The Pirate Lord

by Sabrina Jeffries

  “I will not!” Silas’s expression was an amusing mix of fury and astonishment.

  To Sara’s surprise, Louisa paid no attention to his anger. “Then how can I prepare tomorrow’s dinner?”

  “You ain’t preparin’ tomorrow’s dinner!” he roared. “My kitchen ain’t for the likes of an uppish female who probably don’t even know how to leech the salt out o’ beef!”

  Sara rested her elbow on the rail, watching the interchange in silent amusement now that she was sure Louisa could take care of herself.

  “How hard can it be to cook a decent meal? I’ve seen some of the best cooks in the world prepare dinner.” In an aside to Sara, she added, “I was employed by the Duke of Dorchester for a time, you know. He had two French chefs in his employ. I should think I learned a thing or two from them.”

  “French chefs? English dukes?” Silas sputtered. “You ain’t gettin’ within a yardarm’s length of my kitchen, you…you…”

  “My name is Louisa Yarrow, but you may call me Miss Yarrow,” Louisa said primly.

  He looked so surprised by this condescending statement that Sara had to disguise her urge to laugh with a fit of coughing.

  “It don’t matter what I call you or what you call yerself,” he growled, as he stepped near enough to Louisa to glower down at her. A sudden trough made the ship lurch forward, but while Sara and Louisa had to grab for the rail to keep their balance, he somehow managed to stay perfectly upright as if his feet had been welded to the deck. “You ain’t gettin’ near my kitchen, woman. I got enough to worry about, havin’ to feed all these women. I don’t need a troublemaker underfoot.”

  “Perhaps Louisa could help you just a little,” Sara interjected. She had to admit that the stew didn’t look or smell very palatable, and a quick glance around the deck showed that the women weren’t eating their meals with any great enthusiasm, despite their hunger.

  “That’s a capital idea,” said a new voice. Sara turned to find the English first mate standing at her elbow, smoking a cheroot. “Why not let the women help with the meals? God knows we could use a decent one for a change.”

  Silas scowled at the first mate. “You’re takin’ the side o’ that woman? Well, I had enough o’ your complaints. And hers.” He turned and stomped away. “See if either o’ you gets any more o’ what I cook. I’ll let this harpy serve you a thinnish French broth and see how you like it. You’ll be beggin’ for more of me cookin’ in a week. Damned English fools. I swear…”

  He continued to mutter under his breath as he picked his way between the women seated on the deck. But when Louisa started to go after him, Barnaby stayed her with one hand.

  “Don’t worry about him. He’s an old curmudgeon who hates women. I’ve heard tell it’s because he can’t satisfy one in bed, if you know what I mean. Some sort of old war injury.” Barnaby cast Louisa an ingratiating smile that showed fine white teeth. “If it’s a husband you’re looking for, you’d be better off with me. All my parts are in fine working order.”

  A chilly smile touched Louisa’s lips as she snatched her arm away. “Are they, indeed? Then I suggest you find a wife who’d be happy to oil and pamper them and keep them in good working order. I’m afraid I’d be more likely to smash them to bits.” With that, she lifted her skirts and hurried after Silas, leaving Barnaby to gape after her as he instinctively jerked his legs together.

  “She’s a cold fish, isn’t she?” he commented as he turned back to Sara.

  “Not exactly. She just doesn’t like men very much.”

  “Ah,” Barnaby said as if he understood.

  But his frown showed that he didn’t. How could he? He’d never been at the mercy of a man, never had his life utterly destroyed by the opposite sex. No man who hadn’t also been tormented simply because of his sex could understand Louisa’s hatred.

  “And what about you?” he asked. “Do you hate men, too?”

  Unfortunately, no, she thought, remembering the mortifying way she’d responded to Gideon’s kiss. “Only those men who try to take away my freedom.”

  The sun had finally set, and the gray dusk heightened the dark intensity of Barnaby’s black eyes as he scrutinized her. “You mean men like our captain?”

