Rogue Pirates Bride

by Shana Galen

  you’ll have plenty of time to unburden yourself and

  make all of your apologies.”

  She smiled because it was exactly the sort of thing

  she would have done in the past. But this time she

  didn’t feel the need to apologize. She was twenty years

  old and no child. Her actions might have been careless

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  in that they caused worry to her father, but she didn’t

  regret them.

  Except for the part she’d played in Percy’s death.

  That she regretted more than she could ever express.

  And as they neared the ladder, she felt tears prick her

  eyes. The purser wouldn’t be returning with them.

  He had been given a burial at sea along with the other

  casualties of the battle with Jourdain. He would never

  see the Regal or English soil again.

  As they neared the spot where Mr. Carter, her

  father’s second lieutenant, waited, she scanned the

  group of men, hoping to spot Bastien. To her surprise,

  he wasn’t among them. To her further surprise, most

  of the men were scowling at her. Ridley had his arms

  crossed over his massive chest and his mouth turned

  down in a frown. Mr. Castro was glaring at her, and

  even Gaston—whom she rarely saw outside of the

  infirmary—was on deck and frowning at her. Raeven

  did not think she had been any of the men’s favorite

  person, but she had thought most of them bore her

  no ill will.

  But judging by their looks now, she would have

  sworn if she wasn’t leaving this instant, they might throw

  her into the sea as food for the sharks. Where was Bastien?

  And what exactly were the terms he’d negotiated?

  Her father took her arm. “Let’s go.”

  She nodded, scanned the ship one last time. Was

  Bastien really not going to see her off? She hadn’t

  expected any grand gestures, but was a wave or a

  simple good-bye too much to ask?

  Her father began to shuffle her toward the side. She

  would have to climb down the rope ladder and take

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  her father’s gig back to the Regal. But she wanted a last

  glimpse of the pirate. “Where is…?”

  “Let’s go, Raeven,” her father ordered, his tone

  one of unquestioned authority. She knew she was out

  of time, but she couldn’t leave like this. She couldn’t

  leave without seeing him one last time.

  “Bastien!” she screamed, her voice echoing over

  the vast blue seas. “Bastien!” She scanned the deck but

  saw only the stern faces of the Shadow’s men.

  “Where is he?” she demanded. “Bastien, you bastard!

  I don’t care what my father told you. Show yourself!”

  Nothing. No movement. No sign of Bastien.

  “Raeven!” Her father gripped her arm and pulled

  her hard against his side. “You’re making a scene.”

  “I don’t care. Let me go!” She struggled, but it

  was futile.

  “He’s not coming out,” her father hissed in her ear.

  “You’re wasting your time. Now come quietly, or I’ll

  have you dragged across.”

  She met her father’s eyes and saw he meant every

  word. She was breathing heavily, but now she caught

  the breath and fought for control. She’d made a fool

  of herself already. Did she really want to be dragged

  unceremoniously aboard her father’s ship?

  With a shaky nod, she stepped onto the rope

  ladder and began the descent. Her father and Mr.

  Carter followed. Once they were back on the Regal

  and her emotions were under control, she angled

  for the deck rail. She had thought she would stand

  and watch as the two ships raised sails once again

  and went their own ways. She might have caught a

  glimpse of Bastien, but as soon as she stepped on the

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  Regal’s deck, the ship’s first lieutenant took her arm

  and escorted her to her cabin.

  It was locked behind her, and when she picked the

  lock and opened the door, she saw a guard was posted.

  It seemed no matter which ship she was aboard, she

  was going to be locked away.

  So as the men worked above, she sat on her rumpled

  berth and stared at her cabin. It seemed years had

  passed since she had last sat here, last paced the small

  space. Unlike Bastien’s cabin, hers looked as though

  a hurricane had torn through it. Clothes were strewn

  over the trunk, and others peeked out of the sides.

  She never quite managed to fold everything so the

  garments would be contained and free of wrinkles. On

  her small desk, maps and charts were strewn about, pen

  and ink lay where she’d left them—the ink staining a

  paper she’d begun to make notes on—and one of the

  three pictures she’d hung on the walls was crooked.

  All of the pictures were of ships and the sea, and she

  wondered now why she didn’t have any of land.

  Bastien had paintings of fields and flowers and houses.

  She pushed thoughts of him aside, went to her desk,

  and slid open the drawer. Inside, buried under more

  maps, several books, and a hairbrush, was a dark frame

  containing a miniature of Timothy. She stared at the

  picture, at the man she had loved so much. He looked

  youthful in the portrait, though at six and twenty, he

  had been seven years her elder when he died. But it

  had never felt as though he were older or wiser. She

  suspected Bastien to be closer to her age—she guessed

  he was at most five and twenty—but he seemed more

  experienced in every way.

