Romancing the Pirate

by Michelle Beattie

  Alicia gnawed on her lip. Well, she had bartered passage with a stranger. And had Blake been willing to help, she would have gone off with him, another stranger. Was Captain really any different?

  Suddenly a pistol shot rang out so close it shrilled in her ears. She yelped and hunkered down. Before she knew it, the giant had her by the arm and she was sailing back onto her feet.

  “Are ya comin’ or not?”

  She couldn’t speak, her heart was thudding too fast and loud against her chest. She nodded instead.

  “Good. And if ya can cook, we’ll consider breakfast yer payment. Come, missy, ’tis this way.”

  He led her through the smoke-filled air, past all the ruckus of the taverns to the back edge of town. His home was nothing more than a rough shack thrown up between some trees, which was a good thing as the poor structure looked as though any sort of significant wind would topple it to the ground. However, it was a shelter, and despite Captain’s size, she sensed she had nothing to fear from him.

  Captain lit a fire in the tiny hearth and it helped chase away the smell of mildew that clung to the walls. From a trunk he drew out thick blankets and set them before the hearth. Alicia was glad, once she sat on them with a cup of tea in her hands, that they smelled relatively clean.

  The giant had chosen the only chair in the cabin and sat upon it now with a contented sigh.

  “When was the last time you saw Samantha?”

  “I’ve only met her twice. First time, she walked into Doubloons when I was talkin’ to Luke.”

  “You mentioned Luke before. Who is he?”

  Captain choked on his drink and had to thump himself on the chest to clear it.

  “Ya never heard of Luke Bradley?”

  “No, why?”

  “Blimey, missy, he’s only the best pirate the Caribbean has ever seen!”

  “But you said Samantha is with Luke. Are they … they can’t be … she married a pirate?”

  He set his mug down hard on the rickety table near his left elbow. “Now don’t be lookin’ so shocked. Luke’s a damn good man, and last time I saw ’em, they looked right happy enough.”

  “All right, sorry. So, Samantha came into Doubloons …”

  He nodded, a smile softening his face. “She was a sight. All dressed in red, she had every man, includin’ meself, in her net. It was when I said somethin’ that Luke took exception. Said he’d seen her first. I did, methinks, manage to charm her nonetheless. Said she was lookin’ for another pirate named Dervish. ’Course right after that, Luke took her outside. I didn’t see her again until a few months ago.”

  “In St. Kitts?”

  “Yep.”

  “Did she ever find that other pirate?”

  “Hmm,” he said, swallowing more rum. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and set down his mug. “Luke killed him.”

  Captain said it as easily as if he were discussing the weather. Alicia bit her lip. What was she getting into? She was searching for a woman she didn’t know who was married to a man that could kill another person. And their mutual friend, a friend she’d agreed to spend the night with, didn’t think it was wrong. Charles was right—she was mad.

  “Now, before ya pass judgment, let me tell ya somethin’. Luke was a great pirate, but he wasn’t mean. Loot was what he was after, but he didn’t do it like some do. He liked to use his brains and play around a little. Come to think of it, I think he preferred the hunt. But from what I know of Samantha, she wouldn’t ’ave married ’im if he wasn’t a good man. He’s one of few that I’d give me own life to save.”

  “You said ‘was.’ He’s not a pirate anymore?”

  “Nah. Applied for his pardon.” Captain’s face split into a grin as big as his belly. “ ’Course when yer the best shipbuilder to be found in these parts and ya sell the Navy the fastest and strongest, they tend to forgive ya right fast enough.”

  Alicia tasted her tea, which was more like swamp water, and set her full cup aside.

  “It doesn’t matter, really. Mr. Merritt won’t help me and I don’t know where else to look. Being a woman alone, I can’t simply hop on to any ship I please. I was lucky to get here as it was.”

  “What ya need to know about Blake,” Captain began, while rubbing his belly, “is that he can be very stubborn. And when he gets mad, it only gets worse. Fastest way to get Blake to go north is demand he go south.”

  “He’s not a pirate, too, is he?”