  The trace of irony in his tone made her color. Everyone had just assumed she would swoon at their illustrious captain’s feet. And if they knew even half the truth—that she’d practically done so—they would laugh at her. Dropping her gaze, she skimmed her fingers over the smooth sheen of the brass rail in front of her. “Yes, him. Certainly. He had no right to take us against our will.”

  Barnaby leaned back as he drew languidly on his cheroot. “Look around you, Miss Willis. Does it appear to you as if your convict women object to being freed from that ship?”

  Turning around, she scanned the crowd of women. Someone had already lit the lanterns, illuminating little patches of women and men who were laughing and talking. The women were assessing the men, some covertly, others with more boldness. Under the protective overhang of some rigging, a youthful pirate slid his arm around a sweet-faced convict, who not only allowed it, but gazed up at him with a shy smile. Even the older woman who’d spoken up this afternoon about her limited chances of finding a husband was being courted by a hoary-headed sailor, one of the few older men on Captain Horn’s ship.

  Everywhere men hovered over the women like bees around a honey hive. Though they didn’t seem to be overly aggressive or rude, there was a definite arrogance in the way they pursued the women, as if sure of being accepted. And many of the women weren’t exactly discouraging them.

  She sighed. “I suppose the women aren’t entirely angry over the situation.”

  “Aren’t entirely angry?” He chuckled. “I’d say they’re quite content.”

  Suddenly there was a loud crack from across the deck and a shrill, high-pitched voice said, “Don’t touch me, you filthy pirate! I don’t have to suffer your grabbing hands just yet!”

  Sara and Barnaby turned to see a man holding his reddened cheek as a comely young woman flounced off in a huff.

  “Not all of them are content, sir.” The wind blew a lock of hair into Sara’s eyes, and she thrust it aside. “Some of them are merely resigned to their fate. They know they have no choice. Since they’re used to accepting whatever hand life had dealt them, they’ll make the best of it. But I’d truly hoped life would deal them a better one.”

  With that she walked away, unable to bear any more such discussions. Barnaby was no different from his master. He couldn’t see the grim realities of the situation. No matter what she said, both men would continue to think that they had bestowed a great favor on the women by taking them captive.

  Feeling even more morose than before, she rounded the end of the forward house headed for the fore hatch, only to be accosted by a sailor who stepped out of the shadows. Her instant spurt of fear turned to relief when she saw it was Petey.

  “Come, miss, we got to talk,” he muttered, pulling her toward the fore hatch.

  “We certainly do.” She followed him below decks, casting a wary glance about her to make sure no one saw them. She waited until they’d climbed down into the ’tween decks to ask the question that had bothered her ever since she’d seen him coming out of the captain’s cabin. “I suppose you sneaked aboard when they brought us on, but why haven’t they killed you?”

  “Cap’n decided he had a use for me.” He lit the lantern in the ’tween decks, and as he turned back to her, the dull gold light reflected the grim look on his face. “They’ve made me one of the crew, but that don’t mean I can do what I want. There’s plenty of eyes watchin’ me all the time. So we gotta make this fast.”

  “I guess you heard what Captain Horn said. That we must choose husbands.”

  He nodded, his hazel eyes darkening. “I heard. And I got a plan for that. When the time comes for you and the women to choose, you’d best choose me.”

  The idea took her by surprise. Marry Petey? Though she knew
his suggestion was designed to protect her, she wasn’t sure she liked it. A lifetime on a remote island would be bad enough, but a lifetime with a man she barely knew…

  Of course, she didn’t know any of these men, did she? But one of them might want her for herself instead of marrying her out of some sense of duty. “I don’t know, Petey—”

  “Hear me out. If you marry me, we won’t have to be truly married, if you know what I mean.” His reddening ears told her exactly what he meant. “That’ll make things easier for you once we return to England. His lordship won’t have no trouble gettin’ the marriage annulled after we’re back as long as we don’t…er…you know.”

  “Yes, I know.” Her eyes narrowed. “But surely you don’t think we’ll ever be able to—” Two of the pirates passed so close that she could hear them laughing overhead. She froze until they moved away from the open hatch, then leaned her head closer to Petey’s. “Surely you don’t think we’ll get the chance to escape.”

