Susurration
Whispering softly
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It doesn't look quite so haunted on the inside, but I'm still suspicious 
. This is a great read 
.
. This is a great read .A novella ~ "Privateer's Desire: Stealing Romance"
- Thread starter cascadiabound
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Tallcajun
Literotica Guru
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It doesn't look quite so haunted on the inside, but I'm still suspicious
Looks like a pic at daytime, Susurration. Probably more haunting at night. I'm still waking the graveyard, while I follow these two.
Mrtenant
Lord of Chaos
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It doesn't look quite so haunted on the inside, but I'm still suspicious
Stick around my friend, while yes, not so haunted appearing inside, what next?
We are very glad you like! Your interest is really nice to see. Azul! Heyyyy, thank you for dropping in. I hope you stay a good while. Your visits and comments are always welcome, my friend.
Well TC, it is dawn as of the last installment, so you are correct. Good observation.
Stay close. You'll love what comes next.Time for a little rest.... I am exhausted just reading this
So so good!
No rest, Pirate! Thank you kindly for visiting, and watch this.....new installment coming up!
Mrtenant
Lord of Chaos
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Father Lorenzo smiles as he looks on at the endearments of the two lovers. His charge is far from complete.
"Quickly my friends, we have much to do. Follow me,” he directs in a thick Spanish accent.
Without looking back, he strides purposefully towards the altar and moves an ornate candelabra from its resting place. The altar slides slightly to the side, revealing stairs which descend into darkness. Taking a lit candle, he admonishes us to hurry along while waving us toward the hidden staircase.
"The hunters will be here soon. They have dogs. We must make arrangements and quickly. The leech is on his way. You will rest down here until all is clear,” he urges us with a dour look on his face. The distant howling of a hunting dog accentuates the veracity of his words.
We hurry down the stairs, your soft hand in mine, as I lead us. While I have dealt with Father Lorenzo on many occasions, I am suspicious. The good Father, as it were, is well known among smugglers and privateers of the King. There have been many a cargo or singular piece of finery passed through his hands.
He has always been efficient and discreet. His position in the industry has been valuable to us all, and his cover, perfect. Still, there are rumors of other activities even less savory.
As we descend into the hidden room beneath the altar, the light fills the space a little more fully. It appears to be a storeroom. There are various religious supplies here and there. Albs, earthen decanters, a simple goblet or two, candles, even a mattress of straw ticking.
Therein is also a largish table where a wide well-used, whitish candle is lit in the center, giving the room a soft glow. Here and there are various chests both closed and open; four of them, in fact.
The two that are open show several wrapped objects - in one, an exquisite porcelain decanter. It appears to be from France, if I’m any judge. The other chest, much smaller, is only partially open and has three or four strands of gold chain hanging over the edge.
Towards the back of the storeroom, three, finger-thick, iron chains affixed into the stonework hold in thrall two chattels, both female, and a mixed native islander. All appear cowed and attentive.
With a raised eyebrow, I look to Father Lorenzo, my suspicions seemingly confirmed, "What have we here, old friend?”
One of his servants appear, a small thin man of middle age, and exceedingly dark, his teeth flashing as he speaks, and whispers in his ear. Father Lorenzo nods.
"The leech is here,” he starts.
Indeed, even as he says this, an elderly Monseñor arrives, white hair, bearded, wearing a brown simple robe, sandaled feet accompanied by another servant. She is also dark as the night, of middle age, and she carries a small satchel.
They enter the storeroom and the Monseñor immediately goes to work, unloading his supplies from the satchel. He works with efficiency. It is clear, he has done this many times.
The Father continues while ignoring my question, "I will need some of your clothing, quickly, time is of the essence! Your shirt, Señor? And your dress, Señorita? We must draw off the dogs. This is the only way!”
Forgetting my suspicions and recognizing the ploy, I quickly remove my shirt. The seeping blood causes it to stick somewhat, but once off, reveals my lean well-muscled chest and torso, lightly dusted here and there with dark body hair and several scars.
You see from my scars, this is not the first such wound I’ve ever taken. I hand my shirt to the servant as you step behind me to remove your tattered gown, your modesty evident.
After delivery of the gown, my free arm slips around your narrow waist, drawing you close. The large shirt appears to cover you well, I notice with appreciation.
With a smile of encouragement and adoration, I gaze into your beautiful eyes, dreamy, with long lashes, and lids half closed. I want you. ‘Tis a feeling that aches profoundly within me. I tenderly kiss the top of your head, inhaling your intoxicating scent, wishing for more privacy.
As the Monseñor approaches my wound, he glances at you and, in astonishment, recognizes you but says nothing, his gaze imploring you to silence.
The servants put on our tattered clothing and, after a few terse commands from the Father they disappear up the stairs.
"Fear not young ones, my servants will draw off the dogs. For the moment, you are safe. Señor, your wound looks painful,” he continues as he walks towards his supply of wines.
He looks at first one bottle, then another, finally selects one and pours each of us a draught into a clay fired tumbler.
"Your flight has drained you both, please drink up, to fortify yourselves, there is still much to do in getting you off the island."
"Look in the chest to the right. There may be other clothing or shoes that may fit."
"I will return presently, I have other arrangements to make.”
With that, he disappears back up the stairs and closes the storeroom, leaving us with the Monseñor.
We drink up with thanks, as the Monseñor inspects the wound and asks for your help in cleaning it. The wine tastes unusually fruity and strong. I start to feel a little faint even as I see you seem to begin to feel similar effects.
With a grim look of severity, the old Monseñor, as he reaches for an instrument to dig out the round, speaks in his raspy old voice, deeply accented with old Spanish.
"Doña? I am surprised and heartbroken to see you here. I see you with this fine young man, and I admire your love for each other."
"Ach, I wish you had not taken the wine.” Forceps in hand, he reaches into the wound, grasping the round.
“Por favor, Doña, the bleeding,” he directs you with familiarity toward the wound, now bleeding more profusely.
“You are both in terrible danger. Yes, they are hunting for you."
"Worse still, the wine has been tainted with laudanum," he continues.
"The Padre, he dabbles in the slave trade. I am informed that in addition to those wretches against the wall, he has included you, Doña, in his next sale. Your lover, I am sorry to tell you, he means to kill.” he informs us gravely.
