Aidan looked past the stern of the Freedom to Morgan’s ship and waved. Morgan swiped his feathered hat off his head and bowed. Aidan shook his head, chuckled. He couldn’t deny the man had flair.
Blake and Nate were equally as solid, if not quite as eye-catching and Aidan signaled to them as well. He’d fought with them before and knew, without a doubt, he had the best behind him.
“I’m grateful,” Aidan said. He leaned over the gunwale, breathed out when there was still no sign of Roche.
“What’s your plan?” Cale asked.
Aidan brought his attention round. Aidan looked from Cale to Sam, to Luke. “We head to Nevis. I don’t think we’ll make it before Roche catches us, but there’s no point sitting and waiting for him here and no point going anyplace else. Peter will have told him that’s where we’re headed.” His eyes once again locked with Cale’s. “I want this done. The sooner Roche is dealt with the sooner we all get on with our lives.”
“Agreed,” Luke chimed in while Cale remained impassive.
It was clear Cale had no idea if Aidan planned on moving on with or without him. Well, that, at least, he knew the answer to.
“Then let’s go,” Luke said.
“We’re short men since the mutiny,” Aidan said, addressing Luke. “I could use Cale, and a few more if you can spare any.”
Luke’s mouth went flat. Sam put her arm around him. “That sounds like a fine idea,” she said and it lightened Aidan’s heart to see she meant it.
Cale clearly had the only approval he needed in Aidan’s. “I’ll grab a line, swing over.”
“Don’t forget your effects,” Sam, as always, the voice of reason.
Cale marched off and when he’d gone below Aidan faced the man who’d given him his name. “Nothing can undo the past eight years, Luke. Nothing.”
Muscles clenched and unclenched in Luke’s jaw. “See you don’t forget that, son.”
Aidan grinned. “Can’t see that I would, but if I did, I’m sure you’d remind me.”
Finally the strain faded from Luke’s face. “Of that you can be sure.” Then as Cale returned, Luke rolled his eyes. “You’re sure about this?”
“I’m sure. Send them over.”
Cale was the first to grab the line. Despite it being Aidan’s idea, his stomach tightened. Minutes ago, he’d feared he’d never get a chance to make things right with Cale and now there he was, swinging from the quarterdeck of the Freedom, over the blue-green waters toward the deck of the Revenge.
Cale let go of the rope and both he and Aidan cringed when he landed hard on his hip. Across the water Luke howled.
“Somehow,” he muttered, “Luke must be to blame.”
“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Aidan agreed, holding out a hand.
Cale paused, looked up.
“Welcome aboard,” Aidan smiled.
Cale’s eyes closed briefly and when he opened them again, they were full of emotion. “No place I’d rather be,” he said as he placed his hand in Aidan’s.
The connection was undeniable. It rippled up Aidan’s arm straight to his heart. Happy memories of him as a young boy flooded Aidan’s head. God, he remembered that smile. The strong hand now clasping his had always been a gentle and teaching hand. He couldn’t remember his father ever having raised his voice. To the core of his being, Cale was a family man and Aidan wasn’t proud of himself for having forgotten it.
“How’s your wound?” Aidan asked. The night of Roche’s attack Cale’s side had been grazed by a pistol shot.
Cale shrugged. “It’s been a few days, doesn’t hurt so bad anymore.”
No, it didn’t appear to as Cale came to his feet, dusted off his trousers and picked up the bag he’d brought over.
“I’m surprised Luke let you come along,” Aidan said, referring to his presence on the Freedom.
“I have Samantha to thank for that.”
“Sam?”
“She was willing to listen to what I had to say, to let me explain.”
As Aidan hadn’t. Another thing he wasn’t proud of. “Sam has a soft heart.”
Cale shook his head. “She’s a hell of a woman. I’ve always admired her but never as much as I do now.” He settled a hand solidly on Aidan’s shoulder. “She raised you to be a fine man and I’ll forever be grateful for the care and love she gave you when I couldn’t.”
Well. Aidan shuffled his feet, tried to rub away the embarrassment that crept along his neck. He certainly didn’t need Cale’s approval but he couldn’t lie, it felt good to have it.
