In the Arms of a Pirate (A Sam Steele Romance Book 2)

by Michelle Beattie

  When he hadn’t been able to take one more moment locked within these four walls, he’d realized Sarah, with everything he’d told her, must feel the same way. Chunk had given Aidan a leering grin at his decision to take her, reminding Aidan of the man’s earlier words. But Aidan had merely shaken his head and patted the pistol at his waist. He was hardly taking her for a romantic stroll.

  Still, when Sarah breezed past him, he couldn’t help but notice her scent was as intoxicating as the flowers in the gardens. The fanciful thoughts were new to him and he didn’t care for them. Scowling, he dug the keys from his pocket. The tinkling sound drew Sarah’s attention.

  “We’re leaving the yard?”

  “You object?”

  “No. Not at all but—”

  He slid the key into the gate’s lock. “But?”

  “I’m surprised you trust me enough to take me out.”

  “Oh, I don’t trust you.” He chuckled. “But I trust myself to catch you.”

  The lock opened and, when he pushed open the gate, he finally felt as though he could breathe. He inhaled the salty air while his eyes drank in the sight of moonlight dancing on ripples. As a pirate, he’d seen his share of jewels but none, other than his family and the Revenge, were as priceless to him as the sea.

  Beside him, Sarah stood as motionless as he did. Intrigued, Aidan shifted his attention to her. From the first time he’d clearly seen her face, he’d grudgingly acknowledged she was pretty. Despite having Roche’s eyes, everything else about her appeared soft, delicate. With the late hour, tendrils of her brown hair had escaped their pins and fell enticingly along her cheeks and at the back of her neck. Moonlight played its silvery fingers along her skin.

  He shook his head. These kinds of thoughts needed to stop. He needed to concentrate on Roche, or even Cale and the maelstrom of emotions Aidan felt when he thought of the man. He’d already found himself, several times throughout the day, with his thoughts firmly centered on Sarah. Luckily, Roche was due tomorrow and, once he was rid of the cur, he would get back to his life. A life far removed from all thoughts of Sarah Santiago.

  Feeling better about his wandering thoughts, Aidan began to walk toward the water; certain Sarah would follow and not waste her chance at this bit of freedom. Not only had she and the others been confined to the house since Aidan and his crew had arrived, but he also had the sense she wasn’t allowed outside the gates very often.

  Hearing her fall into step behind him, Aidan strode for the beach. The closer he drew to the water, the calmer he felt. The salty air soothed his lungs and slipped over his shoulders like the comforting arm of a friend. He longed to grab a wheel, to feel the power of a ship in his hands, and the sway of the sea beneath his feet. The gentle lapping of the water, inching near the toes of his boots, was pleasant but he craved the snap of the sails, the splash of the water against the hull. The sense that he was accomplishing something. He looked out over the indigo water, into the darkness beyond. The Revenge was out there, close. By tomorrow, she’d be his and Roche would be—

  Suddenly realizing Sarah wasn’t at his side, Aidan cursed as he turned, his muscles taught and ready to give chase. Only she wasn’t running. It appeared she’d fallen somehow between the gate and where he stood. She was on her hands and knees, fingers spread in the sand. The tension that had gripped him when he’d thought she was escaping slipped away as he walked toward her. He was about to ask her if she’d turned her ankle when he realized what she was doing. Confounded, he watched as she pulled her hands from the sand, studied the stream trickling through her open fingers and then plunged them back into the beach.

  If he hadn’t spent last night and today in her presence and learned for himself she was intelligent and of sound mind, he would think her daft. As he knew she wasn’t, her behavior confused him.

  He crossed his arms. “What are you doing?”

  Both her face and her voice radiated delight when she raised her gaze and said, “It’s so soft! It’s as though the softest silk has broken into the smallest of grains.”

  Perhaps he needed to reconsider his opinion she was of sound mind.

  “You cannot possibly tell me this is the first time you’ve touched sand. You fell onto it last night when you were fleeing.”

  She sat back on her legs. “I did, but I had other things on my mind than the sand. Believe me when I tell you, this is the first time I’ve truly touched it.”

