The locations, major events and certain characters in these stories are taken from Theah, the setting for the 7th Sea role-playing game (http://www.swashbucklingadv.com/). These particular stories are based on logs from my own role-playing adventures in this exciting world (http://www.btinternet.com/~s.mci/7thsea/7thindex.html).
Theah is (sort of, but not quite) a fantasy version of 17th century Europe. It is filled with daring swordsmen, dashing pirates and dread villains. These stories are set in Montaigne (sort of, but not quite, France) and Avalon (sort of, but not quite, England). A young sailor joins the Sea Dog privateers of Avalon to find a life of adventure.
Please send any comments about this tale to s.mci@btinternet.com
Chapter Two
The wicked looking pirate stood before his trembling prisoner with a smile of sadistic glee. A crooked scar ran down one cheek from above the eye to below the chin. His leering grin revealed one gleaming tooth amid those which were stained and rotten. The man's greasy hair was long and unkempt, tied back by a dirty band across his forehead. His charmless features left Lizbeth repulsed, but it was the sinister object in his hands which left her shaking in fear. Nine long, leather thongs hung from a short handle. The evil strands had been soaked in brine, a small knot deliberately placed at the tip of each strip. Lizbeth had heard chilling tales about the effects of the cat o'nine tails. Dark stains of blood made it clear that this one had tasted flesh before and now it seemed that she would become its latest victim.
She frantically shook her head, long curls tumbling across her wide, terrified eyes. A low moan of pleading escaped her gagged lips. This couldn't be happening. It had all gone so wrong. Where was Sean? Why had she let herself get into this plight. She twisted her arms and again tried to break free from her bonds. It was no use. The ropes were tied far too tightly. The girl's wrists were securely bound and pulled high above her head, stretching her arms and body taut. More strands of thick cord had been wrapped about her stomach and chest. She was now held inescapably with her back to the ship's tall mast, unable to squirm more than a few inches to either side. Two sailors knelt at her feet and were applying further rope at her booted ankles, drawing her legs apart and passing the rope in loops around the base of the mast. Spreading her legs caused her torso to drop, which in turn stretched her arms further from her suspended wrists. She moaned in pain at the increased tension on already straining muscles.
Caressing the strands of his whip, the dastardly pirate eyed Lizbeth's heavy riding coat and the elegant waistcoat and breeches below. "Cut off those clothes," he bellowed, "Let her naked flesh feel the full cut of the lash."
"No!" A shorter pirate forced his way across the crowded deck, "What the hell do you think you are doing, Tom Evans? She came onboard as my prisoner and I'll not have you mark her."
Sean O'Brien barged past his crewmates until he stood defiantly before the scarred Evans. He glared in heated anger and reached out to snatch the cat o'nine tails from the older man's grasp. Behind him Lizbeth sagged in her bonds with a choked sob of relief. Thank the Creator. She knew her faith in this rogue hadn't been misplaced. The kindness and protection she had sensed from his earlier gentle touch couldn't have been imagined. Now, please, she silently begged, get me down from here.
Evans curled his lip in a sneering laugh, "You'll give that whip back if you know what's good for you. You can have your turn with the bitch, but not until I'm done breaking her in."
Sean hurled the cat aside and took a step closer, "I didn't bring her onto the ship for your pleasure. She knows where we can find Captain Reynolds and you'll not touch her."
"Reynolds? Reynolds is gone and good riddance to him. I've served on this ship longer than the rest of you and I say that puts me in charge. I say we're heading back to Avalon and the wench is mine to do with as I please."
Sean was appalled, "How can you be so disloyal? The captain was a fine man who treated us all fair. I say we should do what we can to save him."
"Who cares what a runt from Inismore thinks?" Evans spat at Sean's feet, "You've only been on the ship a few months. Nobody is interested in your opinion. You can go back to pig farming on that stinking island of yours if you don't like my rule."
