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

by Michelle Beattie

  “As I will again,” he murmured.

  Slapping the bowsprit he ducked underneath it and strolled toward the quarterdeck. The hatch to his cabin opened as he approached. Aidan’s silence and serenity disappeared in an imagined puff of smoke when Sarah stepped out.

  “It’s late,” he stated as he skirted around her and took the steps to the quarterdeck.

  The hatch closed behind him and with resignation he heard her footsteps on the stairs. He tossed aside the looped rope he’d kept on the wheel to keep the ship straight and stared over the darkened deck to the sea ahead. Her skirts swished as she moved beside him and rested her hands on the rail overlooking the main deck. Small hands with slim fingers and delicate wrists he could easily encircle with his own. Remember who she is. Aidan yanked his attention back to steering his ship.

  “You’re lucky.”

  At the moment it was the last thing he felt. “How’s that?”

  “You have all this,” she gestured with a sweep of her arm. “The ship, the open water, the wind on your face. You can go wherever you please, whenever you please. I’ve yearned for such freedom.”

  Once upon a time he had as well and he’d never forgotten what it felt like to be without. “I know what I have, Sarah, and I’m thankful for it every day.”

  “Then why risk it to go after my father? You said yourself he’s violent and heartless. Why would you endanger yourself in such a way?”

  “He needs to be punished for what he’s done and if I need to give my life for that to happen, so be it.”

  “It was so awful? What he did?”

  “Sarah,” Aidan sighed. “Go to sleep.”

  “If I could I would still be in your cabin.”

  He frowned. “Is something wrong? If Carracks is too loud, you’ve only to drop a cloth over his cage.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with your cabin, it is quite lovely, in fact. And Carracks is good company, as you said he’d be. It’s my thoughts.” She peered at him. “Do you ever have times when your mind won’t stop? When your thoughts keep racing and churning no matter how tired you are?”

  He’d been living exactly that since remembering Cale was his father. “On occasion,” he replied.

  “What do you do?”

  “What you’re doing, I suppose. I walk, I get some air.” He looked at her. “A glass of rum doesn’t hurt.”

  “I’ve never had rum.”

  “Never?”

  She shook her head. “I’ve only ever drunk wine and that wasn’t until…”

  “Until?”

  “The night you arrived.”

  “The very night you were trying to escape.”

  She looked away. “Yes.”

  When she’d mentioned she’d planned to escape he’d been intrigued, but he’d had little time to think on it since. There was no point in asking why she’d attempt it as it was clear she’d been trying to flee her own prison, but it was the how that amused him.

  “And plying your maid with wine and dressing as her was part of your plan?”

  “I convinced her to help me celebrate my birthday. It wasn’t so difficult really, as I mostly told her the truth.”

  When she glanced at him he encouraged her to explain.

  “I’d never had wine, never had an evening with someone I considered a friend. I told her I feared I’d spend the rest of my life having never really experienced it. She was afraid at first.” She met his gaze. “Both of my father and of Mrs. Bingham.”

  “But you convinced her?”

  “I told her I knew of her affair with Jacob.”

  “And you blackmailed her? Told her if she didn’t go along with your plan you’d tell your father about them?” So she wasn’t so very different from Roche after all. His disappointment should have been a relief-now this attraction to her would surely wither. Instead it made him angry.

  “Of course not! She’s in love with a man who makes her feel cherished and beautiful, someone she clearly feels passionate about. All I wanted was to know what that felt like, just once.”

  He didn’t doubt the truth of her words and while it would be simpler if she were heartless like her father, he was glad she wasn’t. It eased his conscience to know he wasn’t simply drawn to her beauty.

  “And did you?” He couldn’t help but wonder. “Learn what it felt like?”

  Sarah tipped her chin to her chest. He was certain had it been daylight he would have seen embarrassment burning her cheeks. He had to strain to hear her words and was charmed when she refused to look at him.

  “I did.”

