Tristan chuckled as he watched me straightening my shirt the next morning, my fingers fumbling over the fabric. “Why are ye so nervous, lassie?” he teased.
“Ha ha,” I replied dryly. “You know exactly why.”
“It doesn’t matter if they voted ye in or not. Yer to be my wife and will be coming along either way.” He continued to look me up and down from his seat among the pillows, a slight lust to his expression. His pants were the only clothing he had on at the moment, and the sight of him made my stomach warm.
“No,” I said forcefully before he could even ask the question. “We’ve never . . . done that . . . and I’m not about to let you try with your shoulder practically cut off.”
“It’s just a scratch. Nothing to worry about.”
“Yeah, it’s a scratch now.” Glaring at him, I bent and picked up my boots, sliding them onto my feet with ease. “But if you try anything rowdy, you’re going to tear your stitches and be split halfway open again.”
“Yer concern is noted,” he answered playfully. “But I could do it just fine, trust me.”
“Don’t you want to wait for our wedding night?” I was joking, but the suggestion seemed to shut him right up. “That’s a big deal in this time, isn’t it? Sex being saved for marriage? For women, anyway.”
“Aye,” he chuckled. “But ye’ve already told me yer virtue is lost to another, so it doesn’t matter, savvy?”
“Not until your shoulder is healed,” I said again, sitting down beside him and smiling.
He was indeed stronger, and getting so every day, but the doctor said he couldn’t unsling his arm or take the wraps off yet. The only time they came off was to change the fabric out, once a day. The two instances I’d seen it so far, it looked like a scene from a horror movie. He would have a nice sized scar, but he was alive and that was all that mattered. It would be another week at least before he could start using the arm as normal.
“I’m fine,” he grumbled, sighing in acceptance.
“You almost bled to death two days ago,” I corrected him. “Aren’t Templars supposed to have taken a vow of celibacy anyway?”
“Where on earth did ye hear that?” He laughed, apparently finding my statement highly amusing.
“They started out as warrior monks, didn’t they? Vowed to celibacy and a life of serving the Lord and his followers?”
“That may be what they started out as, but they aren’t that way anymore, lassie. Otherwise, I’d have quit right at the beginning.” Using his good arm, he pushed himself off the floor and grabbed his white shirt, pulling it over his head.
“Careful!” Stepping toward him, I took the shirt back off, gently easing his injured arm through its sleeve before helping him put the rest of it on.
“And here I was thinking ye could undress me instead.” His eyes sparkled, the corners of his mouth curling into his flirtatious half grin. “Now ye be telling me I have to wait till we’re married.”
“When will that be?” I asked casually, not able to help my own smile.
“I’d do it right this moment if I wasn’t a gentleman.” He beamed down at me, his free arm sliding around my waist as he leaned over and kissed me fully.
Feeling a little mischievous, I caught his bottom lip between my teeth and nibbled it a bit, thoroughly enjoying the growl I got in response. My hands traveled down his sides, resting on his hips, and I held him to me, flicking my tongue inside his mouth.
“Woman,” he groaned, not exactly telling me to stop. “Yer going to kill me if ye keep this up and still insist my shoulder must be healed.”
“Just giving you a taste,” I laughed, attacking his lips again.
Someone cleared their throat at the entrance of the tent and I attempted to pull away. Tristan had a mind to make them wait, though, catching my hand and dragging me in one more time.
“Captain.”
“Aye, Butler, I see ye there,” he said against my lips, laughing some. I, for one, was enjoying the display, but John seemed to have a different opinion about it, coughing uncomfortably. Finally, Tristan stopped kissing me, holding me close, and turned his attention to his quartermaster.
“The men have voted, Captain. They also wait yer command to load the ship and set for port.”
“I suppose we must leave our tent then, eh, Samantha?” Pecking me on the forehead, he gave me one last squeeze before releasing me. “We’ll be right there.”
“Aye, Captain.” John grinned at me, raising his eyebrows, and I blushed, knowing what he must have thought we’d been doing all this time in here. “When is the wedding, miss?”
“That’s what I was just asking.” Smiling, I took Tristan’s hand, intrigued to hear his answer.
“Well,” he started, his thumb lightly brushing over mine back and forth. “Gran will keelhaul me if we get married and she’s not there. Since we aren’t able to go back home, I was thinking a handfasting ceremony would have to do until then.”
“Handfasting?” I was unfamiliar with the term, but John was nodding.
“Ye’ll want the padre there, I’m assuming?” he asked Tristan.
“Eh.” Tristan shrugged, smiling wider. “It’s not really sanctioned by the church, is it? But, aye, I do want him there.”
“I’m sorry,” I butted into the conversation. “But what exactly is handfasting?”
“It’s like an engagement,” Tristan explained, squeezing my hand. “Where we live together as man and wife for a year and a day. People used to use it to see if they could get along? If they didn’t, they went their separate ways at the end. It’s an ancient tradition among my people.”
“So we’ll be engaged? Not married?”
“Aye, we’ll be married. Handfasting is legal, it’s just not until death.”
“Ye’ll be Mrs. O’Rourke without a shadow of a doubt,” John offered encouragingly. “No one could say otherwise.”
