Rogue Pirates Bride

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Rogue Pirates Bride Page 21

by Shana Galen


  merchant ships. “How did Bastien get his own ship,

  this one?”

  “Vargas and Monsieur le Marquis took it in a

  raid. He gave it to Monsieur le Marquis as a reward.

  And that is what caused the rift. Jourdain thought

  the ship should have been his. He claimed he was

  instrumental in the fight. Vargas disagreed, and they

  went their separate ways. Six months later, Jourdain

  attacked Vargas near Tripoli. He raised the flag

  for parley, and when he was close enough, blew

  El Cuchillo to splinters.”

  Raeven bit her lip. “Where was Bastien?”

  “We were out at sea, making our own fortunes.

  But as soon as word reached Monsieur le Marquis, he

  began searching for Jourdain. But the coward went

  into hiding. It took money and time, but now we have

  him where we want him.”

  Money. Raeven thought about the arms and medi-

  cines she’d seen her first time on board the Shadow.

  She’d thought they were meant to fuel a war between

  Spain and England, and perhaps they would, but now

  she considered that Bastien might not have been as

  interested in war as he was in the profit he could make

  from selling the cargo.

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  And that made him no less of a pirate.

  And for some reason, that status was no longer

  as unattractive.

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  Twelve

  Bastien surveyed the men he’d invited to the

  wardroom and wondered who the traitor was. He

  didn’t like this feeling of suspicion. He didn’t like

  feeling as though he had to look behind him every

  time he stepped into a shadow. But Jourdain had

  gotten to at least one of his men.

  He glanced at each man seated at the table. There

  was Mr. Jackson, the ship’s carpenter. The man was

  English, built like a bull and with that same animal’s

  sense of humor. He didn’t mince words, and he didn’t

  use them frivolously. Beside him sat Mr. Castro, his

  master gunner. Castro was Spanish and had served with

  Vargas before Bastien offered him a position on the

  Shadow. Castro had no love for Jourdain. Beside him

  sat Mr. Khan. Also an Englishman, he was a former

  naval officer who had no qualms in telling everyone he

  was after gold and gems. He wanted his share of any

  prize. Could Jourdain have got to Khan? How much

  money would it take to sway Khan’s loyalties?

  He looked at the men standing near the windows,

  Ridley and Maine. They were the last two men he’d

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  ever suspect of turning traitor. He’d known Alan

  Maine for years, and the man was as straight as they

  came. He did his job and did it well. He was well liked

  and well respected. It was one reason the crew had

  voted him quartermaster.

  Ridley had sailed on the Shadow for years, as well,

  but Bastien knew little about the bosun. Still, Bastien

  had no reason to suspect Ridley would sell him out to

  Jourdain. Ridley had always been loyal, always fought

  hard, usually at Bastien’s back.

  So if it wasn’t Jackson or Castro, Khan, Ridley or

  Maine, who was it?

  Bastien sighed. He was supposed to be listening to

  a discussion of strategy, but he hadn’t heard a word

  Khan said. And now the man was looking at him as

  though he wanted direction.

  “Let me consult my charts again,” Bastien said.

  “I don’t feel confident we know where the bastard

  is hiding.”

  He rose and headed back to his cabin. His state-

  ments in the wardroom had been no exaggeration. He

  had no confidence he knew where Jourdain hid. He

  wondered if Raeven had any ideas.

  And then he wondered why he was relying on

  her. She was smart, but she wasn’t omniscient. She

  couldn’t know where Jourdain lurked. And yet, he

  wanted her opinion. He found he valued her opinion.

  He strode into his cabin, surprised to find it empty.

  Not only that, but she’d left the bedclothes strewn

  about the floor. Some cabin girl she would have

  made. He thought about going to his desk, studying

  his maps and charts, but he knew he wouldn’t be able

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  to concentrate without her. He’d wonder where she

  was, what she was doing—he eyed the bedclothes on

  the floor—what she was wearing.

  He stood at his desk and tried to imagine where

  she might have gone. If he were a woman… no, if he

  were Raeven, where would he go?

  He smiled and started for the infirmary.

  Five minutes later he found her, sharing a glass of

  wine with Gaston. The two looked as though they

  were old friends. And before Gaston, who was facing

  the doorway, saw him, he heard the word Jourdain.

  “So you’ve got that story out of him,” Bastien said

  and had the satisfaction of seeing Raeven jump. He’d

  surprised her and had the feeling it didn’t happen very

  often. “Anything else?”

