“I know it must have been traumatizing, dear,” her mother whispered. “But you mustn’t think of those things now. It’s over and you’re safe.”
Grace didn’t feel safe. Not at all. Not while there was a new future waiting for her downstairs. The unknown was far more terrifying than any pirate she ever faced. But her mother was right in one sense. It was over. No more James, no more sailing. She had her taste of what freedom could have been like and now she was back on shore. Back in the world of lace and frivolous pursuits such as knitting, needlework, and dancing.
God, how she wanted to die.
Without a word, her mother led her out of her bedchamber and down the stairs to the parlor. She could hear her father talking with their new guest. They appeared to be getting along well, which might have made her next decision easier.
Grace couldn’t bring herself to smile the way her mother did as soon as they stepped into the parlor. Both men stood in their presence and her gaze swept over the stranger’s attire. Royal Navy. And judging by the special ornamentation on his uniform, he was of a high rank.
“It’s good to see you out and about, Grace,” her father said proudly. “May I present Commodore Hamilton Carter of the British Royal Navy.”
The man, who wasn’t all too displeasing in deportment, bowed and smiled to her. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Norrie.”
Grace gave a half-hearted curtsey to the man. It was only when her mother sent a stiff elbow into her stays that she finally spoke. “The pleasure is mine, Commodore Carter.”
Mrs. Grace Carter didn’t have that special ring to it, but it would have to do.
Under her parent’s supervision, the visit continued and there was no lack of small talk and boring conversations. Not even Mr. Carter’s dialogue of his recent exploits to Cuba or the harrowing escape through the storm that was steadily moving westward across the sea, could draw her mind out of the dense fog. The fact that he was trying to impress the Norrie family wasn’t lost on her. Mr. Carter was putting his best foot forward, and she knew exactly why. The occasional glance in her direction was a fair warning of what was to come.
She nodded and pulled an impassionate smile every once and a while, just to prove she was still there in the room, but it was all for show. All she could think about was how badly she wanted to get this over with.
“I heard you had the misfortune of running into The Devil Dog, Miss Norrie.”
Grace sensed her parents stiffen and she muttered, “Please don’t speak that name.” She requested it partially for the sake of her mother and father, but also because she couldn’t stand to tell the story of her capture one more time. It was far too painful, but not in the way they must have been thinking.
“My apologies,” Mr. Carter replied. “I did not mean to offend.”
Her mother placed a gentle hand on Grace’s arm. “She’s been through quite a lot in the last month, Commodore.”
There was one modification to her story that Grace made to set her parents at ease. Instead of being with The Devil Dog for only three days, she lengthened it to three weeks. There was no telling them that she had run away from home of her own free will. As far as they knew, she had been in the company of pirates for almost an entire month. Everyone was shocked that James didn’t demand a ransom in all that time, or that she escaped without so much as a finger or limb missing. Whether her virtue was untainted continued to be questioned.
“You may rest assured that the pirate will be brought to justice. One of the Navy’s most accomplished officers is tracking him down now.”
Grace squeezed her fingers in her lap to keep them from shaking. “Tracking him?”
Mr. Carter set down his cup of tea. “Yes. The last I heard, Bart Croxen had located the pirate’s port of call and was on course to intercept him.”
A flash of heat spread across Grace’s skin. James was in danger, as well as the rest of his crew. She had heard of the pirate hunter before and how successful he was at finding his prey and bringing them to trial. Not one had escaped the hempen halter yet. Bart must have thought James would be no exception, but was the privateer prepared for the target he had in mind? Grace remembered those golden eyes glaring at her with such rage, such hatred. And he wasn’t even interested in killing her. What kind of fury could the pirate unleash on someone who was a true threat?
Her father continued the conversation, praising Bart for his bravery and past exploits, while Grace felt faint. Her mother, the only one ever observant of her daughter’s condition, must have seen the way her blue eyes glazed over.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Carter, but could you excuse Grace? She needs to return to her room.”