  “A privateer, but ’tis all the same, really. Only Blake has the Navy on his side, not trying to hang his backside, see?”

  “Either way, I need to think of another plan.”

  Captain leaned forward and gray eyes fixed on hers. “Ya know what I think? I say ya don’t give him the choice.”

  “But the only way would be to—”

  “That’s right, missy.” Captain nodded. “That’s the only way.”

  Alicia’s stomach twittered. “Why would you tell me to do that? You like Blake.”

  “Aye. I do. But Blake needs some fun in ’is life. He’s too serious.”

  She didn’t see how Mr. Merritt seeing her again would change that.

  “Tell me, Captain. My father clearly thought that Blake was a good man whom I could trust. That’s not been my experience so far. What do you think of him?”

  “Missy, if I didn’t like the man or trust ’im, I’d hardly send you after ’im. Me only advice? Stay hidden until yer well away from port.”

  Five

  Lewis Grant smiled in the darkness. He no longer felt the rocks that pushed into the soles of his shoes. He didn’t bother swatting away the bugs that buzzed around his face and gnawed on him until his skin crawled. All he felt at the moment was a glowing sense of satisfaction.

  Thanks to the big oaf’s habit of keeping the windows open, Lewis had heard every word. Now, not only did he know where Samantha was, but he had a means of getting to her. Lewis licked his lips.

  All he had to do now was get onto Blake Merritt’s ship—it would cast less suspicion than following him—and follow the little chit until she led him to Samantha. Oliver had given that whore more of his time and attention than he’d spared for his only son. Lewis intended to see that Samantha paid for that as well.

  He crept from his hiding place under the window and walked out of the woods, back to the tavern. He’d find her, threaten to turn her over to the authorities unless she gave him back not only his father’s ship but also everything she’d acquired as Sam Steele.

  And once he had the ship loaded with untold wealth and he was back in Port Royal, he’d gladly let the Navy know exactly where she was. It was the least she deserved.

  Blake rolled out of his berth as the sun pushed itself out of the sapphire water and into the purple sky. He took a moment to look, but his usual enjoyment at seeing the sunrise was ruined by the same thoughts that had plagued him throughout the night and the one before. He pulled on his trousers and drew on his shirt, leaving it unbuttoned. Barefoot, he padded to the table and stared down at the sealed envelope. He should have burned it. At the very least, he should have left it in Doubloons, where it could have been used to sop up spilled rum or to wipe the floors. He didn’t know what demon had possessed him to jam it into his pocket, but he wished the little beggar had left him alone.

  Looking down at the wrinkles that lined the envelope, owing to its unceremonious journey in his pocket, Blake was just as angry as when he’d first had it placed under his nose. Who the bloody hell did she think she was anyway?

  “Alicia Davidson.”

  He said her name like a curse. For him, it was one. Ever since he’d first heard she’d been found and taken in, she was a festering wound that wouldn’t heal. And seeing her, talking to her, had only made matters worse. Especially knowing who it was that had sent her to begin with. Help her? Sure, he’d help her, the same way Jacob Davidson had helped him. By turning his back and pretending she didn’t exist.

  It took a full hour of stewing,
he figured, before he pulled himself together. He would not dwell on the matter a moment longer. Already he’d spent two sleepless nights because of her, one anchored in Tortuga, reliving her little speech over in his mind until it had given him a blasted headache, and again last night after they’d loaded the ship and left Tortuga in their wake. He’d thought knowing he had left Alicia behind would have given him peace of mind.

  “Well, it bloody hasn’t,” Blake muttered, buttoning his shirt and pulling on his knee-high boots. Hoping the quiet of the deck before the rest of the crew awakened would do the job, he went above.

  The sea was still and silent and his ship slept like the rest of his men. Filling his lungs with cool air, Blake made his way to the helm. Vincent, one of his first mates, was at the wheel.

  “Morning, Captain.”

