The Pirate (The Legacy Series Book 5)

by Sheritta Bitikofer

  Upward she climbed, gripping the ropes and leads in her battered hands that had hoped to never hold a line again. Grace paid no mind to the stinging in her palm as the wind tossed her hair about. The breeze felt good on her flushed cheeks.

  Below, men whistled and proceeded to inform the rest of the ship what the lady was doing. No one came after her and it took a moment to realize why. As she passed behind the main topgallant sail, she looked up to see a man astride the topmost yardarm that stretched the canvas.

  James was there, looking down upon her with those hazel eyes that visited in her dreams the night before. In those dreams, against her wishes and everything she was taught, Grace allowed the man to touch her in places she had never been touched before. Only in her dreams could she melt into his arms and imagine what it might have been like to kiss those lips that smiled down upon her now.

  For the first time, she paused in her ascent. But not for long. The call to see the world in all its brilliance was too strong and not even The Devil Dog was going to stop her. Grace climbed to him, her skirts fluttering about her legs so much that she almost lost her footing.

  Without his aid, she pulled herself onto the yardarm and balanced with one leg on either side, her dress hiked up to her knees and bare feet swinging. James never took his eyes off her.

  “That’s a long ways to climb,” he said over the trembling roar of the wind that might have blown her clean off if she wasn’t hanging onto the lift line that extended from the top of the mast to the end of the yardarm.

  Grace didn’t respond, but feasted her eyes upon the view around them. Nothing but water, sky, and the freedom that she had wanted since she was first scolded for some improper conduct after her father was promoted to governor. Ever since that day, she had been confined by rules and propriety, everything she wasn’t and everything she could never be.

  Up here, high above the water, the stays that bound her heart began to loosen.

  “You should smile like that more often,” James commented from the other side of the mast.

  She turned to him and realized that she had been smiling. Grace couldn’t help it, even if she was alone with The Devil Dog. “It’s beautiful,” she replied.

  James nodded in agreement. “If you ask Patrick, he’d say I spend most of my time up here.” He turned to gaze out over the Caribbean, his untamed black hair dancing in the breeze. “The moment I learned to climb the ratlines, I was up here every chance I could get.”

  It was hard to imagine the pirate was ever a young boy. Grace pictured a gangly youth wearing clothes that were too big for him, fumbling around the deck as other seasoned sailors harassed him. That contradicted every legend about The Devil Dog. The songs and stories said he was born of the sea, without a family, and spat back by Davy Jones himself. The Devil Dog was said to have been a competent sailor since he could walk, hauling up anchors as a toddler and outmatching every foe with a sword before the age of ten.

  Suddenly, Grace wanted to know the real story. She wanted to hear of that time when he first shimmied up the lines to straddle the yardarms and look out over the sea that he would soon claim as his own.

  “And why are you up here so often?” she asked. “Shouldn’t a captain be with his men below?”

  James shrugged. “Patrick can keep them in line. Besides, I can get a better scope from up here. All I’d need to do is look down and I can see them all.”

  And Grace did just that, but she immediately regretted it. There was no estimating how high up they really were, but it made her dizzy all the same. Never had she looked down from the main topgallant yardarm like this.

  She swayed, and a hand instantly steadied her. James had somehow jumped to his feet and came to her side of the yardarm without making a whisper of sound. She didn’t even feel his feet thrum against the wood.

  He lowered himself in front of her, now close enough to touch. Her heart – now unrestrained by the limitations of the world that sought to control her – began to beat ever faster because of his nearness. One side of his mouth tilted up in that wicked grin that sent skitters down her back and Grace tried to tighten her lips together to keep herself from giggling at the absurdity of the feelings she harbored for this man.

  And for the first time since she met him, Grace let go of everything. She let go of all reason, all decorum. To hell with who she should and should not care for. James was here, and she couldn’t deny it any longer. She wanted the pirate and she was done fighting her emotions.

