“Will you at least tell me what’s going on?” she whispered. “Where have you been? Where are you taking me, and where’s Will?”
“The matter of where I’ve been will be revealed in due time,” he replied, releasing her wrist and taking up the reins once more. “As for Will, he is in the wagon behind us along with your father, and you’re all bound for the same destination—my ship, The Sea Lion.”
He glanced down to find her looking at him again, her eyes a muddle of confusion and trepidation. Was she frightened of him now that he was a pirate, or was it guilt over her perfidy that had her so terrified to face him?
“Will you … hurt him?”
So, she had noticed the animosity teeming between him and Will. Perhaps she even realized that much of his animosity was also directed toward her. She had never been one to feign ignorance, or hide her intelligence with simpering and giggles like the other ladies of the island. He had always admired that about her.
She flinched when he leaned closer, his nostrils flaring and his jaw flexing as he thought of all the ways he intended to make Will pay for what he’d done.
“Yes,” he replied without hesitation, watching her go ashen in response to his revelation. “Yes, I will.”
Chapter 3
They arrived to their destination late into the night on the day following Arabella’s botched nuptials. They made the journey swiftly through the overgrown jungle ringing Falmouth and the failed settlement of Ocho Rios, which had been abandoned and overtaken by pirates despite the efforts of the Royal Navy. While many places in the West Indies had become dangerous for pirates to tread without fear of facing the hangman’s noose, Jamaica still stood as one of the few places the brigands maintained their strongholds—here in the north, and in Port Royal to the south.
Arabella had yet to shake off the shocked daze that fell over her when Drew had manifested before her. Once she’d gotten past the stunning realization that he wasn’t dead after all, her mind had been overwhelmed with questions. Where had he been all this time? How had he escaped the sinking of the HMS Hannibal which was reported to have gone down in a storm with all hands? What had led to him becoming a pirate—no, not just a pirate, but the captain of his own ship?
Most acute of all was her need to understand the changes in him and the reason for his abduction of herself, her father, and Will. Gone was the light of tender love in those golden cat-eyes when he looked at her. In its place was derision and anger, though she did not miss the lust that flared hot when he dragged that unnerving gaze over the flesh bared by her bodice.
But the way he looked at her could not be compared to the murderous intent written all over his face when he set eyes on Will and her father. He trembled with uncontained rage, his jaw tight and a muscle in his cheek ticking spasmodically, his hands curling into fists. She shivered at the sight of those hands, the knuckles notched with pale scars, the back of the left one tattooed with a nautical star between the thumb and forefinger. It had taken her a few peeks at those hands to make out the letters etched onto his knuckles, four letters on one and four on the other. HOLD FAST.
The opening of his shirt showed her that he’d also marked his chest, though she could not make out whether the skin would show more words or an image of some kind. She couldn’t fathom the pain he must have gone through in order to brand himself this way. Falmouth being full of sailors coming and going from port, Arabella was familiar with the practice of piercing the skin with a needle and black ink made of gunpowder. But she’d never seen a sailor with as many of them as Drew and his men had.
The gleaming ruby puncturing his left ear drew her eye each time he turned his head, as did a collection of scars he hadn’t had the last time she’d seen him. One marring the bow of his upper lip, one slashing his neck as if someone had been midway through slashing his throat before stopping, another on the back of his right hand that looked like a burn. How many more did he hide under his clothes? How badly had the world wounded him in the years they had been apart?
Arabella found herself torn between the desire to press her lips to the scars and being terrified to touch him. She had never been afraid of Drew. But now … one look in her direction, and he had her quivering from head to toe, uncertain whether she would survive whatever he had in store for her. This man was not her Drew; the longer she was in his company, the better she understood that. Whatever had happened to the man she loved, it had transformed him in the most elemental ways.
She was kept separate from her fiancé and her father during the journey, even when they made brief stops to water and feed the horses. Will and Archibald were only let out of the wagon once and led into the jungle to relieve themselves, before they were unceremoniously shoved back into vehicle. They halted for an evening meal of dried biscuits the pirates referred to as hardtack, salted and dried beef, and oranges plucked from the surrounding trees. Arabella noticed one of the men hoarding great quantities of the fruits, along with handfuls of limes he discovered—likely to ward off scurvy once they had boarded the ship. Fresh drinking water had been drawn from a nearby river. She was unbearably hot, the humidity wilting her skirts and making her undergarments stick to her skin. Her scalp began to itch, the pins holding her wig in place chafing, but she refused to suffer the indignity of removing it in front of these men, so she suffered in silence.
They continued at a grueling pace, until reaching one of the several rivers winding through Ocho Rios toward the ocean. Abandoning the stolen horses, the pirates had uncovered three canoes hidden within the foliage and pushed them into the river before taking up several oars.
Arabella’s head spun as she stared at Drew’s broad back undulating beneath his coat as he rowed, as the realization that he’d planned this entire thing astounded her. This hadn’t been some simple, spur-of-the-moment kidnapping. It had been orchestrated down to the very last detail, including a well-thought-out escape plan. She kept expecting the auxiliary militia forces to appear through the underbrush, sabers raised and rifles cracking, but the jungle remained as still and quiet as ever—save for the chirp of bugs and the gurgling of the rivers.
