Page 11 of Scandalous

He’d just finished showing her how to work the fold-out table when three men arrived with a compact hip-bath.

“Ah, here is your bath, miss. I’ll just go and see to some other matters while the men fill the tub.”

Within a short time the tub was full of steaming water, and there were several thick, fluffy towels piled on the bunk. The men were just leaving when Daniels returned with an armload of garments, his homely face a fiery red.

“The Captain sent these, miss.”

Sarah took the pile of clothing and laid it on the bunk. She wanted to ask why Captain Bouchard possessed such garments, but knew it would just agitate the second mate.

Instead, she gave him a reassuring smile. “Thank you, Mr. Daniels.”

He nodded, his eyes on anything but her. “Lock the door when I leave, miss.”

Sarah locked the door and turned to the steaming tub of water. She’d never had a bath in a real tub before. It was an unthinkable luxury, and she forced herself to stop worrying about the evening ahead and enjoy this singular experience. After all, she was a prisoner; who knew what might happen to her tomorrow? This might be the first and only bath she would ever have.

She stripped off her clothing, eager to get into the water before it cooled. Once she submerged as much of herself as possible, she closed her eyes and mulled over the events of the last few hectic hours.

The mutiny had died quickly after they’d lured de Heeckeren to Graaf’s cabin and captured him. Apparently many of the mutineers had already started drinking to celebrate their control of the ship and were slow-moving and clumsy when it came time to fight.

Speaking in Yoruba, Sarah had told the people they were free before opening the hold. It would not go well for them if Femi burst out and began laying waste—they were still dreadfully outnumbered and unarmed. She added that they should send up the strongest men first to ensure their freedom.

The sickening stench that billowed from the hold when the sailors opened the hatch drove everyone back, and eight huge men emerged from the stinking hole, with Femi in the lead.

Sarah handed him the pistol. “I am sorry—this is the only gun I could take, but there are also some knives and machetes.” She pointed to the small pile of weapons they’d taken from the mutineers. “Are you familiar with this kind of gun?”

Femi quickly examined the pistol before giving her an abrupt nod. “I have not used one, but I have seen them used often enough.”

Sarah handed him her extra ammunition. “This is all I have.” She gestured to the remaining sailors, all of whom were red-faced and looking anywhere but at the people they’d held captive, and then she gave Femi a grim smile. “I know you wish to shoot them; so do I. Unfortunately, we need them to get our ship to safety.”

“I will not hurt them.” He jerked his chin at the other men, all of whom vibrated with barely tethered rage. “I will tell the others.”

Before long the entire back half of the deck was filled with people, many too sick or weak to stand. Sarah found the husband of the young mother who’d died, protecting his newborn and the woman who’d agreed to nurse the baby.

“These three will need someplace private and quiet to rest.”

Graaf hastened to translate her orders into Dutch, his cheeks flushed. Sarah knew that if not for the mutiny, he would have sailed halfway round the world and never contemplated the hell right below his feet. That a human being would consider causing such devastating misery to others for money was so befuddling, Sarah could not get her mind to accept it. Hate for Graaf and his crew threatened to overwhelm her common sense, and it was a constant struggle to remind herself that she was a Christian, and Christians believed in forgiveness. Besides, she needed Graaf to deal with the privateers, whomever they were.

It hadn’t been until later, when Sarah was setting foot onto the privateer vessel, that she had questioned the wisdom of accompanying the Dutchman to the parley. She had just escaped one boatload of slave-trading filth; what was to say she was not giving herself to another? Well, it had been too late by then. And when they’d found themselves sitting in the wardroom—waiting for Bouchard—she’d asked Graaf, “If slaving is so lucrative, why would these privateers return the people to Ouidah?”

“Most likely they will take them to Freetown. That is where they will hand me over to the authorities.” The Dutchman had been shivering and sweating, his eyes dull with self-pity and suffering.

“Might these privateers take the slaves and sell them themselves?”

The captain had shrugged, as if he were too consumed with his own fate to care about anyone else. “Anything is possible, I suppose.”

Sarah considered the Dutchman as she soaped her hair in the cooling bath water. It had been wrong to lie to him about a cure, but she couldn’t feel much guilt about what she’d done. Her lie had made all the difference in the world to her and the people in the hold. Besides, only time and rest would cure most of the jungle fevers that ravaged the area, and Graaf was better off in Bouchard’s custody than on his mutinous ship. Her lies might have actually saved the man’s life.

Cheered by the thought, she stood and used the water from the pitcher to rinse the soap from her head and body. She wrung out her hair before stepping out of the tub and toweling her hair dry. She glanced at the remaining towels and hesitated.

“Oh, why not?” she muttered, snatching up a fresh towel for her body.

Once she was dry and wrapped in a towel she took up the comb the second mate had left and began the unpleasant task of removing tangles.

She examined the clothing Bouchard had sent while she combed. Sarah knew very little about fashion, but even she could see the garments were not the kind a proper woman would wear. One of the gowns was made of nothing but black lace, and she blushed to think what such a thing would look like on her. It was positively scandalous.

She settled on the least revealing article, a beautiful robe of heavy black silk, embroidered with silver dragons. The robe covered her from neck to feet and was large enough that she could wrap it around herself before belting it. A pair of plain black slippers completed her outfit and hid her large, battered and sunburned feet from view.

Bathed, dressed, and ready, she sat on the bed and stared at nothing in particular. She was left breathless and bemused by the bargain she’d made with the most beautiful person—male or female—she’d ever seen.