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

by Michelle Beattie

They each only had two, as did the others but if they hit as planned, they should be more than enough. Aidan fired his, then Cale. His missed the main mast but caught Roche’s topsail yard. The chain wrapped around the yard, easily snapping it in two. Cale’s broke through the boom.

  They reloaded and this time fired simultaneously. They both caught the main mast. Wood exploded in every direction. Men scattered and fell, howled in pain as shards stabbed mercilessly. Like a tall tree being felled, wood groaned and creaked. With a roar, Roche’s mast toppled to the deck.

  *

  Sarah had never been so afraid. Under Aidan’s bed she lay hidden and sheltered, as safe as she could be from everything but the heart-stopping noise. She’d screamed with the first shot. The blast had shaken the berth, rattled everything in the room including her teeth. She’d cowered in the blankets, pulled them over her head. Curled into a tight ball, it was every thunderstorm she’d had to endure alone combined into one with no end in sight.

  She prayed like she’d never prayed before, cringed and yelped with every blast. Would the next one come hurtling through the cabin? Had one already harmed Aidan? Were they winning or losing? The ship rocked worse than it ever had, lurching from one side to another. Any loose item that had been on the table or desk had long since tumbled to the floor. Were they going to capsize? Take on water? Oh, God, what if they sank?

  Another blast—they were getting louder, she was sure of it—shook the cabin. Something heavy rolled over her head. Immediately after a man shrieked. Imagining the worst—how could she not—Sarah pinched her eyes closed and pulled her knees closer to her chest. How could Aidan want this? How could he want this kind of life? He couldn’t know going into battle whether he was going to live or die and yet it didn’t bother him. It couldn’t if he wanted to remain Sam Steele.

  She’d lived her life in confinement and she’d yearned for more. But it was walking on sand and having friends she was after. Doing ordinary things such as frolicking in the sea, strolling through a forest. Going to market.

  She’d lied. She’d lied to Aidan and she’d lied to herself. She’d believed she was no longer the naïve girl he’d first met but it was clear she was. While she certainly had no desire to live her life confined, she couldn’t imagine living this way either. Hiding scared and alone, not knowing if she would live to see the sunset. If any of them would.

  Foolishly, she’d hoped to have a life with Aidan once this was over. She’d even imagined herself going along on his voyages. She enjoyed the ocean, the rocking of the ship, the speed. The smell of sea air that clung to her clothes and skin at the end of the day. Living on a ship had appealed to her, the idea of seeing new ports, experiencing what she’d only read in books. Until now. Now she knew she couldn’t do it.

  The next shot blew just above the cabin like a rabid beast, its roar dripping with blood and death. Sarah shuddered, tears warmed her cheeks. She was going to die; they were all going to die.

  Then somehow, through her fear and between the thundering clamor overhead, she heard the scraping. It took her a moment to place what it was and when she recognized it, she let out a watery breath. It was Carracks rattling his cage. She’d forgotten all about him when she’d come below, easily done when she’d not seen him, and he hadn’t made a sound. He was making one now.

  He had to be as scared as she was, thinking he too was alone in this nightmare. Suddenly, that was all that mattered to Sarah. She couldn’t stand another minute alone. Kicking and shucking the blankets aside, Sarah belly crawled from underneath the bed. Without the benefit of covers and the bed to muffle it, the blaring sound assaulted her as though she was being struck by a battering ram.

  Her legs were unsteady beneath her as she wobbled to her feet. She spotted the wrapped cage tucked underneath the ladder and, despite everything, she felt a tug in her heart. He’d covered the bird, tied the cage to a wrung of the ladder. He’d done as much as he could to ensure its safety, as he’d done for hers. She hoped it would be enough.

  “I’m coming,” she told the frantic bird as he rattled the cage incessantly.

  But she’d only taken two steps when the shot blasted through the cabin.

  *

  Aidan wiped the sweat dripping from his brow. His eyes and throat burned from the combination of cannon smoke and mixed chemicals from the stinkpots his crew had tossed onto Roche’s ship. Sulfur rode through the air, gleeful as a witch on a broomstick. Aidan abandoned the swivel gun, preferring now that they were closer to use the bow. It was more accurate and a hell of a lot easier on his ringing ears.