Gasping in consternation, surprise and anger at the impending betrayal, we both turn in alarm to the Monseñor as he speaks.
With the sudden movement, the metal ball is abruptly pulled from the open wound, causing a fresh flow of blood. The wound instantly diverts your attention as I hiss in pain. The pain diminishes slowly as the tainted wine slowly takes effect.
The Monseñor continues, “If you wish to survive, I would offer this advice.”
Looking to me he explains. “The laudanum will take effect soon enough. You are larger so it will take longer. Doña? It will happen more quickly."
"Captain, yes, I recognize you as well, though you do not know of me. Your love will need you at full strength and it will require all of your resources to retrieve her."
"You cannot fight the poison, unfortunately, there is no remedy. You will not like what I must now tell you," he continues.
Turning to you, “Doña, go to the chests, within, you will find some clothes and weapons you may hide on your person. Here is a small vial of the medicament, it may be of use to you."
He hands you a small bottle you can tie as a necklace around your neck. Wide eyed, but with trust for the Monseñor, whom you've known for many years, you nod slightly and listen intently as he continues.
"Captain, you will need to take another draught of the mixture. It will give you the appearance of death."
"The slavers that come will be many and heavily armed. You are of no use to them. If they do not believe you dead, they will kill you."
"Your ship is still safe in the harbour. It is much faster than the wretched slavers old cargo craft. You may well be able to overtake them in the open sea."
"We must be quick, they will be here shortly." he concludes.
As the Monseñor finishes the bandage, I turn to you, my love- our eyes lock. For all our impetuousness, it has come to this. I draw you to me, my face inches from yours. I can feel your body trembling in my arms. Already the effects of the poison seem to have weakened you. I tenderly brush a stray lock of hair from your face and softly kiss your mouth. We kiss, with fear in our hearts, it is sporadic, touching, our hopes and dreams are now cast deeply into doubt.
"My dearest, it seems our choices are few. The poison itself weighs me down. I fear the Monseñor must be correct."
"Please look at me,” as we lock gazes once again.
“To my last dying breath I will fight for you, strive in all ways imagined or more to be with you. Even beyond death itself. Should I die and you were struggling for life, I would leave the depths of Hell itself to be there in your struggle. Fear not, my love, I will find you."
"And,” I add with hope, desire, and a hint of menace, “should they harm any part of you, they will wish they were in Hell, for that would be a paradise, after I have dealt with them.”
I caress your soft cheeks, hold your hands in mine, my kisses, my love, an inferno that burns in torment and ecstasy. My hopes shine forth in my love and adoration of you. In my heart, I know with a certainty that despite the direness of our circumstances, the world is still ours for the taking!
"Quickly my friends, we have much to do. Follow me,” he directs in a thick Spanish accent.
Without looking back, he strides purposefully towards the altar and moves an ornate candelabra from its resting place. The altar slides slightly to the side, revealing stairs which descend into darkness. Taking a lit candle, he admonishes us to hurry along while waving us toward the hidden staircase.
"The hunters will be here soon. They have dogs. We must make arrangements and quickly. The leech is on his way. You will rest down here until all is clear,” he urges us with a dour look on his face. The distant howling of a hunting dog accentuates the veracity of his words.
We hurry down the stairs, your soft hand in mine, as I lead us. While I have dealt with Father Lorenzo on many occasions, I am suspicious. The good Father, as it were, is well known among smugglers and privateers of the King. There have been many a cargo or singular piece of finery passed through his hands.
He has always been efficient and discreet. His position in the industry has been valuable to us all, and his cover, perfect. Still, there are rumors of other activities even less savory.
As we descend into the hidden room beneath the altar, the light fills the space a little more fully. It appears to be a storeroom. There are various religious supplies here and there. Albs, earthen decanters, a simple goblet or two, candles, even a mattress of straw ticking.
Therein is also a largish table where a wide well-used, whitish candle is lit in the center, giving the room a soft glow. Here and there are various chests both closed and open; four of them, in fact.
The two that are open show several wrapped objects - in one, an exquisite porcelain decanter. It appears to be from France, if I’m any judge. The other chest, much smaller, is only partially open and has three or four strands of gold chain hanging over the edge.
Towards the back of the storeroom, three, finger-thick, iron chains affixed into the stonework hold in thrall two chattels, both female, and a mixed native islander. All appear cowed and attentive.
With a raised eyebrow, I look to Father Lorenzo, my suspicions seemingly confirmed, "What have we here, old friend?”
One of his servants appear, a small thin man of middle age, and exceedingly dark, his teeth flashing as he speaks, and whispers in his ear. Father Lorenzo nods.
"The leech is here,” he starts.
Indeed, even as he says this, an elderly Monseñor arrives, white hair, bearded, wearing a brown simple robe, sandaled feet accompanied by another servant. She is also dark as the night, of middle age, and she carries a small satchel.
They enter the storeroom and the Monseñor immediately goes to work, unloading his supplies from the satchel. He works with efficiency. It is clear, he has done this many times.
The Father continues while ignoring my question, "I will need some of your clothing, quickly, time is of the essence! Your shirt, Señor? And your dress, Señorita? We must draw off the dogs. This is the only way!”
Forgetting my suspicions and recognizing the ploy, I quickly remove my shirt. The seeping blood causes it to stick somewhat, but once off, reveals my lean well-muscled chest and torso, lightly dusted here and there with dark body hair and several scars.
You see from my scars, this is not the first such wound I’ve ever taken. I hand my shirt to the servant as you step behind me to remove your tattered gown, your modesty evident.
After delivery of the gown, my free arm slips around your narrow waist, drawing you close. The large shirt appears to cover you well, I notice with appreciation.
With a smile of encouragement and adoration, I gaze into your beautiful eyes, dreamy, with long lashes, and lids half closed. I want you. ‘Tis a feeling that aches profoundly within me. I tenderly kiss the top of your head, inhaling your intoxicating scent, wishing for more privacy.
As the Monseñor approaches my wound, he glances at you and, in astonishment, recognizes you but says nothing, his gaze imploring you to silence.
The servants put on our tattered clothing and, after a few terse commands from the Father they disappear up the stairs.
"Fear not young ones, my servants will draw off the dogs. For the moment, you are safe. Señor, your wound looks painful,” he continues as he walks towards his supply of wines.