  “Morning. Nothing on the horizon?” Blake asked, taking the looking glass. Far as the eye could see was nothing but a rippling blanket of green-blue water. Blake couldn’t imagine anything better. The knots in his shoulders eased. Here was home. Here he didn’t have to justify himself, explain what was in his heart. Here he could just be, and it was where he belonged.

  “Nothing. She’s quiet.”

  “Good. Go get some rest.”

  Vincent jumped off the crate he’d been standing on and moved it aside. As a dwarf, he needed the box to see over the helm, but that was the only thing he needed to be one of the best first mates Blake had ever had. Nate, his other, was currently belowdecks. Both had a natural talent for strategy, and many battles they’d won had been greatly due to Vincent’s and Nate’s cleverness. Because of that, the rest of the crew treated Vincent as an equal, and his size was never an issue. If it ever became one, they would have to answer to Blake.

  Vincent yawned and rubbed his round face, looking more like a young lad than a man nearly the same age as Blake.

  “Thank God. I tried to sleep last night, before my turn on deck, but that new whelp you hired on in Tortuga kept throwing up. I’ve never heard such a bad case of seasickness in my life.”

  Blake’s hand froze midreach to the helm. “You hired one on. I didn’t.”

  “The man I hired is named Lewis. I’ve never seen this one before. He came on board in Tortuga, said you’d given him a job.”

  Blake got a very uneasy feeling low in his belly, and the knots came back into his shoulders.

  “Where is he?”

  “Below, keeping company with the chickens.”

  Perfect. “Can you take her a little longer?” Blake asked.

  Vincent simply moved the crate back into position.

  “Thanks. I shouldn’t be long, and then you can get some sleep.”

  “As long as you can keep that boy from heaving, I will.”

  “Well, depending on why he stowed away on my ship, I may just toss him overboard.”

  Vincent smiled. “You’re not that mean.”

  Blake scoffed and slipped below. He passed the hammocks of snoring men and followed the smell down another level to where they kept their livestock. The goats stretched their necks when he walked by, reaching for anything they could nibble on. The chickens watched silently from their wire cages. He sidestepped the worst of the streams that crossed the walkway between the cages and pens, wondering why anyone who was seasick would choose to stay in the worst-smelling part of the ship. Unless he was someone who didn’t want to be found.

  Blake didn’t have to search hard. He simply had to follow the moans of the sick boy. Blake found him sprawled on his side in a clean patch of straw, a thin boy wearing worn brown trousers and a cap, a bucket next to his face and his back to Blake.

  “Having difficulties, son?” he asked without sympathy.

  A long moan answered him, and the boy tugged the brim of his cap farther down on his head.

  “A little late to hide now, boy.” Blake kicked his boot. “Get up.”

  For a while, Blake didn’t think the boy was going to comply. But finally he moved, keeping his back to Blake while he got to his feet, the bucket clasped tightly in his hand. He swayed slightly and Blake cursed. This wasn’t anybody who would be of value on his ship.

  “Turn around.”

  Lowering the bucket, the boy drew off his hat as he turned. A long braid fell over what should have been a boy’s shoulder. Only it wasn’t a boy looking out at him through a face pale as the canvas of his sails.

  Blake felt as though he’d been punched hard in the stomach.

  “Hello, Mr. Privateer.”

  “Alicia? What the bloody hell are you doing on my ship?”

  Six

  She didn’t answer. He could see she wanted to, but each time she opened her mouth to speak, she slammed it shut again, closed her eyes, and swallowed repeatedly. She swayed and stumbled back against the wall, then slid down until her backside was on the floor. She settled the bucket between her bent knees.

  “Take me ashore, you’d be doing me a favor,” she muttered.

  He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t tempted.

  “You snuck on in Tortuga?”

  She nodded.

  “You’ve been sick ever since?”

  Another nod.

  “Dammit, Alicia, that was a day and a half ago!”

  She wretched again, though nothing was left to come up. Wiping her face, she leaned back, looking as frail as a newborn lamb.

  “I’m well aware of the hours that have passed, since they’ve been dragging like a lame dog.”