A plaintive whimper came from the damsel hanging at the mast. Lizbeth flexed within her restraining bonds as she watched the tense exchange between the two pirates. She knew that her fate would be determined by the outcome of this confrontation. Sean looked her way and she met his gaze with large, pleading eyes that were now beginning to glisten with tears. With a pitiful expression and wordless cries, she implored him for release.
The young Inishman's own troubled eyes revealed uneasy concern when he looked upon the tied highwaywoman. Things had quickly passed out of his control when they boarded the 'Kingfisher'. The men had pounced upon Lizbeth without so much as a word of welcome to Sean. Damn his foolishness! He should never have put her at such risk. He took a half step towards the captive, planning to cut her loose and end her torment, but he stopped short. His action would be meaningless if he didn't win over the crew first. That cause would be lost if he showed any sign of weakness or sympathy towards the girl.
He turned to face the assembled men. A few were obvious lackeys of Evans, spineless cutthroats who would follow whomever was in a position of strength. Most of the rest were honest enough in their way. They might lack courage, but snatches of muttered whispers revealed unhappiness at the thought of simply abandoning their captain. Sean finally called to Tariq ben Abli, the dark skinned navigator standing near the ship's wheel, "Tariq, what say you? The men know your judgement to be sound. Do we give the captain a chance or turn tail and run?"
The silent wanderer from far off lands stood motionless for long seconds. The crew fixed their eyes upon him, a hushed expectation awaiting his judgement. The navigator moved to a storage locker and picked out a handful of items. Still expressionless, he threw a length of heavy rope and two belaying pins onto the deck between the opposing parties.
“A duel?’ laughed Evans, “An excellent idea, Mr ben Abli. Don´t expect any mercy for this defiance, O´Brien.’
“I´ll fight you if I must. If that´s what it takes to beat sense into your ugly skull.’
The two men bent, each grabbing one of the belaying pins and one end of the thick rope. The pins were simple wooden dowels used for tying off ropes - a useful tool for anybody working a ship. They also served as short makeshift clubs - a useful weapon for anybody wanting to fight without resort to more lethal blades. Lizbeth watched from her helpless position as each man wrapped the end of the rope around his left forearm. She had no idea what was going on and hoped that Sean knew what he was doing. The only point she clearly understood was that she would become the bound prize of the victor. In the name of Theus, please let it be Sean, she prayed.
The men stood with about six feet of slack rope between them. The rules of a pirate´s duel were simple. The connecting rope would prevent the opponents from fleeing and limit evasion of the other´s attacks. They could strike with their weapons or use the rope to whip, strangle or reel in their enemy. The fight would continue until either man yielded, dropped his end of the rope or was rendered unconscious. With his taller frame, years of experience and unquenchable lust for violence, Evans was favoured to win. The crew formed a ring and began to chant encouragement to rouse the fighting spirit of the combatants.
The rope was kept taut as the pirates began by warily circling each other. Sean held his eyes focused on Evans and tried to ignore the distraction of Lizbeth writhing at the mast. He had never fought in one of these duels before now, but he couldn´t afford to lose his first one when a distressed damsel relied upon his victory. The feel of the heavy rope dragging on his arm was disconcerting, hampering his normally fluid movements. He would need to adjust his fighting style to accommodate the limited freedom allowed.
Evans made the first strike. He flicked out his left arm to create space and then darted in towards Sean´s left hand side, swinging his belaying pin down in a high arc. The younger pirate ducked and tried to pivot away from the blow, but the cumbersome rope was in the way. Evans´ club smashed into Sean´s left arm and was quickly followed by a swift jab into the ribs. The villain confidently spun aside to again open the space between them. His laugh and Sean´s gasp of pain were drowned out by the cheers of the crowd and Lizbeth´s gagged scream of fright.
Nodding at his own mistake, Sean tightened his grip on his weapon and flexed his injured arm. The blow to the ribs felt more painful, but neither wound seemed serious. He took note when Evans grabbed hold of the rope which tethered them and braced himself when the older man yanked. The muscles in both men's arms bulged, but Sean´s feet remained firmly planted and Evans was forced to relax his efforts. As soon as the rope fell slack, Sean grabbed it in both hands and heaved with all his strength. Evans was caught off guard and stumbled forwards. This time it was the younger man´s belaying pin which landed with a bruising thud in his opponent´s back.