  Even as he shook his head in denial, she was explaining. “Before Jacob, there was another guard, Noah. He’d only started and I’d hoped he wasn’t as strict with the rules as the others. One evening, I approached him at the gate. After a few minutes of conversation I began to hint at how lovely it would be to just once go past the gates and—”

  “You’d never been outside those walls?” Surely she was jesting.

  “Until yesterday, when I tried to escape? No.”

  “Why the hell not?” he sputtered.

  None of this was making any sense. He knew she was sheltered, but to never have been beyond the walls?

  All the joy fell from her face as she looked away. “I was forbidden.”

  “But—”

  “At any rate,” she continued, “he seemed horrified, especially when I impressed upon him I’d never felt the sea, nor touched the sand. He dug out his keys—”

  “Then you have felt it?” he accused.

  She had to be lying. He wanted her to be lying, because he didn’t want to feel this pity and concern for her.

  Her laugh held no humor. “He’d barely put the key in the lock before Simmons and another guard came racing out of the house, shouting. Simmons yelled at me, cursed vilely at Noah. Simmons grabbed the keys, the other guard struck Noah.” She looked down at her own hands, which she’d curled in her lap. “More than once and hard enough I heard bones cracking.”

  Aidan did some cursing of his own. She had every servant she could need, a grand garden, and comfortable home. It was clear Roche only wanted the best for his daughter. Why, then, would he refuse her the simplest, most basic things?

  Had it been anyone but Roche, he would not believe it. But Aidan knew how ruthless the man was, had lived through it firsthand. And she would have nothing to gain by pretending. There was no purpose in lying and yet the truth was difficult to comprehend.

  She was about to have her eighteenth birthday and she was only now touching sand? By eighteen, he’d already seen dozens of islands in the Caribbean, had lived a good portion of his life at sea. He’d swum in rivers, lakes, and the ocean. He’d fought battles, helped build ships and discovered the joys of sex. He tried to put himself in her place and found he couldn’t. He’d suffered in his twenty years but he’d also loved, laughed, and, most importantly, lived.

  Damn it. It was one thing to suspect she hadn’t been allowed much freedom. It was another to realize she hadn’t had any.

  “Whatever happened to Noah?”

  “I never saw him again after that day. I assumed Simmons terminated his employment, as it’s his duty to look after the staff in my father’s absence.”

  “If the only thing he lost was his job he’d be a fortunate man, indeed.”

  “Are you saying he was killed for trying to take me through the gate?”

  “It wouldn’t surprise me.”

  She looked away but not before he saw the frown crease her brow and pull at her mouth. Aidan rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. He felt as though he’d just ripped one of his nephew’s favorite toys out of his hand.

  “I don’t suppose you’ve had a chance to dip your fingers in the sea, then?”

  Her head came around slowly and he hated the wariness that haunted her eyes when she looked at him. “This is the closest I’ve been to it,” she whispered.

  Even assuming so, it troubled him to hear the words. “Go on, if you want.”

  “And you won’t stop me if I try?”

  Aidan’s back stiffened. “If I say you can go to the water, I mean i
t.”

  She had the decency to look contrite. “I’m sorry. I haven’t had much opportunity in my life to do what I want, when I want. I was afraid to hope.”

  Oh, how Aidan knew that feeling. He’d been eight when Sam had offered him freedom from slavery and the plantation. He’d hesitated as well, not daring to believe his biggest wish could possibly come true.

  “If you thought the sand wonderful wait until you feel the sea.”

  Her teeth shone like pearls and she scrambled to her feet. He followed her to the water’s edge. He couldn’t say he felt at ease staring out in the darkness, but he reluctantly admitted it wasn’t unpleasant having her at his side, murmuring her delight.

  If she were anyone but Roche’s flesh, he thought as he watched her fingers dance through the lapping water, he’d kneel down beside her, hold her hand within his own and experience this with her. He’d tempt her with the idea of a late night swim, wearing nothing but the moonlight.