The commodore rose as the rest of the family did.
“Of course,” he said. “May I call on her again tomorrow when she’s in better spirits?”
Her two parents looked to Grace for her answer. Every time a potential suitor asked that same question, she turned him down. It was unusual that a man would get so far as to finish his tea before he was shooed away.
Stunning them all, Grace only nodded, still reeling from the thought that James could have been in shackles at that very moment and she wouldn’t have known it. She forced her legs to carry her toward the stairs as her father wrapped up the visit, but her mind was across the Caribbean. Despite the tangled mess of feelings she had toward the pirate, Grace hoped and silently prayed that James was safe, wherever he was.
St. Johns, Antigua, one week after leaving Kingston
Will’s hands were busy helping a few other of the crewmen as they paid out the anchor at St. Johns, but his ears were preoccupied with something else entirely. James, the werewolf captain of The Burning Rose, was in council with his quartermaster. Patrick had proven himself a rather disagreeable fellow, showing Will no leniency like all the other sundowners he had served under. If anyone was a threat to his ambitions, it was Patrick.
From what he observed, James had shown himself to be distracted and restrained. And that’s why he and his quartermaster were arguing in his cabin.
“The men want to go ashore,” Patrick said, “but they have no money. I hate to question yer motives, but why didn’t ye ask for the ransom in Kingston? Ye knew the men were lookin’ forward to how much the governor was gonna pay for the lass.”
“My reasons are my own,” James replied softly, with an uncharacteristic timidity in his voice. “I don’t have to explain myself to you or to the men.”
“Then I shouldn’t ask why ye passed up two perfectly good merchant ships on the way to Antigua?” Patrick inquired, and Will heard the rustle of fabric as if he were folding his arms over his barrel chest.
“You’re perfectly right. You shouldn’t ask.”
Patrick’s tone dropped. “If this has to do with that rosewater sailor ye fished out of the water last week – “
“Will has pulled his weight on this ship,” James barked. “This has nothing to do with him.”
“So, ye admit you’ve been sailing on another board, then? Everyone’s noticed you’ve been actin’ differently. You’re up in the rigging so much they only get to see yer arse half the time. The rest of the time, ye look like yer mind is somewhere else.” There was a pause before Patrick continued and said, “Like ye left a piece of yourself in Kingston.”
Will smirked, remembering the pretty redhead they dropped off in Jamaica. Was that why the captain hadn’t been living up to his title as The Devil Dog? Some girl? He felt the mudhook slam into the seafloor and turned with the others to make fast the line so it wouldn’t slip out while they were at the dock making repairs.
“I assure you, Pat,” James replied. “I’m on this ship. Nothing was left behind. You can tell the men their payout will come soon enough. We just need to tie up these loose ends and make repairs after that storm and – “
“That’s another thing,” Patrick interrupted. “Durin’ the storm, it was like ye actually wanted to put the ship at its beam ends and capsize. I’m surprised the sails didn’t
shred. Ye were too occupied chasin’ a bit of sky just big enough to patch a Dutchman’s breeches, but ye gave no thought to yer crew. Ye seemed so determined to make headway that ye didn’t care what happened to us or the ship.”
The low growl sent a shiver through Will and he could already feel the dominance leaking onto the main deck coming from the captain’s quarters. For a werewolf who didn’t know much, James was capable of plenty.
“I do care about what happens to this ship and crew,” James argued. “Never question that or I’ll see you measured for chains.”
Will stopped as he heard the slow rap of heavy boots crossing the cabin floor.
“I’ve been on this ship for five years, James,” Patrick nearly whispered. “I know what ye are, and I’ve tried to make sense of yer decisions, no matter how strange they seem. Ye know I’m loyal to ye. All I ask is that whatever’s got yer head shoved up your arse, ye take care of it before we have to shove off.”
