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

by Michelle Beattie

  “It was a lot to accept.”

  Aidan nodded. “It was. I needed time to sort it out, make sense of things.”

  Cale was a master of stoic expressions and the one he wore was impossible to read. “And now?”

  “I remember some things, from before.” Aidan leaned against the gunwale. “You taught me to fish.”

  Cale nodded. “You used to beg me to take you, from the time you tottered out of bed in the morning until we laid you in your bed at night.”

  “I remember riding on your shoulders.” Aidan took a deep breath. “You were a good father, I remember that.”

  Cale’s voice filled with emotion. “You and your mother were my pride and joy. There hasn’t been a day I haven’t thought of you, missed you both until I thought I’d die with the missing.”

  Aidan ran a hand over his tight neck muscles. “That’s why you drank? Those few times a year when you got drunk?”

  Cale dipped his head. “Birthdays and our anniversary.”

  Aidan jerked. “When is my birthday?”

  “The nineteenth day of August, sixteen hundred forty four.”

  “You didn’t even have to think about that.”

  Cale’s gaze never wavered. “As I said, there hasn’t been a day I haven’t thought of you.”

  “And I accused you of not caring, of forgetting. I’m sorry. Even as I said it, I knew it was a lie. I always knew you were mourning family.” He shrugged. “I just never imagined I was part of that family.”

  Cale’s laugh held no humor. “I wish I could explain why I never recognized you. You look so much like your mother; I should have seen it right away.”

  “Well, you last saw me I was five and you didn’t see me again until I’d had my sixteenth birthday. Not only had I changed and had a completely different name, you had no reason to believe I was alive.”

  “I didn’t. There was so much blood… But I did search for you. I searched until I’d almost lost my mind with it.”

  “And the treasure?”

  Cale cursed. “That damned treasure. Yes, I searched for it for years as well. Somehow I thought if I found it, then you and your mother hadn’t died without reason.”

  Something dawned on Aidan and he shook his head.

  “What?”

  “You gave up the map to the treasure because you’d lost your family over it. But by giving it up in that poker game, it led you back to me. Our paths would have never crossed if not for that map.”

  “My God,” he murmured. “And I almost just burned the damn thing.”

  “But you didn’t and here we are.”

  “And where might that be?” Cale asked.

  Around them, under Luke’s command, the men had begun the process of doing what repairs needed to be made to get them underway. The hole in his cabin was above the waterline but it nonetheless needed to be patched or it wouldn’t take more than a few big waves to sink them. Luke, carrying a length of wood and ordering Sam not to touch the other end, lowered it through the hatch into Aidan’s cabin.

  Everyone worked. Lucky and Chunk were reinforcing the boom. Debris was being picked up and dealt with. The dead, except for Roche who’d been tossed overboard while he and Sarah were below, were being tended. But what he really noticed was the people who mattered most in his life were all there. And he intended for it to stay that way.

  “I’ve decided to remain Aidan Bradley,” he said once more looking at Cale. “It’s who I am now.”

  Cale nodded, said nothing.

  “It doesn’t change the fact that I’m your son.”

  “Much to everyone’s displeasure.”

  “Nobody’s displeased, least of all me.”

  Cale’s eyes sharpened. “You were.”

  Since there was no point in denying it, Aidan didn’t bother. Instead, he looked at the man who’d sired him, who’d loved him ever since.

  “I may not be taking the name you gave me, but I’ll not deny you’re my father. You’re a good man, were a good captain, and, from what I remember and what I know you’ll do again with Grace’s child, you’re a hell of a father.” His voice thickened. “I’m honored to be your son and it’s my hope that we can be in each other’s lives and rebuild what was stolen from us fifteen years ago.”

  Cale looked down then out to sea. Aidan could see his jaw working. When he faced Aidan again, he didn’t bother to hide his turmoil.

  “I promised Grace we’d go to Ireland if that’s what she wanted.”

  “If Grace wants to go, take her. I don’t plan on being Steele but I will be keeping the ship and it happens I know how to sail it,” he added to keep things light. To keep his own emotions from overflowing.

