should have kept the cannons," she said. An admission of fault; the decision to throw the cannons overboard had been hers.

"It would have made little difference, my lady. No difference at all to the final outcome," the Captain pronounced. "They had their masts stepped and the boat is painted a sea green. We simply saw them too late. It would almost be worth surviving to learn how they got back under sail so quickly."

"They'll take the ship to Hawar or Freeport?" she asked.

"Yes, my lady."

"What do you recommend?"

"We should hide you below. It's a forlorn hope but it might be the case that you can avoid detection until they reach port and you may escape," he said. But his words were rote. The crew was loyal but one of them would talk about the lady. She knew it, too.

"No. If nothing else they've seen me as surely as I've seen them. We'll heave to, Captain. There's no point in prolonging this. Our intelligence must reach Southport as soon as possible. If the King is not able to smash the invasion fleet before Manzares arrives with the money to pay the troops..." She frowned. Uncle had told her there were no unimportant missions. But this was her first unsupervised mission. Her biggest ever. The biggest she would ever see. And she was going to fail because some sea bastards had fortune on their side.

"I'll meet them when they come aboard. If I promise them the moon perhaps they can be bought."

"Yes, my lady."

***********************

"They've a woman aboard," deGruyt commented.

"Aye, a comely lass. And well dressed," John replied as he pulled the buckle tight on his padded jack. The garment was much easier to remove than put on and that meant it was forever coming loose. Or felt like it was coming loose to a man about to board an enemy vessel. He really needed to shit. Again.

"Think she'll last long?" deGruyt idly needled.

John frowned. The problem, he had long ago learned, with being a bastard was that you had to keep company with bastards. And deGruyt was a *bastard*.

"That's a waste. Better to sell her and share out the price to the men so they can engage a whore," he said. But he knew the field was barren before he sowed it.

"A white flag," deGruyt announced. Surprise dripped from every syllable.

John turned to look for himself.

"And they're reducing sail!" deGruyt nearly shouted. Plainly he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

John couldn't either. The ship was clearly the Royal fast packet service. Not a navy ship, but under contract and carrying Royal Mail. And they'd a woman aboard. They'd fight very hard. Very, very hard. But there was the white flag, plain even to the naked eye. What was different about this ship?

"What the fucking hell?" John muttered.

"Aye. The fucking hell indeed. Looks like an easy jump for you today, Gentleman," deGruyt declared.

John ignored him and went to the main deck. Behind him deGruyt began issuing orders. To the sailing master, to the gunners, to the boarders. It was to this last group that John addressed his attention. A small group of them, anyway. The point of the spear. The first boarders. The ones that would follow him across and lead the rest of the crew.

"McCarthy!"

"Aye, Gentleman?" the burly mountaineer responded.

"Retrieve the grenades. They've dropped their colors and they're heaving to. I want you and Sanchez to wait here and be ready to throw in case it's a ruse. No one else, mind. The rest of you killers can idle by the bulwark. If grenades explode aboard their vessel just come on over and you can kill anyone I haven't attended to yet," he ordered.

Coarse chuckles greeted his words.

"The rest of you bastards standy by. One of you shoots without orders and I'll put your balls on a string and make you wear them around your neck. My fucking oath I will!"

***********

Cassandra tried to calm herself as sailors on both ships heaved on ropes to bring the two vessels alongside. She'd been taught fatalism and tried to embrace those tenets in the moment. It would work or it would not. Focus on success for failure would take care of itself. Breathe. Relax. Focus. Focus. Focus. Oh, God...

The pirate was a large man with dark hair tied back in a ponytail. He wore a bright scarlet jack crossed by a black leather baldric with a sword dangling from it. He swung easily over to Keith's Fortune and landed gracefully on the deck. He gave the main deck a sweep of his eyes before walking over to where Cassandra stood with the Captain and his officers.

He smiled at them and she saw the R branded on his left cheek. A rapist. Focus. Focus.

"On behalf of Captain deGruyt, commanding The Black Hart, I accept your surrender, gentlemen. We greatly appreciate your concern for the sanctity of human life and will strive to match it to the best of our ability. I have the honor of addressing?" he asked.

"We have less regard for your lives than we have for our own, pirate, and we've little enough of that. We are on an important mission and must not be delayed. I present to you the Lady Howell, daughter of Lord Mortimer Howell," the Captain replied.