The two men spun across the deck, each off balance and unsteady from the other´s momentum. The crew darted aside and cleared a path as the duellists staggered across the deck. Tears now ran freely down Lizbeth´s watching face, her heart pounding at the brutal ferocity of the fight. She tugged again at her bonds, straining to be close to her defender, to offer him any kind of support. She sobbed and tried to call out his name, but the gag tied between her lips distorted the despairing words. She felt sick with fear and worry. Fear not just for her own fate, but for the bearded pirate fighting for her sake.
Snarling with aggression, Evans started coiling the loose rope around his arms, slowly winding in the young upstart´s range of motion. Not waiting for his enemy to dictate the terms of the battle, Sean lunged forwards. He raised his arm to bring down the club, but Evans´ own arm flashed up to block the attack. The two belaying pins met with a jarring shock and Sean´s dropped from his grasp. Evans grinned in delight, but before he could react further, the Inishman slammed his head forward and butted into the pirate´s scarred cheek with an audible thud.
The blow would have floored other men, but Evans was a hardened survivor of countless brawls. Not only did he remain standing, he spun across and behind Sean´s body. The young Inishman suddenly found his left arm being dragged over his right shoulder. He was soon trapped in a choking neck hold formed by his own limb. Lizbeth´s eyes widened when Sean dropped to his knees. She could see his strength fading and urged to get up, implored him not to abandon her. She found herself holding her own breath as his face deepened to shades of red and purple and he slowly suffocated.
Evans´ superior strength and use of the rope left no leverage for extraction. Sean could hear Evans gloating and calling out to his supporters, but Tom Evans had made one miscalculation - he was now standing much too near. Summoning his last reserves of strength, Sean drove his free elbow backwards and into the man´s guts. Air exploded from Evans´ lungs and the choke hold loosened. His head still spinning, Sean sprang to his feet and slammed a punch into the gasping pirate´s head. Another fist quickly followed and Evans fell to the deck, blood gushing from a broken nose.
The scarred pirate tried to rise, but the younger man punched again, “Stay down, you bastard. Stay down or, so help me, I´ll put you down for good.’
“All right, all right,’ Evans raised a hand to his bloodied nose, “I yield. Do what you want with the damned ship.’
Sean unwound the rope from his forearm and backed off. He stood for a moment with his head lowered in exhaustion, gulping in long breaths of air, his heart racing. At the mast, Lizbeth followed suit. She was shaking with relief, hanging weakly by her wrists and panting to still her final tearful sobs. When he had recovered, the victor stood and glared at each of the crew in turn. None of them offered further challenge, a few even smiled or saluted his triumph.
Nodding in satisfaction, Sean barked out commands, “Cut the girl down and take her to the captain´s cabin. And don´t even think of using her, I claim exclusive finder´s rights. Tariq, fetch the charts and join me over here.’
Two of the ‘Kingfisher´ crew marched across to their bound captive. Lizbeth tried not to look smug when they began to free her. Her champion had won. Now maybe they could get on with the real mission. A knife sliced the ropes which secured her feet and torso to the mast and then reached up to cut the rope holding her arms aloft. A thankful sigh came from the girl when she could finally lower her arms and ease her aching muscles.
A taunting smile couldn´t help showing itself in Lizbeth´s brown eyes when she raised her hands so that the bonds at her wrists could be untied. However the two sailors made no move towards this final strand of rope. Instead they each took hold of one of Lizbeth´s arms and began to drag her across the deck. Neither did they make an attempt to remove the scarf gag tied in her mouth.
Lizbeth fought and twisted in their grasp. What game were they playing? Sean had ordered her to be set free. She squirmed and turned her head to the Inishman, protesting loudly through her gag. Her incoherent words went unnoticed, he had already moved away and was talking to the ebony skinned navigator.
The fingers gripping her arms tightened and the two sailors pulled her more forcefully, “Don´t start causing trouble. You´ve escaped the lash once, but that doesn´t mean you can´t face it again.’