  “I’m going to marry Sarah,” he stated. He wasn’t asking for permission or a blessing. He’d chosen his path and would walk it regardless of what Cale thought. Still, he had to admit he’d prefer the man’s acceptance. “Would you like to meet her?” he asked.

  Cale wiped his eyes on his sleeve. “I would.”

  Aidan called her over, took her hand, and drew her against his side. He tipped his head, rested his cheek on her head and for a moment just savored his life. Then, realizing Sarah and Cale were staring at each other in silence, Aidan introduced them.

  “Sarah, my father, Cale. Cale, this is Sarah.”

  “Hello,” she said, looking Cale in the eye and jutting her chin just a little.

  Pride and love spilled over him. She claimed she wasn’t brave but he knew by her stance that she wasn’t going to let Cale’s opinion of her affect her. There was no hiding who she was, but neither did she seem prepared to pay for it the rest of her life. It took courage to make such a stand, as it had taken courage and strength to survive what Roche had put her through.

  He was damn honored she’d agreed to be his wife and intended to prove it the rest of his life.

  He wasn’t sure, not really, what Cale would do. Despite their earlier words about not punishing the child for who its father was, Aidan could nonetheless admit there was a difference between a babe who’d never know its father and a grown woman who’d been raised by hers. Cale had lost a wife and, for many years, a son to Roche. As much as he didn’t want Cale to hold that against Sarah, a part of him would understand if he did.

  But then Cale smiled, reminding Aidan just what kind of man he was, the kind of man Aidan came from.

  “How do you feel about visiting Ireland?”

  Epilogue

  “Son, you’ll wear a hole in the floor, if you keep that up,” Luke said.

  “Easy for you to say now,” Aidan grumbled.

  Luke bounced his six-month-old son in his arms, pride and love shining through his good eye. “I wasn’t near as panicked as you are.”

  Cale sputtered. “You were worse.”

  Luke arched a brow. “Worse, was I? I seem to remember you charging for the door every time Grace screamed. It took both of us”—he gestured between himself and Aidan—“to keep you back.”

  Cale kissed his daughter’s head. She was only a month younger than Luke’s son. “I did no such thing.”

  In the end, Cale and Grace hadn’t gone to Ireland. Grace had formed friendships with Alicia and Claire while the others had been battling Roche and she hadn’t wanted to take Cale so far away from Aidan. As she’d also made peace with her own family in Montserrat, she’d acknowledged everything she needed and wanted was in the Caribbean.

  With a new wife and family, Cale hadn’t wanted to return to Nevis, where he’d once lost everything. As he and Luke managed to get along most days, and he’d wanted to be close enough to Aidan to have a chance to build a relationship, he and Grace had chosen to settle in St. Kitts. As had Aidan and Sarah. Sarah was thrilled with her new sister and doted on her every chance she had.

  Sarah. He glared at the closed door again, willed it to open. Willed his child to hurry up and come into the world before his father died of worry. Willed Sarah to be strong enough for the both of them.

&nb
sp; Despite the sweat trickling down his back, and the heart hammering its way out of his chest, Aidan had never been more content. The Revenge was sail worthy again and he and Cale had been the first to take it out—they’d gone fishing. They took turns taking on merchant work, but otherwise spent their time helping Luke and Sam build ships.

  He stopped pacing to stare at one of Sarah’s paintings. The walls of their house were filled with her art but he loved this piece the most. The Revenge, in full sail, with Aidan—wearing his black bandana—at the wheel and Sarah standing at his side. The ship cut through the sparkling waves and despite his having given up Steele, the skull and crossbones fluttered in the wind. He’d have quite the stories to tell his child.

  Sarah screamed. Aidan jumped. God dammit, how much longer was this going to take?

  “Son.” Luke grabbed Aidan’s forearm. “She has a midwife and she’s with Samantha and Grace, who did this themselves not so very long ago. She’s in good hands.”

  Aidan nodded, but words failed him. Sarah was everything to him. She was his light, his joy. In her arms or at her side, he felt prouder than he’d ever felt standing at the helm as Steele. He hated that she was in pain, that he wasn’t somehow able to shield her from it.

