The Pirate Wives of Penn 001 (Redo)

Author’s Note: Okay, so this is my second attempt at this pirate adventure harem. It’s neither as polished nor as long as I’d like, but it’s my first stab at trying to rewrite the Pirate Wives of Penn. I went more for adventure fiction than historical fiction this time, so hopefully it's a little more exciting and fun. Let’s pretend the earlier entry never happened, and this is the new opening. It’s the first part of a longer adventure series that I haven’t written yet, but I wanted to get this down and out. Add this to the list of potential new projects, along with Peraranië, Liberty Legion, etc., things I’m trying out to see what I and others enjoy most. So let me know if you think this has promise.

~~~ 

The salty air of the Atlantic breeze swept over the island’s white sand beach, forming the dunes into cresting waves that mimicked the rolling ocean. The heat of the mid-morning sun pressed against the occupants of the beach as they worked lazily to shake off the last of their drunken stupor from last night’s celebrations. Forty people made up the landing party, and the hunting had gone well. 

Jack was stiff beneath the pile of bodies in his tent, if two could constitute a pile. The canvas shook in the wind, rattling the wooden toggles that held its flap closed. The captain’s tent was larger than the others in the camp. Smaller tents and tarp-covered shelters surrounded it. The tent itself was a circular design with a single rectangular protrusion facing the jungle opposite the sea.

Jack lifted his head, able to move his neck and head above, but two others who’d piled onto his bed weighed down his limbs. His wives were each a beauty in their own right, but to see them naked together had him stiff in more ways than one. He attempted to stretch, but succeeded only in pulling against his living restraints, who sleepily protested the disturbance by clinging tighter to him. 

“Princess, it’s time to wake up.” Jack whispered into the nearest ear. 

Amirah shook her head no and mumbled something back to him in Arabic. He’d been learning, but whatever she said wasn’t something she’d taught him yet. Her long, thick black hair covered her soft brown skin like a blanket, but Jack could still make out the bell-shaped curve of her breasts as she stretched, then curled again to cuddle his arm. 

He turned to the woman on his left arm. “Yasmin, are you awake?” He whispered. 

The small, sinewy woman had her black hair tied back into a bun atop her head, but she didn’t stir either. The bottle of wine in her hand was their second-to-last, and still half full. It sloshed in the bottle as she rolled away from him and cuddled it. He didn’t mind the view of her firm butt before she scooted back and pushed her naked cheeks against his thigh.

Life was good. To think he’d come this far from nothing, and less than nothing. He was half-drowned and drifting with the shipwrecked detritus when Amirah’s eunuchs pulled him from the water. He almost laughed to think how she’d nearly had him castrated like the other men on her crew. Wasn’t she lucky she’d decided against it? 

He hadn’t drunk nearly as much as Yasmin last night, and she had less of a tolerance for it than he and Amirah. The stopper in the bottle kept her from tipping any out and staining his bedroll with it. A small mercy. He shifted again, now that his left side was less burdened. 

He carefully extricated himself from beneath Amirah, sliding his arm and thigh out from beneath her. Now, in the middle between them, he slowly brought himself to his hands and knees, then got his feet under him, and stood. 

Just as his spine straightened, and he stretched his hands toward the ceiling of his tent, a whistle cracked through the camp like an arrow piercing the breeze. The signal notes sent the message “prey spotted,” and Jack breathed a sigh of relief. As lovely as these days on the island had been, he was starting to wonder if his information about the incoming merchant vessel had been wrong. 

He cracked his neck from side to side, then nudged Yasmin with his foot. “Wake up!” He cried, no longer soft or quiet, as the din began to roar outside the tent. “Prey spotted! It’s time! Get dressed and packed, I want everyone on the ship in under an hour!” 

Yasmin groaned as Amirah blinked and struggled to push herself up with her hands behind her. Her hair fell away from her front as she did so, revealing her body to his hungry but distracted gaze. 

“Come on, Princess! It’s time!” Jack said, moving over to his trunk where he’d placed his clothes. He could already hear the quartermaster, his other wife, Louisa, shouting orders to the crew. In minutes, they’d pack the longboats, and they’d be rowing to the ship to get underway. The crew still on board the vessel was likely already beginning the preparations so that they’d be ready to sail soon. 

Jack struggled to pull his pants on as Yasmin and Amirah got to their feet, helping each other up and brushing themselves off. His socks and boots followed. 