"Of Howell shipping?" John asked.

"The same, sir," Cassandra replied. "As the Captain has said we are engaged in the business of the Kingdom. This matter is urgent and grave. So grave that I am prepared to make exceptions to Royal Law as regards pirates. Convey us to Southport with all haste and I shall turn this ship over to you as well as three hundred pounds of gold coin. Further, my family shall press the King to grant you pardon for your acts and allow you to return to the bosom of society," she continued.

John turned his head and spat on the deck.

"My apologies for fouling the deck, Captain. You keep a well-ordered ship. But that for King Turos."

Cassandra bristled, her face flushing with anger that she struggled to control. "600 pounds," she bit out.

"That will be for Captain deGruyt to decide, my lady. But I'd bet my last penny he'll not accept. No man aboard the Hart would be fool enough to put himself in Turos' claws. Better to sell the ship, sell the crew, and sell you and be done with it."

Cassandra paled. "No. You fail to understand me. The life of the Kingdom itself is at stake. This message must go through. Do with us as you will then, but only ensure the message reaches Southport immediately."

John raised his left hand and waved it in the air, signalling to the Captain it was safe to board. Crewmen from the Hart began swinging aboard, rounding up the crew of the Fortune. "We'll go talk to Captain deGruyt," John stated. He swept his hand to indicate they should precede him. "My lady, Captain, gentlemen."

**************************

"Not for the promise of every piece of gold in the Royal Mint," deGruyt stated.

"Captain, I really think you fail to understand the situation," Cassandra began.

"Oh, aye, there's a misunderstanding here," deGruyt agreed. "Gentleman, would you clear this up for the lady?"

John sighed and stepped up behind Cassandra. One hand grabbed her hair right at the scalp and squeezed. The other drew his fighting knife.

"Here now," the Captain of the Fortune protested but the man behind him kicked his knees out and he fell to the deck. One of the under officers turned to assist his Captain and got his skull smashed by a belay pin for his efforts.

John carefully placed the blade flat against Cassandra's neck and pushed down, slicing her dress. "Gently now," he said quietly as she tried to turn on him. "I'd not like to cut you by accident." He lifted with his left hand, pulling her up onto her toes as the knife slid down to the top of her ass. He sheathed it and then used his free hand to pull the dress, and the underdress, down to her waist. Releasing her hair he then used both hands to pull it down to her knees and stood back.

Cassandra crossed her arms over her breasts, blushing and furious at herself for doing do, which only made the situation worse.

"And her small garment, Captain?" the rapist asked.

"Not just yet, Gentleman," deGruyt replied. "Do you have a better understanding of the situation now, my lady?" he asked.

Cassandra swallowed and tried to find her voice. "We are in your power, Captain. I understand this. I only pray you will deliver this message before it is too late and the Kingdom is plunged into civil war. Thousands will die," she pleaded.

"Good for business, a civil war," deGruyt observed. "Everyone's too busy fighting to look for pirates. Letter of Marque and Reprisal from both sides. Coastal raiding too."

"Captain I.. I beg you. Please."

deGruyt smiled cruelly. "Oh, you're begging? Do forgive me. I failed to understand that. Well then, let's come to an agreement. I will undertake to deliver your message in good time. In return you shall compensate me by sucking on my dick."

"What?!" Cassandra yelped.

"I must have stuttered," deGruyt said in tones of mock apology. His hands reached down and unbuttoned the flap at his crotch, freeing his hairy cock. "I said that I will..."

"I heard you, Captain," Cassandra bit out.

"Excellent. Do we have an accord then?"

Cassandra swallowed. Hard. The man's... member was hanging out his pants and seemed to be... moving.

"I've not all day to stand here with my dick in the wind, my lady. Yea or nay?"

"Yea," she whispered. Focus.

"What was that?" deGruyt asked.

"Yea," she said.

"Then be about your work," he ordered.

John watched with interest as the lady carefully lowered herself to her knees in front of deGruyt. Her hands reached up to tentatively touch deGruyt's cock. Her head moved from side to side as she examined it and then, eyes closed, leaned in and kissed it.

"Love's first kiss," deGruyt laughed. "But he's not a blushing boy, my lady. You'll need to do more than that." His hands reached down to grasp her head and he pushed into her mouth. She struggled, her hands reaching up to grasp at his, her body squirming as she tried to scoot away from him. deGruyt pumped his hips twice and then pulled out of her. "Like that, my lady. Just like that."