Resistance proved useless and Lizbeth found herself half-dragged and half-carried to the back of the main deck. She was pushed through an open doorway behind the ship´s wheel and then down a narrow corridor. A door was opened at the end of this passage and the still tied prisoner was finally shoved into the captain´s cabin.
Lizbeth looked around. For a ship as small as the ‘Kingfisher´, the cabin was actually quite luxurious. A wooden chair and polished writing desk were set against the outer hull. Various letters were pinned to a cork board and rolled maps were neatly stowed in a row of square slots. An iron-bound chest was set in the corner of the room beside a small chest of drawers. Smartly crafted pegs and thin leather straps would keep the furniture secure in rough seas. A fine woollen rug lay in the centre of the floor, a weave of bright threads depicting the bird for which the ship was named. Lizbeth recalled that Reynolds was a noble lord. Evidently he could afford to travel in some style.
The sailors followed their captive into the cabin and pushed her towards the room´s only other piece of furniture. A wide bed dominated the left wall. Four wooden posts rose from the corners of the bed and reached to the cabin´s low ceiling. They were fashioned from a dark, heavy wood and their surfaces carved with an intricate pattern of vines, leaves and rough bark, cunningly giving the illusion that the bed grew from living timber. A rich scarlet blanket and matching pillows were draped over the deep, feathered mattress. Raised in image-conscious Montaigne, Lizbeth couldn´t help admiring the beauty of the piece, even as she tumbled face first into its covers.
The men stood back and watched Lizbeth push herself upright to sit at the edge of the bed. She shook stray chestnut locks from her face and glared at her current captors. After a pause, one of them nudged the other, “Come on, Nick. We should get back out.’
“Wait a minute, Davey. We´re not done here yet.’
Davey glanced at Lizbeth and then nervously back to his friend, “Hang on a minute. You heard what O´Brien said. He wants this one for himself and if he can beat old Evans then I´m not about to argue.’
Nick gave a sly smile, “That´s all good enough, but he said nothing about looking. Besides, we can´t have a woman running up and down the ship. Fetch more rope while I start getting her settled.’
When his companion had gone, Nick advanced to the bed and its occupant, “Now then, my dear, let´s get some of those uncomfortable clothes off you, shall we? Can´t have those dirty boots soiling the captain´s clean sheets.’
Lizbeth started to shy away, but the sailor quickly knelt and seized a firm hold of her calves. He took first one boot and then the other, prying them from her feet and setting them neatly on the floor. Her short knee length stockings were soon rolled down and peeled off to leave her in bare feet.
“That´s a start. Now what about those trousers? Not very ladylike, are they?’
Removing her footwear was one thing, but Lizbeth was not about to let this stranger undress her further. She spat muffled curses and beat her bound hands against the man´s back, but to little effect. He pushed her into the mattress and began to loosen the buckle of her belt. Lizbeth kicked with her legs and tried to roll away, but again with no success. Her breeches were swiftly pulled down and set aside, exposing a pair of lacy white bloomers which barely reached to her knees.
The door opened and Davey stepped back in with several coils of rope hanging over his shoulder. Nick called him across, “Just in time, mate. Hand me one of those ropes and help me tie down her legs. This little one is still feeling feisty.’
With the two men now working together, Lizbeth´s feeble efforts at resistance became even more worthless. Doubled lengths of rope were wrapped several times around each of her ankles and the loose ends carefully pulled through loops formed at the folded midpoints. The sailors expertly pulled the ropes tight and tied them to the posts at the foot of the bed. The restraints prevented her from closing her legs. The position wasn´t painful or particularly uncomfortable, but it left Lizbeth feeling even more vulnerable and embarrassingly exposed.
Despite her helplessness, the bound beauty no longer felt that she was facing the threat of real danger. She still wore her undergarments when she could easily have been stripped completely. The men hadn´t struck and their rough hands stayed well away from her most sensitive regions. Of course, she was still angry at being tied up and treated as an object to be toyed with, but the sailors were clearly obeying Sean´s edict to leave her unmolested. She would have stern words for the young pirate later, but events were now proceeding, more or less, as they had planned.