He looks at first one bottle, then another, finally selects one and pours each of us a draught into a clay fired tumbler.
"Your flight has drained you both, please drink up, to fortify yourselves, there is still much to do in getting you off the island."
"Look in the chest to the right. There may be other clothing or shoes that may fit."
"I will return presently, I have other arrangements to make.”
With that, he disappears back up the stairs and closes the storeroom, leaving us with the Monseñor.
We drink up with thanks, as the Monseñor inspects the wound and asks for your help in cleaning it. The wine tastes unusually fruity and strong. I start to feel a little faint even as I see you seem to begin to feel similar effects.
With a grim look of severity, the old Monseñor, as he reaches for an instrument to dig out the round, speaks in his raspy old voice, deeply accented with old Spanish.
"Doña? I am surprised and heartbroken to see you here. I see you with this fine young man, and I admire your love for each other."
"Ach, I wish you had not taken the wine.” Forceps in hand, he reaches into the wound, grasping the round.
“Por favor, Doña, the bleeding,” he directs you with familiarity toward the wound, now bleeding more profusely.
“You are both in terrible danger. Yes, they are hunting for you."
"Worse still, the wine has been tainted with laudanum," he continues.
"The Padre, he dabbles in the slave trade. I am informed that in addition to those wretches against the wall, he has included you, Doña, in his next sale. Your lover, I am sorry to tell you, he means to kill.” he informs us gravely.
Gasping in consternation, surprise and anger at the impending betrayal, we both turn in alarm to the Monseñor as he speaks.
With the sudden movement, the metal ball is abruptly pulled from the open wound, causing a fresh flow of blood. The wound instantly diverts your attention as I hiss in pain. The pain diminishes slowly as the tainted wine slowly takes effect.
The Monseñor continues, “If you wish to survive, I would offer this advice.”
Looking to me he explains. “The laudanum will take effect soon enough. You are larger so it will take longer. Doña? It will happen more quickly."
"Captain, yes, I recognize you as well, though you do not know of me. Your love will need you at full strength and it will require all of your resources to retrieve her."
"You cannot fight the poison, unfortunately, there is no remedy. You will not like what I must now tell you," he continues.
Turning to you, “Doña, go to the chests, within, you will find some clothes and weapons you may hide on your person. Here is a small vial of the medicament, it may be of use to you."
He hands you a small bottle you can tie as a necklace around your neck. Wide eyed, but with trust for the Monseñor, whom you've known for many years, you nod slightly and listen intently as he continues.
"Captain, you will need to take another draught of the mixture. It will give you the appearance of death."
"The slavers that come will be many and heavily armed. You are of no use to them. If they do not believe you dead, they will kill you."
"Your ship is still safe in the harbour. It is much faster than the wretched slavers old cargo craft. You may well be able to overtake them in the open sea."
"We must be quick, they will be here shortly." he concludes.
As the Monseñor finishes the bandage, I turn to you, my love- our eyes lock. For all our impetuousness, it has come to this. I draw you to me, my face inches from yours. I can feel your body trembling in my arms. Already the effects of the poison seem to have weakened you. I tenderly brush a stray lock of hair from your face and softly kiss your mouth. We kiss, with fear in our hearts, it is sporadic, touching, our hopes and dreams are now cast deeply into doubt.
"My dearest, it seems our choices are few. The poison itself weighs me down. I fear the Monseñor must be correct."
"Please look at me,” as we lock gazes once again.
“To my last dying breath I will fight for you, strive in all ways imagined or more to be with you. Even beyond death itself. Should I die and you were struggling for life, I would leave the depths of Hell itself to be there in your struggle. Fear not, my love, I will find you."
"And,” I add with hope, desire, and a hint of menace, “should they harm any part of you, they will wish they were in Hell, for that would be a paradise, after I have dealt with them.”
I caress your soft cheeks, hold your hands in mine, my kisses, my love, an inferno that burns in torment and ecstasy. My hopes shine forth in my love and adoration of you. In my heart, I know with a certainty that despite the direness of our circumstances, the world is still ours for the taking!
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cascadiabound
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Upon seeing that the Father’s leech is my old and trusted friend, the Monseñor, I feel an overwhelming sense of relief that all will work out, for the first time in this long night. While my ardour and love for my Captain has sustained me thus far, it is a shiny new thing, and in the light of day, with the dogs chasing us, I had begun to question if our love will be enough? If, perhaps my flight away from everything I had ever known has been foolish?
But then, I look into his earnest dark eyes, feel his strong arm around my waist, my small hand trapped in his as he guides me so tenderly into the secret passages below the chapel and I know in my heart that I can trust him with my safety, my life, my virtue, my very soul.
The plan to draw the dogs and hunters away from us by using the scent of our clothes worn by others is brilliant. Even I understand this, though I had never been permitted to go hunting. But standing there in nothing but an oversized shirt as the Monseñor begins to attend to my love is discomfiting.
I know however, I cannot be fretting about clothing when I am needed to help staunch the bleeding from the bullet wound. The blood is dark and copious at first, but there is no odor and no redness around it. I breathe a sigh of relief. This injury has a good chance of healing well.
The words of warning hastily conveyed to us by the Monseñor as he attends my love are like a dagger to my heart. The Father has betrayed us. He intends to kill my Captain, and sell me – for what purpose and to whom??? My chest spasms with fear, even as the poisoned wine begins to cloud my senses.
My love’s pledge to me… “that he will find me no matter what, that he will fight for me with his last dying breath”…as he kisses me with genuine passion and love…these moments and words must necessarily sustain me through whatever the next days will bring. I must keep my wits as long as possible. Gratefully, I secure the small vial around my neck – it could easily pass as a charm or a keepsake.
Knowing I have but little time to act on the Monseñor’s advice, and now confident my love’s injury is well taken care of, I quickly go to the chests and trunks the Father had indicated would have some clothes within for me. By my thinking, I may still have a long way to travel and might do well to have a bit of a disguise, I look for boys clothes that might fit me.
I find some leather breeches, and pull them on over my girly underthings causing me to smile slightly. Who knew when I dressed for the party at the estate not even 15 hours ago, I would have so shredded my gown and now be looking to dress as a boy? I secure the leather lacings over my abdomen and tie it with a knot hoping it will take some effort for large fingers to release the fastenings and provide me some modicum of protection.
