by Holland Rae
“What if you are with child?” he asked her, feeling as though the room were tilting out from below his feet, a sensation which had nothing to do with alcoholic indulgence. “Then what will you do?”
She nearly gaped at him. “Have you not seen the women and children I take in as my own?” she asked. “If I am with child, he or she will have a home as good as any other.” Armand’s fury was beginning to reach a boiling point, and he was sure his ears were turning red.
“Not the life of an earl’s child. Not the life that your child deserves.”
She snapped her head around to face him so quickly, he was surprised to see it was still attached. “You do not tell me what sort of life my child does or does not deserve.” She was moving and speaking so quickly that Armand was having difficulty keeping her limbs in his line of sight. “If I am with child, I will raise it the way I see fit. And if I am not, then I will return your brother to you and put you on the next passing ship. Or perhaps I’ll throw you overboard myself.”
They were growing heated regarding their hypothetical offspring, and yet, the idea of a child of Catalina’s running roughshod through the Spanish Main, potentially hurting itself, never learning how to be a lord or lady, made Armand’s heart ache in a way that angered him all over again.
“You should still marry.” He tried to school his voice, but control seemed further out of reach than imaginable. His anger was burning a course through the whole of his body.
“And why on earth should I do that?” She nearly bit him, so quickly did the words spill from her mouth. “If you recall, my lord, marriage is the fundamental cause for my running away from London in the first.”
That she had him there was not reason enough for Armand to release the topic from his tightly clenched fists. “There are other men,” he said. “There are men who will treat you properly, care for you.” He was getting dangerously close to a duel, Armand was beginning to think, but still, he could not seem to back down.
“Like you, Armand?” she asked him. Her voice had reached an even tone, with no emotion evident, and that was far more terrifying than her angered yelling. Like him. He could have been her husband these years now, had he ever written back, had he not turned himself away from everything London and Paris were to him. He had been a coward and fool.
And yet, the knowledge did not serve to calm his temper in the slightest. Instead, he nearly ground his teeth to dust, as she continued her even speech.
“I have never needed a man to care for me,” she said, her gaze so full of disdain, Armand felt himself growing smaller in the wake of it. “I have never needed anyone to care for me.” This time, when she spoke, there was no denying the sadness that filtered through her words, or the expression in her eyes, and Armand felt his own grief in it, felt his own sadness as it mirrored hers.
“Why are you trying to change me?” she asked him. He knew he needed to back down, knew that if he spoke right at this moment, as this woman stood before him in her britches, then he would regret it forever. He knew all these things, and yet the anger seemed to consume him, anger, fear, sadness.
“It’s about time someone tried.”
He watched her finish dressing and leave without another word, but there was no denying the pain he saw in those beautiful eyes, and he felt all the hurt he had caused her as acutely as if someone had dug a knife into his very own body. Of course he didn’t want to change her, not the glorious laughter that exposed her long stretch of beautiful neck, not the way she treated the world’s misfits, offering them love and joy, so much more than just clothing and food. There was not a single thing in the world he would change about Catalina Sol.
He stopped short, eyes still wide upon the doorway through which she had only just left. If he didn’t want to change her, then why had he said so? Why had he said the one thing he knew would hurt her more than all the rest?
Because she had done the same.
She hadn’t even said no, hadn’t even rejected him in a way that stood to break him, but as Armand stood in Catalina’s chamber all alone, he realized he hadn’t proposed out of honor. He hadn’t suddenly developed the sense of responsibility that had forsaken him all those years ago.
He had proposed because he wanted to marry her. The thought was like a knife turning in his belly, and it sent a shard of new pain through his temple.
He had wanted to marry her.
As she had lain in the morning sunshine, her hair spread around her, that delicious glow upon her skin, Armand had believed it his duty to marry Catalina, but it hadn’t been his duty. It hadn’t been his responsibility. It had been his desire.
And then she had laughed, had laughed and thrown his betrayal of their once future in his face, and Armand hadn’t understood why he had been so angry. But he understood now, he knew exactly what had driven him to say the words he knew would bring her to her knees. Because she had brought him to his knees and Armand Rajaram de Bourbon, earl, comte, somewhere in line for an Indian princehood, didn’t like the sensation one bit.
Chapter Fifteen
Catalina could count on a single hand the number of times she had cried since leaving London all those years ago. Of the four, in her memory, three had occurred within her first year away, as she longed for her family, for her home, as she had come to understand she could never return. The most recent had been a few years back, when her beloved friend and confidante, a girl by the name of Maggie Hunt, had been lost in a particularly difficult childbirth. That memory still pained her through the night.
She had not cried when she learned she had been officially denounced from society. She had not cried when she had heard of her absentee father’s death. But now, as she sat in her chamber, staring out of the large window at the far-off island, the gentle sway of the ship making her stomach churn, Catalina felt the rise of painful, hot tears press against her lids. She had cried for Eliza, to marry a man twice her age. She had cried for Maggie. She would not cry for herself.