  “If you’re concerned the good doctor has told

  me anything about who you are or where you came

  from, never fear,” she said with a smile. He noted

  she’d pulled her hair back from her face and secured

  it with a ribbon. Where had she found a ribbon? She

  was wearing a pair of his black breeches and a black

  shirt. A belt held it all in place, but the garments were

  ridiculously big on her.

  Still, she looked pretty. And tempting.

  “I wasn’t concerned,” he said. “Gaston will never

  talk. He can withstand even the worst tortures.”

  “Oui, Monsieur le Marquis. But I have entertained

  this lady with other stories.” He smiled at Raeven.

  “Come again when you have time.”

  “I will.” She rose and turned to Bastien. “What is it?”

  “Why do you assume I’ve come with a purpose?”

  “You don’t strike me as the kind of man who does

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  anything without a purpose. And I know you’ve just

  come from the wardroom.”

  He nodded. “Very well. I wanted to go over the

  charts and maps with you. Have you had time to

  peruse them?”

  She gave him a look that told him the question

  itself was absurd. They returned to his cabin in silence,

  and she went straight to his desk, sorted the maps,

  and pointed to the one she wanted. “Here,” she said

  without preamble.

  Bastien leaned close, studying the map of an area

  somewhat west.

  “Do you see these shoals? He’ll want to stay away

  from those, keep in open water. But he’s close enough

  to land,
as well, in case he needs to drop anchor and

  complete further repairs.”

  “And he might think to box me in. The Shadow’s

  main strength is her speed and agility. If we have land

  on one side, we lose maneuverability.”

  Raeven nodded. “He has more cannon, and he’s

  bigger, sturdier. You can outrun him, but he has the

  advantage if you stand and fight.”

  “But not if we surprise him. Not if—” He glanced

  at her suddenly.

  “What is it? Did you think of something?”

  “No. I’ve just realized I’ve come farther in plan-

  ning my strategy with you than I did all those hours

  in the wardroom.”

  She shrugged. “I told you I could be of service.”

  She bent to the map again. “Look here. If you want

  to surprise him, I suggest you come along this way. It

  will take an extra day, but he won’t expect it.”

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  Bastien studied the route, frowned. “Will he wait

  that long? I don’t want to lose him.”

  “It’s a risk. He has a prime position, so I think

  he’ll wait. If not, you still have the advantage of

  surprise. Of course”—she took a seat in his chair—

  “all the surprise in the world will come to naught

  if your traitor sabotages you. Have you found his

  identity yet?”

  He’d watched her study his maps, sit in his chair,

  and now she leaned back and questioned him as to

  his own ship and his own crew. For a moment, he

  felt as though he were a mate again, reporting to his

  captain. “You look quite comfortable. Can I get you

  anything? Wine? Cigar?”

  “Oh.” She stood. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think—”

  “I don’t mind.” Much. He didn’t mind much. “I’m

  not used to it. No one else on this ship would dare

  take my seat.”

  “Old habit. I used to sit in my father’s chair and

  do schoolwork.”

  Her words lit an old memory in his mind. He

  remembered sitting in his father’s library, his feet

  dangling from the chair, looking at a book that seemed

  so big it must hold all the knowledge in the world.

  “Should I assume, from your silence, you haven’t

  discovered the traitor’s identity?”

  She didn’t miss anything, did she? He sat in his own

  chair, not because he wanted a seat but because he

  wanted to remind himself it was his. He was the captain

  of this vessel. “Not yet. But I will. Soon.” He studied

  the map again, thought about the plan they’d made. It

  might just work. He knew from Mr. Jackson the repairs

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  were almost finished. They’d continue throughout the

  night and could sail at first light.

  He rose, went to the door, then stopped and looked

  back at her. “I’m going to tell Mr. Khan to set a

  course. When I return, I want to find you naked and

  in the berth.”

  She raised a brow. “Is that an order?”

  “Take it as you like it.”

  He shut the door and started up the ladderway.

  He’d done no more than step foot on deck when

  Percy Williams stepped in front of him. Bastien halted.

  He had little choice, as the man stood directly in front

  of him. “Mr. Williams.”

  “Captain.” Williams didn’t move.

  “Now that the pleasantries are over, might you

  move to one side or the other?”

  “You’re bedding her, aren’t you?” Williams asked.

  Even in the twilight, Bastien could see the man’s face

  turn red. Embarrassment or anger?

  Embarrassment, Bastien decided. “That’s hardly

  your concern, Mr. Williams. I assure you, I’ve done

  nothing against Miss Russell’s wishes.”

  “Good.” He didn’t speak, didn’t move, either.

  Bastien sighed. “Was there something more you

  wished to say, Mr. Williams?”

  “Captain Bowers was a friend of mine.”