Digging deeper, I find wool socks and a pair of small calf length walking boots, well broken in. I slip them on, and while they are a bit over sized for me, with the woolen socks, they will suffice. Scrabbling in haste now as I begin to feel more bleary eyed, I look for any kind of weapon.
I find a dagger that fits perfectly in my hand. I look to see if I can secure it inside my boot and happily find a small blade sheath built into the leather work. A slightly larger blade also comes to hand and I secure it to my other calf using a bit of ribbon and string.
I find a few shirt layers I can wear and dress under the large over shirt using it as a dressing gown. Finally, I wriggle into a woven jacket that is boxy cut enough to de-emphasize my décolletage.
I look for a hat to stuff my hair into as my long tresses will ruin the look. I know this disguise will barely hold anyway, but I must try, nonetheless. At least it will be easier for me to move with haste through the brush if an escape becomes possible.
My new look complete, I return to show you, my love, and the Monseñor in the dim light. The Monseñor nods slightly in approval and you grin at me widely seeing my attempt to transform myself.
You gather me into your arms once more, though your strength is ebbing from the effect of the poison. You kiss me deeply – the kiss of two drunkards. Our mouths meeting and dancing together – needing each other. Any reserve now gone as we know we are about to be torn from each other.
I sigh deeply into your kiss, wanting, needing this moment to last forever. Your tongue plunders my mouth and I feel how much you wish to possess me. Your arms tight around me, your body eager for me.
So odd, to share this deeply passionate kiss in my newly transformed state, no longer dressed as a pretty girl – but as a stable boy. But our need for each other and our love is not fooled by my costume.
I do not know what will happen next. I only know, more than anything in the world, one way or another, I will find my way into this man’s arms again. No trickery or evil or double dealing will deny this destiny. I know this in my heart, verily, I know it in my soul.
The Monseñor watches us, and then, in his quiet raspy voice, he urges us to enact his plan with haste. He gives the Captain another draught of the tainted wine, and then lays him out on the makeshift surgical table, leaving the blood stained dressings and supplies right at hand, as if he had done all he could, and the wound had overtaken the patient. I kiss my love’s forehead and then his lips once more as I note his breathing becoming ever shallower, his lids heavy.
My breath catches as I gaze back at my old friend.
“Are you sure this will work? You are not killing him?? Please promise me he will wake up again once the danger is passed!! I cannot live without him – and besides, if I am to be sold to slavery – he must arise to save me from whatever terrible fate the Father has in mind for me!”
He nods solemnly. “Yes, Doña, you have my word. I will watch over him myself and when the danger is passed, I will help him get to his ship. I have loved you like a daughter and I will not fail you in this. If anyone in the world deserves happiness, it is the two of you.”
These were the last words I heard… my mind now overtaken with the medicament. I slump onto a crude stool next to the surgery table, my head resting against my love's thigh and I fall into a drugged slumber…
...visions of dancing at the plantation; the terror of the chase; the sound of the dogs baying in the morning; the flash of white teeth in dark mouths; and finally of cold stone and shackles round wrists and ankles.
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cascadiabound
MrTs barmaid
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MastersDelight
Literotica Guru
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Omg I LOVE the girl disguised as a boy thing omg! 
cascadiabound
MrTs barmaid
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Omg I LOVE the girl disguised as a boy thing omg!
Thanks MD! May her disguise help her!
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AbsintheFather
Passing some time
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Wow . . . I had some catching up to do. Bravo. Well done.
lakesailer_mi
Sailing
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Very cool tale, and I love the pics/audio etc embedded. Very creative.
Looking forward to the next installment!
Great Job
Looking forward to the next installment!
Great Job
Mrtenant
Lord of Chaos
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This is like a great book I can't put down. I cannot wait for the next part!!
Raven! Welcome aboard.
We're very glad to see you here and very glad you like the story. Stay tuned there's more to come and we love seeing you post. Make yourself at home.LS! So glad to see you here! Thank you for your support. We may need some mad sailing skills in the pages to come. Stay close!
TC, thank you so much for keeping up and all your commentary. It really helps make it fun for us all. Glad we can pique your interest!
Thank you kindly AF, you inspire us both with your cheer!
Omg I LOVE the girl disguised as a boy thing omg!
MD! Good morning and thank you for your interest! And so well described too isn't it?
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Mrtenant
Lord of Chaos
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As the tincture slowly seeps into my awareness, I feel it as a dream. The Monseñor at our side, prepares the new dose. I follow your every move, mesmerized by your beauty, the sensuality of your intoxicating figure under the gauzy shirt, and pride in your courage, as you move to and fro between the chests.
The Monseñor hands me the draught as I watch you dress. A simple thing to be sure, but with you, I cannot look away. My interest grows noticeably despite the drink's influence.
You notice my observance and blush, but with an aching pride that you have so captured my attention as only a woman may do for a man.
As you prepare your outfit, complete with weaponry, you speak with the Monseñor as you return to me once more. As the tincture finally drags us into slumber, my last vision is of you, my heart aching as our impending separation approaches even as your soft touch quietly thrills me with desire for you. As I pass into oblivious sleep the slight weight of your hand is the last thing I feel.
All is quiet in the pre-dawn hours. The slavers along with Father Lorenzo arrive as scheduled. There are ten of them and all are heavily armed. The Monseñor, as promised, holds his peace, merely stating as a plain fact that the Captain has expired from his wound.
The Father looks me over, noting no response to shaking and hearing no breath. Regarding you, he notes the borrowed garments but there is no mistaking your identity. Brusquely removing the hat, he directs the slavers to your slumbering form.
One hoists you up and over his shoulder, your long hair cascading behind him. Several other slavers march up the stairs hauling the three wretches with them from the back of the storeroom.
The Monseñor gazes thoughtfully after as the remaining three slavers pay the Father in gold. This is a fine night for them. It is a rare thing, indeed, to have a virginal aristocratic English girl for the markets. The desert sheikhs will pay a fortune for such a prize.
“A good days’ work, Monseñor,” comments the Father. “We will dispose of the Captain when the servants return. The hunters stopped here momentarily, the ruse worked perfectly. These children are simple and naïve.”
“What port will the slavers make for?” asks the Monseñor.
