by Shana Galen
El Santo stared at him with a shocked expression
then crumpled to the ground, a hole in the center of
his forehead.
Bastien glanced at Raeven, saw her scowling. “I
could have taken him.”
With a laugh, he gathered her into his arms. “Of
course you could.” He rotated his sore shoulder. “But
I owed him that.”
She frowned. “I suppose.”
She swiped at the tears on her face. “What is it?” If
he’d been holding any other woman, he would have
assumed the stress of the battle caused the tears, but he
knew Raeven. Battle would not shake her.
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“I found your traitor,” she said.
He stiffened. “Who? Maine?” He wanted her to
deny it, to name someone else.
“How did you know?”
Bastien closed his eyes briefly. “I didn’t see him
during the battle. He’s usually right beside me.”
She nodded. “He gave away our position just
before dawn. Shone a light.”
“On the bow? That’s why the topmen weren’t at
their stations.”
“I caught him, and he blamed me, had me chained
in the hold.”
“And yet somehow you’re not in chains.”
“Percy came for me.” Her voice hitched, and he
pulled her close. He didn’t need her to go on now. He
knew Williams was dead.
Her voice was thick as she continued. “We were
hurrying up the ladderway, and Maine was waiting. He
shot Percy. He thought…” She swallowed and took a
shuddering breath. “He thought Percy was me.”
“I’m sorry.” Bastien resisted the urge to pull her
closer, hold her tighter. He’d almost lost her.
“Me too.” She swiped at her nose. “Not that sorry
will fix anything. Make anything right.”
“Where’s Maine now?”
“Dead. On the lower deck. I put my sword through
his side. He said he did it for money. You were too
obsessed with finding Jourdain, passed up too many
opportunities for profit.”
“Fils de s alope. ” Bastien felt rage bubble inside him,
rage and a nausea that reminded him of the seasickness
he’d felt the first time he’d sailed. He’d trusted Maine,
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liked the man. Why hadn’t Alan come to him? How
could he have gone to Jourdain? The betrayal cut
deeply. Bastien thought he could have forgiven Alan
anything but betraying him to Jourdain. “Bastard,” he
said now. “If he wasn’t dead, I’d kill him myself.”
“What about Jourdain?”
Bastien gritted his teeth. “I had to leave him. But
his ship is done.” He pulled her to her feet. “Let’s go
watch La Sirena sink.”
On the main deck, his crew was streaming back
across. Someone—Ridley, Bastien thought as he
glanced around—had ordered everyone back. La
Sirena listed badly, and the crew of the Shadow was
working to separate the two vessels. On board La
Sirena, Jourdain shouted orders, and men scrambled
to make repairs. But Bastien could see it would not
be enough.
The ship was doomed.
And he would be certain of its demise. But the
victory gave him little pleasure that moment. He
wanted Maine by his side as much as he imagined
Raeven wanted her Percy. Bastien had sailed on La
Sirena years ago. It was fine ship, proud and elegant as
it dipped, kissing the rising water.
Bastien turned away and clenched his jaw, clenched
his resolve. “Mr. Ridley!”
The bosun grinned at him. “Cap’n! Looks like we
done it.”
“Yes, sir. You’re quartermaster now—at least until
we have a vote. Get this ship out of here. Mr. Khan!”
The sailing master had just swung back across. “I want
to be in firing position. We’ll put a few more holes in
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her.” He nodded to La Sirena. “Help her along to hell.
Castro, gun crews to their stations!”
“Yes, Captain!”
He stood and watched as Ridley ordered the
topmen to their work, watched as lines were cut, men
scrambled up ratlines, and sails were furled or loosed
to catch the wind. He watched it all with Raeven by
his side.
And when his cannons blasted another round at the
floundering La Sirena, he saluted Jourdain, smiled as
the corsair stood on the poop deck while his ship sank
around him.
“How does revenge taste?” Raeven asked several
hours later. She was pleasantly naked and wrapped in
Bastien’s arms. Well, she wasn’t completely naked.
Both of them wore bandages, and she had strict orders
from Gaston to keep her bound wrist still. Both had
orders to rest. And they were resting.
Now.
“Sweet.” He kissed her neck. “Mmm. A little
like cherries.”
She laughed. “Was it what you hoped? I’ll have
to live vicariously, as it doesn’t appear I’ll ever have
my revenge.”