  Sarah’s next scream was the longest and it nearly dropped Aidan to his knees. That was it! He didn’t care if it wasn’t right, he was going—

  He stopped, stunned. “Did you hear that?” he whispered.

  Cale lifted from the sofa, his daughter tight against his chest. Luke grinned, his son tucked into the crook of his arm. Both men slapped Aidan on the back.

  “Congratulations. You’re a father.”

  Aidan couldn’t get in to see Sarah fast enough and it felt an eternity before Samantha and Grace stepped from the room, their smiles as bright as their eyes.

  “Is she all right? What is it? Is the babe all right?”

  Sam walked over, kissed his cheek. “Go see for yourself.”

  After all his pacing and fretting, Aidan crept slowly into the room. Candles burned softly, drenching the room in golden light. Propped by pillows, Sarah’s hair fell over one shoulder. She didn’t look the least bit tired, not nearly as exhausted as he felt. Her face shone brighter than the candles; her smile beamed. He looked from her to the bundle wrapped in her arms, back to her. Unlike his, Sarah’s eyes were dry.

  “Come, Aidan,” she spoke tenderly. “Come meet your son.”

  *

  Once he knew he wouldn’t embarrass himself, he kissed his wife, eased the babe into his arms. Then, with the most overwhelming pride he’d ever felt, Aidan stepped into the living room and made his announcement.

  “Everyone, I’d like you to meet Caden Bradley.”

  The End

  Enjoy an excerpt from

  Her Pirate to Love

  Copyright © 2016 Michelle Beattie

  Caribbean Sea

  1664

  Grace Sullivan’s stomach roiled. It had little to do with the thrashing sea tossing the ship as though it was nothing more than a ball being bounced between children.

  It had everything to do with the man who held her destiny in his cold-blooded hands.

  Roche Santiago wasn’t known for his mercy toward his crew or his prisoners. Since the day he’d ripped her from the shores of Montserrat, Grace had been his prisoner and had been forced to endure his brutal ruthlessness. But until now, she hadn’t been locked in the brig.

  Fear rattled inside her chest as every sort of awful fate she’d witnessed Roche deliver burst through her mind. He’d once flogged his boatswain and left him hanging off the bowsprit. Then there’d been the poor cabin boy who had been sliced open from groin to throat. Grace choked back the sickness charging up her throat. She’d lived through every atrocity he’d forced upon her. Somehow she’d find a way to survive this as well.

  The barque pitched with the waves; water slopped over her shoes and sucked at the soaked hem of her skirt. Above her head feet pounded the deck as the crew struggled to control the sails. With only minimal light slipping through the hatch and closed gun ports, below decks was bleak as her future. Grace grabbed the bars of her prison, pressed her forehead to the cool metal.

  She needed a plan. It mattered little that she had no weapon on her person, no allies willing to risk their lives for hers. She wouldn’t lie down and die, wouldn’t forget what she wanted from this life. What she’d wanted ever since being forced from Ireland—freedom.

  There’d been a glimpse of it before Roche had taken her from one kind of hell to another and Grace vowed she’d have it again. With a crew of seventy men above decks, however, ’twas a lofty goal. And escaping wasn’t her only dilemma. Once she was free she had nowhere to go and no currency. She had nothing to barter with but her body.

  Grace tightened her grip on the iron bars, turning her knuckles white. She wouldn’t trade her body. She hadn’t a choice with Roche, but she would from this point forward. If she survived.

  “I’ll do more than survive,” she declared, even as she wondered how she’d manage it.

  Ever since she’d first tried to gouge out Roche’s eyes with a hairpin, he’d seen to it there was nothing within reach she could use against him but her fists. They’d proven ineffective against his brute strength.

  Grace peered beyond her prison. He’d never put her in the brig before and she knew what it meant that he did now. He had tired of her and meant to rid himself of her. There was one advantage she intended to use in her favor. Roche loved to torture. He could have killed her in his cabin, but instead he’d brought her here. No doubt to let fear build, to give her plenty of time to fret over her fate.