So, Patrick knew about werewolves. It shouldn’t have surprised Will as much as it did, knowing that James would have needed to confide in someone on the crew. It might as well have been his second in command. Will had never told a soul about what he was. Not even his mother – God rest her soul – knew what he had become.
The two men didn’t talk for a good while and Will realized he had been standing still for far too long. As soon as he started to move toward the forecastle so he could inspect the rigging for the forestay sail, James spoke again.
“I know you care, Pat. I’m going to go ashore and clear my head for a bit. Don’t haul anchor without me.”
“Aye, Captain.”
As Will was climbing the bowsprit, he heard the two men exit the cabin across the ship. He turned just in time to see James leap over the railing to land on the dock. Werewolves had no need for a gangplank. He could feel the eyes of the merciless quartermaster fix upon him, but Will paid him no mind. Let the man try and tie him to the mast for a whipping. He wouldn’t get far.
Patrick’s concerns were not news to him. Will had heard the baulking whispers amongst the crew. They were all losing faith in their captain’s judgements. Pockets were empty, and the food holds were nearly empty now – thanks to Will. It wouldn’t be long before they came demanding that they take a purchase or mutiny would be on the horizon.
He smiled to himself and reasoned that there was sense in helping it along. He wanted everything to be in place for when they faced up against Bart. That old werewolf wasn’t going to get away with locking him up the way he did. He knew going after The Devil Dog and joining forces would be a right good plan. Two werewolves against one seemed a fair fight, especially given that Bart was twice their age.
He had been disappointed to hear that James was a little younger than himself, but he had far more experience in the way of battle, that was sure. From the homeliest of pitcher bawds to the richest kings of Europe, they all knew about the golden eyes that stalked the Caribbean.
With James’ help, he’d be able to kill the privateer who left his mother for dead. Sure, it was her job to please the men, but she never let Will forget the name of the one who came to her looking for a good time that night in Port Royal so long ago. At first, Will blamed himself for the slack in business his mother received when he was a boy. Then, he learned the truth. It was Bart’s fault. His father’s fault.
Maybe if he had made an honest woman of her, Will wouldn’t have had to steal bread from the baker just to feed his empty stomach when he was growing up. Maybe if Bart had been there, Will wouldn’t have had to learn about how to cope with being a werewolf. If his father had been there to guide him, to show him what was right, he wouldn’t have had to resort to the things he had done – those things he reveled in now.
Will gripped the ropes a little tighter and tugged harder as that familiar rage ignited in his belly. Soon enough, he’d have something to take his anger out on, instead of ropes and ship timber.
The strong scents of sugarcane and tobacco from the plantations outside of St. Johns were not enough to clear James’ head of all the conflicting thoughts and feelings that had consumed him over the last several days. They had made it to Antigua and no sign of Bart Croxen or his famed ship, The Maelstrom.
Patrick was right. He had sequestered himself into the rigging for most of the voyage. He needed to keep a weather eye out for the man who was hunting him, as well as try and sort out the muddled mess his brain had become since they left Kingston. He hated when Patrick was right. For a man who didn’t know his letters, he could certainly read people.
James thought the more distance they could put between himself and Kingston, the dimmer Grace’s evocative, shining eyes would become in his memory. Not so. If anything, he missed her presence even greater. He couldn’t stop thinking about her, wondering if she was safe in her father’s mansion or if his little display of weakness just before she rowed away would give her false cause to hope. The last thing he wanted was for her to board a ship, run by merchants or pirates, and hear that some ill fate befell that vessel and he wasn’t there to protect her.
That wasn’t why he kept passing up prize after prize that sailed by unscathed. Treasure and money was the last thing on James’ mind when it came to finding Bart. He hadn’t told a soul about the threat that loomed over The Burning Rose. Only he and Will knew why they were on a hell-bent trip to the leeward islands in the eastern Caribbean.