Cassandra fell to her hands and knees, gasping in shock. He'd slammed the thing to the back of her throat! She'd nearly vomited. She panted on all fours, spitting on the deck.

"I'm losing my patience, lady," deGruyt declared.

Cassandara steeled herself with a deep breath and rose back to her knees. Focus on the mission. Focus on living. Focus on seeing this man dance on a short stake. She opened her mouth and slid it over deGruyt's penis.

John felt his own flesh stirring at the sight. Cassandra was indeed comely, the more so now that she had been stripped of most her clothing. She had nice, full hips that gave her a woman's appearance and her ass, beneath her undergarment, hinted at a similar lushness. Her breasts were excellent, neither too large nor too small and she had nice, large nipples. His hands itched. His dick itched.

deGruyt grunted and grabbed Cassandra by the hair, his hips shaking and a groan slipping from his lips. Then he was done and pulled out. Cassandra fell again to her hands and knees, deGruyt's cum spilling from her mouth as she coughed and spat. deGruyt wiped his cock in her hair and tucked it back into his garment, buttoning the flap.

"You've a fair talent for that, my lady. But you lack the practice. We'll make good that lack for you," deGruyt informed her. "Take them below, Gentleman. And get her message. We'll make sure it's delivered to agents of Turos as soon as we make harbor in Freeport."

"Freeport!" Cassandra exploded. She rose from the deck in a fury, spit and cum still on her chin and hand. "You said..." she trailed off.

"Aye?" deGruyt prompted.

"Bastard!" she spat at him. Literally.

deGruyt's hand lashed out and caught her hard across her face. She jerked to the side and sprawled on the deck. deGruyt laughed and turned away.

"The officer's brig," John ordered the sailors guarding the officers of the Fortune. Then he squatted down next to Cassandra and helped her carefully to her feet. "Ok to walk? Do you need to be carried?"

She slapped his hand away from her and nearly collapsed again before he caught her. "It's hard to let go of your pride, but you really must. It will vex you sorely," he advised.

"I will not be reduced to an animal," she declared.

"We're all animals of one sort or another. What's important is whether we're alive or dead. Come along, then."

He escorted her down the stair and below deck to his cabin. It was barely more than a closet but it was his. A bunk was built against one wall, with storage beneath it. There was a chair and mounts for a washbasin and a desk could fold down from one wall. A lantern hung from one wall.

"Sit on the bed," he ordered.

She looked at him warily, and then at the door he was blocking, and then sat on the edge of the bunk. He lit the lantern and set it carefully in its holder. It filled the room with a soft yellow glow.

"Do you want to take your garment off or have it ripped off?" he asked.

Her eyes flashed angrily and she choked back the three scathing rebukes that flashed into her mind. Then she stood, quickly slipping one leg and then the other out of her garment. She balled it up and threw it at him and then tried to stand defiantly. Her hands wanted to cover her shame. Her mind wanted to throw her nudity at him as defiance but she didn't know how.

"Sit down," he said mildly. "I'm going to secure you to the bed."

"Are you afraid to say tie me down? So you can rape me?"

"I'm not going to rape you," he said.

"Really? I should take the word of a rapist?" she demanded.

He reached up and traced the scar on his cheek with his thumb. "Do you have a choice? Look you, we've not got a gaol for women. They get tossed to the officers or the crew. Or both. If I put you anywhere else on this ship you would be raped. Here... We might delay matters."

She glared at him.

"Oh, aye, I'm a rapist. But now is not the time."

"You're a liar. Like your Captain," she accused.

"When I must be, yes. But, again, have you any choice?"

She frowned at the truth of his words. She really didn't have any choice. He was at least a head taller than her and four stone heavier. If she resisted he was going to come over and force her. Not taking her eyes from him she lay back on the bunk, her ankles crossed and arms covering her breasts.

"Roll over," he ordered.

She hesitated before obeying, but did. His hands gently pulled her wrists behind her back and then bound them securely with a thick piece of leather cord. He repeated this with her legs. Then his hands rolled her over. Her breath caught in her chest as did so, the first man that had ever touched her body in that way. Another length of cord was secured about her neck. The free end was tied to an iron eye in the wall behind her. He checked the bindings and then bent down and pulled open a drawer. An inkpot, pen, and piece of paper came out. He folded down the desk and looked at her.