  He moved down the beach, needing to get away from her delight, her innocence, and the temptation she was becoming. Her father had murdered his mother, sold him into slavery, and nearly managed to kill everyone he called family. While he knew it would infuriate Roche if Aidan were to act upon his urges, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself. Aye, he’d been prepared to use her as leverage, but he’d never intended to hurt her. There would be no satisfaction in taking her innocence simply to retaliate at Roche.

  Sometimes, Aidan thought, as he looked to Sarah, being noble wasn’t as satisfying as it should be.

  *

  Aidan rubbed at the insistent throbbing between his brows. He should have refused her. He’d be enjoying Roche’s generous stock of rum in peace if he’d only heeded his instincts and refused. Instead, when she’d asked, again, for a moment of his time before she and the others were locked in the cellar for the night, he’d acquiesced.

  Curse his sympathetic heart and her soft, pleading eyes.

  Those same eyes were currently locked onto his.

  “I understand your plight, but I cannot give you what you ask,” he said again. He’d already told her so three times but she simply would not accept his answer.

  “I need to hear it from him.”

  He dropped his hand, sighed. “The only way my plan will work is to catch Roche unaware. I cannot chance him getting away or, worse, hurting my men.”

  “A minute is all I ask,” she pleaded. “I’m not so naïve. I’ve known all along your plan is to kill him. All I am asking is a chance for him to tell me if what you say is true.”

  “Sarah.” Aidan tried again. “If I try to hold him or tie him down there’s a chance he can kill me. If he does, there’s nothing stopping him from going after my family and—”

  “Can you not put yourself in my shoes? Would you not want to hear it directly from him?”

  “Yes, I would. But I don’t believe he’d tell you the truth even if you asked, not after all he’s done to keep you from it. And, as I’ve already told you, repeatedly, giving him a chance to talk is a risk I’m not prepared to take.”

  Her blue eyes shot daggers. “You say my father is heartless and cruel? From where I’m standing, you’re not so very different.”

  Because he was starting to care about her and her situation, because he’d had a moment, even if only a fleeting one, when he’d considered her request, Aidan crossed the floor to stand toe to toe with her.

  “I’m trying to save lives, unlike your father, and if I believed he’d tell you the truth I’d consider your request. The answer is no and arguing won’t change my—”

  The front door suddenly burst open. Aidan had his pistol in his hand before he spun and recognized Jack.

  “He’s coming, Cap’n.” Jack wheezed as he struggled for breath. “Roche is coming.”

  Chapter Seven

  Aidan’s heart kicked hard in his chest. The moment had finally arrived when Roche would pay for his sins.

  “How long?”

  “The Revenge just dropped anchor. We made it ashore before they’d finished lowering the longboat.”

  “Then we have to move fast.” Despite the hammering behind his ribs, his head was clear and he knew, to the last detail, what needed to happen and in which order.

  “No, you don’t,” he said and grabbed Sarah as she tried to run past him. Then, anticipating her, cupped his hand over her mouth when she opened it to scream. “Shut the door, Jacques, and tell the others it’s beginning. I’ll secure her with the servants in the cellar.”

  She fought him hard, kicking and squirming and clawing at his arm as he maneuvered her across the parlor. Flinching when one of her bites sank into his palm, he circled her waist with his other arm and lifted her off the ground and marched into the kitchen. Sarah jerked, thrashed, and screamed as Chunk—who had Jacob in a fierce grip—stood by the open cellar door. Her muffled screams would gain her nothing but a sore throat as Aidan had no intention of giving her a chance, any chance, to warn her father or his crew to what awaited them in the house.

  At the door to the cellar, Aidan twisted her in his arms, slung her over his shoulder, and carried her down the stairs into the dimly lit cellar.

  She screamed as he knew she would—the sound sharp and painful in his ears—but he felt confident it wouldn’t carry far enough to alert anyone. The dirt walls absorbed most of it. He set her down, tried his best to ignore the fear and hurt in her eyes and ran back up the stairs.

  “Curse you and your black heart!” she yelled before Chunk locked the door behind him. Before he heard the tears in her voice.