“Mrs. O’Rourke.” I hadn’t thought of my name changing before and a tiny thrill went through me. Samantha O’Rourke. Everyone I met would know that I was Tristan’s, just from hearing my name.
“We’ll need to make port first. Samantha needs a dress—I’ll not marry a woman in pants.”
“What’s wrong with my pants?” I asked defensively, looking down at them. “I think they make my legs look great.”
“Oh, aye, that they do. But I’ll have ye married proper, and that means a dress. Depending on how long it takes for one to be made for ye, I’d say we’ll probably be married within a week or so.” Tristan chuckled, nodding toward the door. “Come. Let’s see what the crew has to say about ye, now.”
My nerves instantly returned and I swallowed hard, feeling the beat of my heart increase. Married within the week and possibly a member of a pirate crew. He was right. I didn’t have any reason to be nervous about being left behind. I would sail with them either way. Part of me desperately hoped the men had accepted me on my own. Feeling like I was stuck on a boat with a bunch of men who didn’t want me there didn’t sound like fun.
We left the tent, the slightly cooler morning air holding a heavy humidity to it, and my eyes instantly went to the group gathered around the remains of the previous night’s bonfire. They glanced warily at us, but I couldn’t tell anything about their decision from the looks on their faces. Only Father Torres smiled as we approached, bobbing reassuringly to me.
“Morning,” Tristan greeted them, his hand still holding my own, tightly. “I trust ye all got yer rest last night?”
“Aye, Captain.” The replies were happy enough. I supposed that was a good sign?
“We’ve voted on the matter ye discussed last night,” John spoke, the mouthpiece for them all. “All we lack is yer vote, sir.”
“My vote? Aye, I think ye would need that.” Turning to look at me, he frowned some. “Being a part of the crew is dangerous, lassie. Ye’d be required to fight with the men and hold up yer end. If I had my way, ye would not be a membe
r of it.” Moving back to the rest of the men, he continued. “Miss Greene has agreed to be my wife. Even if she had not, my vote would still be no.”
Grimacing, I didn’t reply. He had his reasons and I respected them. They were kind reasons, even if he had made me feel like I was coerced into marrying him in the beginning.
Nodding, John focused on me then, taking a deep breath. “Samantha Greene, ye have been aboard our ship for several months now, disguised as a man named Samuel Smith. As per the code, we have gathered together and discussed what to do with ye, now that yer true identity has been revealed.”
I continued to grip Tristan’s hand tightly, my heart pounding as I wished he would just get on with it. Why did they have to be so long winded all the time?
“Several of the men agree with the Captain. It is too dangerous for ye to be in battle they think. Others have looked on in respect to yer past fights, bringing up the point that ye can indeed take care of yerself if needed. After weighing both sides, and considering the fact that ye’ll be in the thick of it either way, we have decided to offer ye a position among the crew.”
Surprise washed through me and I stared at him with wide eyes. Tristan’s grip strengthened on mine even more and I felt him stiffen at the announcement, but he remained silent.
“Really?” I asked, excitement starting to bubble up inside. They had chosen to keep me!
“It’s been suggested that ye be taught how to properly handle a weapon and practice daily,” John laughed, “but, yes. What say ye?”
Turning to Tristan, watching for any signs of him being extremely upset, I smiled. “What do you think?” I asked softly. “I want to say yes, but I want your support in it.”
“This decision makes my heart heavy,” he confessed. “But if ye want to do it, I will agree with no contest.”
“I accept,” I replied loudly, still looking at him.
A general sound of amusement moved through the crew and I laughed, glancing at them. The ship’s record keeper had pulled out the book that held everyone’s identities and glanced up at me expectantly.
“Name?”
“Samantha Greene . . . O’Rourke. In a few days at least.”
“Welcome aboard, future Mrs. O’Rourke.”
Grinning, I folded my arms across my chest, a strong sense of satisfaction hanging about me.
“Never thought ye’d be lain’ with a member of the crew, eh Tristan?” someone yelled, gut laughter responding to the jab.
“Aye, I bet ye never thought ye’d be treating a woman as an equal and not a whore,” Tristan replied smoothly, earning guffaws of his own.
“She’ll be stayin’ in the kitchen where she belongs,” another man crowed. “Making more of the delicious food with the padre!”
“Then I hope we all remain fit,” Tristan answered seriously. “They will call us the best fed pirates this side of Africa.”
The men hooted again, the somber nature of the air lifting considerably as a few of them nodded in my direction, pleased.
“Now, the lot of ye!” Tristan barked, instantly assuming the authority of the captain. “Get everything loaded on board and let’s leave this god forsaken beach!”
The men scattered, breaking camp, and I smiled at Tristan, leaving his side to help Alfonso with the kitchen items.
“I’ll see ye on deck.” His tone was positive, but I could see the hesitation in his eyes.
“I will take care of her, Capitán,” Alfonso called, waiting for me to join him.
Nodding curtly, Tristan moved and went to his tent, reaching up and touching his injured shoulder as he went.
Swept Away (The Swept Away Saga, Book One) Page 43
