Island Flame

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Jonathan Hale carried his burden easily. He took the narrow stairs two at  a time, and then strode along the deck to where half-a-dozen of his men  were standing guard over the assembled passengers and crew of the "Anna  Greer." The girl was a dead weight over his shoulder. She seemed to be  subdued at last. Jon grinned to himself with wry amusement. He wanted her  more than he cared to admit, even to himself. If circumstances had been  different he would have greatly enjoyed taming her. But he had managed to  elude capture during his eight years under the black flag partly by  following one guiding principle: never take prisoners. They were more  trouble than they were worth. Maybe, though, he would make an exception  regarding this girl.

Jon stopped abruptly, heaving the slight body off his shoulder and  dumping it unceremoniously on the hard boards of the deck. She struggled  to a sitting position, raising her tear-drenched eyes to his face and  glaring at him defiantly. Her hair was dishevelled from the rough  treatment she had endured, and hung in a coppery tangle down her back.  Tears had traced dirty paths down either side of her face, and she pressed  her lips tightly together to keep them from trembling. The lush swell of  her breasts was clearly visible even though she was clutching the torn  front of her dress together with both hands. Jon thought he had never seen  a woman look more desirable.

"Watch her," he said briefly to a sailor standing nearby,then crossed  the deck to supervise the transfer of the "Anna Greer's" cargo into the  hold of the "Margarita."

That cargo consisted of thousands of dollars worth of silver ore, partial  payment from the Portuguese government to England for six English-built  frigates. Jon had learned of the proposed shipment through a paid  informant who worked as a clerk in the Portuguese embassy in England. The  interesting part of the information was that the silver was to travel  virtually unguarded. Although it would be carried on a military vessel,  the ship would sail alone. The customary flotilla of guardian ships would  be left behind.

Jon had been incredulous when this news was passed on to him. He could  not believe that any government would be foolhardy enough to send so much  silver out unprotected. But he had the story checked out carefully and  could find nothing to contradict it. The reasoning of the Portuguese  government, as they had gradually pieced it together, had been that less  attention drawn to the shipment would mean greater safety from attack. The  original idea had been to place the silver on board a passenger ship with  no heavy guns at all. But this had been deemed too risky, and a compromise  had been reached: the silver would be shipped out on a lone military  vessel, unguarded, as though the ship was making a routine voyage. The  "Anna Greer" had been selected as the carrier ship, and had even been  instructed to take on a few passengers to make the voyage seem as  innocuous as possible.

Taking the "Anna Greer" had been a dangerous piece of business. The  "Margarita" had tailed her for days, watching for anything unusual. They  had spotted nothing. It seemed as though his information was correct, but  Jon still felt uneasy. Something about the situation just did not feel  right.

He had come to a decision only that morning. They would take the "Anna  Greer." Late afternoon would be the best time, when the lulling effects of  the sun and water had dulled the senses of the "Anna Greer's" crew. The  whole operation should take less than an hour, and the "Margarita" would  be away. With luck, none of the "Anna Greer's" passengers, and few of her  crew, would be harmed.

So far, the operation had gone without a hitch. Of course, it was  unfortunate that the "Anna Greer" had not surrendered at the outset, but  then he had not really expected her to. The "Margarita's" own losses had  been minimal, and at this moment most of the men were happily engaged in  gathering up all the plunder they could carry. It would be divided among  them all as soon as they reached port safely, with each member of the crew  receiving an equal share. As captain, he was entitled to one-fifth of the  whole. The taking of the "Anna Greer" would make this voyage extremely  profitable for him.

"Get a move on it, Harley, Thomeon!" he roared, annoyed at the slowness  of their efforts. The two men, who were carrying a load of silver across a  makeshift bridge between the "Margarita" and her prey, almost fell  overboard in their haste to obey his command. Jon watched the loading crew  at work for a while, then turned to survey the passengers who had been  segregated from the crew and were being loosely guarded by two of his  men.

Except for the girl, they were an unattractive lot. There was a  middle-aged man and his fat, sobbing wife, who were obviously members of  the wealthy merchant class; a foppish English lord and his poker-faced  valet; the girl's stout nursemaid, who had come around and was peering  anxiously at her charge; and an elderly woman in an ugly lavender gown  that had been in fashion twenty years before.

"Not much to look at, certainly," thought Jon, making a mental exception  of the girl. But each and every one of them had to have money, or be in  some way connected with it.