“It is possible they will stop in Spain, it is the slaver’s home port. In any case they will make for Cairo, Egypt, to the slave markets. A journey of several weeks if they are lucky. If not? It is no longer my concern.”
“Will they care for her?”
“Like she was gold. They want her virtue intact. I will bring the servants when they return, Monseñor. There is another privateer due in to port within a few hours with whom I have business. I want the Captain’s body disposed of by then.”
“Yes, Padre.” the Monseñor replies, as the Father disappears up the stairs.
The slavers depart in a largely nondescript carriage, making for the harbour with haste. The English girl will spell doom for them all if they are caught with her. As they disembark from the carriage, they quickly unload their cargo and hustle the slaves aboard the ship.
The Tristan sets sail, departing the island late in the morning after the last of the supplies had been stowed, its bell ringing in departure as it exits the harbour making for open sea on the falling tide.
The Monseñor hands me the draught as I watch you dress. A simple thing to be sure, but with you, I cannot look away. My interest grows noticeably despite the drink's influence.
You notice my observance and blush, but with an aching pride that you have so captured my attention as only a woman may do for a man.
As you prepare your outfit, complete with weaponry, you speak with the Monseñor as you return to me once more. As the tincture finally drags us into slumber, my last vision is of you, my heart aching as our impending separation approaches even as your soft touch quietly thrills me with desire for you. As I pass into oblivious sleep the slight weight of your hand is the last thing I feel.
http://i.imgur.com/PY9jfdA.jpg
Father Lorenzo
Father Lorenzo
All is quiet in the pre-dawn hours. The slavers along with Father Lorenzo arrive as scheduled. There are ten of them and all are heavily armed. The Monseñor, as promised, holds his peace, merely stating as a plain fact that the Captain has expired from his wound.
The Father looks me over, noting no response to shaking and hearing no breath. Regarding you, he notes the borrowed garments but there is no mistaking your identity. Brusquely removing the hat, he directs the slavers to your slumbering form.
One hoists you up and over his shoulder, your long hair cascading behind him. Several other slavers march up the stairs hauling the three wretches with them from the back of the storeroom.
The Monseñor gazes thoughtfully after as the remaining three slavers pay the Father in gold. This is a fine night for them. It is a rare thing, indeed, to have a virginal aristocratic English girl for the markets. The desert sheikhs will pay a fortune for such a prize.
“A good days’ work, Monseñor,” comments the Father. “We will dispose of the Captain when the servants return. The hunters stopped here momentarily, the ruse worked perfectly. These children are simple and naïve.”
“What port will the slavers make for?” asks the Monseñor.
“It is possible they will stop in Spain, it is the slaver’s home port. In any case they will make for Cairo, Egypt, to the slave markets. A journey of several weeks if they are lucky. If not? It is no longer my concern.”
“Will they care for her?”
“Like she was gold. They want her virtue intact. I will bring the servants when they return, Monseñor. There is another privateer due in to port within a few hours with whom I have business. I want the Captain’s body disposed of by then.”
“Yes, Padre.” the Monseñor replies, as the Father disappears up the stairs.
The slavers depart in a largely nondescript carriage, making for the harbour with haste. The English girl will spell doom for them all if they are caught with her. As they disembark from the carriage, they quickly unload their cargo and hustle the slaves aboard the ship.
The Frigate, Tristan
The ship is an old converted frigate, worn, and has clearly seen better days. A trip on the open ocean is a challenge at any time, especially so in a leaky old tub like the Tristan.The Tristan sets sail, departing the island late in the morning after the last of the supplies had been stowed, its bell ringing in departure as it exits the harbour making for open sea on the falling tide.
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Mrtenant
Lord of Chaos
- Joined
- Sep 4, 2009
- Posts
- 29,556
I awake with a start. My eyes feel gummed up and bleary at first. My mouth tastes as if I had dragged it in sand. Recent events slowly begin to come back to me.
This beautiful young woman at the Ball fills my mind, heart, and soul, consuming me as a blazing fire. Her kisses, magical and otherworldly, her figure, her style, her very scent, all return in a rush.
Alas, to my horror, a stain upon my honour, the love of my life- now charged with her safety, she is gone! I will die, if need be, in order to rescue her!
My anger has never reached such heights. Standing up in a rage, at last I realize in full where I am and recall in a flash, the most recent events that occurred in the night just passed…and then immediately I stagger, the tincture's effects still affecting me.
My head feels awful. Yet, I am alive, and the bell of a ship leaving harbour has just sounded.
SHIPS BELL<<<(click this link)
I'm will beat this twist in fate if it kills me. Nothing will stand between me and my love. The Monseñor, still there, reaches over to help support me.
I shrug him off and grasping a pitcher of water, pour it over my aching head. Grabbing the old man by his robe, I draw him to me with a growl.
“Lorenzo! Where is he?!” I snarl in demand.
“Captain, please! I am your friend! The Padre, he is in the chamber above!” cries out the frightened Monseñor.
Thrusting the trembling old man aside, I storm up the stairs, rage filling my heart. Bursting upon the Altar, the Monseñor close on my heels, I search the chapel quickly for the Father.
The Monseñor points to a closed doorway. Rushing towards the door, I kick it in forcefully! Startled, Father Lorenzo rises from his desk inside, fear in his eyes. Before he can react, I smash a heavy fist across his jaw with a sickening crack and lay him out cold at my feet.
Looking to the Monseñor, “A HORSE, OLD MAN, NOW!!!“ I shout without room for denial.
“We have n n n none.” The Monseñor trembles with growing fear.
“THEN I'LL USE YOURS!!” I shout once more in my need.
Grabbing the Father by his collar, I haul him out of the old church and quickly find the Monseñor’s old brown horse. It isn’t much to look at, but it will serve. It isn’t that far to ride anyway.
I throw the Father over the front like a sack and leap into the old saddle, barely giving the Monseñor time to untie the reins. With a start and a cloud of dust I am off to the harbour at full speed. GALLOPING HORSE(<<<click this link)
The poor old horse had not seen such a pace in many years. But it does not falter. Blazing down the road to the harbour, upsetting other travelers and a merchant cart along the way, I finally arrive at my destination, a good five mile ride or so from the old chapel. Dragging the out-cold Father by his collar, I stride in haste upon my own ship, the brigantine, Constantine.