  “I see.” Bastien sighed. Apparently, Bowers had been

  a popular man. “I’m sorry for your loss. But I’ll tell

  you what I told Raeven, I didn’t attack the Valor. She

  pursued us, probably looking to press my crew. Nor

  did I kill Captain Bowers. Not with my own hands,

  anyway. We didn’t board their vessel. It was a quick

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  skirmish, bloody and damaging, mostly to the Valor.

  I’m not sorry we won. If we’d lost, my men would be

  virtual slaves on the Valor, I’d be dead or imprisoned,

  and my ship would be another of the navy’s prizes. I

  will say I never intended to kill the ship’s captain, but

  he attacked in a storm—foolish choice—and he suffered

  the consequence.”

  “I understand. One day Raeven may, as well. She

  loved him, and he loved her.”

  Bastien nodded. “I suppose it adds insult to injury

  to have me—Bowers’s murderer—in her bed.”

  “Actually, no.”

  Bastien raised a brow.

  “I respect you, sir, and you’re a good match for

  her. Tim would have wanted her to be happy. And, as

  unlikely as it seems, you make her happy.”

  Bastien let out a bark of laughter. “I fail to see that,

  Mr. Williams. She seems most intent on killing me.”

  “Yes, before she met you. But after Brest, all she

  could do was talk about you. Mostly about killing you,

  it’s true,” he conceded, “but she admires your talent

  with the sword.”

  Bastien tried not to show his surprise.

  “One thing you should know about Raeven, sir,”

  Williams said. He looked around him, obviously

  making sure she wouldn’t overhear.

  “She’s in my cabin,” Bastien told him. “You’re safe.”

  Williams laughed. “You only think she’s in your

  cabin. Who knows where she really is?”

  Bastien gave a grudging nod. She was particularly

  slippery when it came to staying where he’d put her.

  “You were saying, Mr. Williams?”

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  “She’s soft, sir.”

  Bastien frowned. “I’m well aware of certain soft

  features she possesses.”

  Williams went red again. “No, I meant, she’s not as

  hard as she pretends. On the inside, she’s vulnerable.

  She lost her mother and now her fiancé. Her father is

  ill. She may well lose him, and that leaves only me. I

  suppose I’m asking you to be gentle with her—when

  you put her aside.”

  “What makes you think I’ll put her aside?” Of

  course he would set her aside. He had no intention of

  marrying the woman. But he was curious.

  Williams shook his head. “I-I just assumed—”

  “I’ll be gentle. I’m sure, given enough
time, she’ll

  be the one to leave me.”

  Williams nodded. “Thank you.”

  “May I speak to my sailing master now, Mr. Williams?”

  “Oh!” He moved quickly out of the way. “Of

  course. I’m sorry.”

  Bastien moved past him and headed for the helm

  and Mr. Jackson. He couldn’t stop the conversation

  replaying in his mind. Williams hadn’t told him

  anything he didn’t know, but it did make him think—

  he and Raeven were not so different after all. They’d

  both lost people they loved.

  Did that make it impossible for them to love again?

  Perhaps. He knew he would never risk his heart. Not

  for her, not for any one. So perhaps they were doomed

  to—as Mr. Williams put it—set each other aside.

  But Bastien swore they’d enjoy one another to the

  hilt until then.

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  Raeven didn’t undress. She wasn’t quite ready to

  behave so wantonly. She supposed Bastien was used to

  seductresses, but she was the daughter of a sailor. She

  knew how to set, reef, and furl a sail. She knew how

  to load, prime, and fire a cannon.

  She didn’t know how to seduce a man, and she

  wasn’t going to make a fool of herself by trying.

  Still, she thought as she stood in front of his mirror,

  she could make some effort to try and look more

  presentable. There was little she could improve about

  her clothes. He had told her to take them off, so there

  was no reason to don one of the gowns. It would only

  look as though she was trying too hard.

  Her face was her face. Even if she had face paints,

  she wouldn’t have known how to use them. Similarly,

  she could do nothing about her body. She didn’t have

  any undergarments to lift or shape her, and besides,

  he’d seemed to like her body fine as it was.

  But her hair. There she could make an effort.

  She’d never liked her hair. It was thick and heavy,

  not curly and not straight. She’d tried cutting it short,

  but after her father had recovered from his apoplectic

  fit, he’d told her she looked like a boy.

  An unattractive boy.

  She’d had to admit he was right. Her face was too

  round or too square—too something. The long, dark

  hair softened her features, and the longer her hair, the

  less it curled up and stuck out.

  Like it was now.

  She looked into the mirror and sighed. She used

  Bastien’s comb to try and tame the puffy mess into

 

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