Nick had taken Lizbeth´s wrists and began to unpick the knots which tied them together. He met her proud glare, “Don´t get any ideas, missy. These ropes need to come off if we´re to finish our job. You´ll be properly secured again in a minute.’
When her hands were freed, the sailors took an arm each and went about removing the clothes from her upper body. Lizbeth continued to make token struggles, but really only as a matter of principle. She was unwilling to let these men think that she was resigned to acceptance of her defenceless position. Her riding coat and leather gloves were taken off, with her waistcoat and loose blouse soon following. Only her cream coloured corset was left in place, its frilled lining hiding the rounded flesh of her breasts.
True to his word, Nick immediately took a fresh length of rope and securely trussed the half-naked girl´s wrists. He raised her bound hands above her head and anchored them to the centre of the bed´s thick headboard. Reaching behind her head, his fingers found the knot of the silk scarf gag. A grunt of disapproval indicated that it obviously wasn´t up to his standards. After carefully brushing aside her thick mane of curls, he pulled the gag deeper into the corners of Lizbeth´s mouth and knotted the black scarf much more tightly. Speech had been possible, but incoherent, before. Now she found that she could only make faint gurgling, nonsensical utterances.
The two sailors stood up to admire their handiwork. She certainly made an attractive package. Clad only in pale corset and knickers, bound hand and foot to a soft bed, and gagged with a scarf whose ends peeked prettily through her disarrayed hair. Each man was lost in his own lustful thoughts for several long, silent minutes.
“That O´Brien´s a lucky bastard,’ Davey finally concluded.
“Aye.’ Nick stood entranced for a few more moments before blinking and turning away from the enticing vision with obvious reluctance, “Let´s go before I forget why we can´t take her for ourselves.’
They left the room and abandoned Lizbeth to reflect on the course of her day. Things had started out positively. This morning she had been a daring highwaywoman, risking the wrath of an unjust regime to help protect innocent lives. Matters had gone downhill quite quickly. This afternoon she found herself bound to a pirate's bed, risking the debauched attentions of an unruly crew.
It was all the fault of that rogue of an Inishman. She should have just left him tied up in the prison wagon. No, she mused, that wouldn't have helped. Innocent lives would be in danger if his Avalon captain wasn't saved in time. She would still need Sean's help for that. She couldn't even blame the young pirate for her current predicament. All right, maybe she could blame him, but not with any real anger. He had warned her about the crew's likely attitude. It was only his words and bravery which had spared her from a much worse fate.
Lizbeth tugged on the ropes tightly wrapped at her wrists and ankles. Why had she been so quick to trust the pirate? Yes, he was handsome. Yes, he appeared courageous and loyal. Yes, he was charming and witty. And, yes, she could stare into his green eyes for hours. Realising that she had lost her line of thought, Lizbeth blinked and shook her head. What had been her point? Oh, yes. The point, she reminded herself, was that those many fine qualities didn't make him trustworthy, certainly didn't mean she should put her life in her hands.
There was more to it than that. The captive girl sighed and closed her eyes, stretching languorously within her restraints. She remembered the strength of the man's body when he had wrestled her to the ground. She remembered the confident touch when he tied the first of the ropes around her wrists. She remembered his closeness when he had stood with his arms around her neck. She remembered the sight of him fighting while she struggled so helplessly. Most of all, she remembered that one sweet kiss, a single moment of intimacy that burned away any doubts.
She wanted to trust this handsome young pirate. She wanted to believe that he was honourable and true. Her body shivered and she was forced to admit that she even wanted to surrender herself to him, to make herself powerless and rely only on his protection. Was she foolish? Maybe. Would she make the same decisions again? Definitely.
The gentle rock of the boat began to lull her into peaceful drowsiness. Another feeble tug confirmed that her bonds weren't going to slip off on their own. At least the bed was comfortable. Lizbeth wriggled deeper into the mattress' soft embrace. Within minutes she was asleep, her dreams conjuring images of a bearded sailor with emerald eyes.