  Hunger rushed through him as he envisioned showing her what passion felt like. Nothing, he’d learned, compared to feeling warm skin sliding against warm skin, to hearing the rushed breath of a lover to—

  Aidan reached out and grabbed her arm, pulled her toward him. “Take the wheel.”

  “Have you gone mad? I know nothing of sailing; this is my first time on a ship!”

  He positioned her in front of him, placed her hands on the wheel. Having her nestled between him and the wheel, her silky hair tickling his chin was not his wisest move considering his already lustful thoughts.

  “See that bright star to the left of the moon?” He pointed to the right of the mainmast.

  “Yes.”

  “Notice how close it is to the mast?”

  “Yes.”

  “Keep it just that way and you’ll be fine.” Before he could step away she turned her head, looked up at him. She was taller than most women he knew and her mouth was close, much too close for him to breathe properly.

  “You won’t leave me for long, will you?” she asked, her breath a soft brush across his jaw.

  Bloody hell he needed that rum! “I’ll be back soon.” Cringing at the gruffness in his voice, at the desire simmering through him, Aidan tromped down the stairs to the main deck then through the hatch and down more stairs to the galley.

  Because it had been dark above as well his eyes didn’t need any time to adjust to the dimness. Yet he stopped, leaned against the wall and tipped his head back until it thudded against the wood. Deliberately, he drew in one deep breath after another until he could only smell the dampness of the ship rather than the sweetness of Sarah. Ridding himself of the memory of how she felt pressed against him wasn’t so easily done but he suspected rum would help. With that in mind and knowing every plank and corner of the Revenge, Aidan made his way to the galley.

  He’d had his men purge the ship of not only Roche’s men but of anything that belonged to them. Then, as he’d made sail, he’d had them restore the ship to the way it had always been. And it had been done, he saw after he’d lit a lamp and reached into a cupboard removing the full bottle of rum. He took down two cups, left one empty on the counter. Pulling the cork with his teeth, he splashed some amber liquid in the other.

  “To the irony of life,” he muttered and gulped it down.

  It burned as he knew it would and the brief fire in his gullet was a welcomed distraction. Unfortunately, it didn’t last near long enough nor did it change the fact that his enemy’s daughter was on his ship, currently steering his ship, and all he could think of was how she’d smelled and felt.

  Perhaps, back at Roche’s, he’d taken a harder blow to the head than he’d realized.

  “If only it were so simple,” he said as he grabbed the bottle with one hand and the two cups with the other. He extinguished the flame before leaving the galley.

  He nearly dropped everything when he returned and saw how upset she was.

  “What happened?” he asked, leaping up the last two steps to the quarterdeck.

  Her tear-filled eyes pulled at his heart. “I’ve watched ships sail by, imagined what it would feel like to be on one of them, to have such freedom.” Her chin trembled and it took her a moment before she could continue. “I never believed I would be given the chance to not only be on one, but to steer it as well. Even when I was planning my escape, I knew I wouldn’t get far, knew
it would take a miracle for me to get away on a ship. I had no currency and no idea how long it would take for my father or his men to find me.”

  “Yet it didn’t stop you from going through with it.”

  “I had to try. I’d hoped no matter how far I got, it would convince my father to finally hear me, to see that I wasn’t happy.” Her smile was sad. “Do you know I’ve experienced more in the days I’ve known you than I have in my entire life?”

  He wasn’t sure which made him more uncomfortable, her gratitude or her sadness. He poured her a small amount of rum into one of the cups and passed it to her.

  She looked from it to the wheel and he chuckled at her indecision. “You don’t have to choose, Sarah. You can have both.”

  “Oh, but—”

  “Take one hand off the wheel, it will be fine.” He reached the cup out further and this time she took it. Taking the position she had earlier, he leaned against the railing, pouring himself a much more generous amount then set the bottle at his feet.