  He notched an arrow, aimed for those manning the guns. The faster he rid himself of those, the less damage could be done to his ship. As he let the arrow fly and reached for another, he acknowledged his precious ship had already suffered its worse battle yet. And it was anything but over.

  Pistol shots thudded into the mast, tore through the sails, and bore viciously into flesh. One whizzed past his head. He ducked, scooted along the gunwale and came up, bow at the ready. Aidan set his sights on the next gun in line. The man intent on lighting the fuse never had a chance as Aidan’s arrow plunged silently into his neck. His eyes widened. Blood bubbled from his throat. Aidan reached back and grabbed another arrow.

  “Look out for the grab hooks!” he yelled as they began to arc over, digging their teeth into the gunwale of the Revenge.

  “Kill those flea-invested bastards!” Lucky yelled as he fired a pistol from first his right then his left hand.

  Aidan was dimly aware of his men scrambling about, firing muskets, pistols, stinkpots. They cursed and snarled and Roche’s crew responded in kind. He’d lost Cale in the chaos, but if anyone could handle himself it was Cale. Aidan had his own problems.

  He was fast running out of arrows and despite the staccato of firing weapons, Roche’s men were swinging over, like spiders on webs. Dammit! He grabbed another arrow.

  “Cap’n!” He heard over the cracking of shots, the clang of blades slapping blades.

  It all happened at once. A brick wall slammed into Aidan. Something burned across his middle. Knocked flat on his back, arms spread wide, Aidan gasped as what felt like one of the seven-pound guns landed on his chest.

  “Cap’n, you hurt?”

  Before Aidan could respond, Chunk leapt to his feet, sliced his sword at an oncoming attacker. Aidan pulled a deep breath into his lungs. His stomach was on fire but there wasn’t time to assess the wound. A giant of a sailor was coming at him, cutlass dripping with blood. Blood from one of Aidan’s men. His lips pulled back. Pulling out an arrow, Aidan notched it and pulled on the bow. The projectile punctured the man’s black heart.

  The pirate fell face forward and Aidan rolled out of the way to keep from being flattened again. Burning pain radiated across his stomach. Aidan hissed, dared look down. Blood, red as the richest wine, seeped through his dark shirt. Cold. He suddenly felt cold. Fearing the worst, he ripped open the garment.

  “Looks like you’ll live,” Chunk said, smacking him on the shoulder before racing ahead to meet his next attacker.

  Heat seeped back into his body. A graze wouldn’t keep him down. He yanked an arrow from the quiver, cursed as only half appeared in his hand. Chunk’s landing on him must have broken the rest. Tossing it aside, Aidan hurriedly shrugged out of the quiver, wincing as his wound screamed. Graze or not, it hurt like a bloody demon. He drew his pistol from his sash, intent on aiming for anyone manning the guns on the deck of Roche’s ship.

  “Argh!”

  Aidan spun, ducked as a blade swiped over his head. Then, still crouched, fired into the man’s chest. Dammit that was his last shot. He was down to his sword now. He threw his pistol aside, pulled his sword from the scabbard.

  Still on the quarterdeck, Aidan hacked and feinted. He advanced, lunged, deflected. Knowing he didn’t want to waste too much energy—he was saving that for Roche—Aidan cut down his opponents as fast as he could. He read their bodies for clues and when they glanced to
his right Aidan was ready with the block. He knew when their muscles tensed prior to attack and he caught the downward motions mid-swing with the flat of his sword, swinging the opposing blades aside and counterattacking with the edge of his. He thrust, parried. Aidan’s sword was never still. When the blades clashed together, he put his weight behind him, shoved the opponents back. They tripped over debris, bodies, guns. One fell down the stairs of the quarterdeck where Cale happened to be ready with his own blade. The others Aidan dealt with until his arm throbbed and the sword felt heavy as a mast. He bloody hoped they were winning, he thought as he skirted the debris.

  A cannon thundered another shot. He had time only to think that he’d believed all guns spent before the cannonball blew its way into his ship, directly under his feet. He’d never been in an earthquake but knew those who had and it was as they’d described it. The quarterdeck shuddered. Tremors rocked from his feet up to his teeth and for a moment he thought the whole deck would collapse beneath him.

  Aidan grabbed what was left of the wheel, ready to hang on if the quarterdeck fell into his cabin.

  Oh, God. His cabin.

  Sarah!