The first mate seeing my approach from afar calls out, “Captain aboard!”
He has known me many years, faithful and true. An older African sailor, a freeman, Antoine by name, he approaches me with concern and deadly seriousness.
“Captain, you’ve been wounded, and the priest?! What is afoot?”
Dumping the groaning priest to the deck, I look at Antoine with a glare he knows well. I am in deadly earnest.
“Call all the men, hurry! Load the supplies. We will set sail as soon as able. A ship departed earlier! Did you see it!?” I ask him practically shouting in my emotion.
“Aye Captain, a slaver by the looks of it, long gone these few hours.” He answers in growing alarm at my earnestness.
“That’s our prize Antoine! I WANT THAT SHIP!” I demand passionately.
“Are we slavers now, Captain?” He asks with a sour look on his face.
“Not today we aren’t,” I reply, “Today! We chase a treasure like no other!”
This beautiful young woman at the Ball fills my mind, heart, and soul, consuming me as a blazing fire. Her kisses, magical and otherworldly, her figure, her style, her very scent, all return in a rush.
Alas, to my horror, a stain upon my honour, the love of my life- now charged with her safety, she is gone! I will die, if need be, in order to rescue her!
My anger has never reached such heights. Standing up in a rage, at last I realize in full where I am and recall in a flash, the most recent events that occurred in the night just passed…and then immediately I stagger, the tincture's effects still affecting me.
My head feels awful. Yet, I am alive, and the bell of a ship leaving harbour has just sounded.
SHIPS BELL<<<(click this link)
I'm will beat this twist in fate if it kills me. Nothing will stand between me and my love. The Monseñor, still there, reaches over to help support me.
I shrug him off and grasping a pitcher of water, pour it over my aching head. Grabbing the old man by his robe, I draw him to me with a growl.
“Lorenzo! Where is he?!” I snarl in demand.
“Captain, please! I am your friend! The Padre, he is in the chamber above!” cries out the frightened Monseñor.
Thrusting the trembling old man aside, I storm up the stairs, rage filling my heart. Bursting upon the Altar, the Monseñor close on my heels, I search the chapel quickly for the Father.
The Monseñor points to a closed doorway. Rushing towards the door, I kick it in forcefully! Startled, Father Lorenzo rises from his desk inside, fear in his eyes. Before he can react, I smash a heavy fist across his jaw with a sickening crack and lay him out cold at my feet.
Looking to the Monseñor, “A HORSE, OLD MAN, NOW!!!“ I shout without room for denial.
“We have n n n none.” The Monseñor trembles with growing fear.
“THEN I'LL USE YOURS!!” I shout once more in my need.
Grabbing the Father by his collar, I haul him out of the old church and quickly find the Monseñor’s old brown horse. It isn’t much to look at, but it will serve. It isn’t that far to ride anyway.
I throw the Father over the front like a sack and leap into the old saddle, barely giving the Monseñor time to untie the reins. With a start and a cloud of dust I am off to the harbour at full speed. GALLOPING HORSE(<<<click this link)
The poor old horse had not seen such a pace in many years. But it does not falter. Blazing down the road to the harbour, upsetting other travelers and a merchant cart along the way, I finally arrive at my destination, a good five mile ride or so from the old chapel. Dragging the out-cold Father by his collar, I stride in haste upon my own ship, the brigantine, Constantine.
The Brig, Constantine
The first mate seeing my approach from afar calls out, “Captain aboard!”
He has known me many years, faithful and true. An older African sailor, a freeman, Antoine by name, he approaches me with concern and deadly seriousness.
“Captain, you’ve been wounded, and the priest?! What is afoot?”
Dumping the groaning priest to the deck, I look at Antoine with a glare he knows well. I am in deadly earnest.
“Call all the men, hurry! Load the supplies. We will set sail as soon as able. A ship departed earlier! Did you see it!?” I ask him practically shouting in my emotion.
“Aye Captain, a slaver by the looks of it, long gone these few hours.” He answers in growing alarm at my earnestness.
“That’s our prize Antoine! I WANT THAT SHIP!” I demand passionately.
“Are we slavers now, Captain?” He asks with a sour look on his face.
“Not today we aren’t,” I reply, “Today! We chase a treasure like no other!”
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cascadiabound
MrTs barmaid
- Joined
- Aug 11, 2015
- Posts
- 29,899
Seeping into my drugged dreams are strange nightmares…being tossed like a sack of potatoes; the smell of dirty unhealthy working men; a rough fast ride on a hard seated carriage... CARRIAGE RIDE(<<<click this link)
I awake groggily, alone in a small cabin. My mouth seems full of cotton and oooohhh, what a headache. As I come to awareness I perceive movement and surmise I must be on a ship.
With a start, I recall the warning the Monseñor had given me and my Captain about the Father’s plan to sell me to slavers.
I slowly take in my surroundings. I had feared I would be placed in chains in the hold much like those poor wretches along the wall below the Father’s chapel. Suddenly afraid, I look down at my wrists and ankles to verify I am unshackled.
With a sigh of relief, I seem to be free to move about, and gathering my wits, I attempt to sit up, finding myself on a long, built-in bench with thin cushions arranged upon it so it is able to serve as a bed of sorts.
Between having eaten nothing in many many hours, that dreadful tainted wine, and now being at sea, my stomach heaves with nausea and it takes a force of will to push the bile back down my sand-papery dry throat.
Taking a deep breath, I look around; forcing myself to carefully observe my surroundings. I note the small desk, the book case along one wall, decorative screens and more knick-knacks from exotic ports of call than belongs in one small cabin.
I feel for the knife I had secured to my thigh, and, finding it still there, release the bits of string and ribbon and quickly hide it under the cushion where I had been laid.
I do not want it to be found on my person, but will want it close at hand should I have need to defend myself. The other knife, in my boot, I leave in place.
On the desk is a small pitcher and a crude mug. I am so thirsty, I stagger slightly as I stand and take the single step to reach it. The old ship heaves on the ocean swell.
I am uncertain if it is the after effects of the tincture, or the fact I have never been to sea that makes my step so unsteady.
Catching myself on the sturdy built-in desk, I am grateful for the boots I found to wear in the Father’s clothing trunks. Pouring water into the mug, I drink it down in a single draught.