  Sarah continued to hold the cup and the wheel; her eyes remained locked on the sky and the mast. She had yet to taste the rum but at least her eyes were dry. Content to watch her, Aidan sipped as he studied how her brow creased in concentration, how the hand on the wheel gripped it as though if she let go the ship would spin out of control or suffer some sort of catastrophe. The splash of the waves played an accompanying tune to the creaking ropes.

  From time to time, she lowered her gaze, though not for longer than a blink or two, to look about the ship. He knew without turning what she saw; moonlight reflecting off the polished deck, the sails glowing white and most everything else cast in dark shadow. It wasn’t those things that softened the fear from her face, drew up the corners of her generous lips. It was the sheer perfection of feeling small yet powerful. Of feeling free.

  It was only after he realized he had no knowledge of how long he’d been staring at her that he shoved away from the rail.

  “I’ll take her now,” he said.

  Sarah cast a last longing look down the deck before relinquishing the wheel. Aidan’s palm closed over the wood and feeling the warmth her touch had left behind did strange things to his insides.

  “Are you not going to try the rum?” he asked before drinking some of his own.

  They’d once again switched positions and she stood with the rail at her back. She brought the cup to her lips and sniffed. “It doesn’t smell anything like wine.”

  “Nor will it taste similar. You will be wise to sip it slower than wine as well.”

  “Ah, well, I haven’t had much practice with wine either.” Still, she seemed to heed his warning and slowly tipped the cup to her lips. “Oh.” She blew out a breath, licked her lips. “It is quite good.”

  “Indeed,” he commented, his focus gripped by the sheen on her lips. They’d taste like rum now. But warmer. Sweeter. He cleared his throat.

  “I can see why you like it.”

  “The rum?” He shrugged. “I enjoy a glass now and again.”

  “I meant sailing. It’s exciting and wonderful and freeing at the same time. You just want it to go on forever. Have you ever experienced anything else like it?”

  “A time or two,” he replied, glad the shadows would mask his desire.

  She took another sip. “Why did you let me take the wheel? When I first came on deck you had it tied, couldn’t you have done so again when you went to fetch the rum?”

  “I could, yes, but I thought you’d appreciate the opportunity.”

  “I did, very much, and I realize now I never thanked you for it.”

  “It was nothing.”

  “Perhaps to you, but to me it was everything.” She covered her mouth as she yawned. “It appears the rum is working. I think I’ll be able to sleep now.”

  “Be sure to cover Carracks’ cage or he’ll have you up at dawn.”

  He expected her to walk by him but instead she stopped, set a hand on his shoulder, pushed up onto her toes and kissed his cheek.

  “Thank you, Aidan. You’ve been most kind.”

  Her skirts swept across his boots and her shoulder brushed his as she left him alone on the deck. His body hummed from the heat of her touch, the softness of her kiss, and the remembered glistening of her lips after she’d tasted the rum.

  He gulped down what was left in his cup. He had a feeling it was going to be a long night.

  *

  Sarah’s dreams were troubled. Her mind fitfully leapt from one gruesome nightmare to another. It began with Aidan, charging into her father’s house and murdering him while he slept. Her father’s eyes had only a moment to widen in fear before they hollowed in death. Then it changed to Aidan and her father locked in a fierce battle of knives and fists and both had streams of blood running down their faces. She’d sensed that when it was done, they’d both be dead.

  The worst, however, was one in which her father found the Revenge, blasted the ship then somehow magically strode unscathed through the smoke and flames in search of Aidan. With a look in his eye she’d never seen before, he came upon a wounded and helpless Aidan. She screamed as he drew his sword, rushed to protect Aidan. With a hard slap across her face, her father told her he’d never loved her, that she was less than a trinket to him. Screaming, unable to get to her feet, Sarah had watched helplessly as her father swiped his sword and beheaded Aidan.