But who was herself? Long ago, Catalina had believed she would marry. She had dreamed of it, of the little girls and boys who would run between her legs, who she might teach to use a rapier, to a climb a mast. But then she had grown wise to the notion that women who were captains of known almost-pirate ships did not marry, and they certainly didn’t bring children into their world. She had learned that, and then set her chin, tied her britches, and never looked back. It hadn’t bothered her overmuch, and truth be told, she hadn’t thought over the topic in years.
Catalina interrupted her own musings to look out the window once more. Her first mate, Delilah, was perfectly capable of steering the ship toward the far island cove, where their supposed turncoats had told them Henri was being held. She felt a clog in her throat and swallowed a generous sip of brandy straight from the bottle.
She had been happy, until Armand had pointed out the largest flaw in setting off for a life at sea. Who the hell was he, to go about telling her what she ought to be doing or not doing? Who the hell was this man, who had once been a friend so many years ago, storming into her life and demanding that she find some sense of propriety? Catalina let out a very unladylike snort. She’d be damned if she married because someone else wanted her to. The last time that had been asked of her, she had fled the damned country.
But it wasn’t so much the marriage proposal that had been haunting her since the ship had set sail that morning. It was his parting words, words, she knew, that were intended to sting with as much power and potency as a scorpion’s tail.
Well, it’s about time someone tried.
She had thought Armand might be different from the rest. She had thought so at her own peril, allowed him to become a little too close for safety, and now she was paying the price. Another swallow of brandy from the bottle and Catalina bit her lip. Why would he be any different?
Because she had loved him. Once upon a time, as a young green girl of fifteen, she had loved him, and that hadn’t been a flight of fancy or some lighthearted
lust for her friend, born from convenience and safety. No, she had truly loved him, loved the way his unruly hair had fallen before his eyes, loved the way that he made her laugh, even as he had tried to scold her. She had loved him the way adults love.
Being by his side again, all these years later, after she had fled, after her father died, had dulled the ache in her chest that his absence had brought on, just a little. But then their friendship had begun anew, and the rest of that sadness had melted, the rest of that anger had ebbed, and she had seen him again, he and she both so different now, and yet, he had taken her breath away.
Well, not anymore. If she had felt the start of any mad emotion before the night previous, it was surely gone with the morning sun. She could damn well forget about anything that might have to do with Armand being in her future. That wasn’t what she wanted, not anymore. And yet, the pain of the realization stung her a thousand times over. She had thought she might have found someone who would accept her for who she was now, not who she had been, not who she could be if she put her mind to it. No, Armand was supposed to be different. At least, that was what her heart had been telling her. But he was just like the all the rest. Catalina hated how much that thought burned her through.
****
She told Delilah that she was going alone. The ship had found purchase within a small cove of islands and grottos, and there would be little use in attempting to stage an attack before morning, not with the moon’s light hidden behind the clouds, and the ocean so murky and dark. No, it was best she go alone, learn the area, find out what she needed to know. They could return when she had a clear understanding of the pirate location and numbers.
Catalina told her first mate, and only her first mate. Her name was Delilah—at least that’s what she had told Catalina—and if her stories of why she had run from home were anything to go by, then she had well enough earned the name. But Catalina loved her frightfully. Tall, buxom, strong as the rum they drank from big, wooden barrels to keep themselves warm on stormy nights, Delilah had a no-nonsense way about her that Catalina could put her full faith into, without pause. They had known each other an age, and Delilah hadn’t hesitated a moment when Catalina told her where she was going.
“You’ll take a man with ye,” Delilah said, her voice reaching with Irish brogue that had taken Catalina months to fully understand. “You’re not to go alone onto the island, Captain. I’ll be damned if I’ll let you do that.”
But Catalina was the captain, even if she felt as though she had lost all her control in the world, and ultimately, she convinced her friend that going alone onto the island was exactly what they needed.
“Why can’t ye send one of the lads, Captain?”
But she had shaken her head and told Delilah to take care. “If I’m not back by the stroke of midnight, you’ll search for me,” she said, aware that she was taking a terrible risk entirely for the sake of being off the damned boat where he was. She couldn’t face him. Not right now.
Well, it’s about time someone tried.
“I’ll send the hounds,” Delilah promised gleefully. Then she had made a distraction large enough for Catalina to shin down one of the thick ropes hanging from the bow and land herself up to the neck in warm salt water, climbing into one of the rowboats Delilah lowered after her. The scabbard Catalina had secured around her shoulder was a comforting weight, the sword across her back and the dagger in her boot reminders that she would always be able to fend for herself, no matter the circumstances.
It felt good to row, to stretch her body to its capacity as she pumped against the current. A physical challenge would always be preferable to an emotional one. Their two turncoat pirates had told them the cave where their crew kept the ransom hostages was in the southernmost point of the second cove of islands and she pushed hard against the murky depths of the ocean. A series of miniscule landings, some no larger than boulders, made for an open ring of islands that narrowed the closer one got to the largest of the chain. The ins and outs of those small islands were riddled with low-tide dwelling carnivores, sharp reefs, and dangerous rocks, but they provided cover and gave the owner of that innermost island a great advantage when it came to greeting unwelcome guests. None of that scared Catalina. She rowed until her cheeks flushed red, rowed until she felt her hair come undone from its braid, pulled apart by the wind swells catching between the coves. She rowed until she saw the telltale light of lanterns filling a cave, their glow bouncing off the stone walls, and what was likely a pile of coins and goblets and jewels.