  However Roche’s depravity was such that he wouldn’t simply fire his pistol through the bars. He would be after terrifying her further, which meant he’d be opening her cell. And when he did, she needed to be ready. Pulling an Irish ballad from her memory, Grace hummed as her mind worked quickly to form a plan, as her eyes darted about for something, anything, which would help her escape alive. The music calmed her, helped her think, and kept the hopelessness from overwhelming her. She reached for song whenever all seemed lost as it not only took her back to the best parts of home, it reminded her of what she was fighting for; to go back.

  The hatch lifted. Dull grey light accompanied the man who stepped onto the ladder. The bottom fell out of Grace’s stomach and the music died in her throat. She needed more time! Her eyes hunted the dimness but fear blinded her and no amount of blinking helped. She shoved her thick mass of ebony hair over her shoulder and moved to the corner of her cell—as though Roche couldn’t reach her there.

  He approached with determined purpose. Neither the swaying of the ship nor the water creeping over the toes of his boots slowed his long strides. Her gown, which had once been a simple and modest garment until Roche had hacked open the bodice until it barely contained her bosom, offered as little protection as it did modesty. With nothing else to hold onto, Grace wrapped her arms around herself.

  Roche’s meaty fingers closed over the bars. Soulless eyes raked her from the tip of her shoes to the crown of her black hair. He sniffed as though he smelled her terror and his lips twisted beneath his mustache. One hand snaked around his back.

  Grace pressed herself harder into the corner. She was all too familiar with what Roche kept in the small of his back. Terror assaulted her when he brought his arm round. Even in the limited light, the blade of his dagger gleamed ominously. He pressed it against the pad of his thumb and drew a drop of blood.

  Digging into the pocket of his vest, Roche withdrew the key. “If it’s any consolation, wench, I will miss plunging my cock between your thighs.”

  Grace had lived through her share of indignities as in indentured servant, but it was Roche who’d shown her the true meaning of horror and shame. He’d thrust them upon her despite her screams and struggles. Even now her skin shriveled at the thought of his hands on her.

  Lord, if she had but a weapon she’d be showi
ng him the same mercy he’d shown her.

  The key slid into the lock and clicked open. Only an act of sheer will and a hand pressed firmly over her mouth kept Grace from retching. But a plan, such as it was, had come to her and she needed to keep alert and focused on the pirate.

  The door swung inward and Roche prowled toward her.

  How she’d love to throw herself at him, carve her nails into his face and leave permanent scars, just as his touch had done to her. But she couldn’t reveal her intent, not yet. Best he think her weak and completely at his mercy.

  “Roche, please.” The tremors in her voice, at least, were real. “I’ll be doing anything you want. I won’t—” She swallowed the lie along with the panic. If this didn’t work… “I won’t make any further plans to escape.”

  “You expect me to believe the word of a whore?”

  He raised the blade, twisted his wrist from side to side. In a whirl of movement, he lunged and the dagger sliced across her sleeve.

  Grace yelped, yanked her arm away. She expected pain but there was none. He’d only cut the fabric.

  “Next time you won’t be so fortunate.”

  Sweat trickled into her eyes, burning. Grace swiped her palm across her forehead. She braced her legs, even as she pleaded, “I’ll do anything, if you spare me life.”

  His gaze was lecherous. “You already have.”

  Blood roared in Grace’s ears but her attention was on the dagger. When next he moved, she’d be ready.

  Earlier in the morning she’d overheard Roche speak of Cartegena and his intent to intercept Spanish ships leaving with mountains of gold. Despite two ships worth of plunder already filling his hold, Grace knew where he was heading. She couldn’t know how close they were to shore, however, not with the fog that had thwarted her hope of seeing Cartegena when she’d been dragged from Roche’s cabin to the brig. Yet if she could only get past Roche and his crew, if she took her chances by jumping overboard and if another ship were to see her, she’d stand a chance.

  It was a staggering amount of ‘ifs’ but they were Grace’s only hope. For sure as she was trembling in her sodden shoes, she wouldn’t be alive by day’s end unless she managed to escape. And unlike her da, she was willing to do fight for her freedom, for her life.