"They'd bring a fat ransom," he thought, regretting as he sometimes did  his iron-clad rule concerning prisoners. He shook his head thoughtfully.  They were just too much trouble, especially if they were female. Liable to  cause trouble among the crew. It was a pity, though. He would have liked  to have had a little time with the girl.

"God, Cap'n, look to starboard!" a seaman gasped. "It's a bleedin'  navy!"

Jon whirled, staring out to sea. Ship after ship appeared on the horizon,  heading grimly for the "Anna Greer." Jon mentally cursed himself for being  every kind of a fool. He had ignored the tiny inner voice that had tried  to warn him, and so walked right into a trap. It was painfully obvious  that the "Anna Greer" had been a carefully thought-out lure.

"To catch some damn fool who couldn't resist the honeypot!" Jon thought  angrily, then turned to issue sharp orders to his crew.

"Finish loading that silver! Fast! For your lives!" His voice was grim  with determination, and the men rushed to do his bidding. Jon turned to  Harry, who had come up beside him and was looking at him anxiously.

"Find the "Anna Greer's' captain and bring him to me!"

Jon's mind worked furiously as he waited for the captain of the captured  ship to be brought before him. The "Margarita" could undoubtedly outrun  the frigates if she could only get enough of a start. But they were less  than an hour away, and closing rapidly. And it would only take one of the  mighty ships to blow the pirate vessel clean out of the water. Guile was  what was needed to bring them all through safely. Jon came to a decision  abruptly, just as Harry approached with the captain of the "Anna  Greer."

"Harry, get that fat couple over there, the old lady, and the girl. Put  them on board the "Margarita." They'll be hostages for the good behavior  of the frigates!"

"Aye, aye, Captain!" Harry saluted smartly, then grinned. Jon would bring  them through. He had never failed them yet!

"Sir," Jon said politely to the spluttering captain. "I very much regret  the necessity of taking any of your passengers as hostages. However, they  will not be harmed as long as the frigates keep their distance and their  guns remain covered. If not--well, you have my word that the hostages will  be executed immediately if one shot is fired. One shot. I depend on you to  carry this message to the captain of the frigates."

The captain of the "Anna Greer" looked appalled.

"Sir, you cannot hope to escape with such hostages! The elderly lady is  the Duchess of Kent, and the young lady is the daughter of the ambassador  to Portugal! I implore you not to take them! Take myself, and my crew,  instead!"

Jon laughed, turning away.

"Carry my message, Captain!"

He gave low-voiced orders to another crew member and within minutes the  "Anna Greer's" outraged captain was being lowered in a gig with a crew of  six to row.

"Pull! Pull for the frigates!" Jon bellowed over the side at them. "Pull,  damn your eyes, or I'll blow you out of the water!"

Thus admonished, the oarsmen fell to with a will. The little boat fairly  skimmed through the water towards the frigates.

Jon leaped on board the "Margarita" just as the last of the hostages was  escorted over the makeshift bridge.

"Cast off!"

The ropes that tethered the two ships together were axed, and they began  to drift slowly apart.

"Square the yards!"

The huge main sail was hoisted up the mast and flapped wildly for a  moment before filling with wind.

"Lie to windward!"

The "Margarita" seemed to take on wings as the wind sent her clipping  through the waves.

On deck, Cathy held back frightened sobs as the "Margarita" picked up  speed. A hard knot of unshed tears formed in her throat. She had never  felt so helpless, or so alone.

The hostages had been herded into a compact group directly under the main  sail, and a rope had been twined loosely about their waists and legs to  keep them in place.

"So we can get to ye quick," the man who tied the ropes told them, and  his sly grin left them with little doubt as to his meaning. If the  frigates misbehaved their lives would serve as forfeit.

"We won't be harmed. The frigates will never open fire as long as we are  on board," said the Duchess in a clear, strong voice. She took pity on  Cathy's obvious fright and patted her hand reassuringly. The merchant was  too busy coping with his fat wife's hysterics to argue with this  statement, as he seemed to want to do.

The deck of the pirate ship was a swarm of activity. Men darted about,  obviously in their element. The mongrel band of pirates turned before  their eyes into experienced, disciplined seamen. Cathy caught an  occasional glimpse of the captain, who seemed to be everywhere at once,  shouting orders and lending a hand where needed. His men appeared to hold  him in considerable respect. From all sides Cathy heard mutters of: "Cap'n  will get us out of this. He ain't never let us down yet!"