  With the deck still quaking beneath him, with his heart in his throat, Aidan rushed for the stairs. Ropes swung in his face and he slapped them aside. He leapt over the dead, hacked at anything that stood in his way. He had to get to Sarah. Make sure she wasn’t hurt…or worse.

  She wouldn’t be the only one, he knew. And when he jumped to the deck he saw it firsthand. Amid the carnage of shredded and fallen sails, tipped over guns, scattered chunks of gunwale and mast, sightless eyes seemed to look right through him. If he found Sarah like that he’d die himself. His life was better with her in it; he was better with her beside him.

  But first he had to get to—

  He stopped dead. One of the guns had been knocked back. It had rolled onto its side and currently covered the hatch to his cabin.

  Aidan bared his teeth, kicked aside a mangled lantern. God dammit, the gun weighed well over a thousand pounds, he couldn’t move it by himself.

  “Aidan, behind you!”

  He barely heard Cale’s voice in time but the moment he did he pivoted, brought up his blade. It clanged hard against another, sending tingles searing up his arm. Fueled with fear for Sarah, Aidan shoved back and didn’t stop. The pirate’s eyes spewed evil and filth, but Aidan kept his blade tight against his and using his weight as leverage, forced the man to keep moving backward. He backed directly into Lucky’s waiting blade.

  Aidan brought his own to his brow and saluted his crewman. Lucky, sweat and blood dripping from his face, barely acknowledged him before continuing the charge. The numbers were dwindling. Less and less men engaged in battle. Among those moving he recognized a good handful of his own crew, including Cale, Lucky, and Chunk. Maybe the tide had turned. He could only hope, but first he had to find a way to move the cannon.

  Ropes. Ropes would do it. Aidan raced across the deck to the main hatch. Glass from the tossed and mangled lanterns crunched under his boots. Next to the main hatch the longboat had fallen from its perch. While the stern of it covered the access to below, it at least didn’t weigh as much. Bending, he easily shoved it aside.

  A blade slithered over his shoulder, stopped him cold.

  “We meet again.”

  A cannonball dropped in Aidan’s stomach. Roche. He hadn’t forgotten the sound of the bastard’s voice. It dripped satisfaction, victory. Aidan slowly straightened. The victor had yet to be declared and, to his mind, it wasn’t going to be Roche. The scoundrel would have been wise to kill him when he wasn’t looking. Instead, he’d wanted to gloat. It was a mistake Aidan intended to see Roche didn’t live to regret. Turning, Aidan faced his enemy.

  Roche’s greasy brown hair was parted severely down the middle, likely held there with the same grease that curved the tip of his mustache. His clothes were splattered with blood, as was the hand that slid the cutlass from Aidan’s shoulder. While he appeared no worse for wear from either today’s battle or the one at Nate’s, Aidan knew the man had taken an arrow to his right arm and a shot in the leg.

  He intended to use that information to his advantage.

  “You’d have saved us a lot of time and energy if you’d just gone home for Sarah’s birthday.”

  “Ah, well, where would the fun have been in that? We’d have missed all this,” he said, stretching his arms wide.

  While Aidan kept his eyes on Roche he was nonetheless aware of Cale’s steady approach. His father ducked under the bowsprit and crept steadily toward the windlass. A shame everyone’s pistols were spent, Aidan thought as otherwise Cale could have finished Roche. At least he hoped they were all spent, including the two tucked in Roche’s colorful sash.

  “Actually,” Aidan goaded, “we had quite a bit of fun at your house. A shame you weren’t there to see it.”

  Aidan had a suspicion about Roche’s treatment of his daughter and he knew he’d hit the mark when, despite his cackle, Roche’s eyes glittered with hatred.

  “Do you think to shock me with the fact that you and your crew had your turns with her? No man worth his salt would pass that up.”

  Aidan leaned forward. “The crew didn’t have her. Only I had the pleasure of the feast. And you’re right.” Aidan licked his lips. “She was too good to pass up.”

  Roche’s smile turned to ice. “Sarah is but a whore now. She means nothing to me.”

  “Ah,” Aidan agreed, keeping his grip ready on his sword. “I suppose compared to your saintly Evangeline, nobody can compare. Tell me, did she also taste like—”

  Roche’s attack was expected and Aidan parried, easily defending himself. Lunging, he riposted and kept the attack, forcing Roche to step back.