"The message?" he prompted.

Cassandra needed a moment to order her thoughts, flustered by her situation.

"Why?" she asked.

"deGruyt will want it. He tricked you and that will sit well with the crew. But he made a bargain and he needs to be known as a man who keeps his word. He'll deliver the message, in his own good time," he explained.

"So, even thieves and murders have rules," she observed.

"Just so. And, of course, he'll wish to see what's so important that you're willing to sell yourself into slavery to ensure it's delivered."

"Very well. Begin by writing the phrase 'My dearest cousin I have been at great pains to deliver this information to you.'"

The pen scratched its way across the paper. "And?" he prompted.

"Mazares has entered into an agreement with the Governor of Ashertab. Fifty-thousand troops and the ships to transport them in return for one million crowns, territorial concessions, and future trading rights. Mazares shall meet them at Goatsisle on the second of May to deliver payment. They sail on the third to land in the South and march on the Capitol," she said, speaking slowly and carefully.

"Three days hence," John observed as he blotted the missive. "We'll be that long making port."

"Yes," she agreed. "It will never reach the King in time now."

John could think of nothing to say and so made no answer. He replaced the writing materials and folded up the desk.

"You should remain unmolested here. I will deliver this message to the Captain and try to determine your fate. I'll return with some food."

"Why?" she asked.

"Because you'll need to eat?" he replied, confused by the question.

"Why haven't you molested me?" she asked.

"Are you complaining?" he countered.

"No! I'm simply confused. You don't seem... you aren't a coarse man. But you're a branded rapist and I'm... at your mercy. Yet you've been somewhat polite and shown some little concern for my well-being," she explained.

"Ah." He met her eyes and then let his gaze wander openly over her exposed body. "There are rapists and there are rapists. Under other circumstances I should very much enjoy taking my time raping you at length. But, alas, now is not that time. Perhaps later."

Cassandra swallowed at the sight of his grin and then he was gone, closing the door behind him.

She gingerly examined her bonds. There had been instruction in the art of escaping from bondage included in her training. The instructor had begun by saying that everything depended on your captor being inexpert, foolish, or rushed. The 'Gentleman' had not been any of those things. There was no slack to exploit and she genuinely feared to test moving too forcefully lest she tighten the cord about her neck. This was extremely disappointing but, as her training had taught her to do, she moved on.

"What have you left me to work with?" she muttered, her eyes scanning the room methodically. This took her a very little time for those portions of it she could see were simple and barren. Which was, in itself, interesting. There wasn't a single indication of the character of the person who occupied the room. But for the lantern it might have been unoccupied at all.

She considered this. Everyone added a touch of their personality to their space. Even the insane did this. He had not. Ergo, this was not his space. He occupied it but felt no attachment to it. To the ship? Yes. Possibly. Very possibly. It was a chink in his armor. But where was her tool to pry that chink open. She remembered his eyes upon her and she knew.

"Focus," she commanded herself. "Breathe. Use what tools you have and do what must be done." She had her breathing exercises to calm herself, and she had her mind to plan with, and she had her chink, and she had her tool. And her devotion to her family and their cause.

"How?" she asked herself.

**********************

In the passageway John leaned back against the wall and shook uncontrollably for a minute. He wanted to scream or swear or hit someone; any outlet for the adrenaline that had been coursing through him for the past hour.

Howell. Fucking Howell! Mortimer's daughter. Mordecai's fucking niece! He leaned his head back and almost laughed. The Black Hart was a graveyard. Every man aboard her, every man that had ever sailed aboard her, was dead. And he was the only one who knew. Mordecai would beggar the entire family tracking them all down and ensuring they died in very gruesome and very, very public manners.

Worse than that, John owed the man his life. But for Mordecai John d'Este would be nothing more than a memory of a rotting corpse on a gallows. He'd had a measure of respect for John. That pained him. His life was shit and that was entirely his fault and no more than he deserved. But at one time Mordecai Howell had thought it worth his time to defy his King and save John's life. And John repaid him by kidnapping his niece, exposing her to the vile attentions of a pirate crew, and ensuring that she would be sold into slavery. He banged his head hard against the bulkhead, his self-loathing like a worm in his gut.