There is no window in the small cabin, but, there is a door – no knob or handle apparent. Finding my voice, I go to the door, and bang on it with my small fist, DOOR POUNDING(<<<click this link)
“Hello? Hello!? Anyone there???”
My voice sounds a bit scratchy and weak to my ears. Hearing nothing on the other side, I turn around and take in the titles of the books on the case.
A few are in English, but I do not recognize them. Most are in Spanish and French. Idly, I pull one from the shelf and see it is poetry. Opening the book to a page at random I scan the page…
Reading the few lines, I find it so bawdy to be offensive and quickly return it to the shelf, blushing.
I hear men’s voices now on the other side of the door, rough and deep. I turn towards them, my ear to the door, desperately trying to make out what they are saying.
I awake groggily, alone in a small cabin. My mouth seems full of cotton and oooohhh, what a headache. As I come to awareness I perceive movement and surmise I must be on a ship.
With a start, I recall the warning the Monseñor had given me and my Captain about the Father’s plan to sell me to slavers.
I slowly take in my surroundings. I had feared I would be placed in chains in the hold much like those poor wretches along the wall below the Father’s chapel. Suddenly afraid, I look down at my wrists and ankles to verify I am unshackled.
With a sigh of relief, I seem to be free to move about, and gathering my wits, I attempt to sit up, finding myself on a long, built-in bench with thin cushions arranged upon it so it is able to serve as a bed of sorts.
Between having eaten nothing in many many hours, that dreadful tainted wine, and now being at sea, my stomach heaves with nausea and it takes a force of will to push the bile back down my sand-papery dry throat.
Taking a deep breath, I look around; forcing myself to carefully observe my surroundings. I note the small desk, the book case along one wall, decorative screens and more knick-knacks from exotic ports of call than belongs in one small cabin.
I feel for the knife I had secured to my thigh, and, finding it still there, release the bits of string and ribbon and quickly hide it under the cushion where I had been laid.
I do not want it to be found on my person, but will want it close at hand should I have need to defend myself. The other knife, in my boot, I leave in place.
On the desk is a small pitcher and a crude mug. I am so thirsty, I stagger slightly as I stand and take the single step to reach it. The old ship heaves on the ocean swell.
I am uncertain if it is the after effects of the tincture, or the fact I have never been to sea that makes my step so unsteady.
Catching myself on the sturdy built-in desk, I am grateful for the boots I found to wear in the Father’s clothing trunks. Pouring water into the mug, I drink it down in a single draught.
There is no window in the small cabin, but, there is a door – no knob or handle apparent. Finding my voice, I go to the door, and bang on it with my small fist, DOOR POUNDING(<<<click this link)
“Hello? Hello!? Anyone there???”
My voice sounds a bit scratchy and weak to my ears. Hearing nothing on the other side, I turn around and take in the titles of the books on the case.
A few are in English, but I do not recognize them. Most are in Spanish and French. Idly, I pull one from the shelf and see it is poetry. Opening the book to a page at random I scan the page…
An Extempore upon a Faggot
Have you not in a Chimney seen
A Faggot which is moist and green
How coyly it receives the Heat
And at both ends do’s weep and sweat?
So fares it with a tender Maid
When first upon her Back she’s laid
But like dry Wood th’ experienced Dame
Cracks and rejoices in the Flame.
Have you not in a Chimney seen
A Faggot which is moist and green
How coyly it receives the Heat
And at both ends do’s weep and sweat?
So fares it with a tender Maid
When first upon her Back she’s laid
But like dry Wood th’ experienced Dame
Cracks and rejoices in the Flame.
Reading the few lines, I find it so bawdy to be offensive and quickly return it to the shelf, blushing.
I hear men’s voices now on the other side of the door, rough and deep. I turn towards them, my ear to the door, desperately trying to make out what they are saying.
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Susurration
Whispering softly
- Joined
- Dec 18, 2007
- Posts
- 24,565
The twists and turns are so enjoyable to read. I had expected the supernatural more than treachery. It's good to be mistaken when reading stories . I'm looking forward to the next instalment.
. I'm looking forward to the next instalment.
cascadiabound
MrTs barmaid
- Joined
- Aug 11, 2015
- Posts
- 29,899
The twists and turns are so enjoyable to read. I had expected the supernatural more than treachery. It's good to be mistaken when reading stories
Hi Suss!
Lovely to see you
We are so glad you are enjoying our little novella.
Thanks for reading.
And Mr T and I would like to thank everyone for reading and subscribing to our tale. We hope it gives you something to look forward to, a little something that makes you smile.
So much more on its way! Happy weekend y'all!
Cascadia
MichaelinChina
Cybergypsy
- Joined
- Mar 28, 2012
- Posts
- 40,103
This is such a wonderful project. Great writing from you both and for what appears to be a lot of work; finding and including the rich visuals, congratulations.
cascadiabound
MrTs barmaid
- Joined
- Aug 11, 2015
- Posts
- 29,899
"Did you see how fine that young English lass the Padre sold us is? How much do you think we can get for her in Cairo?” a voice says with a thick Spanish accent.
“Indeed, yes,” a different voice answers, also thickly accented, “the money we can get for her alone will pay for this trip. If any of the men lay a finger on her, I will have them flogged on deck until they cannot stand."
"In the meantime,” he continues, “we must find a gown for her to wear. I want her to keep me company at dinner tonight and those ridiculous clothes she was wearing when you brought her on board simply will not do."
"And I will want to find the perfect outfit to put her in to fetch the best price from the sheikhs. We must make her look like the little princess she is,” the sneering voice continues.
“Yes, Captain, we have several trunks of gowns we stole from a merchant ship on our last run," the man answers.
"I am sure we have plenty enough for her to wear, and to show her off so we may command the top price at the slavers’ market," he continues.
"And I know you like your girls to look pretty when you have them aboard,” he adds with a chuckle.
Hearing them speak of me like this, my heart pounds and I see red, furious and terrified at once. I begin to pound on the door again…DOOR POUNDING(<<<click this link)
“This is an outrage! You cannot treat me like this!”
The voices beyond the door suddenly go silent. Then, the door swings open with a loud bang! DOOR SLAMMING OPEN(<<<click this link) A very large swarthy man, easily twice my size and stands before me leering slightly,
“Treat you like what?” he says with a booming voice that nearly sends me scuttling for the settee where I had awoken,
“I have provided you with a private cabin, the best quarters on the ship save mine own? What complaints have you, my girl?” he growls in menace.