“Son,” Luke yelled from the Freedom.
Relief trickled like water down Aidan’s dry throat. It wasn’t that he feared emotion. He’d been raised by Sam and Luke after all. Emotion ran rampant between them. But it was new with Cale, who’d always kept himself distanced emotionally. Seeing the man’s vulnerability was going to take some getting used to.
Aidan looked starboard and knew by Luke’s set face and Sam’s worried one they’d run out of time. A flick of his glance confirmed it. While they’d been talking, Roche had sailed within sight. Seven ships to their five. He’d survived worse odds.
He looked at Sam, pressed his hand to his heart, and knew she understood what he was saying when she did the same. To Luke, he gave a nod and a salute. Luke answered with a tilt of his head before resting his hands on the small arsenal he had tucked in his sash. Aidan chuckled. He could always count on Luke.
Then he turned to Cale. “You ready?”
“I never dreamed I’d ever find you. I thought you were gone forever.” He drew his pistol. “Roche won’t take my family again. Let’s kill the bastard.”
Despite Aidan’s confidence and faith in his family, they still faced the real possibility of losing not only the battle but one of their own. Nevertheless, he savored the rush of blood streaming through his veins.
Smiling wide Aidan turned to his crew. “Hoist the colors!”
*
It was amazing for Sarah to watch. With very few commands, and even less chatter amongst them, they rushed about the deck. Hands and feet flew as ropes were pulled hand over fist. Canvas marched steadily skyward along the masts before snapping full. Shading her eyes, Sarah looked up, felt a thrill twitter in her stomach as the skull and crossbones unfolded in the wind.
Knowing she only had moments before she had to go below, she drank in the sight of Aidan. He stood with his legs braced apart, the black bandana once again tied around his head. He’d tossed his coat aside and a quiver full of arrows adorned his back. Strong hands that had touched every part of her body held the wheel capably. Whatever came next, Aidan remained the best thing that had ever happened in her life.
Dear God, please don’t let anything happen to him.
Sarah forced her fear and worry for him aside. She hadn’t seen him in battle but she’d witnessed how capably he’d forced his way into her home and taken charge. She had to believe he’d be as successful today. It was going to kill her to stay hidden below, unable to help, unable to know what was happening until it was over. But she’d given him her word. He’d never broken his and she would give him the same courtesy. It was the least she owed him.
It didn’t stop the stabbing pains to her heart, however, as she walked to his side, placed her hand on his arm.
“Please be safe,” she implored.
The serious Aidan she’d first met turned and looked at her. Determination steeled his jaw. “He’s done hurting me and my family.” He cupped her cheek. “He’s done hurting you as well.”
She’d promised herself she wouldn’t cry, wouldn’t add to his worry. Sarah curled her toes in her shoes, gripped his arm, forced herself to speak past the emotion clogging her throat.
“I love you. Thank you for everything you’ve given me.” She kissed his cheek, stepped back.
But Aidan had other plans and he reached out, wrapped his arm around her waist, and hauled her up against him. Wind couldn’t have passed between them. He didn’t simply k
iss her; he plundered, ravaged. His tongue swept through her mouth as though he needed her taste to get through what awaited him. As she felt the same, she hugged him hard, returned the matching passion.
“I need to go,” she gasped, pushing away.
He tipped his forehead to hers, his breathing as uneven as hers. “Don’t come out until either I or one of the crew comes for you.”
“I won’t,” she promised. Then, knowing she’d taken enough of his time, and knowing there was nothing more to say until it was over, Sarah walked away.
She didn’t look back. Couldn’t.
She could only pray it wouldn’t be the last time she saw Aidan alive.
*
“Prepare to jibe!” Aidan yelled.
“That was Roche’s daughter, was it not?” Cale asked.
Aidan didn’t shift his gaze from the men on deck. Jibing demanded everyone pay attention. He couldn’t spare a man, especially not by being careless.
“It was,” he confirmed, ensuring the mainsail was brought in.
“Jibe ho!” he yelled and turned the tiller toward the wind, which in turn moved the ship in the opposite direction. As the boom moved to one side of the ship, the men moved to the other, ensuring minimum amount of heel. “Let out the mainsail!”