  “We might. I know a bit about navigation and such. If this island lies close to any other islands, I can row us to one that’s inhabited.”

  With a sigh, she twisted the chain of her locket around her finger. “Forgive me, Petey, but that doesn’t sound very promising.”

  “I suppose not. But remember, the cap’n also said something about returning to the Cape Verde Islands for supplies. ’Tis possible we could stow away on that trip and take passage to England from there. Don’t you worry, I’ll think of some way to get us out of here and back home.” His voice grew firm. “In the meantime, you’d best stay clear of the Pirate Lord.”

  “Stop calling him that. It gives him importance beyond his worth.”

  He grabbed her arm. “Listen to me, Miss Willis. Don’t be fooled because the cap’n is lettin’ the women make a choice. That one’s trouble. And he’s got his eye on you. That’s why you need somebody else to court you, somebody safe, to keep him from gettin’ his hooks in you.”

  A strange tremor passed through her at Petey’s words. She told herself it was fear. After all, only a witless fool would be flattered by the attentions of a merciless pirate. And besides, Petey was wrong. “He doesn’t have his eye on me. Didn’t you hear what he said this afternoon before all the pirates?”

  Petey scowled. “I know what he said, but I heard the men talkin’ and they’re all layin’ odds that he’ll have you in his bed before the week is out.”

  She colored. “Nonsense. You have nothing to worry about. I’d die before I let that monster put his hands on me again.”

  “Again?” Petey’s fingers tightened on her arm. “What did he do to you while you were in his cabin? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

  Cursing her slip of tongue, she said, “Of course not.

  We had some words, that’s all. But I don’t think he likes me very much, and I despise him. So you needn’t worry. He’ll never succeed in marrying me or seducing me.”

  At least she hoped he didn’t. She wasn’t entirely sure she could resist him if he did. That thought gave her pause. “Perhaps you’re right, Petey. Perhaps I should choose you as husband.”

  “It’s for the best, miss, you’ll see. But don’t you worry, one way or the other, I’ll get you out of this mess.”

  “I hope so,” she whispered. “I truly hope so.”

  Chapter 9

  I hope, while Women have any spirit left, they will exert it all in showing how worthy they are of better usage, by not submitting tamely to such misplaced arrogance [from men].

  —“SOPHIA” (BELIEVED TO BE

  LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU)

  WOMAN NOT INFERIOR TO MAN

  Night had just fallen when Gideon emerged from his cabin and sauntered out on deck. It was a clear, balmy night, with the sky dripping diamond stars over the ship like a king’s jewel-studded cloak. He filled his lungs with the tangy salt air. He would miss this: the quiet nights aboard the Satyr, the creak of timbers, the slap of waves against the seasoned oak hull. Although in the future he and his men might occasionally sail to the Cape Verde Islands for supplies, they would no longer spend long weeks at sea under the brilliant sky.

  He made a quick survey of the sailors on watch, then shoved his hands into his pockets and strolled the deck. A vague dissatisfaction nipped at him, destroying the pleasure he usually took in these nights at sea.

  But then, he’d felt that dissatisfaction often lately. That’s why he’d formed his drastic plan for Atlantis, why he’d decided to give up piracy.

  The sea chases, the thrill of taking gold from the noblemen he detested…none of it was enough anymore, and certainly not when he knew what would happen if he continued it. Piracy always brought its followers to an early death. There was no such thing as an old pirate.

  Maybe some men didn’t care about dying young, maybe some men wanted to leave this world in a blaze of excitement, but he wasn’t one of them. He intended to live a long, full life and not end it on the gallows. Or on a ship, for that matter.

  He’d given enough of his life to the sea, twenty-one years in all. He’d been only twelve when his cursed father had finally drunk himself to death, leaving his only child penniless, friendless, and alone. So when, after a year of fighting off hunger and looking for work, he’d been noticed by a sea captain who’d taken pity on him and offered him a position as cabin boy, he’d jumped at the chance.

