Read Online False Colors by Alex Beecroft - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Alex Beecroft
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suggestive. “Thank you, sir.”
A pain stabbed like a needle into John’s cheek as he realized he was grinding his teeth again. “That will be all.” He turned his back, the gesture less convincing when he faced a blank wall of shutters rather than the majesty of the sea. “Dismissed.”
By nightfall they had turned back towards Gibraltar, sailing into the straits normally patrolled by the Dey’s rapacious fleet. Sailing back towards the slave markets and the pens…. When John crawled into the warm salt damp of his sheets he fell asleep with his imagination full of chains.
He dreamed red dreams. Frustrated fury flowed through his limbs, making him snarl into his pillow, thinking of Donwell’s mocking smirk and hot temper; dreaming of the smack of his fists into that smile. He could feel the breath on his fingers, the mouth splitting like fruit, and in his dream he lunged forward, caught the little wound between his teeth and bit. Blood on his tongue, hard hands grappling him, tearing his clothes, the buck and press of that big body crushing him into the wall, and he could half feel the pain of the cane on his own belly as he dug his nails into Donwell’s open wound….
Biting, blood in his mouth, hair tangled between his clutching fingers, he fought to teach the cocky bastard who was in charge here, teach him a lesson he would not soon forget, a lesson marked into his flesh like the mark of the lash. He’d chain the bastard down if he could, spread him across the desk, cane him like a midshipman with the stick on his bare arse, breeches round his feet, see if he’d be so very…insubordinate then.
But in his imagination Alfie was smiling—still smiling that sphinx-like secret smile. John hit harder, his arm aching, close to tears with fury and frustration, but could not wipe the smile away; he needed more, needed to get closer, stronger, needed more….
He woke, heart pounding and skin itchy with anger, grinding against the hard board of the mattress. So close…so close, damn it! His hand closed over his shaft, rough, half asleep, and for a moment he dreamed it was a bigger hand, burnt, the fingernails missing. He came in a rush like the gout of blood from a cut throat, lay half awake, panting. The dream came apart as he tried to recall it, fading into nebulous wisps of yearning and denial. By the time he fell back into sleep he could not remember it at all.
C
HAPTER 6
“Sail two points off the port bow!” the lookout shouted just as they rounded the cape of Bon, the sun coming up behind them, throwing their shadow before them onto the grey sea. “She’s a big xebec, sir, under a full spread.”
Alfie cursed the sudden weakness that dissolved his bones within him and hauled himself laboriously up to the main top, aware that everyone on deck was watching him for signs of fear. Once there, he took his own glass and focused it where the boy indicated. He could see only mist for a moment, peach and pink, curling into the sky in the level beams of the rising sun. Shaking the dew from his coat, he rubbed the glass, tried again and saw it; a brighter white smudge against the cloud. Something coming out from Tunis, with the lean, triangular profile of a xebec; the Barbary corsair’s warship of choice. With her narrow hull, built for speed, and her oars which allowed her to beat directly into the wind, she was by far the handier ship. And to be seen at this distance her size must be…. H is heart seemed to freeze into a lead ball and choke him—she must carry at least three hundred men to the Meteor ’s eighty.
“Set boommainsail and trysail!” he shouted, thoughtlessly grabbing the backstay of the mast and sliding down it, arriving on deck with his newly healed hands torn open once more. “Put her before the wind. Kelly, rouse the captain!”
“No need.” Cavendish was on deck, in his nightshirt, barefoot, with his steward trailing behind him indignantly carrying slippers and a banyan. The captain
A pain stabbed like a needle into John’s cheek as he realized he was grinding his teeth again. “That will be all.” He turned his back, the gesture less convincing when he faced a blank wall of shutters rather than the majesty of the sea. “Dismissed.”
By nightfall they had turned back towards Gibraltar, sailing into the straits normally patrolled by the Dey’s rapacious fleet. Sailing back towards the slave markets and the pens…. When John crawled into the warm salt damp of his sheets he fell asleep with his imagination full of chains.
He dreamed red dreams. Frustrated fury flowed through his limbs, making him snarl into his pillow, thinking of Donwell’s mocking smirk and hot temper; dreaming of the smack of his fists into that smile. He could feel the breath on his fingers, the mouth splitting like fruit, and in his dream he lunged forward, caught the little wound between his teeth and bit. Blood on his tongue, hard hands grappling him, tearing his clothes, the buck and press of that big body crushing him into the wall, and he could half feel the pain of the cane on his own belly as he dug his nails into Donwell’s open wound….
Biting, blood in his mouth, hair tangled between his clutching fingers, he fought to teach the cocky bastard who was in charge here, teach him a lesson he would not soon forget, a lesson marked into his flesh like the mark of the lash. He’d chain the bastard down if he could, spread him across the desk, cane him like a midshipman with the stick on his bare arse, breeches round his feet, see if he’d be so very…insubordinate then.
But in his imagination Alfie was smiling—still smiling that sphinx-like secret smile. John hit harder, his arm aching, close to tears with fury and frustration, but could not wipe the smile away; he needed more, needed to get closer, stronger, needed more….
He woke, heart pounding and skin itchy with anger, grinding against the hard board of the mattress. So close…so close, damn it! His hand closed over his shaft, rough, half asleep, and for a moment he dreamed it was a bigger hand, burnt, the fingernails missing. He came in a rush like the gout of blood from a cut throat, lay half awake, panting. The dream came apart as he tried to recall it, fading into nebulous wisps of yearning and denial. By the time he fell back into sleep he could not remember it at all.
C
HAPTER 6
“Sail two points off the port bow!” the lookout shouted just as they rounded the cape of Bon, the sun coming up behind them, throwing their shadow before them onto the grey sea. “She’s a big xebec, sir, under a full spread.”
Alfie cursed the sudden weakness that dissolved his bones within him and hauled himself laboriously up to the main top, aware that everyone on deck was watching him for signs of fear. Once there, he took his own glass and focused it where the boy indicated. He could see only mist for a moment, peach and pink, curling into the sky in the level beams of the rising sun. Shaking the dew from his coat, he rubbed the glass, tried again and saw it; a brighter white smudge against the cloud. Something coming out from Tunis, with the lean, triangular profile of a xebec; the Barbary corsair’s warship of choice. With her narrow hull, built for speed, and her oars which allowed her to beat directly into the wind, she was by far the handier ship. And to be seen at this distance her size must be…. H is heart seemed to freeze into a lead ball and choke him—she must carry at least three hundred men to the Meteor ’s eighty.
“Set boommainsail and trysail!” he shouted, thoughtlessly grabbing the backstay of the mast and sliding down it, arriving on deck with his newly healed hands torn open once more. “Put her before the wind. Kelly, rouse the captain!”
“No need.” Cavendish was on deck, in his nightshirt, barefoot, with his steward trailing behind him indignantly carrying slippers and a banyan. The captain
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