The fact that he hadn’t found Bart both troubled and confused him as he made his way down the dusty streets of St. Johns. If the pirate hunter was so determined to get him in a noose, he should have come upon them by now. He wouldn’t have expected much from a privateer, but Bart Croxen was turning out to be an even greater disappointment.
For lack of anything better to do in the town, James made his way toward the one tavern where pirate gold was welcomingly accepted and where lips were sealed a little tighter than they were in Nassau. Just as he could smell the fetid stench of spilled rum and piss, James felt that new sensation of prickling in his skull.
He turned, looking for Will in the thin crowd of women scurrying from shop to shop, merchant carts, and men astride their horses. If he was there, James couldn’t see him. Through the hissing shuffle of shoes against the sandy streets, and the chuffing of horses as they plodded along with their wagons and cargo, he picked out his name being spoken in a hushed whisper.
James looked again, his steps slowing to a stop. A few of the townspeople moved around him with slightly annoyed looks on their faces as he simply stood still near the center of the street. He was ready to move on and brush it off when he saw a man staring at him.
The man, who appeared older than himself, leaned against the corner of the blacksmiths shop. His dark eyes and light mulatto complexion reminded him of some natives he had met once. Yet, his facial features didn’t suggest that he was a true local. His clothes, a fine dark blue coat with gold buttons down the front, were not the sort of garb a native might have worn. He must have been of European birth.
The man touched the tip of his tri-cornered hat and slipped out of sight into the alleyway.
James wasn’t sure what implored him to follow after the stranger. Maybe it was the way the tingling sensation faded the farther the man moved away from him that sparked a curiosity in James. Or perhaps the way the man’s eyes seemed to have that glimmer of recognition, though James couldn’t admit the same.
Before he realized it, James was following the man’s trail well out of town and into the jungles between St. Johns and the vast plantations beyond. The man’s scent was not too unusual. He smelled of the sea and there was something unerringly familiar nested in its makeup. It was unique, but he had smelled it on Will. This man, whoever he was, must have been a werewolf too. There was no mistaking it. Three werewolves in the Caribbean. Unthinkable.
The trail ended in a sparse clearing and James did not step out into the light that streamed through the thin canopy of leaves. He listened and waited, but heard nothing
except the scampering of critters in the underbrush and birds high above in their nests. Nothing but the untouched nature that had been as much his element as the sea. Now, however, James didn’t feel at all easy here. Somewhere, he knew the man was watching him.
“You wanted me to follow you,” James called into the trees. “so, what do you want?”
Silence once more and he could feel his muscles tense with anticipation. There was no way of knowing if this stranger meant him harm or not.
A twig snapped, and James spun to meet the man’s stare. He stayed some yards away, a safe distance for now, but James knew he didn’t want him any closer. The judging look in his eyes was more than a little off-putting, as if he were sizing James up for something he wasn’t aware of.
Still, James stood his ground. He already had a fair idea of who this man was, and it was about time they faced one another. Days and nights spent waiting were at an end.
“Who are you?” James demanded, hoping that playing the fool might give him some advantage.
The man took a few steps forward, the grass crinkling beneath his feet as he walked. “My name’s Bart Croxen. I’m sure you’ve already heard of me.”
James started to retreat, but then caught himself and sent out the first wave of dominance in an attempt to make it known that he wasn’t going to give in so easily. Why didn’t Will tell him that Bart was a werewolf? Surely if he was captured, he would have known it the moment they neared one another. Will knew that James was a werewolf the instant he rowed close to The Burning Rose, so there would have been no excuse for not knowing what Bart was. Either Will could swear through a double deal-board or he purposefully withheld this bit of insight for a certain reason.
The privateer stopped, but didn’t cower as other men did under the unseen power of his wolf. Instead, he donned an approving look.
“I hadn’t expected much from a loup-garou who was brought up with no training to speak of, but you’ve surprised me.”
James’ eyes narrowed. “Loup-garou?”
The Pirate (The Legacy Series Book 5) Page 10