  “There are so many stories about you,” she began. “Like that you were fished out of the sea as a baby, and that you were a troublemaker to all the captains you served under. What’s true?”

  Somehow caught off guard by the question, James chuckled. “You’d be surprised how little is true. I wasn’t born out of the sea and I didn’t fight Davy Jones. I was born on St. Kitts.”

  Grace let herself smile. “So, you do have a family then?”

  James sighed. “Not anymore. They’re gone now. My mother raised me by herself. I never knew my father. I went to see when I was fourteen, serving under a privateer at the time. We attacked French ships in the eastern Caribbean.”

  “And were you the troublemaker the songs made you out to be?” she asked with a teasing lilt to her words.

  James donned a coy look, still backlit by a devilish glint in his eye. “Well, I didn’t make it easy on the superior officers, if that’s what you mean. I found it hard to stay with one captain for too long. Almost every month, I’d have to jump ship.”

  “Why is that?”

  A darkness flashed in his expression, but as soon as it was there, it was gone, and he replied, “If we were in port, I’d disappear for a while and go off on my own. When I returned in the morning, it wasn’t a guarantee that the ship would be waiting for me. Then, I’d have to find a new set of sails to serve under. It wasn’t until I was older that I said to myself, ‘James, you just need to be a captain. Then, you can do as you please, port when you need to once a month, and no one would leave you behind.’ So, I did. I rounded up a few men who were willing to take a chance on me as their captain, stole a sloop from a port in Barbados, and this is where it’s led me.”

  James spread out his hands as if to display his success.

  “Such humble beginnings,” she remarked, even though she desperately wanted to know what it was that drove him to port once a month. She remembered that night when he dove over the railing to swim to that island. It must have been for the same reason he briefly mentioned now, but he was giving up no details.

  “That’s the only humble part of my career,” he admitted as he lowered his hands back to rest in his lap. Unlike her, James didn’t need to hold onto a line to help keep balance with the rolling of the ship.

  “And what about the stories they tell now? The golden eyes? The howling? I heard you the other night.”

  James’ countenance fell and for the first time, the pirate looked a little embarrassed. “Well, perhaps some of that is true.”

  “Is that why they call you The Devil Dog? Because of the howl or is it something else?”

  Grace could tell she was pressing on a sensitive subject, but like everything else, she had tossed her cares to the wind.

  “Partially,” he said. “Have you ever tried to steal a dog’s favorite bone from him? Either he won’t give it up or he’ll bite you. That’s how I live. I protect what is mine, I take what I want from others, and I’ll fight any man who tries to get in my way.”

  A fleeting, impetuous thought passed through her mind and a streak of excitement trailed along with it. What if Grace could be one of those pieces of treasure that he coveted? What if she could be something he fought for? She’d rather be the Devil Dog’s precious bone than a wealthy man’s trophy any day.

  “And the golden eyes? Are they a myth too? They say it’s the last thing one of your victims sees before you run them through.” She met his gaze, wondering how such a perfectly enigmatic color as hazel could hav
e been mistaken for gold. The lighting had to be just right for any man to think The Devil Dog’s eyes could glow like that.

  James paused, as if debating something, then smirked. “If it’s the last thing a dying man sees, then where do the stories come from?”

  He had a point and Grace looked away to the ocean again. On the horizon, she could just barely make out a spec of white sail bobbing along the waves. “At least you’ve made a name for yourself, whether it’s a bad one or not.”

  James turned to regard the passing ship as well and she saw his nostrils flare a bit as if he were testing the air. “It’s what I do best. Right or wrong, I can’t imagine living any other way.”

  Somehow, she envied such decidedness. James knew what he wanted, and he went after it. Why couldn’t she bring herself to do the same? It hadn’t been a lie that she regretted coming to sea. Life on a ship was glamorous from the shore, but not necessarily in practice. The food, the filthiness, the myriad of odors that assaulted her nostrils on a daily basis, none of it is what she had truly wanted.