  No matter what Roche had done to him and his family, and even to Sarah, the fact remained he was the girl’s father and clearly she loved him. Put yourself in my shoes, he remembered her saying, and imagined being shoved in a cellar knowing his parent would be killed while he were unable to help.

  Aidan scoffed. He had been in her shoes. Perhaps he hadn’t been locked in a cellar but what he’d done to her was kinder than what Roche had done to him. At least she wouldn’t be forced to watch her loved one die while being helpless to stop it. But this wasn’t about Sarah. It was about Roche and what the scoundrel deserved.

  Ignoring the pounding on the locked door behind him, Aidan grabbed his pistol, gave Jacob a hard look before signaling Chunk to take the man outside.

  “It begins,” Aidan said as he locked the front door then took his position.

  *

  With Simmons unwilling to divulge anything, despite Chunk’s shoving and threats, Aidan had turned to Jacob for information. The guard had not only witnessed what they were willing to do to accomplish their goal but it was clear he had feelings for the maid, Sophia. Aidan hadn’t been above using the maid to get what he needed.

  And so, as sure as he could be that Jacob had given him every detail, Aidan stepped back into the dining room, ensuring the door remained open as Roche preferred it and doused the lights. When Roche unlocked the door and stepped into the house, he’d see what he normally did, a lone lamp flickering on the table next to the banister and in the parlor, another winking from its perch over the hearth. Normal would end there.

  Time ticked by, heartbeat by heartbeat, accompanied by Sarah’s pounding on the cellar door behind the kitchen. By the time Roche heard her, it would be too late for the ingrate.

  Aidan ran his tongue over his dry lips. He hadn’t bothered with his quiver but he had two pistols, three dirks, his hands, and his determination. His men, too, were heavily armed. They wouldn’t fail this night.

  There, the ping on the window he’d been waiting for. Aidan crouched down, it meant Roche and his men were approaching. He envisioned it in his head, the men strolling down the beach, forming a protective circle around Roche in case an enemy had discovered his home. Then the whistle, as was the signal. If the signal was returned, and Chunk would ensure Jacob returned it, then Roche would deem it safe. If the whistle wasn’t answered, Roche would know his home had been breached.

  In hi
s mind, he heard Jacob’s whistle, saw Chunk fold into the shadows, his pistol on Jacob. He heard the rattling of keys, the squeak of the gate as it opened. Aidan slid his pistol from his sash, pulled the hammer back. It locked into place moments before the keys jingled in the front door. Not imagined, this time, but real. Aidan slid forward on the balls of his feet. He pressed against the wall, to the right of the dining room entryway.

  Before the front door clicked shut Aidan’s men flooded silently through the one in the kitchen. He stood, then, muscles poised, raised his arm and gestured toward the foyer. Then, tightening his hold on his pistol, Aidan moved.

  He fired, leapt, and tumbled to the ground. He grabbed his second pistol. Seven men? Maybe eight? He rolled to his feet, crouched, fired a second shot as gunfire exploded within the parlor. Staying low, Aidan tossed his spent pistol, reached into his boot for his dirk.

  “Cap’n!”

  Aidan spun, kicked out, and knocked the pistol from his adversary’s hand. The shot went wide, thudded into the wall at his back. He plunged his knife into the man’s thigh before he could attack again. Ignoring his piercing scream, Aidan yanked the dirk free, pressed his back to the wall and prepared to attack.

  The only men left standing were his own.

  A cursory look confirmed at least three dead with another four moaning and bleeding on the floor.

  Roche was not among them.

  Aidan clamped his hand around the knife. “He’s not here.”

  Mouth set, he stalked across the foyer, toed the man who gripped his wounded thigh with bloodied hands. “Where’s Santiago?”

  Roche’s man looked up at Aidan with immoral eyes, sneered, and spat at Aidan’s feet.

  Aidan knelt, pressed his blade against the man’s neck. The stench of the man’s sweat was nigh unbearable.

  “Have you ever seen a man without a tongue try to spit? I have. It’s both ugly and impossible.” He dragged the blade across the man’s throat, over his jaw to the corner of his mouth.

  “I’ll ask you again. Where is Santiago?”