Catalina hauled her body onto a small rock, secured the rowboat, and took a few deep breaths. She hadn’t been lying to Delilah when she said she wasn’t going searching for Henri, not necessarily. If she saw him, she would act in accordance with their set of rules, but only if she might also make it out of the pirate’s hive alive.
Slowly, she stood, slipping silently from her rock to the next, until she could properly view the scene within the cave. Surely, the cave positively glittered with stolen goods, but it was more the enormous wooden crates that caught her eye, crates that held the seal of the de Bourbon Trade Company stamped upon them, crates that belonged to the man currently tied up beside them, an enormous bull of a pirate standing guard near his feet. Armand had been right. They were holding Henri captive for ransom, but they’d been stealing and diverting his goods as well. For being outlaws, it appeared these pirates were also quite savvy with business.
Henri was so close. She could all but reach her hand out and grab him. She needed to get his attention, to tell him that he wasn’t alone. He didn’t look as though he’d been treated terribly, but a dark swelling shadowed his eye and his head lolled to the side. Catalina swallowed, her heart pumping with a mixture of potent fear and powerful adrenaline. This was where she belonged. This was the life she wanted to live, saving people who needed saving, taking mad, wild risks. Anyone who couldn’t see that didn’t know her at all.
Chapter Sixteen
Armand stared at the ceiling above his hammock for three hours before he finally put his feet to the ground. It was useless. He hadn’t been able to sleep properly through the night for weeks. What had given him the impression he would pick up the skill now?
Of course, it wasn’t the sway of the waves beneath his feet, or even the fear for his brother’s safety, that was keeping him from dozing off into the sweet bliss of sleep. No. This was guilt. Pure, raw, gnawing at him like some vicious beast. He had hurt her in a way he hadn’t even realized he was capable of, and all because, against his better judgment, he’d begun to care for her.
Damn it all. He didn’t want to want her, didn’t want to crave the swell of her breast, as it had fit so perfectly in his hand, didn’t want his body aching to touch her, to caress each sweet curve of her hip, the delicious weight of her behind, as it had pressed against him. His cock twitched behind his britches, and Armand sighed again. Wanting her was an inconvenience, but it wasn’t a disaster.
Caring for her was another matter entirely.
Caring for Catalina Sol could only get him into trouble. It could only mean a lifetime of chasing sails and worrying for her safety. He pursed his lips. Regardless of his own feelings, the guilt wasn’t going to disappear until he apologized for being an ass. He had been an ass, and she hadn’t deserved it. Still, if she didn’t marry him, then what the hell was she planning to do if she ever thought to return to London? She was a ruined woman, and he refused to leave her to the wolves. Perhaps out of the small confines of her chamber, she would be more understanding of the situation. Perhaps she would be more inclined to accept his offer. The thought that he felt stung by her rejection was one he pushed soundly out of his mind, as he made his way down the familiar path to her chamber.
Without knowing what he was going to say to the woman who seemed to be haunting his past, present, and future, he knocked soundly upon the door.
There was no response. He knocked again, the guilt in his stomach turning to something altogether more
intense, more raw. Still, no response. Without a care to her fury at the destruction of her door, he slammed the wood in with his shoulder until the lock gave.
The room was empty. The sitting desk where he had seen her poring over ledgers by candlelight held no captain. The table was not set. Only a single candle glowed in the room, as if a beacon to return home to.
She could be somewhere else upon the ship, Armand reasoned with himself. She could be anywhere on the grand Liberté. But somehow, in the deepest pit of his stomach, he knew the truth.
That was Catalina. She went first. She didn’t risk her men or women to scope out an area of danger until she had done so herself. She was no coward, not like him.
Armand took off through the winding hallways of the ship like a man possessed. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her. For the first time since their reunion in the vast ocean of the world, Armand realized he trusted her implicitly, trusted her more than he could trust himself, it seemed. No, this feeling had nothing at all to do with trusting her, but rather the roiling, uncomfortable sensation in his gut that something was wrong. They had been docked within the island cove for more than three hours, and Catalina had likely been gone the entire time. If she were only on a scouting mission, then it didn’t make sense to be gone so very long.
He found the first mate, a large woman named Delilah, asleep in a hammock below stairs, and he shook her, all his fear and concern going into the hands that now trembled before him.
“Apologies for the rude awakening,” he told her, in a tone that was equally requiring of an apology. “I was hoping you might be able to discern the location of your captain.” For a moment, she looked confused, and the question seemed to register.
“What time is it?” Delilah asked. She was not a woman who panicked easily. No one aboard the Liberté panicked easily, except, it appeared, Armand. Still, Delilah had an expression upon her face that only served to fuel the fire of his fears.
