“Thank you,” she managed to choke out, but before the startling conversation could go farther, they were interrupted.
“Seaman—what goes on here?”
The purser, Gyles Brill, a dark-eyed Welshman, stood behind George’s shoulder. He was close to forty, Brianna imagined, but a man still in his prime and confident with himself. He smelled faintly of rum, and the gaze that he gave Brianna made her distinctly uncomfortable.
“I am escorting the captain’s lady while she has her dinner,” George mumbled swiftly.
“That’s not your job. Get on deck, seaman, the winds are shifting.”
“I’ll take Brianna back to her cabin.”
“You needn’t. I’ll do so.”
“You haven’t the rank.”
“I outrank you.”
“Eh, look, mate, will you!” someone suddenly rang out. “The dandies are fighting over the captain’s whore!”
Brianna blanched, but the horror had just begun. Young George was suddenly on his feet, hurling himself across the room to find the speaker. Shouts rang out all over, until the galley was in bedlam. The dining area had turned into a brawl, a cacophony of grunts and curses and flying fists.
Brianna leapt to her feet in horror as a man came flying across the room, crashing into her table. He gazed at her with a crooked smile upon his face, and then shot like a cannon back into the melee. “I’d brave the plank for a touch of her silk! For but a minute with the captain’s whore,” someone yelled, and Brianna wondered briefly who would uphold what was left of her honor, and who would be ready to take it. Chairs, plates, and tankards flew. “Ye’ll not call her a whore!” George raged, and others joined his bellow. “Let me to her!” The words came wrapped in a licentious chuckle, which ended in a loud wallop and a groan. Her effort to flaunt Sloan had created the disaster, and she realized that her wisest course of action would be to disappear—lest the winners of the brawl include the man who would walk the plank for his chance with the captain’s “whore.”
She turned to flee, but as she did so, she crashed into something that felt more impregnable than the ship’s panels. Something, however, that radiated heat and steel, strength. A man’s chest, clad in light-blue silk.
She looked up to his face just as a pistol was fired into the ceiling—silencing the melee into instant sobriety and stillness.
Sloan was not looking at her. He was staring with utter fury at the scene before him—his men bloodied from their brawl; the galley a shambles. His eyes gleamed his wrath with a devil fire.
She had seen him angry, but never like this.
For a moment of cowardice she was ready to slink to the floor and crawl away to avoid him. But she was not at fault! she cried to herself. She had been hungry and he had ignored her to a point where she had been forced to take action.
“I warrant you, gentlemen,” Sloan said coolly, hands upon his hips, legs spread and feet firmly upon the ground, “that it is easy for men to come to blows at sea. I’ll warrant that you’ve even had a certain provocation.” At this point he glanced briefly at Brianna, and she wanted to slap him. There was nothing but a raging venom in the gaze he gave her; cold and contained. He did not defend her, he accused her.
“But you’ve all jobs to do for which you’re all well paid aboard theSea Hawk. And at this moment, lads, we are sailing for the Princess Mary. Clean up this mess and report back to duty. If the perpetrators of this brawl do not report to me, you’ll all be on half rations until we reach Holland.”
George stepped up to Sloan immediately. He was trembling, but he stood with dignity. “I started the actual fighting, Captain,” he said.
“I suppose I needn’t ask why,” Sloan said dryly, and again his deadly gaze lit upon Brianna, who had no choice but to remain before him.
“A night in the brig,” he said dismissively. He turned around to speak and Brianna saw Paddy following behind him. “There are others who created this fiasco. See that they step forward as George did. Those responsible can make their peace in the brig till we make port in Dover tomorrow. Then the matter will be forgotten.”
Brianna had been listening to him—but still she was taken completely off guard when his hand clamped upon her shoulder and wrenched her toward the door. She wanted to remain calm, to tell him scathingly but clearly just what she thought of his treatment. It was impossible.
“Treveryan, you disgraceful sea-scum, you are hurting me! I insist that you release me.”
“Hurting you!” he exploded. “I’d like to whip you black-and-blue. You were told not to leave the cabin alone. You deliberately defied me, and thanks to you half my crew will spend the week limping and losing their teeth!” They reached his cabin, but even when he slammed the door behind them he did not release his grip upon her.
“Defy you! I owe you no obedience,” Brianna protested heatedly. “I was starving, and since you were too busy to care, I was left no recourse except to seek something to eat.”
“Does it give you pleasure to see men brawl for you, lass? Did you promise that fool boy special favors to defend you?”
With a strength that amazed her she broke his grip and whirled on him, raking her palm and nails furiously across his face. “Noble bastard!” she hissed, too incensed to care that she was adding fuel to his fury. “That boy should never have had to come to my defense! It is because of you that I was called ‘whore’—’the captain’s whore.’ As I am forced to sleep in your cabin, milord, it is difficult to blame them for labeling me so.”
“You little witch!” he replied in a whispered quiet that frightened her. He went tensely still, bringing his hand to the scratches that welted red upon his face. “Were you not with me, mistress—the captain’s whore—they would have their fun with you. Butwhoreis not the word I would have used.Slutis more applicable for a woman who flaunts herself and enjoys taunting men.” He took a step toward her and she felt as if the blood were draining out of her.
“Slut!” He hissed venomously as she backed away, seeking the shield of his desk.
