Voyage of the Claymore

Captain Curtiss "Cutlass" Scott glanced through his spyglass at the fast fleeing Merchantman on the horizon. The tiny trading vessel wasn't running from him in particular, just trying to get out through the Straights before being found by the pirates who sail these waters. Pirates like Captain Scott.

Scott always argued that he wasn't a pirate in the truest sense of the word. He was a freebooter. A Solantorian sailing ship that just happened to have a Letter of Marque from the King of Solantor himself. The Claymore was a privateer. A legalized pirate of Solantor.

As privateers go, the Claymore was more powerful than most. She was a thirty gun frigate, with sleek lines that any old sailor could fall in love with. And many did, just before she blew them out of the water. Her 187 man crew loved her almost as much as her captain. Some of them even more than their wives.

The "Cutlass" was a mystery though. Little was known about the master of the Claymore. He was from a little hamlet on the coast of Solantor. His mother was a whore and his father was a merchant seaman who served on vessels like the one being chased by the Claymore at this moment.

Curtiss didn't worry about running into his father on the fleeing merchantman. His father had been dead for ten years now. Caught by another pirate in these very Straights. Well, according to official reports, not a pirate but a Verdunni privateer.

Curtiss had vowed to hunt down and kill the privateer captain for his father's death. He has still to make good on that vow. It's been ten years and he is no closer to finding the killer than he was when he started. But, still he trudges onward.

His First Mate, Morgan, steps up to his side.

"Report."

"Sir. We've ascertained where she is heading. It appears she is making for Caen on the northern coast of Verdun. "

"Very good, how long until she reaches port?

"Early tomorrow morning, but we should catch her by nightfall tonight."

"Give the Claymore full sail. Beat to quarters about an hour before dusk."

Morgan salutes, "Sure thing, skipper." He starts to walk away when the Captain grabs his arm.

"One more thing, Morgan. Make sure the Bow chasers are double slotted. I want double the range when we open fire on them."

"Aye, aye, skipper." He salutes again then steps down into the "waist" to carry out his orders.

A dozen miles ahead of the Claymore, the tiny vessel known as The Dancing Nymph plows through the waves in an attempt to clear the Straights. Captain Pierre Vesterhausey has every piece of canvas stretched along the yardarms. His officer points behind them.

"Sir, we are being followed."

Captain Vesterhausey turns to see what his first officer is rambling about. Raising his spyglass he studies the ship.

A frigate, about thirty guns, which means an almost two hundred man crew. Every sail is stretched on her which means she is in a hurry. Probably trying to catch the Nymph. That means pirates or privateers. Either way is bad news for Captain Vesterhausey. He must inform his passenger.

He hands the spyglass to his first officer, and then steps down the steps from the Poop Deck.

He doesn't bother knocking, because he knows it irritates her. Stepping into what was once his quarters he sees the bare shoulders framed by the large window in the transom. His breath catches in his throat as she releases her fiery red hair and whirls around to glare at him for this intrusion.

"Captain! I understand this used to be your quarters, but you must remember that a lady is using them now and you should always knock before entering a lady's quarters. What has brought your hideousness into my presence, yet again?"

"Milady and I use the term very loosely. We are being pursued by a pirate or privateer. I do not know or care at this time which it is."

She stalks across the tiny room and slaps him. "How dare you assume to think I am not a lady? When we get to Caen, I'll have you flogged for your insolence."

He rubs the warm red spot where she slapped him. Then to her surprise, he grins.

"I look forward to it. In the meantime, I suggest you remain down here for the rest of the day. In fact I suggest you stay in here until we reach Caen. Your presence on deck is distracting in the best of times." He gives her a lewd grin then climbs back to the deck.

She seethes with fury at her treatment by one of the blockade runners she has ever known. Although the man is little more than a pirate himself. She has had to put up with his lewd advances the entire trip from Damaskr. Seven days. Its been seven days since she stepped aboard the Dancing Nymph. Captain Vesterhausey obviously came up with the name of this vessel. It's disgusting.

She looks out the huge window. She can just make out the dark shape of another ship trailing them. The way her luck on this trip has gone so far, its not pirates or privateers. It'll be slavers. She has no illusions about how she would be treated if it is slavers. Her fiery red hair, her curvaceous body and her pale skin are all highly valued in the slave trade. She could end up in a slave ship on her way to the eastern lands of the Petran Empire. Or worse. She could end up a sex slave on board a slaver's galley. Servicing the whole crew and the officers.