He grinned. “You don’t have to kill me. What if
you made me miserable every day for the rest of my
life? That would be a kind of revenge, no?”
She felt her heart hitch for a moment. What was he
saying? He wanted her with him every day of his life?
No. He was just being charming again. Pretty words
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with no substance behind them. She pretended to consider
his offer. “It’s an idea. Do I make you miserable?”
He nuzzled her breast. “Extremely.”
But as much as she enjoyed the way he was
touching her, she moved away. “I think I made Percy
miserable,” she said, sitting and pulling one of his shirts
over her head. “He didn’t want to go on my adven-
tures—as he called them. He wanted to do his duty on
the Regal.” She pushed back the tears threatening to
spill over. “And now he’ll never do his duty again.”
Bastien put his arms around her and pulled her
against his chest. “I’m sorry. But it’s not your fault.”
She shook her head. “It is. He wouldn’t have even
been here—”
“He was a man, and he made his own choices,
Raeven.” He murmured the words into her hair, and
she closed her eyes.
“I know, but—he said he loved me. Those were his
last words. I never even knew.” She disentangled herself
and stood, pacing. “Or did I? Maybe I knew all along
and used his love to get what I wanted from him.”
Bastien shook his head, and she paused in her pacing.
“I’ve known women like that, Raeven. You’re
not like that. You may have used him,
yes, but it
was unintentional.”
“Still.” She shook her head. “His death is my
fault. He was always telling me to think of others,
not only myself. But I never listened. I was so selfish.
I am so selfish.”
Bastien cocked a brow. “You weren’t acting very
selfish a few moments ago. When you—”
She waved a hand. “That’s not what I mean. I
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put others in danger. Even you. Right now, you’re
in danger.”
“And I do fear for my life, ma belle.”
She sighed. “Will you be serious? I’m speaking of
my father. He must be searching for you now. And
when he finds you—”
“If he finds me, I’ll return his daughter and sail
away. I have no quarrel with the Regal.”
Her chest felt tight. Would he really send her back
so easily? Did not even a small part of him wish her
to stay? She cleared her throat, not trusting her voice.
“Do you think it will be so simple? Do you think he
will thank you and allow you to go?”
“I’ve outrun a man-of-war before. I’ll do it again.
But”—he stood, walked to a chair, and lifted his
breeches. She couldn’t help but admire his naked-
ness. His legs were long and lean. His body muscled
and hard from life onboard ship. He pulled on the
breeches, turned to her, and she averted her eyes—“I
don’t intend to sit about waiting for your father to
come at us with guns blazing.”
She nodded. “What do you intend?”
“I thought I might put you ashore. Somewhere you
can contact your father. Perhaps England.”
She blinked. “England?”
“You have family there, no?”
“Yes, but…” She blinked again. “You can’t sail
to England.”
“Why not? I have a letter of marque from Spain.
We’re not enemies. At present.”
“B-but you’re a pirate, and now you’ve undoubt-
edly been accused of kidnapping the daughter of one
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of His Majesty’s admirals. If you manage to make it to
England, you’ll never leave again.”
He lifted a shirt, inspected it for wrinkles. “What
other options do we have? As you mentioned, your
father is no doubt pursuing us, so I can’t turn and
sail back to Gibraltar. And I’ve always wanted to see
England. Surely there are secret coves and harbors
where I could drop anchor. Surely the daughter of an
admiral knows some of these.”
She watched him don the shirt and considered. She
did not want to leave at all, but neither could she stay.
Her father would come after them, and she would not
be responsible for another person’s death, even if that
person was Captain Cutlass.
And Bastien was right. Her father would hunt
them down. That hunt might be suspended if he
were to find his daughter safe in England. She
wouldn’t be able to stop the admiral from going after
Bastien, but she might delay him. Give Bastien time
to get away.
And why exactly did she want to help a pirate
escape the British Navy?
She sighed. Because she loved the pirate, damn it.
Bastien was watching her. “What does that sigh mean?”
“It means I’m going to help you.”
His grin was quick and cocky. “Was there ever
any doubt?”
She ignored him. “But I still think England is too
much of a risk. Why not sail somewhere neutral? Why
not France? I can contact my father from—”
But he was shaking his head. “No. Not France.”
“Why? We met in France.”
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“And that’s the last time I’ll ever set foot on that
godforsaken soil; I will never return to France.”