As the boats glided down the wide river abreast of one another, Arabella stole a glance at Will, who looked as if he would be violently ill at any moment. His wig sat crooked on his head, wisps of his mahogany hair hanging in his face. Sweat stained his silk suit in places, and there was a tear in one shoulder seam from the rough manhandling of the pirates. As he turned to look at her with mournful eyes, his teeth clenched around a gag that had been forced on him when he spoke out of turn, Arabella felt conflicted. While she pitied him, she also wondered at what she’d seen pass between him and Drew at the church. Her gaze grew accusing the longer she looked at him, filled with one thought: You told me he was dead.
Will furrowed his brow and gave his head a little shake, as if to tell her: I thought he was.
Her father was no better off. His white periwig had fallen off when he’d been thrown into the wagon, his balding pate now on undignified display and reddened from the harshness of the afternoon sunlight. His face was mottled and red as well, his eyes downcast as he stared at the shackled hands folded in his lap. Like Will, he seemed to be a target of Drew’s anger—but why? Arabella’s head began to ache as she tried to puzzle it all out only to come up short.
But, by God she would have answers. Drew had promised to reveal where he had been all this time, but that wouldn’t be enough. He had avoided speaking to her aside from ordering her on and off his horse and offering her food and water. But, once they had boarded his ship, Arabella would not be denied. She didn’t care how angry it made him, she would press for the information she needed to untangle the threads and make sense of this.
With the moon peeking out from behind thick clouds, they left their canoes and traversed the rest of the way to the beach on foot. As the trees grew sparser and white sand appeared, the dark blue sheet of the ocean appeared, and atop it, the ship she assumed must belong to Drew. It
s hull had been painted black, the golden figurehead of a snarling lion thrusting from its prow.
Under the cover of night, dozens of men came and went, loading unmarked crates. The ocean crashed and rolled in waves of frothy white, a match for the canvas sails undulating in the soft push of the wind.
Holding tight to her arm, Drew steered her toward a gangplank lowered into the stand, at the bottom of which stood two men who greeted him with easy smiles.
The first was a towering African who stood higher than even Drew’s impressive height, his shaved head gleaming in the moonlight and his white teeth flashing in the dark.
“Ahoy there, Captain,” the man said in the thick accent of his homeland, though his English was near as perfect as her own. “It has been some time since The Black Lion has been spotted on land.”
“You won’t be seeing me on this godforsaken lump of dirt again, Malike, you can be sure.”
Malike threw his head back and laughed, seeming not to care that the boisterous sound carried through the night. In fact, none of these pirates appeared concerned with speed or stealth, and the need for haste seemed to have dissipated once they’d left the boundaries of Falmouth.
“We’ve almost finished loadin’ the supplies, Cap’n,” chimed in a red-haired Irishman with a lyrical accent and a smirking mouth. “The Sea Lion’s shipshape and ready to raise anchor.”
“Very good, Mr. Walsh,” Drew replied, inclining his head toward Will and her father, who remained in irons. “See these two to the bilge, I’ll deal with them in the morning.”
Arabella watched as Will and Archibald were prodded up the gangplank, her fiancé’s protestations muffled by the gag. She didn’t know what a bilge was, but Will didn’t seem keen to go there, so it must be a less desirable space on a ship to occupy.
Turning to Drew with no mind for his companions, she cleared her throat. “And just where do you plan to stow me?”
His fingers flexed around her arm, his gaze traveling down to her mouth and holding for a long moment before traveling lower and locking onto her breasts. Her belly roiled, and a slow pulsation began between her legs. Drew’s gaze promised both pleasure and retribution—but for what, she couldn’t be certain. The longing to feel his lips and hands on her again was as strong as the urge to demand he set her free and tell her what was going on. At the moment, her desires were winning out, five long years of longing for him overtaking all else.
“You’ll remain with me, of course. Mr. Walsh, I trust you to tie things up here. I expect us to raise anchor in one hour.”
“Aye, Cap’n,” the Irishman replied with a grin and wink.
When he caught Arabella’s eye, however, his expression darkened, his smile fading. If it weren’t her imagination, he almost looked as if he pitied her. That only made dread swell within her as Drew directed her up the gangplank, his long, swift strides forcing her to trot to keep up. Why did she have the feeling that Drew did not mean for them to have a proper, romantic reunion behind the closed doors of his cabin? The surety in his stride and the unbreakable clench of his grip had the heat of her earlier lust freezing over into an icy block of terror.
“Drew, would you please tell me what’s going on?”
He paused, swinging her around to face him so fast she nearly lost her footing, but he gripped her other wrist, hauling her against him and helping her regain her balance. He didn’t let her go, the heat of his body seeping through the layers of their clothes and making her aware of every hard inch of him. Even his work as a carpenter hadn’t made him this solid in his youth. From what she could feel, there wasn’t a bit of softness left to his torso and thighs, his arms bulging against the seams of his coat. Hard labor aboard ships had chiseled him this way, lending greater strength to the hands holding her to him.
“I told you not to call me that,” he snapped, leaning down until their lips almost touched.