Noise from the deck outside eventually woke the prisoner from her pleasant slumber. Men were shouting orders and running over wooden planking. She could hear sails being unfurled and the loud creak of straining ropes and timbers. A noticeable tilt of the cabin floor informed her that the 'Kingfisher' was moving.
The door to the cabin opened and the romantic hero of her fantasies entered. Sean moved slowly across the room and sank into the wooden chair without a single backwards glance in the bed's direction. He slumped down and sat in weary silence with his head in his hands. Lizbeth watched in concern, chewing on her gag, but remaining quiet. He looked so tired. His day may have been even more eventful than hers. Sentenced to be hanged, rescued by a masked highwaywoman and then forced to fight to gain command of this ship's crew. Small wonder if it had left him exhausted.
His shirt was pulled off and thrown carelessly into a corner. Lizbeth winced at the sight of dark blotches on his ribs and arm - evidence of that earlier brawl to protect her from the whip. Several other faded scars also marked the broad muscles of his back. She wondered how he had gained them. She quietly admired his rugged physique while he gave a deep sigh and stretched to shake off his lethargy.
"Well," he began, with forced cheerfulness, "That could have been worse ..."
His voice trailed off on turning and seeing Lizbeth for the first time. He stared without speaking, taking in her state of undress and the ropes spreading her legs and securing her to the bed. His fists clenched at his sides and his face formed a hard mask. When he finally spoke, his voice was cold and level, but his eyes blazed in fury, "Did they hurt you? So help me, if anyone has laid a finger on you."
He paused when Lizbeth urgently shook her head. Her eyes were wide at his abrupt rage. This was the reaction of a brutal pirate, a man of violent urgings and uncontrolled passions. This wasn't the man she had dreamed about. He seemed to ease slightly at her signalled denial, but his eyes were still stern when he moved across and untied her gag, "Are you sure you're unharmed? I should never have left you alone."
"I'm fine. I've been sleeping if you must know." Lizbeth kept her voice soft. She wanted to reassure him, to calm his anger. For some reason it mattered that he knew she felt safe with him.
Sean searched her eyes. There was no fear there, no sign that she had been hurt in any way. He gave a silent prayer of thanks to whatever powers cared to listen. The anger drained from his body and fatigue returned. He sat on the mattress at Lizbeth's side and rubbed his temples, "I'm sorry about the earlier business with Evans. I didn't mean to put you in any danger."
"You saved me though. Stood up to that brute with the whip."
"Even so."
Sean gazed down at her and she marvelled once again at the incredible depth of those eyes. Tired pupils that had flared in protective anger were now soft with tender compassion. He cares for me, she realised with a sudden flush of delight. She bathed in the warmth of his gaze and her voice dropped to a whisper, "Have we set sail?"
His eyes never left her bound body, "Yes. We've set course for Crieux like you advised. We should be there the day after tomorrow."
Slowly he reached out to touch her, his hand stroking the curve of her corseted waist between hips and breasts. Lizbeth didn't dare breathe. Here was the man she yearned for. She revelled under the same delicate caress she had felt before. She was tied down and helpless to resist his desires, yet he touched her gently as a lover, not with the demanding grope of a rapacious pirate.
As his first hand moved to roam across her stomach, his second lifted to play with the long curls of her hair. His gaze shifted to meet her eyes, "I should untie you."
Lizbeth shook her head and hoped that he could read the need in her eyes, “You don't have to." She swallowed and added hesitantly, "The men would be disappointed if they thought we were only talking in here."
Sean's head cocked to one side, frowning in puzzlement before relaxing and breaking into a broad grin - not his false scoundrel´s grin of bravado, but a genuine expression of sincere pleasure. Lizbeth smiled back softly and twisted invitingly in her bonds. When he moved onto the bed and gathered her into strong arms, it seemed that her heart might explode. When their lips joined in a kiss, she knew that it already had.
Two days to reach Crieux? That left plenty of time to learn all about this young pirate from Inismore.