She sat on the bed and watched him pull his hair
roughly into a thong. “Because of what happened to
your family?”
“I don’t want to talk about that.” His eyes stayed
steadily on the mirror.
“Why?”
“Because I don’t like to remember.”
“But it might help you to talk about it. It might—”
He rounded on her. “Do I ask you to talk about
Bowers?”
She bit her lip. “No.” But what she did not add
was she did not need to talk about Timothy. She loved
Bastien now. She would always love Timothy, but that
love was different than this one. Not less, just different.
“Then do not ask me to talk about my family.
There is nothing to say. They are all dead.”
“Are you certain?”
He scowled. “You sound like Gaston, and I don’t
discuss the matter with him, either.”
She rose. She could see the hurt in him. “Bastien.”
She laid a hand on his shoulder, but he pushed it away.
“I have duties,” he said and walked away. She
watched the door close behind him, sat on the berth,
and wished she could talk to Percy.
Ridley stood at the helm, looking every bit the pirate
with his white shirt blowing in the breeze and the
gold hoops in his ears. Bastien stood beside him and
stared at the ocean, stared at the spot where La Sirena
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had made her last stand. Now she was gone, rotting
at the bottom of the ocean, her captain with her.
And good riddance. On the Shadow, repairs went on
around him as the men prepared to set a new course.
Bastien knew Mr. Khan was waiting for that course.
He could see several of the men looking at him from
time to time, waiting for him to inform them of their
next adventure.
This wasn’t life on a navy vessel. He might suggest
a course and his men object. They never had, and
Bastien didn’t expect they would now—not with their
pockets full of booty from La Sirena. But this was not
a dictatorship, and he owed the men some explanation
of what was next.
But for the first time in his career, Bastien didn’t
know what was next. He didn’t know what he wanted
to do, where he wanted to go. He no longer cared
about seeking fortune and adventure. He had done
that with great success.
He no longer cared about revenge. The man he
hated was at the bottom of the sea.
What was left?
“What is left?” a familiar voice said from beside him.
Bastien turned to see Gaston. His clothes were
stained with blood, his eyes shadowed and weary.
“Am I intruding, Monsieur le Marquis?”
“No.” But Bastien hadn’t realized he’d spoken
aloud. He raked a hand through his wind-tangled hair.
“You’ve had adve
ntures, made and lost fortunes,
and now you’ve had your revenge. Eh, bien. Is that all
you want?” Gaston gestured to the endless blue ocean,
churning and rolling as it had for an eternity, as it had
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before Bastien was born and as it would long after he
was gone. “The sea doesn’t love you.”
“Love.” Bastien shook his head, but he thought of
Raeven, the hurt in her emerald eyes when he left her.
She was the kind of woman he could love. He thought
he might even be half in love with her already.
“You’re thinking you can’t have her—Mademoiselle
Russell.”
“I can’t. I’d have to fight her father, fight the
whole of the British Navy. And even if I was willing
to do that…”
He couldn’t risk his heart again. He didn’t want to,
and he suspected neither could she. They’d both loved
and lost, and he was not willing to lose again.
“And even if you were willing?” Gaston prompted.
“I’d lose her.” Resourceful as she might be, she was
also far too adventurous. “Merde. If she outlives me, I’ll
eat my boot.”
Gaston nodded. “She will die one day. You’ve
faced your death many times, Monsieur le Marquis,
and never shied away.”
“I’m not afraid of death.”
“Are you so afraid of life? You have a chance at
love. You have a chance to live. Are you so much the
coward you will not even take the chance?”
He thought of his family, his twin, Armand, and
his older brother, Julien. Gaston had said he’d never
found any record of their deaths. But Bastien had seen
the chateau burn. He knew they’d died inside.
But he should have died inside, also. He lit a cigar,
stared vacantly through the smoke.
He would have died if he hadn’t been out playing
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adventurer that night. He would have died if he
hadn’t used the secret passage to sneak out. He’d only
intended to head down to the creek and see if he could
catch a frog or two. His nanny, Madame St. Cyr,
would not allow him to play with frogs… or spiders
or snails or anything remotely interesting. He disliked
the country, vastly preferred the exciting city, even at
the age of eleven. But if he was forced to live in the
country, the least Madame St. Cyr could do was allow
him a pet snake. So he’d thought to sneak out and