  Only this view on a clear day had been what she envisioned. If only she could stay up here forever, basking in the warm sun with James by her side. How could she ever go back to Jamaica after this pirate had ruined her so effectually?

  Chapter 6

  “No, no, no,” James said with a wave of his hand. “Never hit with the flat of the blade.” He reached out and grabbed Grace’s hilt and tilted it so the blade’s edge made contact with his own. “And you’re overextending again.” With that same correcting hand, he flicked at the inside of her elbow to make it bend a little.

  Grace looked to him, her face puckered with concentration. “Why don’t I want to hit with the flat of the blade?”

  “These swords will break and if it does, the loose end could go flying into one of your fellow crewmates and you don’t want that. And remember to keep your grip light. Don’t fist it. Savvy?”

  She nodded in understanding and stepped back into their starting position again with one hand on her hip and legs slightly bent. James did the same and then lunged forward with an overhead strike. She parried beautifully and he let her come at him with a sweeping blow toward his leg. This time, she didn’t overextend and when he flipped her blade, she didn’t lose her balance as she did before.

  On and on this went, with attacks and parries in slow succession until James thought Grace was ready to pick up the pace. The decision to show her how to fight had been an easy one. The moment James saw her climbing up the ratlines along the main mast, he knew that he hadn’t misjudged her. The lady was as much made for the sea as he was. Why couldn’t she see that?

  Though she would likely never use this skill in her life as a wealthy bride to a nobleman, James felt compelled to show her some things. Who knew? Perhaps she would find herself in transit between islands with her husband and he would overtake her ship to rob her. James wanted her to be prepared to battle and defend herself, even if it was against him.

  The light was fading from the evening sky, but James hardly noticed. They had been deep in lessons for hours, but neither grew tired or bored. He enjoyed seeing her thrust and block his assaults. The way her lips tightened into a grim line while she focused on her form was too adorable and though one should never take their eyes off their opponent’s sword, James stared longer than he should have. Damn, she was beautiful.

  On the forecastle, they weren’t necessarily alone, but he had a harsh word with his crew just after the fog broke earlier that morning, telling them that Grace was not to be bothered by anyone. The crew that carried on their duties around them didn’t so much as look their way, and James was glad for it. He didn’t want to have to discipline any of his crew in front of Grace, lest she see those golden eyes that he had half-heartedly denied. If he could help it, she would never see him for what he really was. A beast.

  The longer they trained, the more confident Grace became. Her form improved, and she made adjustments to her arm positions and footing without James’ critique. Soon, they were striking at one another as if they were in real combat. A slight sheen of sweat covered her forehead, but James knew they were not evenly matched. Years spent onboard ship after ship had given him plenty of time to perfect these moves and come up with a few of his own.

  Like this one he had been waiting to execute all evening.

  Her blade came toward his shoulder and he crossed to parry it, but took a quick step forward so their guards were locked together. James charged in, but Grace didn’t do as he had advised once before. He told her if the enemy ever trespassed into her space during battle, she needed to sidestep to release their blades.

  She didn’t.

  Instead, she held her ground and allowed him to venture close, his leading leg brushing the stretch of skirt between her legs. Grace tried to push him back with the sword, but she was at a terrible disadvantage in more ways than one.

  James eased in until their faces were close together, as close as they had been when they first danced at the governor’s mansion. He could count the faint freckles speckled across her nose and upper cheeks, the last remaining markers of a childhood she was leaving behind. Damn the stars, she was beautiful.

  The only way she could break free was if she backed down, but when her free hand came to join her other in an attempt to push him back, James had to laugh.

  “You’re at the end of your rope, lass,” he whispered with a grin. “Give up now and I might show some mercy.”

  Grace wouldn’t meet his gaze and her blue eyes were solely fixed on the razor edge of the blade that quivered just inches from her nose.

  “I thought pirates gave no quarter to their enemies?” she teased, still struggling against his cutlass. She was strong, but not strong enough.