“You’re sure it’s the ship we seek?” Amirah asked, turning to face her husband without shame as she watched him clothe himself. Her thick Ottoman accent still hadn’t faded, but every syllable remained clear and concise. She stood as regal as any princess worthy of the title, with her chin high and her expression dubious. 

“No idea.” Jack said, shaking his head. “But the signal said, ‘prey spotted,’ so we can hope.” 

Amirah nodded and stepped back. She raised her arms as Yasmin, still naked, helped her dress. Jack almost laughed to see it. Despite the years they’d been together, Yasmin was always the dutiful handmaiden to her princess Amirah, even when they were so far from their home kingdom that the title was meaningless. 

He watched as Amirah’s dark skin disappeared from view, replaced by a formal blue and white dress, followed by the robe that slipped over it. It was a pity to hide a body as beautiful as hers with clothes, but he supposed she deserved some protection from the elements. 

Amirah lifted the corner of her mouth into a cheeky grin as she caught him staring. She shooed him with her hand. “Don’t get distracted, Captain. ‘Prey spotted,’ remember?” 

Jack licked his lips and laughed, but followed her admonishment. She was correct. They had more important things to think about than what he wanted to do with her and Yasmin in this tent. He pulled on his shirt and fastened his belt. The saber at his left hip hung low, with the pistol stashed into his belt more than holstered. 

“Let’s go then. Pack your things. I’ll make sure the crew loads the longboats.” Jack said. 

Amirah and Yasmin dressed as quickly as they could, with Yasmin’s gown being much simpler. Meanwhile, Jack opened the wooden toggles of the tent flap and stepped out, facing the jungle. He walked around the tent toward the beach, and blocked the sun from his eyes with his hand as he looked out toward the ship bobbing in the bay. 

The salty breeze of the beach swept over him, tussling his hair as he took in the sight of the crew scrambling to pack their tents and belongings into the boats. They’d done this enough times that it should have been clockwork by now, but asking for military precision was hopeless. Too many of them were hungover or half awake, but they’d be sober and alert by the time the ship set sail. 

The forty crew members arrived in five boats, and each vessel had a bucket line of crew members, men and women in various states of dress and finery, loading materials from the camp. They’d collapsed most of the tent, and more were falling as Jack crossed the sand toward the quartermaster, who was overseeing the loading as she bundled her tent. 

“Good morning, Louisa.” Jack said. “All’s well?” 

“Ja,” Louisa said, standing and brushing the sand off her trousers. “You heard the signal?” 

“Aye,” Jack answered. “Any other news?” 

“None, just the flags,” Louisa answered. 

“Is it the Seahorse?” Jack asked. 

Louisa leveled her gaze at him and sighed. “Why don’t you grab the glass and ask someone who can give you an answer.” Louisa said. “Furi’s aboard the ship. If they’re close enough to spot the figurehead or name, she’ll know if it’s the Seahorse.” 

Jack hoped the ship wasn’t that close, or they’d miss their window to attack it. He had to deduce that it wasn’t, or Furi would have likely commanded the ship to sail away and leave the hunting party on the beach to pursue the merchant vessel before it could escape. 

“Alright,” Jack said. “I’ll help the crew load.” 

Louisa nodded and didn’t protest as Jack kissed her cheek before joining the others as they bundled, packed, and readied to shove off in the boats. The work seemed swift, but every minute that passed made Jack question whether they should abandon their camp in favor of better riches. Still, the meat they’d secured was necessary, or they’d soon be hungry, and the only thing more mutinous than an evil crew was a hungry one. 

In half an hour, they’d packed the boats, and Luther helped Amira, Yasmin, and Louisa into the craft. 

“Are we ready to depart?” Amirah asked as she sat toward the front. She held her head high as her silk robes, tied loosely over her dress, fluttered in the gusty breeze.

Jack looked out over the water to their ship, The Cutlass, still anchored in the bay. The crew had her preparations underway. The former slave frigate looked eager to sail again, and so was he. He nodded before sparing a glance at the now-empty beach behind him. 

“We row!” He shouted, and the others in their boats shouted their assent as they undertook the efforts. Amirah didn’t row, of course, but no one expected manual labor from her. 

Jack rowed, despite his captaincy, because his hands knew the familiar grip of the oar. The peaceful repetition helped soothe his anxiety for the battle to come. No matter how many times they repeated this dance, the moments before the fight always felt thick, like the air before a summer storm. 

The boats rowed into position alongside the Cutlass, and ropes heaved the boats, lifting them out of the water and tying them into place alongside. Jack was the last to leave the boat, turning his attention to the helm as soon as he was on the busy deck. 