  Judging from the pale cheeks and dark circles under her eyes, Blake had no doubt she’d counted every second. But he refused to be moved by it. Since leaving Port Royal behind seven years ago, Blake had always had a clear vision and goal. He’d wanted to be a privateer, and from the moment he’d acquired his ship and received his first letters of marque, he’d felt all the pieces of himself fit perfectly for the first time in his life. He’d had a purpose and it wasn’t one his father had carved out for him, but rather one he’d chosen himself. Though certain this girl couldn’t jeopardize that, he was nettled by her presence nonetheless.

  “If I took you back to Port Royal, what would you do?”

  Her eyes suddenly filled with more energy than he thought she had left.

  “I’d try another way to get to St. Kitts.”

  “To find someone you don’t remember? Are you that stupid?”

  “Why are you asking?” she queried. “Haven’t you already made up your mind about me?”

  Sick or not, Blake glared at her. She’d stowed away on his ship; she should have been begging for his mercy, for his understanding. It’s what he’d expected her to do. The fact that she hadn’t the energy to hold herself up and yet could challenge him so easily showed gumption. And despite his annoyance, he’d always respected that trait in a person. He set his jaw.

  “You’d likely die in the process. If dehydration didn’t do you in, a pirate attack certainly would.”

  Her eyes closed. “Your concern is overwhelming.”

  He came to her then and kneeled down. He waited until her eyes opened. “I’ll take you to my cabin, get some food into you. But make no mistake, it’s not out of concern. I just don’t want a dead body smelling up my ship.”

  “You mean more than it already does?”

  “You don’t like it, you’re welcome to leave. I have no objection if you aren’t willing to wait until we make the next port to do so.”

  “I assume you’re not married.” Despite her pallor and sunken cheeks, her mouth twisted into a sneer.

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Shocking,” she answered.

  Because a part of him was impressed with her sassiness, he bristled. He shouldn’t be impressed; he should be angry at her for being there and at himself for seeing anything in Alicia Davidson worth admiring.

  “Are you always this ungrateful for help?” he demanded.

  “Are you always this ungracious?”

  Not usually, but seeing her over that grave, crying over a
man who had no business being cried over, infuriated him. But then, she’d seen a side to Jacob Davidson that Blake hadn’t been privy to.

  “Cabin’s this way,” he muttered.

  She struggled to her feet and followed behind him, the bucket still in her grasp. This time he didn’t care where he walked. He took the steps two at a time and had climbed to the next deck before he heard her retching again.

  “Good God.” Since he was close to the galley, he strode inside and asked his cook to make up some tea and to have it sent with some dry bread to his cabin. Then he went back to fetch Alicia.

  “Are you coming?”

  She’d sat on the steps, and now that she’d moved farther up the ship, she’d caught the attention of some of his crew. They were watching over the railing, wondering how and when a woman had come aboard. Blake wondered the same thing.

  Alicia, however, didn’t seem concerned with the men gathered nearby. In fact, with her head tilted to rest against the wall, and her hands hanging loosely on her knees, she appeared to be almost—

  “Bloody hell,” he cursed, taking the steps down as fast as he’d taken them up. Sure enough, there she was, the bucket on her lap, sound asleep.

  “We can put her in me hammock,” one of his crew volunteered.

  “Or mine,” another said.

  This was followed by a rowdy argument of just who should have Alicia. And that was the second time Blake knew he had trouble on his hands. The first had been seeing her and knowing the reaction she caused in him. He hadn’t had time to think of what his crew would do. And now—thanks again to her, he thought gratingly—he knew just what her presence would mean. Feeling a headache brewing behind his right eye, Blake silenced his crew with nothing more than a glare.

  “She’ll be in my cabin, for the moment, and I don’t want to hear another word about her. Nate,” he called, when he spotted his other first mate coming through the crowd, “bring a bucket of warm water and a cloth to my cabin.” Blake handed Nate the soiled pail and ignored his questioning gaze. “Clean that, too, please, and bring it back with you. The rest of you have duties to attend to. And don’t forget to mop below. It bloody stinks down there.”