She melted against him, commanded to submission in his arms with such ease. Arabella wanted him to hold and kiss her, to tell her they’d be together again now that he’d found her.
But, she saw no such intent in his eyes, the wild, feral glint hinting at something far more nefarious.
“It is ‘Captain’ to you, and everyone else on board this ship. Do you understand?”
She shook her head slowly, brow furrowed as she tried to make sense of this man—who she knew so well but who was now a stranger to her.
“What in God’s name happened to you? Won’t you tell me anything? I’ve missed you so much, and I—”
He shook her until her teeth rattled, forcing her silent. “Enough. You needn’t think that your pretty, false words will cause me to treat you any differently, because they won’t. You, your father, and your fucking fiancé are now my prisoners. You, my little temptress, are to be a guest in my cabin. You will do what I say when I say, and without hesitation or you’ll not like the consequences.”
Her mouth fell open as she grappled with the meaning of all he’d just said. He thought her a liar for claiming to have missed him? Had he no idea how she’d suffered for thinking him dead?
“My words are not false, Captain. I have walked about as if half-dead since you were taken. My greatest wish has been that you would return to me, even as I knew you never would.”
He seemed momentarily taken aback by her words, blinking like a wide-eyed owl and staring at her incredulously. Then, his expression hardened, and he released her right wrist while lifting the left one between them.
Inclining his head toward the large, gaudy ring William had slid onto her finger on the night of the engagement, Drew sneered. “Then explain this.”
Her gaze darted to the betrothal ring weighing down her left hand, a piece she had never cared for but that had belonged to Will’s grandmother. It had meant a lot to him to see her wearing it, so Arabella had hidden her dislike of the ancient, heavy piece and worn it for him. Now, it damned her in a way she only just now realized.
What he must think, to have returned to Falmouth on the day she was to wed someone else. Not just any ‘someone’; his own brother. Now, she understood the anger radiating from him in hot, tangible waves, the heat in his narrowed eyes as he looked at the ring as if he could obliterate it into dust with only his stare.
“I can explain this,” she whispered, her voice shaky with guilt and trepidation. “Drew, I would have never—”
“Betrayed me with my own brother?” he snapped, flinging her hand away as if he could hardly stand to touch her any longer. “But you did, and I saw it clearly enough—you standing at the altar with him, wearing his ring, vowing to honor and obey—”
“I thought you were dead!” she exclaimed, taking hold of his shirt and shaking him with all her strength.
She hardly managed to budge his heavy body, but he looked as if she had doused him with a bucket of frigid water, rousing him from a sound sleep. He looked at once surprised and suspicious as he eyed her with a hawkish gaze, full lips pinched.
Did he believe her flighty and fickle enough to wed his brother while thinking him alive in the world somewhere, trying to get back to her?
Dear God, he did! She saw it in his eyes, felt it in the vibrations of bitterness and resentment rolling off him like shockwaves through the air.
He opened his mouth as if to reply, but then snapped it shut, his gaze traveling somewhere beyond her. She glanced over her shoulder to find that half the crew had halted in the midst of their duties, enraptured by the sight of their captain arguing with a slip of a woman in a wilted pink silk gown.
Some gazes swept over her with contempt and suspicion, while a few blazed with interest and lust as they lingered on her exposed décolletage. A deep, ominous growl emanated from Drew, and his hand lashed around her arm again, pulling her back against his body.
“This is Miss Arabella Baines, a guest of The Sea Lion who will take quarters in my cabin. The lot of you will keep your eyes down and your hands to yourself while she’s aboard, or you’ll answer to me.”
Rounds of ‘aye, Cap’n’ rippled through the men, and Drew barked, ‘get back to work!’ as he whirled and continued guiding her toward the quarterdeck, under which the captain’s cabin was located. Arabella was momentarily taken aback by what she found as he threw the door open, her lips parting on a sigh of wonder.
A bay of mullioned windows allowed in the light of the moon, which combined with the blaze of several lamps and tallow candles to set the cabin aglow with warm, golden light. The space had been opulently turned out in the Oriental style, inky black and glittering gold mingling together in a chamber fit for a king. The plush rugs beneath her feet were etched with floral patterns and scrolls, with the heads of snarling lions staring up at her. The wild cats were everywhere—carved into front of his heavy, black-lacquered desk, staring at her from the tapestries hanging from the walls, and even from the heavily adorned armoire edged with hand-worked gilt. A painting of a lion rising out of the sea had been painted onto the surface of a dining table long enough to seat ten, with heavy-looking, black and gold upholstered chairs bolted to the floor around it.
But the true masterpiece of the chamber was the bed. An enormous black affair hung with gold damask curtains, it sat on a raised platform at the center of the room, its black and gold counterpane turned down invitingly. Snarling from the headboard was the golden figurehead of a lion, matching the one jutting from beneath the bowsprit of the ship. Upon closer inspection, Arabella realized that jewels had been mounted into the eye sockets of the sculpture—golden topaz, she believed.
Slamming the door behind them, he released her long enough to shrug out of his coat and take off his hat, hanging them both on wooden pegs.
Pirates, Passion and Plunder Page 5