She walks over to the bunk she had been using while she was on board. Under the pillow is a small flintlock pistol. She checks to make sure it's loaded. She will kill one anyway. She can always use the one shot on herself. To protect herself from being ravaged by pirates. "That will be a last resort." She tells herself.

The Claymore drives steadily onward. Her sleek lines, skimming the waves, just barely breaking the crests. While the Dancing Nymph is a fast ship for a merchantman, the Claymore is a warship. Designed for speed and durability.

About midday, the Claymore 's crew load the cannons and prepare to "run them out" on the Captain's word.

"Skipper, we are ready at your command, sir." Morgan reports.

The Captain nods at the report. When they reach extreme range for the bowchasers,

He shouts down to the gun crews. "Run them out! Prepare to fire a volley to get her attention."

The gun crews methodically run the guns out and prepare to pull the lanyard that will fire the 12-pounder guns.

The two 12-pound bowchasers are the middle guns of the Claymore 's arsenal. The mighty ship has eight more 12-pounders throughout the two gun decks. Ten 6-pounders on the upper gun deck and ten 18-pounders on the lower deck. Fourteen guns on a broadside can cause massive devastation to a ship the size of the Nymph.

Against another warship though, the broadsides are not as effective but still deadly.

"Morgan lets introduce ourselves." Captain Scott says with a wicked gleam in his eyes.

"Aye sir, Guns one and two. Fire and reload."

The two monstrous bores belch smoke and fire with a thunderous roar. The shots fall short of the merchantman, but it's obvious they know they are being shot at.

"Marksmen to the tops, Ready the broadside guns, just in case she wants to put up a fight."

The Claymore closes the distance with the tiny Verdunni vessel.

The "Cutlass" reads the name painted on the transom. "Dancing Nymph? Who is the skipper of that ship, Morgan?"

Morgan flips through the Verdunni ship registry. "A Captain Pierre Vesterhausey, sir."

"Captain? I don't know this man."

"No sir. You wouldn't. His rank is self appointed. He served with the Royal Verdun Navy until about three years ago. He was cashiered out for piracy. His last rank before his disgrace was Leftenant. His crew is extremely loyal. They broke him from prison just before he was to be executed."

"Executed? For piracy?"

"Yes sir. He had no Letters of Marque to sanction his attacks against enemy ships."

"I see."

There is a deafening boom from the Nymph. Three of her 6-pound guns fire at the Claymore.

"Give her a broadside, Mr. Morgan."

"Hard to Port. Starboard guns fire on volley!"

The fourteen guns of the Starboard broadside open up on the tiny ship. The Claymore rolls to Port with the concussion of the guns firing at the same time.

On the Dancing Nymph, Captain Vesterhausey picks himself up from the deck. He brushes the splinters from his uniform. Two of his crew are dead from the volley and about a half dozen are injured.

He looks to the wheel or rather where the wheel used to be. He knows there is no way he can fight toe-to-toe with a frigate. He decides not to try. He orders the colors to be "struck" and the sails to be trimmed. He then orders his men to prepare to be boarded.

He starts down the steps to his cabin. At least he can have some fun before the pirates carry her away.

Lady Constance Trotilla and her Lady-in waiting also pick themselves up off the floor of the cabin. Lady Trotilla had never been on a ship under attack but she was smart enough to know what happened. She was also smart enough to know what is to come next.

Captain Vesterhausey is not a smart man, but even he should know he can't fight a pirate frigate. He would be a fool to try. She can feel the ship slowing, but her relief at not dying of drowning is short lived. She can still die from the rough hands of the pirates.

The door to the cabin bursts open and Captain Vesterhausey rushes in. There is an evil gleam in his eyes. Maria, her Lady-in-waiting moves to intercept the lewd man.

He throws her to the floor and draws his rapier. Turning back to Lady Trotilla, he slashes her bodice lacing s. The white silk parts easily under the sharp edge of the thin sword. Her breasts are fully exposed and despite the danger she is in, her nipples harden.

Captain Vesterhausey grabs her and latches on to one of her nipples with his lips. He bites down roughly which elicits a scream from the noble born woman. She attempts to fight him off but he is the stronger. His rough calloused hands slide up under her skirts along her inner thigh.