Trying to meet his eye and regain my composure as I stand in front of the settee, I untwist my tongue in my mouth to respond.
“Well, I have missed heaven-only-knows how many meals and I have need to relieve myself. I need a chamber pot or some other accommodation.”
It occurs to me I have nowhere to go, this man is my captor and my fate is in his hands for now… it may not serve me to be too brash and demanding.
The slaver Captain turns to the other man and gives him a look. In a moment he is gone.
“My dear,” he growls with a sneer, “how thoughtless of me to forget a chamber pot for you. My man will bring you one shortly."
"He will also return with some, shall we say, clothes which I would prefer you wear," he continues with a leer.
"You will join me for repast once you have changed.” He gives me a stern look that advises no argument.
I sit down, defeated, eyes downcast, hands in my lap.
“Now, now, - no pouting. You shall do as I say, I will make sure you do not go hungry, and you will wear pretty clothes for me. This does not sound so terrible now, does it missy?” he says in obvious mirth at his own humour.
He strides over to me, dwarfing me, his forearms as big as my thighs… taking my chin in his massive hand tilting my head up to meet his eyes.
His hand is rough. His grip firm. I look up at him – fear in my heart stabbing me like a dagger.
I realize now I am in more danger than at any time before in my life. I am at the mercy of this man. I am on his ship, and he means to sell me. He bends down so his face is close to mine, his breath foul.
“Missy, we are going to get along just fine, you and I. You shall see,” he sneers.
It is all I can do to not wrinkle my nose in disgust, but instead I nod slightly in assent.
Just then, his first mate returns with a simple porcelain chamber pot and a maroon gown of some sort. He sets the pot down behind the screen.
Turning away from me, the Captain takes the dress from him and nodding his approval, tosses it in my lap.
“Put that on. I want you to be ready to dine with me by the watch – the bell will sound. Be sure you look as pretty as a picture. I will be displeased if you do not. And you do not want to displease me,” he concludes with a sinister sneer.
Once again he gives me a look that could freeze my heart. I nod again, speechless in fear.
“Indeed, yes,” a different voice answers, also thickly accented, “the money we can get for her alone will pay for this trip. If any of the men lay a finger on her, I will have them flogged on deck until they cannot stand."
"In the meantime,” he continues, “we must find a gown for her to wear. I want her to keep me company at dinner tonight and those ridiculous clothes she was wearing when you brought her on board simply will not do."
"And I will want to find the perfect outfit to put her in to fetch the best price from the sheikhs. We must make her look like the little princess she is,” the sneering voice continues.
“Yes, Captain, we have several trunks of gowns we stole from a merchant ship on our last run," the man answers.
"I am sure we have plenty enough for her to wear, and to show her off so we may command the top price at the slavers’ market," he continues.
"And I know you like your girls to look pretty when you have them aboard,” he adds with a chuckle.
Hearing them speak of me like this, my heart pounds and I see red, furious and terrified at once. I begin to pound on the door again…DOOR POUNDING(<<<click this link)
“This is an outrage! You cannot treat me like this!”
The voices beyond the door suddenly go silent. Then, the door swings open with a loud bang! DOOR SLAMMING OPEN(<<<click this link) A very large swarthy man, easily twice my size and stands before me leering slightly,
“Treat you like what?” he says with a booming voice that nearly sends me scuttling for the settee where I had awoken,
“I have provided you with a private cabin, the best quarters on the ship save mine own? What complaints have you, my girl?” he growls in menace.
Trying to meet his eye and regain my composure as I stand in front of the settee, I untwist my tongue in my mouth to respond.
“Well, I have missed heaven-only-knows how many meals and I have need to relieve myself. I need a chamber pot or some other accommodation.”
It occurs to me I have nowhere to go, this man is my captor and my fate is in his hands for now… it may not serve me to be too brash and demanding.
The slaver Captain turns to the other man and gives him a look. In a moment he is gone.
“My dear,” he growls with a sneer, “how thoughtless of me to forget a chamber pot for you. My man will bring you one shortly."
"He will also return with some, shall we say, clothes which I would prefer you wear," he continues with a leer.
"You will join me for repast once you have changed.” He gives me a stern look that advises no argument.
I sit down, defeated, eyes downcast, hands in my lap.
“Now, now, - no pouting. You shall do as I say, I will make sure you do not go hungry, and you will wear pretty clothes for me. This does not sound so terrible now, does it missy?” he says in obvious mirth at his own humour.
He strides over to me, dwarfing me, his forearms as big as my thighs… taking my chin in his massive hand tilting my head up to meet his eyes.
His hand is rough. His grip firm. I look up at him – fear in my heart stabbing me like a dagger.
I realize now I am in more danger than at any time before in my life. I am at the mercy of this man. I am on his ship, and he means to sell me. He bends down so his face is close to mine, his breath foul.
“Missy, we are going to get along just fine, you and I. You shall see,” he sneers.
It is all I can do to not wrinkle my nose in disgust, but instead I nod slightly in assent.
Just then, his first mate returns with a simple porcelain chamber pot and a maroon gown of some sort. He sets the pot down behind the screen.
Turning away from me, the Captain takes the dress from him and nodding his approval, tosses it in my lap.
“Put that on. I want you to be ready to dine with me by the watch – the bell will sound. Be sure you look as pretty as a picture. I will be displeased if you do not. And you do not want to displease me,” he concludes with a sinister sneer.
Once again he gives me a look that could freeze my heart. I nod again, speechless in fear.
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cascadiabound
MrTs barmaid
- Joined
- Aug 11, 2015
- Posts
- 29,899
This is such a wonderful project. Great writing from you both and for what appears to be a lot of work; finding and including the rich visuals, congratulations.
*blushing
Thank you MiC. High praise indeed.
Mr T and I have been having a great time putting this together for everyone. We are just so glad folks are enjoying our efforts.
Cascadia
Susurration
Whispering softly
- Joined
- Dec 18, 2007
- Posts
- 24,565
The slaver captain is truly horrid. You've got the dialogue spot on for him, and his picture is equally cruel. This continues to be a compelling read .
.