  “I’ll make an exception for a pretty lady.”

  She let out a huff of a laugh. “I’d hate to see what kind of mercy you’d show a woman.”

  James leaned in even closer, easing more weight down on their locked swords until her back arched. The scent of her sweet sweat and building arousal met his senses and it took all his willpower to not claim her lips in a kiss.

  “If you let me take you, you’ll see my special kind of mercy.”

  A taunting light sparkled in her eyes and James wondered if she would do the impossible and let him have her at last.

  Instead, she did what any conniving woman would. Now that her weight was solely dependent upon her back leg, James gave no thought to the one that was settled between his feet. In one swift move, she brought her knee to his groin and James was the first to break away.

  He staggered backward, but wouldn’t drop his cutlass. She didn’t kick hard, but sufficient to disable him for a few moments. It was just long enough for her to lunge forward and slip her blade past his defenses. When he felt the cool edge of her steel on his throat, James grinned, despite the pounding pain in his crotch.

  “Fine work, lass,” he croaked and then tapped her cutlass out of the way so he could sit down on the forecastle deck to recover. He might have been impervious to death by cutlass or pistol, but he still experienced pain like any normal man, especially when kicked in the jewels.

  Grace gave a short curtsey and smiled like the vixen that she was. “Only because you taught me so well.”

  James laughed and looked toward the bowsprit and the sunset beyond. It had been a clear day, promising a beautiful night just the same. He had seen a million or so sunsets and each one was as unique and breathtaking as the others. Maybe that was why he loved Grace’s red hair so much. It reminded him of the splashes of orange and crimson that painted the sky each evening before the sun disappeared to make way for the night.

  Below decks, he could hear Mr. Bones ring the bell to announce mealtime and his stomach responded in kind. Grace had already sheathed the cutlass he let her borrow for training and extended her hand to help him to his feet.

  The change James saw in the lady was a welcome one. Open, lighthearted, almost at h
ome amongst his band of cutthroats, he could finally see a bit of the true woman come out in her. Her boldness remained, a constant pillar of strength that his wolf rejoiced in. She wasn’t the flimsy damsel he was used to seeing on shore. She could be just as fierce and brave as any of them. If only he could keep her.

  Tucking away his pride, he grabbed her hand and hoisted himself to his feet. Men were already coming back on deck with their bowls full of stew and mugs brimming with rum. Soon, they’d all be teetering in their seats and Mr. Nickels would bring out his mandolin like he had the night before.

  “I’ll have Mr. Bones bring you something in my quarters,” he said, sliding his cutlass into its scabbard so he could lead her to his cabin before the men started to get a little tawdry. She was sure to be tired by now anyway and a bunch of rowdy sailors were probably the last thing she wanted to contend with.

  “I’ll stay on deck,” she said, following close behind him.

  He turned and gave her a dubious look. “Are you sure?”

  With bright, eager eyes, she nodded. “Yes, the air is better up here than in your cabin, no offense… Unless you don’t want me on deck?”

  What a question. James would have wanted her by his side, even if he journeyed to hell and back.

  His expression softened, and he gave a nod. “It’s about time I held up my promise. If you want to be on deck, you are welcome.”

  The late evening turned out as he had anticipated. With Grace to his right and Patrick on his left, James watched his crew exchange stories and boast about their lives on previous ships under other captains who were not as lenient as The Devil Dog. Some came straight from the royal navy, who were known for their cruel treatment to sailors who stepped out of line and gave out unequal pay for their troubles.

  Others could laugh and jeer at the practices, but James couldn’t find amusement in any of it. He had been on the receiving end of plenty of whippings, strapped to a canon as they tore into his back without pity. That was before he had turned into the beast he was now. After that, he learned to keep his nose clean and record spotless. How would it look to an officer when he slashed into James and then the cuts healed within seconds? They wouldn’t revere him as The Devil Dog, but as the ungodly, cursed creature that he was.