The "Margarita" was built for speed, and fairly flew through the water.  The frigates lost ground behind her, but they were always there, just a  little further in the distance. The sun went down and a stiff wind began  to blow. Cathy was shivering with cold in her place underneath the mast,  and the old Duchess was turning blue around the lips. The merchant couple  apparently had enough layers of fat to keep them warm.

The moon was a pale ghost floating high overhead when the captain came to  stand before them. He looked them over in silence, a grim expression on  his face. Cathy's heart began to pound uncomfortably.

"You can all thank whatever God you believe in that the frigates didn't  open fire. It looks like they value your lives more than silver. If I were  you, I'd pray that they don't change their minds."

He called sharply across the deck to Harry, who hastened to his side.

"Have a couple of the men take them below and lock them up. In the hold,  I think. Tell them to make sure the man is chained--we have enough  problems without him taking it into his head to be a hero."

The hard, gray eyes rested for a moment on Cathy, who hastily looked  away. She blushed hotly under his regard. He hesitated, staring at her as  though he had something on his mind. Finally he spoke in a low voice to  Harry.

"Take the girl to my cabin."

"Sir?" Harry squeaked in surprise, unable to suppress his astonishment.  Jon's voice was rough when he answered.

"You heard me. Take her to my cabin. And see that she's locked in."

"Yes, sir!" Harry said woodenly, flustered by his own loss of control.  The captain scowled blackly at him before striding away.

Harry carried out his orders quickly, unable to keep from wondering what  was going on in Jon's head. Jon liked women, but it wasn't like him to  resort to rape. And rape it would have to be with a girl as obviously  innocent as this one was. In spite of her lovely face and seductive  figure, she was little more than a child, and a frightened one at that.  Besides, she was a lady! She wasn't the type Jon could tumble casually,  then just as casually dismiss when he tired of her. Her family would be  out for blood!

Harry shuddered to think of what would happen to Jon if the "Margarita"  were captured, the hostages rescued, and the girl were found to have been  ravished! He doubted they would even wait to hang Jon properly. More  likely shoot him down on the spot. Harry shook his head in disbelief. The  girl was a beauty, no doubt about it, but, hell--no woman was worth  dying for! As Jon would have been the first to agree less than  twenty-four hours ago! But as Harry knew from experience, there was no  stopping Jon once he had made up his mind to do something. And it   certainly wasn't for a member of the crew like himself to attempt to tell  the captain what to do!

Still vaguely troubled, he saw to the safe movement of the other  prisoners before returning to untie the girl. She was as cold and still as  a piece of white marble, and his conscience smote him as he had to  practically drag her to where the captain's cabin nestled under the  quarterdeck. She stopped stock still in the doorway, and Harry could feel  her arm shaking under his hand.

"Don't do this," she breathed, her eyes wide as she looked at him.

"Captain's orders, ma'am," Harry replied uncomfortably, wishing the deck  would miraculously open up and swallow him. He started as she placed one  small hand on his arm entreatingly.

"Please put me in with the others. Please. My father is a rich man, he  will pay well to have me back . . . unharmed. Or if I could just be  lowered in one of those little boats. . . ." Her voice trailed off. Harry  swallowed, unable to meet that beseeching gaze.

"There's nothing I can do, ma'am. I'm sorry. Cap'n would have me clapped  in the brig, or worse, if I was to disobey an order."

He put a hand to the small of her back, urging her gently inside. She  took a few reluctant steps into the room, then turned to face him. Harry  was touched by the fright in those huge eyes.

"Look, ma'am," he said almost desperately. "Captain Hale is no saint, but  he's not a fiend either. I've been with him for eight years, and I've   never known him to hurt a woman. You'll be all right."

"No thanks to you," she said, suddenly bitter, and turned her back,  obviously waiting for him to go. Harry looked at her helplessly, then  stepped back, closing the door and bolting it from the outside.

Cathy listened numbly as the bolt slid into place. She could not believe  that this nightmare was really happening. She sobbed, a hoarse dry sound  deep in her throat. But tears would not help her where there was no one to  hear or care, she reminded herself grimly. Squaring her shoulders, she  turned to examine the room for a possible means of escape. It was very  dark and she could barely make out the outline of a box