  Later, when the American government had commissioned privateers to harass the English, he’d eagerly sunk all the money he’d saved into purchasing a sloop. It had seemed as good a way as any to survive. Before long, he’d done well enough to exchange the sloop for a pinnace, and the pinnace for the Satyr.

  Throughout those years, he’d looked for only two traits in his crewmen: that they have no wives or families, so their courage would be the fiercer because they had nothing to lose; and that they hate the British as much as he did.

  His careful hiring had proved advantageous, for they’d served him well. When the war had ended, and the same American officials who’d prompted them to steal from the English now expected him and his crew to throw down their arms and make peace with them, he and his men had chosen a third path—piracy.

  They’d had a good run of it, to be sure. But they’d begun to tire of a sailor’s uncertain and lonely life, and he more than any of them. To his surprise, the gold and jewels he’d stolen from his enemy didn’t satisfy him. Even tormenting the lordlings had lost its appeal. He wanted more—a real future, not just a series of voyages and captures. He wanted to build something that was his, something good and solid. He could do that on Atlantis. They could all do that on Atlantis.

  He scanned the milling crowd, noting that the men who weren’t on watch were well on their way to gaining the women’s affections. Soon he’d have to call Barnaby to bring the women below and lock them in, but just now he wanted to savor this moment. He’d accomplished his goal. He’d found women for his men. And they would all soon be working together for a common good.

  So why did he feel so restless, so dissatisfied, when he should be rejoicing in his success? Why did he have this nagging fear that he’d handled the acquisition of the convict women badly?

  Because of that blasted Englishwoman. Sara had planted these foolish doubts in his mind. Sara, with the caramel-tinted eyes and the soft, yielding body…Sara, who could make a man lust with only a toss of her copper hair. His loins tightened, and he groaned. No woman had ever affected him quite this way before. Like any sailor, he’d had his dalliances, yet no sloe-eyed island beauty had ever sent his blood racing like this at just the thought of her.

  But it didn’t matter what Sara did to his blood…or anything else, he told himself with a grimace. There was more to marriage than passion. His parents had proved that.

  The last thing he wanted was to let his cock lead him to take up with some pampered daughter of an earl—even an adopted one. Her kind of woman was never satisfied with what a man could give her. Her kind of woman never gave a man a mo
ment’s peace.

  Moving to the rail, he leaned against it with his back to the sea. No, Sara Willis wasn’t for him. He’d have to look elsewhere among this crowd for a wife. With a curious distraction, he watched the dance of courtship playing itself out before him, wondering if he could indeed throw himself into it with the enthusiasm of his men. He ought to. That was what he needed—another woman, a different woman to pursue, one who more closely fitted his idea of a wife.

  He shoved his hands in his pockets, then winced when his fingers touched a wadded up cloth. Sara’s cap. The one he’d taken from her. The one that had covered her glorious mass of fine, silky hair.

  With an oath, he jerked it out of his pocket and tossed it into the sea. He never should have taken down her hair. He certainly shouldn’t have kissed her. His attraction to her was about as unwise as sailing directly into the wind, and kissing her had only sharpened his desire. Confound it, she was a witch to occupy his thoughts so constantly even when she wasn’t in sight!

  Wasn’t in sight? He scanned the crowd uneasily. Indeed, she wasn’t in sight. Not anywhere. Where was she? At the other end of the ship? Below decks with one of his men? That brought a scowl to his face.

  While he was still looking for Sara, another woman approached him, a buxom blond whose eyes skimmed his flanks like a dock official inspecting a ship. She took his hand and put it on her waist with a coy glance from heavy-lidded eyes. “Well, well, if it isn’t our good captain, the man who saved us from that wretched prison ship. You’re lookin’ for yer own woman to mate with, aren’t you? And Queenie’s just the woman for that.” Tugging his hand up to rest on one of her ample breasts, she leaned into his palm with a pouting smile. “I’ve got everythin’ a man like you could want, and more besides.”