With the mainsail once again full, Aidan brought the tiller back to center. Now, just portside of the bowsprit Aidan could see Roche and his armada. His hands flexed on the wheel and he licked his lips. Come on wind, he urged.
“What are you doing with Roche’s daughter?” Cale demanded. His blue eyes were like ice. “That man—”
“I know exactly what that man did,” Aidan cut in. “I was there, both times,” he reminded Cale.
“Then how could—”
“The same way you did with Grace,” Aidan snapped, turning from Cale. “Roll out the guns!” he bellowed, before continuing. “You don’t hold it against Grace that she’s carrying Roche’s child. Will you hold it against the babe?”
“Of course not!”
“Then don’t hold it against Sarah. She’s as blameless in who her father is as the child Grace carries. Don’t”—he held up a finger in warning when Cale started to protest—“say anything you’ll regret later. She could well be my wife one day.”
“Wife?” Cale sputtered. His face mottled red. “Her father killed your mother!”
Aidan went toe-to-toe with Cale. “And you’re going to raise his child as your own. Blameless or not, that babe is part of Roche and could easily grow to be as heartless and vile. Shall I prepare the noose now?”
Cale’s chest heaved then deflated on a troubled sigh. “You made your point.”
“Good. Now, get to work, sailor.” His mouth twitched. This was the first time in four years he’d been able to give Cale an order.
“Aye, Captain. Steele,” he added with a flash of pride.
Aidan waited for him to turn away before he rubbed his hand over his heart. It was so full it was a wonder his chest could contain it.
But he had to set it aside. Roche’s ships were no longer shadows on the horizon. They were clear now—two schooners, two brigantines, a frigate, a corvette, and a sloop against his and Luke’s sloops, Blake’s schooner, Nate’s borrowed corvette, and Morgan’s frigate. Roche’s armada had its colors flying and the gun ports open. The guns had been run out and his men climbed the rigging like spiders, filled the deck like a plague.
Outgunned. Outmanned.
But not to be outdone.
“Load the guns!” Aidan ordered.
On his portside, Blake and Nate did the same. Looking starboard, he saw both Luke and Morgan had beat him to it. He acknowledged them, gave Sam an encouraging smile. He wished, given her condition, she’d do as Sarah was but he knew Luke would have already talked himself blue trying to convince her, and he knew she was staying to fight. If she lost the babe she carried because of him…
No. He refused to even consider the possibility. Nothing would happen to her or her child. She hadn’t come this far, fought this hard to lose now. And neither had he.
It was eerily silent as the ships approached. If there was wind whistling through the sails, Aidan couldn’t hear it. His attention was all on Roche, who steered the lead ship.
“A little closer,” Aidan whispered as he pulled his pistol from his sash. The bow was at his feet and he’d use it, just not yet. Tension and excitement rose around him like a fog. His men were more than ready, had been since the attack at Nate’s. Aidan remembered how he’d recognized Roche, remembered his father. How he’d let Roche escape with the Revenge. He’d been so furious, so shaken. He’d hungered for blood, for justice, hadn’t been able to set out fast enough.
Well the time was nigh and while he was calmer than he’d been that night, his hunger was as keen. There would be justice.
“For you, Mother,” Aidan whispered.
Then, raising his arm in the air, he fired the signal.
Morgan and Luke veered further starboard, Nate and Blake deeper portside. Aidan kept the Revenge straight.
“Steady, men,” he ordered as the distance shrank between his and Roche’s ships. “Steady,” he muttered to himself.
It wouldn’t do to be hasty, to let emotion take control. There would be time for emotion later—he refused to accept otherwise—but now was the time for strategy, cunning.
Luckily for Aidan, he’d learned from the best.
Determination squared his shoulders. With his gaze firmly on Roche, Aidan spun the wheel.
Even before they’d presented a full broadside Aidan yelled.
“Fire!”