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  She supposed he was; she supposed Timothy

  possessed more life experience than she, as well, but

  she’d never felt so when she’d been with him. Not like

  when she’d been with Bastien.

  And why, exactly, was she thinking of Bastien anyway?

  She heard the scrape of rigging, felt the Regal begin

  to catch the wind, and knew the two ships were

  parting. Bastien was gone… or would be within the

  hour. She should stop thinking of him.

  And she should definitely not compare him to

  Timothy, though looking at the portrait again, she

  saw there was little to compare. Timothy had been fair

  with light brown hair, doe brown eyes, and a round

  face. He was handsome but not striking. His gazes had

  never taken her breath away, the way one look from

  Bastien’s cobalt eyes could.

  Bastien is gone. She shook her head, willing her

  mind to put him away as easily as she placed Timothy’s

  picture back in the drawer and closed it tightly.

  Ten days passed, during which Raeven was largely

  confined to her quarters. For once, she
didn’t mind

  the confinement. She wanted to be alone. Her father

  came every day to visit her, and after the first three

  days, had stopped lecturing and scolding. Raeven

  didn’t have the fire to argue with him, and she

  supposed he grew tired of berating her when she did

  not fight back. There had been times she wanted

  to argue with him, justify her actions, but now that

  she’d spent time away from him, she saw how ill he’d

  become. His cough was worse, and he’d lost weight.

  He told her they were bound for England again, and

  she was grateful. A few months on land, eating good

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  food and resting, seemed just the thing for her father’s

  ailing health.

  And then one night she couldn’t sleep. She tossed

  and turned in her berth, unwanted memories of

  Bastien plaguing her dreams. Finally she rose, dressed,

  and opened the door to her cabin. She expected to

  see the guard posted there, but no one stood outside.

  The deserted companionway invited her, and without

  a backward glance, she stepped outside and within

  moments made her way on deck.

  The wind blew strong and cool, and she stood in

  the shadows and allowed it to slap her face and toss

  back her hair. The salt spray of the ocean splashed her

  arms and face, and she closed her eyes and tried to

  banish unwanted dreams and memories.

  “What d’ye think will ’appen to the poor bastard

  once ’e arrives in London town?”

  Raeven turned at the sound of the voices. She’d

  known she was not alone on deck. It was late, but

  the men of the watch were on duty. Undoubtedly,

  some of them had seen her, but she did not think they

  would rush to tell her father if she only stood and

  looked at the water. Still, she’d kept in the shadows,

  and these two seamen must not have seen her. She

  had no intention of making her presence known. She

  turned back to the rail and leaned her elbows on it.

  “’E’ll be ’anged sure as my name is Tom Skippy.

  Tried and ’anged. I’d pay a farthing to see it.”

  “They say ’e ain’t said a word since being brought

  on board. Just sits in the brig, like ’e’s some sort of

  fancy gentleman.”

  Raeven’s breath caught in her throat, and she had

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  to stop a gasp from escaping. As far as she knew, there

  were no prisoners in the brig. When had one been

  brought on board? They’d had no interaction with

  other ships since they’d left the Shadow.

  “Some say ’e’s a fancy gentleman,” the first seaman

  said. “But I say ’e’s a pirate, and ’e should be ’anged

  for his crimes.”

  “No.” She gripped the rail tighter then pushed

  back and ran for a companionway that would take

  her all the way to the lowest deck and the brig. She

  scurried down the steps, feeling her way past decks

  dark and crammed with men sleeping in dozens of

  hammocks. She didn’t need a lantern. She knew the

  ship as well as she knew her own body. She could find

  her way blindfolded.

  It’s not him. It’s not him. It can’t be him.

  When she reached the orlop deck, the smells

  of rotting wood, vinegar, and oakum assaulted her

  nostrils. They were familiar scents, almost comforting.

  She arrowed straight for the brig and was met by a

  large sailor, who stood blocking her path. Beyond

  him she could see the small cells. The Regal had three.

  She stared hard at the dark cells, her heart pounding

  in her throat.

  “Your father said you might run down here,” the

  sailor said, grabbing her arm when she tried to push

  past him. Raeven shook him off and glanced at him

  long enough to place his face and name. Everyone

  called him Rummy because he could drink any man

  under the table, and his beverage of choice was—what

  else?—rum.