Unnoticed on the floor, Maria rises to her feet and throws herself at her Lady's attacker. She manages to pull him away from Constance 's breasts. Vesterhausey turns to meet this new attack and slides the blade of his rapier along Maria's ribs. Once again Maria falls to the floor. Her life blood staining the oak boards.

"I will not be denied, you Iberian whore." He yells as he turns to face Lady Trotilla once again.

He is shocked when he notices he is staring down the barrel of a flintlock horse pistol.

"What are you going to do with that, milady? Shoot me? I don't think you have the will to use it."

She cocks the hammer back, saying. "Really? You killed my maid and I'm about to be captured by pirates or worse. I've got nothing to lose." Her finger tightens on the trigger.

The hammer drops, sparking in the pan. With a roar and a flash of fire and smoke, the large caliber lead ball strikes Captain Vesterhausey above the left temple.

His rapier drops to the deck as he stares at her in disbelief. He drops to his knees and slumps forward. The blood pooling under his head.

She drops the pistol and steps away from the blood as it spreads across the floor.

Again the cabin door bursts open. This time several rough looking men whom she does not recognize enter. They are armed with cutlasses and pistols. The cutlass blades are stained with blood. She was so caught up in her own struggle, that she didn't hear the sounds of the boarding action.

One of the men in Solantorian accented Common turns and yells, "Down 'ere, skipper."

A large handsome man dressed in very fine leather trousers and tunic which covers a chain shirt, enters the cabin. He removes his large brimmed hat with a ridicules feather in it and sheathes his clean saber.

"Thought ye might be interested in what we found sir."

"Indeed." He turns to Lady Trotilla. "And what have we found exactly?"

She pulls her bodice together and stares defiantly at the pirate leader. "I am the Lady Constance Trotilla of Iberia. Who are you sir? Why have you attacked my ship?"

Captain Scott smirks, "Milady. You are related to the King of Iberia?"

She nods. "I am his cousin."

"Well come on lads. Where are your manners? We are in the presence of royalty. The King's cousin, indeed. I've heard tales of your beauty. They pale in comparison to the real article. Milady, you have the honor of being the guest of Captain Curtiss Scott."

Lady Constance gasps, "The "Cutlass"?"

Captain Scott removes his hat with a flourish in an elaborate bow.

"You have heard of me. I'm honored. I take it this dead man on the floor is the late Captain Vesterhausey?"

She nods. "It is. He thought he might enjoy me before he died at your hands."

"Thank you Milady. You saved me the trouble of killing him myself. Mr. Morgan, escort her Ladyship to the Claymore. Then I want the prisoners taken off this wreck before we sink her."

"Aye sir. Come on you filthy bilge rats. Get back to work."

Captain Scott watches her backside as she is led out of the cabin.

"Its going to be an interesting trip home." He says to himself as he starts searching the Captain's body.

CHAPTER TWO

Captain Scott is the last to board the Claymore. Morgan is waiting at the gunwales.

"Cap'n. The prisoner is secured in your cabin and the survivors are secured below decks. We are ready to sink her whenever you give the word."

"Did you find anything of value aboard?"

"Aye sir. Several crates o' Iberian muskets. Top shelf stuff, sir. They are stored below as well, out of reach o' the prisoners. Under lock and key. In fact, sir. Here is the key." Morgan hands a large brass key to Captain Scott.

Scott takes the key and looks back across at the Nymph. Two of his men stand on the deck watching for a signal from the Claymore.

"Mr. Morgan, the word is given."

"Aye sir." Morgan removes his tri-crown hat and waves it at the other ship. The Master Gunner and Gunner's Mate turn to the task at hand. The Gunner's Mate drops over the side while the Master Gunner takes out his pistol. Leaning over the fuse, he pulls the trigger. The hammer strikes the frisson pan and sparks drop down on the fuse. Smoke rises from the deck as the fuse begins to burn towards the powder magazine. The Master Gunner joins his Mate in the longboat below and they both row for all they are worth to the Claymore!

They are tying up along side the ship when they hear a loud explosion from the Nymph! She immediately begins listing and slowly sinks beneath the waves. Fires rage on her deck as she slips lower and lower into the water.

"Mr. Morgan, get us underway. Best speed to Solanport. I'm going to check on my guest."

"Aye sir." Mr. Morgan begins to bellow orders.

Scott opens the door to his cabin. Inside the room is dark as there are no lights lit and the sunlight coming through the stern windows is weak because the sun is setting.