Unloading the boats took priority, but the first mate had already given the order to raise the anchor, and the crew in the rigging were lowering the sails. The ship thundered with the crew’s footsteps as they unloaded the longboats, and Jack danced his way through them to the helm on the quarter deck.

The three-masted frigate wasn’t as young as she used to be, and the masts groaned with the sudden exertion of the wind filling their sails, but she set forward. The ship cut her way through the currents of the bay with a skilled hand at the helm. Jack caught up to their pilot. 

“Good morning, Mirlande,” Jack said, admiring the way his wife stood in full command of the wheel. 

Her skin was the shade of obsidian, and the muscles beneath her skin were just as tough, forged from an even harder life. She turned her cedar eyes toward him for a moment, but returned them to the prow and squinted to judge the distance for herself. 

“Good morning, Captain,” Mirlande said, sparing him a grin. “Are you ready to take our prize?” 

“Absolutely,” Jack said. “Are you ready to claim your vengeance?” 

“Looking forward to it,” Mirlande said. 

“Remember, with all the fighting that’ll be going on, I can’t guarantee someone won’t kill your man before you can get to him.” Jack said. “Especially if it comes to canons first.”  

“I understand,” Mirlande said. “But if it comes to cannons, Captain, raise the red colors, not the black.” She seemed to forget that she wasn’t the captain for a moment, then realized she’d given him an order. She amended her statement with a late, “Please.” 

“It could be a costly battle if we raise the red flag,” Jack said. “No quarter? None at all? Even for those beyond your quarry?” 

Mirlande’s stiff face melted into a grimace. “Do whatever you think is best, Captain.” 

Jack nodded. There was nothing he could say to cheer her spirits, and anything else he might say would only distract or annoy her. He knew her moods well enough. He patted her on the back as he passed behind her and turned into the officer’s quarters. 

The room wasn’t as lavish as one might expect of a wealthy captain, but it had everything he needed, and some personal treasures displayed from their many adventures. The large cedar desk by the windows was nailed to the floor, the maps upon it open, and a woman in knickers and naught else stood with her bare back to the door. 

“Furi?” Jack asked, surprised. “Are those my knickers?” 

Furi nodded, not looking up from the charts, and frowning. 

“Should I ask for you to take them off, or will we get distracted?” Jack asked, trying to interject humor into his question. 

Furi didn’t smile, but she removed the knickers, throwing them over her shoulder at him. 

Jack knew they didn’t have the time to do anything about it, but he couldn’t help but admire Furi’s body. She was lithe and feminine, with the graceful muscles of a woman in her long legs and tapered torso. Her shoulders were broader than the slender shoulders of many women, and her arms were stronger than many expected. Her breasts were likely the only source of fat on her body, and even they were mere handfuls. She was a tiger among women, and Jack loved her for it. 

He took a deep breath as he arrived beside her and looked at the maps and charts she was so adamantly examining. “Are you worried about something?” 

Furi nodded and pressed her finger to the page. Jack noticed the island she was pointing toward, which was Southeast from their current position, and not far off the path their prey was likely to take. 

“You think they’ll try to run there?” Jack asked. 

She nodded and pointed to a small notation in his handwriting. The rocks around that island made the water treacherous. If the Seahorse knew the territory, it might be too dangerous for the Cutlass to follow. However, if they could herd their quarry toward those hazardous rocks, the sea might do some of their work for them. 

“I’ll keep that in mind if it comes to a chase,” Jack said. “Thank you.” 

Furi nodded sharply and stalked away toward the closet. 

“Do you need any help?” Jack asked. 

“No,” Furi answered. “You’d only distract me.” 

Jack nodded, though he knew Furi couldn’t see him, and turned his eyes toward the bed. The mattress was large enough to sleep three, and held a bundle on the far left, against the wall. “Did you sleep with your sword again?” Uttering that question without making it a euphemism almost amused Jack. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Furi said. She exited the closet dressed in men’s clothes. Specifically, Jack’s. Trousers, shirt, vest, pistols, and a tri-corn hat. Her black hair was woven into itself behind and above her head, tucking neatly into the hat. With her taut face, angled eyes, and harsh expression, one might mistake her for a young man acting tougher than he was. 

“One of these days we’ll sail to Nippon,” Jack said. 

“No,” Furi said. “But that’s okay. This life is better.” Furi pulled her swords from the bed, tying the sheaths to her. She walked past Jack as he watched her, kissing his cheek for the sentiment. He smiled slightly as she stepped into her boots, the tight cloth winding its way along her calves. “How long do we have?” 