  “Let go of me, Rummy. I’m going back there.”

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  But he blocked her way and grasped her by the

  arms. Fury bloomed in Raeven. “Get your hands off

  me, and get out of my way,” she hissed.

  “I can’t do that, Raeven.”

  She glared at him, and he cleared his throat. “Miss

  Russell. The admiral said you weren’t allowed down

  here. Go back to your cabin.”

  She stood ramrod straight and gave him a hard,

  direct look. “If you don’t get your hands off me, I

  swear by all that’s holy, I’ll cut them off and feed them

  to the sharks.”

  Rummy took his hands off her.

  “Good.” She nodded to the cells behind him.

  “Now get out of my way.”

  But he shook his head. “I can’t, Miss Russell.

  Your father—”

  She held up a hand. “I don’t care what my father

  said. Move, or I’ll move you.”

  He grinned. He was easily two feet taller than she

  and weighed three times what she did. “How are you

  going to do that?”

  In one smooth movement, she extracted the dagger

  from her boot and pressed against his throat. “This is

  how. Now move.”

  But the stubborn man didn’t budge. “You wouldn’t

  do that to me, Miss Russell. I’m only following orders.”

  She bit her lip. “You’re right. I don’t want to kill

  you.” She pulled the dagger from his throat and swung

  it considerably lower.

  Rummy emitted a high-pitched squeal.

  “But I’m not opposed to maiming you.”

  Their gazes met, and she let him see she meant it.

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  “You know I’ll do it,” she whispered. “Run. Go get

  my father, if you must, but get out of my way.”

  He nodded and began to edge away from the cells.

  “Slowly now,” she cautioned. “You don’t want my

  hand to slip.”

  He stepped carefully away from her, and when

  there was enough distance between his body and the

  dagger, he turned and went straight for the ladderway.

  Raeven knew he would probably fetch her father, but

  she didn’t care. She turned and stepped into the brig.

  The first cell was empty.

  The second cell was empty.

  And Bastien stood, arms crossed over his chest,

  brow cocked, in the third cell.

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  Seventeen

  She looked as beautiful as he remembered. Perhaps

  more beautiful, standing there, hands on her hips, hair

  falling brazenly over her shoulders and tumbling over

  her breasts, chin notched high, green eyes blazing.

  Bastien couldn’t stop smiling.

  Basti
en had told Russell his daughter would realize

  he was a prisoner, but Raeven’s father had assured

  Bastien he’d keep his presence on the ship a secret and

  Raeven away from the brig.

  “Ten days,” Bastien said. “I thought you’d find

  me sooner.”

  Her mouth—that lovely ripe-cherry mouth—

  worked silently. “You thought… you thought…”

  He leaned a shoulder against the cell bars. “You’d

  better speak quickly. Your friend—what was his name?

  Rummy? Unfortunate sobriquet. Rummy will be back

  momentarily, and he’ll bring your father.”

  She moved to the cell, wrapped her hands around

  the bars. “What are you doing here?”

  He lifted his brows. “Don’t you know?”

  She gave him a bewildered look, and he shook

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  his head. “Come now, Raeven. I thought you more

  intelligent than this.”

  “You’re not here for me.” She said it almost as a

  challenge, as though she wanted him to argue with

  her. He didn’t. He watched her face and could almost

  see her consider and discard one idea then the next.

  “Your ship.” Her gaze met his. “You traded your-

  self to save it. Bastien…” She reached for his hand, and

  he gave it to her. “I told you my father wouldn’t fire

  on the Shadow with me on board.”

  “No, he wouldn’t have fired while you were on

  board, but once you’d been taken aboard the Regal, he

  would have blown us out of the water.”

  “Not if he gave his word. You could have used me

  for leverage. You could have—”

  “Your faith in your father is touching, Raeven, but

  your father is also an admiral. If he left the Shadow

  with nothing to show for it and not a shot fired, what

  would he tell his superiors in England? He couldn’t

  fire because he gave his word to a pirate? Come now.

  You’re not that naïve.”

  “And so you agreed to go as his prisoner in order to

  save your ship. I should have realized before. I should

  have known you would have to do this.”

  “It wouldn’t have changed anything.” It wouldn’t

  have meant he could keep the Shadow. He could either

  sit in the brig of the Regal or sit on the bottom of the

  ocean floor. There had been no choice, really. He’d

  given the ship to Ridley, and after they hanged him in

  London, he’d promised to haunt Ridley if the man didn’t

  take good care of her. “I have nothing to lose,” Bastien