Lady Constance Trotilla stares up in shock at the sudden intrusion. Her hands cover her bare breasts.

"How dare you burst into a lady's quarters, Captain!"

Scott has to laugh, "How dare I? You forget your situation, milady. You are my prisoner and these are my quarters. Although, I'm beginning to think I might come to enjoy sharing my quarters with you."

"You presume too much, Captain."

"And you presume too little. Its either share my quarters, or spend your time below decks with my crew. Some of them haven't seen a woman of your beauty for quite some time. I believe you might grow to enjoy it after a while, but at first it will be most unpleasant."

Her shocked look is complete. "You wouldn't dare."

He smiles, "Wouldn't I? You said it yourself, milady. I'm the "Cutlass". I'm a pirate."

Her fair complexion pales even further.

"Now that we have an understanding, get some clothes on so we can talk without me being distracted."

She turns her back to him as she puts her ravaged blouse back on. Captain Scott admires her nicely shaped back and shoulders. She ties the ends of the blouse together and turns back to face him.

Her breasts strain against the loose fabric.

"Now Captain, what did you want to talk about?"

He sits down behind the chart table in front of the Stern windows. "I wanted to discuss why a highborn Iberian lady was traveling on a ship loaded down with muskets and powder, bound for a Verdunni port? Solantor and Verdun are at war, you know?"

"I honestly did not know anything about the muskets until just now. I'm on a diplomatic mission for the Crown of Iberia."

"Diplomatic mission for the Crown? Right. Well it does not matter anymore. I have the muskets now and I'm turning them over to Solantor. I'm afraid your diplomatic mission is over. We are heading to Solanport. We would be blasted out of the water if we entered the Caen port. I assume that was where you were heading when we caught you?"

She nods, "It was."

"Thought so. You will be able to catch a neutral transport from Solanport, to take you to Caen. Until then you are my "guest" for the two days it will take to reach Solanport. Please stay in here, I don't need you distracting my crew and I won't be able to promise your safety if they should get a hold of you. Understood?"

She nods again.

"Good. As for sleeping arrangements, you will have to share my bed. I will remain on my side, if that is what you wish but I will sleep in my bed. Understood?"

She nods once again, a nervous look on her face.

"Now I have duties to attend to on deck. I'll return shortly." He stands and goes out the door back on deck.

She begins to remove her clothing for bed, very conscious about the sleeping arrangements.

Captain Scott returns to his cabin a few hours later. His only concern is whether or not she sleeps in the raw as he does. If so it will be a very uncomfortable night. He opens the door to a dark room. Moonlight filters into the Stern windows but it is very little. He quickly undresses and slips into bed beside the warm sleeping form already there. He can smell her scent and feel her warmth.

Dammit! He groans to himself as he can feel her soft flesh. She sleeps in the nude too! That is going to make more than sleep hard. He turns his back to her to try to find sleep. Eventually he drops off to a fitful slumber.

As the morning sun shines through the windows, Captain Scott realizes that at some point during the night, he has rolled back over to face her back and is now comfortably spooned with her. His hardening cock nestled between her ass cheeks and her delicious thighs. His right arm over her body and his palm cupping her large breast. He starts to remove his hand when he feels her hard nipple against his palm.

His cock twitches against her moist pussy lips and she moans slightly. This could get complicated, he thinks to himself as he tries to figure out how to pursue this without having to listen to her accusing him of rape. Her wet pussy relaxes him as he realizes that you can't rape the willing.

He removes his hand from her breast and slides it down her side to her right thigh. He carefully raises her thigh. His hand then slides between her thighs, rubbing the tip of his hard shaft against her swollen lips. She is really wet!

He then slowly pushes forward, sliding into her warm wet tunnel. She unconsciously spreads her legs wider, allowing him more access and lets out another moan. Now with his cock firmly in place he begins to thrust in and out of her ever so gently, gradually picking up speed.

Constance 's eyes pop open as she becomes aware of this invasion. That bastard is raping me while I sleep! She thinks to herself. Then she looses all indignation, as she feels her climax beginning to build. She tries to shut out the feeling but her body betrays her. Her pussy is wet and ready and her breath is starting to come quicker and quicker. She even begins to respond to his thrusts with thrusts of her own. She then feels his hand on her breast as he pulls on her hardened nipple. Her own hand slides down to rub her clit.