  “Sarah must look a lot like your Evangeline”—he continued to taunt—“for you to lock her away and treat her as a monument.”

  Roche dug in, locked swords with Aidan then shoved back. Aidan knew the man wasn’t trying to win. Not yet. Like a cat with a mouse, Roche seemed content to play.

  “Sarah is nothing like her mother,” Roche spat. “Evangeline was perfect.”

  “And you thought by keeping Sarah the same way you were somehow resurrecting the dead?” Aidan shook his head. “The woman’s nothing but ash by now, Santiago. Let her go.”

  Roche roared, sword slashing wildly. Aidan intercepted every strike, countered by shoving, hacking. He brought his sword down time and again, different sides, different angles, trying to force Roche into using his wounded arm. Aidan’s breath soughed through his lungs. His damned wound throbbed like a tolling bell. God dammit, Roche must have a high tolerance for pain, he thought as he shoved his loose hair out of his face.

  That was all the time it took for Roche to pull a pistol, aim and fire. The blast stopped Aidan’s heart. Only it wasn’t him Roche had targeted; it was Cale.

  Cale hit the ground.

  “No!” Aidan yelled, whirling back to Roche.

  “Steele deserves to die,” Roche grunted as his blade rang against Aidan’s.

  Aidan didn’t bother correcting Roche. It mattered little who carried the title of Steele now. All that mattered was Cale was down, very likely so was Sarah and he had no idea how the rest of his family was doing. Since he couldn’t hear anything besides his sword clashing with Roche’s, he knew the battle was over for the others. And he was done taunting Roche. Now, he wanted him dead.

  Their skills, however, were evenly matched and even Aidan’s burning hatred offered little advantage. Their blades clanged together, hard jabs that shook his teeth, pealed in his ears until he hardly heard them any longer. His muscles strained, every time he lifted the cutlass it seemed to take a bit longer but he kept at it, surprised sparks didn’t fly from the heated blades.

  Sweat trickled in and burned Aidan’s eyes. The metallic taste of blood was strong on his tongue. Growling, their swords pressing against each other, Roche shoved Aidan back. Aidan gulped in air, tried to blink the
sting out of his eyes. He didn’t rest, but coiled to strike again.

  Roche beat him to it. But instead of coming at him with his blade, he grinned and pulled out his remaining pistol. Only once it was pointed at Aidan did Roche drop his cutlass to the deck.

  Roche wiped his brow with his sleeve. He too was heaving.

  “Apparently, you’ve failed in avenging your poor mother.” Roche laughed. “But then, how did you put it? She’s nothing but ash by now anyway.” He leaned forward, reveling in his victory. “Best to let her go.”

  Aidan wasn’t about to let Roche get to him. “Is that the best you have?”

  Roche lifted his pistol, turned it left to right. “No, whelp. This is.”

  “This one’s better.”

  Both Roche and Aidan’s gaze whipped to the side. Cale was on his feet, a pistol aimed at Roche as he limped steadily forward.

  “That pistol’s spent,” Roche sneered.

  “Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, you only have one shot and there are two of us.”

  “Make that three. And I know for damn certain my pistol isn’t spent.”

  Everyone’s glance cut to Luke, who stood on the gunwale of Roche’s ship, pistol aimed at Roche. Aidan didn’t waste a moment. With his enemy’s attention elsewhere, he tucked his hand into his boot, pulled out his dirk and threw the knife. It sunk to the hilt into Roche’s shoulder.

  Roche jerked, spun. The pistol fell to the ground. It fired, but missed wide.

  “Luke, don’t shoot!” Aidan ordered as he tossed his cutlass aside and charged Roche. Suddenly Aidan had energy to spare and he pulled his fist back and rammed it into Roche’s face. The sound of bone cracking had never sounded sweeter.

  Roche screamed in agony as his nose broke and blood gushed into his mouth. Aidan showed as little mercy as he’d been given and hit him again, this time kicking him in his wounded leg. Roche fell to the deck.

  “Don’t touch him,” he barked when Cale stepped closer.

  Aidan reached for his sword. Rage blinded him to everything but this man and what he’d done. To his mother, to him. To his father, he thought looking at Cale. To Grace and Sarah and everyone else he’d hurt over the course of his sorry life.