Chapter Seventeen
The cannons blasted, belching mouthfuls of smoke. All around him the other ships did the same. The roar was deafening. Shots blew through gunwales, obliterating anything in their paths. Men flew up and back with the impact, as though nothing more than dolls. Screams of agony saturated the air, rushed through Aidan’s ears to wrap cold, dread-filled fingers around his heart.
Don’t be Sam. Don’t be Luke. Don’t be anybody I can’t live without.
Bending low, Aidan raced to the second swivel gun mounted on the quarterdeck. The next volley of shots screamed through the air, including the swivel gun Cale fired.
It was like a thunderstorm without the rain. Nothing as soft as water fell from the sky. Instead shards and slabs of wood pelted down, beating the deck with grim consistency. Aidan aimed his gun for Roche’s quarterdeck, though the smoke was too thick to know if the cur was actually there. But as it was the last place Aidan had seen him, he shot there first.
Boom.
Aidan was blown off his feet. He hit the deck hard, slid and careened into the gunwale on the starboard side. His neck snapped back. The answering crack of his skull against the hull reverberated through Aidan’s head as loud as the blast that had knocked him flat.
Panic seized him as he thought he’d gone deaf. All he could hear was high-pitched ringing. Around him, debris tore through the air, merciless in its targets. Aidan heard none of it. Bloody hell! He shook his head, boxed his ears. Sound exploded through his head once more. Aidan’s breath chugged through his lungs.
“Aidan!” Cale yelled. “God dammit, answer me!”
Cale, blood dripping from a gash on his forehead, crawled toward Aidan.
“I’m all right,” he called and scrambled to his feet.
Both his head and stomach spun. Nausea threatened to erupt like a geyser. Aidan dragged a deep breath through his mouth and nearly choked on the smoke. His eyes burned with it, felt like someone had poked at them with a stick.
He met Cale halfway across the deck, grabbed the man’s arm and pulled him to the gunwale on the port side. Hidden, though certainly not safe, Aidan hurriedly untied his bandana and wrapped it around Cale’s head.
Cale shifted the cloth a bit higher on his forehead. “Thanks.”
Everything about them was different, hair color, eye color, height. And yet seeing Cale in his bandana, Ai
dan saw a trace of resemblance. Nose, lips, cheekbones. Funny nobody had noticed the resemblance in four years.
“It can’t fix your looks,” he teased, needing to relieve the fear he’d seen in Cale’s eyes when he’d thought Aidan hurt, to ease his own as he wondered desperately how the others were faring. “But it should slow the bleeding.”
Aidan peered over the edge of the gunwale. At least Roche’s ship was suffering similar mutilations to his. Gun ports had been decimated, leaving ragged gaping holes in their wake. Guns had toppled and rolled, making them useless.
Some, but not enough. And hell, they’d lit the fuses. Aidan dropped, grabbed Cale and shoved him down. He threw his arms over his head as one shot screamed by, too damn close for Aidan’s peace of mind. A sickening crunching sound filled his ears and the quarterdeck convulsed beneath his cheek as more shots slammed into the Revenge. Hot needles of pain shot through his forearms and hands. Holy hell!
“Jesus,” Cale muttered beside him.
Aidan lowered his arms. It wasn’t Jesus he saw. The shot had punched clear through the boom, rendering it in two. The smaller piece swayed dangerously back and forth. Above it, the ripped sail—split clean from boom to gaff—fluttered uselessly. Around him debris scattered over the deck. The Revenge had its own pieces of gunwale ripped off. The beautiful wheel Sam and Luke had fashioned was half gone. From where he lay, he couldn’t see the main deck but knew he had casualties. Even deaths.
“Load the chain shot,” he ordered Cale as he reached for one of the rounds they’d set on deck earlier. Luckily for them, they hadn’t been lost in the battle.
Cale grabbed his arm. “Look at your hands.”
He did and wished immediately he hadn’t. Wood splinters poked out of his hands and forearms like tiny little bones. Trickles of blood crisscrossed the back of his hands. They burned like the fires of hell. Gnashing his teeth, he yanked the larger pieces out.
“We’re close enough now,” he hollered as pistols and muskets began to replace the cannons. “Fire the chain shot.”
In the Arms of a Pirate (A Sam Steele Romance Book 2) Page 25