  She awoke in a tangle of skirts and blankets, her heart racing, her damp nightdress clinging to her back. It didn’t take long to realize where she was and that it had only been a nightmare. “It didn’t happen.” She crooned as she drew up her knees and wrapped her arms around them.

  The hatch opened. “Sarah? Are you all right?”

  Hearing his voice, even after realizing it was only a bad dream, flooded her with relief. He was alive; he hadn’t been hurt.

  “Sarah?” When she heard his boots on the ladder, she scrambled out of her tangle of blankets and off the bed. She raced into his arms the moment he was on the decking.

  Sarah clung to him, overwhelmed with gratitude that he was alive, that his head remained where God intended. His hands were on her shoulders, and she resisted when he tried to ease her away. She’d be mortified later, but for now she needed his comfort. He must have come to the same realization because his arms came around her back and instead of pushing her away he drew her closer.

  When he settled his chin on her head, stroked her back with a firm yet gentle hand, Sarah released a trembling breath as the horror of her nightmares began to fade. With every exhale her fear lessened and the knots in her stomach loosened. It wasn’t long before she remained in his arms not because she needed to be held, but because she wanted to. Because even without the passion Sophia spoke of, it was wonderful to be hugged. When her father held her, and she could count on one hand the times he had, he always kept his arms loose, kept himself a bit distanced. And always it was over within seconds.

  However, she didn’t want to take advantage of Aidan’s kindness. Taking a last breath to appreciate the smell and feel of him, she reluctantly lowered her arms and stepped out of his embrace.

  Feeling discomfited, wishing she’d have blown out the light before falling asleep, Sarah cleared her throat. She couldn’t bear to look him in the eye and instead chose to focus over his shoulder.

  “I’m sorry to throw myself at you in such a manner. I was having terrible nightmares and I woke up and then you were here and I—” She shook her head, wished somehow the decking below her feet would open and take her away from this embarrassing situation.

  “What were the nightmares about?” he asked softly.

  “You and my father, killing each other. It was awful.”

  “They were only dreams, Sarah.”

  “Do not do that,” she scolded. “Do not try to placate me. Next you’ll be patting me on the head telling me it will all work out in the end. You promised never to lie to me. You’re as intent on killing my father as you claim he is to kill you. Ther
e is no possible good outcome to this!”

  He took a deep breath, nodded. “You’re right in that I am intent on killing him, and I assure you he is as determined. Where you’re wrong is in the outcome. It will be a good day when Roche Santiago is dead.”

  Her hands curled into fists. “That’s my father you’re speaking of.”

  “Aye. That would be the same father who locked you in a house and would not let you near the sea or the sand. The same father who likely killed a guard when the man tried to show you some compassion. The same father you claim has never listened to you, never truly took your desires or your needs into consideration.”

  “That does not warrant his being murdered!”

  Aidan’s eyes darkened and his mouth flattened. “No, his killing my mother does. His ripping me from my family does. His attempt a few days ago to take the lives of everyone I care about does.”

  Nausea rose in a hot wave. “That’s what you were referring to when you said my father would need to think back to what he did to a boy and his mother? You were the boy.” She was almost afraid to ask. “What happened to your mother?”

  He didn’t even blink. “He killed her.”

  Sarah did some figuring in her head. “You couldn’t have been more than a child.”

  “I was five.”

  Five. A mere babe. The rum sloshed sickeningly in her belly. “Could it be you were mistaken, that it wasn’t truly my—”

  His icy glare stopped her. As did the grief and condemnation swirling in his eyes. When he’d first realized who she was, he’d looked upon her with disdain and she knew he hadn’t seen her as anything more than Roche’s daughter. There had been times since then when he’d looked at her differently. When she felt differently. She’d believed he was seeing Sarah, the woman she truly was.

  It broke her heart that he was once more looking at her as Roche’s daughter.

  “I remember seeing my mother beaten and repeatedly raped. I remember Roche tossing her broken body over the side of his ship as clearly as I remember him selling me into slavery.”