“A few minutes,” Jack said. 

“Good,” Furi said. “You can help me load more pistols.” 

Jack nodded. “I need to check in on Tali and Kekoa.” 

“Tali is on the main deck, barking orders,” Furi said, gesturing toward the door. 

“And Kekoa?” Jack asked. 

“Probably in the rigging, or at the prow. You know how much Kekoa enjoys the heights.” Furi said. 

 “Are you ready for the fight ahead?” Jack asked. 

Furi shrugged. “I’ll be glad to help Mirlande.” She said. “And I hope the Seahorse is a good haul. It’ll be nice to put into port for a while.” 

Jack grinned. “Landlubber.” 

“Seadog,” Furi said. “See you out there?” 

Jack patted her shoulder as she finished putting on her shoes and walked past her to the quarter deck. Tali was already there, walking toward Mirlande at the helm. She cupped her hands over her mouth to bark orders, turning the foresails to adjust course. 

Catalina, aka Tali, was shorter than Jack by about a foot. The many-layered dress she wore did nothing to hide her curves. If anything, the bodice and puffy shoulders, along with the shorter petticoat-padded skirt, accentuated it. A tied string held her skirt raised to her a few inches below her hip on one leg, showing off the tall leather boots she wore with their slight heel. The white and pink were fashionable in her home country, but aboard the ship, she was a stargazer lily among the weeds. Jack might’ve easily mistaken her for a proper lady if not for the sword on her hip, the musket on her back, and the pistol on her thigh. 

Jack waited until she finished barking orders, then kissed her when she turned toward him. “I can take it from here, my love.” 

“Yes, Captain,” Tali said, handing him the sextant. 

“Have we confirmed it’s the Seahorse?” Jack asked, looking through the glass toward the prey. 

“Si,” Tali said, gesturing toward it. “And she’s coming from the North, as expected, on the route we expected.” 

“What colors is she flying?” Jack asked. 

“England,” Tali answered. “She’s coming from the colonies.” 

“I’m surprised she made it past the Spanish,” Jack said, chuckling to himself. Looking through the sextant, checking his chronometer, they had minutes until they were in firing range. No doubt the other ship had spied them. 

“Strike the colors!” Jack shouted. He glanced at Tali. “From what you’ve seen, do you think they’ll fight, or surrender?” 

“They have at least eight guns,” Tali said. “I think they’ll fight.” 

Jack frowned. “Peaceful surrender is always more profitable.” 

“I’m so sorry our enemies don’t want to make things easy for you, Captain,” Tali said, patting his butt. “What colors should they raise?” 

Jack glanced at Mirlande, standing beside them at the helm. A red flag meant no quarter given. They’d have to fight to the last man aboard. A black flag indicated that negotiations might still be possible. Most captains would rather surrender their goods than their lives. However, any ship coming out of the Americas had the chance of being commanded by one of those men who thought themselves too righteous to allow pirates to live. They’d fight, kill, hang, and quarter anyone they could to sustain their sense of moral superiority. There were risks on either side, but the black flag offered more profit and cost less blood. 

“Raise the black!” Jack shouted.  

An answering shout went up through the ranks, relaying the order from person to person, stem to stern. The black flag climbed the pole, dancing in the sea breeze. The flag was a work of art. The crew had diligently sewn three figures onto it, a pair of nude mermaids on either side, with their cutlasses crossed over the third, central figure: a skeleton with its arms crossed over its chest, and its head detached above the swords. 

A sharp whistle came from the rigging, and Jack blocked the sun with his hand to check the source. 

Kekoa, in the crow’s nest, waved with both hands, signaling with her small hand-flags. 

“They’re changing course.” Jack and Tali said at the same time. “Give chase. Full Sail! See if we can drive them close to the islands Southeast of our position.” 

“Aye!” Mirlande answered with a bark. 

Jack moved quickly, checking his guns. “Ready the muskets!” He cried. “Ready the guns! They’re running, but we’ll cut them down yet!” 

A cheer went up from the crew, and Jack smiled. Today was a good day, and the Cutlass cut through the waves as Jack steadied his hand and his nerves on the rail. The air grew thicker with anticipation as the Seahorse grew larger, and Jack could tell the storm was about to break. He only hoped the chase would end in their prey’s surrender and Mirlande’s swift vengeance. 

He spared a glance in her direction and hoped he hadn’t earned a portion of the wrath covering her features.