Sarina gaped at him as understanding set in. “But . . . but it can’t be. You said the coin would be something special. This is . . . it’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing,” he retorted. “Ponder it, Smith. Your father—who found the cutlass—just happened to also pass on a coin to you. It can’t be a coincidence.”
She took the coin in her hand, looking at it with new eyes. “He told me never to take it off,” she murmured. “To keep it close to my heart and it would always keep me safe.”
“A perfect hiding place. No one would ever suspect.”
“More lies,” Sarina muttered. “More secrets.” She pulled the chain over her head, holding it out to Jonathan as she fought off tears. “You might as well take it. Put it in the chest with the rest.”
“Sarina, your father—“
“My father was a liar,” she said flatly.
“Your father,” Jonathan continued, reaching out to take the coin, “was a good man. And I believe if he was after the treasure, it was for you. He loved you, Sarina. I know that. You know that.”
She closed her eyes, forcing tears down her cheeks as her shoulders fell. “I don’t know what I know anymore.”
“Yes, you do.”
She looked up at him with shining eyes. He reached over and placed the chain back over her head, settling the charm gently against her chest.
“Whatever reason he gave you this, it is something that was important to both of you,” he said. “You should keep it.”
“But what about the treasure?”
“We’ll address that when the time comes.” He leaned in to kiss her, then smiled. “Now, we’re for Tortuga, Smith. I suggest you get dressed if you expect to go ashore.”
Sarina sniffed, smiling slightly. “Aye, Captain.”
“That’s more like it,” he said with a wink, turning to get out of bed. “And for God’s sake, don’t wear those dreadful breeches.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Sarina smirked and he knew she was going to wear the breeches.
Jonathan sighed in resignation. “Well, at least button your bloody coat.”
He opened the door and shouted for his breakfast, the sounds of the ship coming to life bursting through the open door. He turned back to see Sarina studying the coin, a tender smile on her face. Then, with a heavy breath, she tucked it into her shift and wiped away her tears, heading behind the screen to get dressed.
Jonathan didn’t know exactly what would happen once they did find the treasure—and Kane—but he did know one thing.
Leaving Sarina Talbot would be the most difficult thing he’d ever have to do.
In fact, he was beginning to wonder if it was even possible.
At long last, I have found it.
- The Journal of Simon Alistair Mellick, 19 September, 1665
The sun was high in the sky when the Black Arrow made port in Tortuga, the men completing their tasks in double time in the hopes of making the most of their time ashore. The ship was relatively secure—tucked in a hidden cove around the point from the town proper—so all but a few were allowed to indulge in the entertainments the island had to offer. Jonathan had assigned a couple of men to keep watch at the entry to the cove, and a few cabin boys were left behind on the ship with a cask of ale and instructions to fetch help if anything went amiss.
Jonathan would have preferred to procure whatever information Pearl had obtained and leave soon after. He knew, however, that these brief moments of respite were what kept his men going through weeks on the run—or worse yet, fighting for their very lives. So he’d granted them a few hours of drink and debauchery while he visited Pearl, along with a stern warning that each man would be expected to do his duty when he returned to the ship, so they’d best not indulge too heavily.
He wasn’t too worried. If there was one thing he knew about his men, it was that they could handle their rum.
With an impatient sigh, he leaned against a palm tree, waiting for the others to join him, his eye warily watching James Ceron. The man stood talking with one of the younger crewmen, a native like James, and the younger man listened raptly to whatever Ceron was saying. James gestured wildly as he spoke, then stopped, staring at the crewman expectantly. After a moment, the younger man burst out laughing, and Ceron smacked him on the back with a smile before turning to walk toward Jonathan.
Jonathan bit the inside of his cheek. Sarina was convinced that James was trustworthy, but Jonathan still had his doubts. He knew his decision to take the native along on this mission raised some eyebrows, particularly on the part of Max, but Jonathan firmly believed in keeping his friends close and his enemies closer.
He wasn’t quite certain which Jamie Ceron was just yet.
“Where are the others?” James asked as he drew nearer.
Jonathan nodded toward the water where Hutchins was splashing through the shallow water, carrying Sarina in his arms while Max trailed behind. The cove was ideal for their purposes, a deep channel edged by shallow water enabling them to disembark without use of a dinghy, and they’d used it many times before. Jonathan fought back a rush of jealousy at the sight of his master rigger with his hands on his—on Sarina. He knew Hutchins was simply trying to keep the woman’s boots dry, and he would have done the job himself if he hadn’t had to see to the early scouting party. Hutchins set her down on the sand with a grin, steadying her with a hand on her elbow as she regained her footing. She was wearing the blasted breeches—of course—and gripped her sword hilt with a wide smile, straightening her hat before starting across the sand toward Jonathan.
“I’m surprised you let her out of your sight,” James mused.
Jonathan growled in response. James chuckled.
“Sorry, we took so long, I needed to—“ Sarina came to an abrupt stop, her eyes widening slightly.
“What’s wrong?” Jonathan asked.
“What are you wearing?” she blurted, clapping a hand to her mouth as if she could force the words back.
He looked down at his clothes in confusion. Jenkins had his coat and hat, but other than that, Jonathan was dressed in his usual shirt, breeches and boots, his cutlass and flintlocks strapped about his hips. “What are you talking about?”
Max, insightful as always, pulled Hutchins along the path, motioning for James to join them. “We’ll be waiting over here,” he said in response to Jonathan’s confused look. The captain turned back to Sarina, frowning at her open collar.
“Would you please button your shirt?” he muttered. When she made to do so with trembling fingers, not meeting his gaze, he crossed his arms over his chest. “Now, what are you on about, Smith?”
“It’s nothing,” she muttered, face aflame. “It’s just . . . your . . .” She waved a hand toward his legs.
“My what?”
“Your breeches,” she hissed, looking for all the world like she’d rather be somewhere else—anywhere else. “You weren’t wearing those earlier.”
Jonathan wondered if perhaps Sarina had hit her head on the trip from the ship.
“No,” he said carefully. “I caught them on a nail and ripped a hole in them, so I had to change. You can feel free to mend them whenever you’ve a mind to.”
“Don’t you have any others?” she asked, almost desperately.
“Aye, but I chose these,” he replied, confusion quickly turning to irritation. “Now what on earth is wrong with my breeches?” He looked down, examining them closely. “Are they torn?” He turned around and Sarina let out a choked sound. When he turned back to her, she seemed even redder, if that were possible, her mouth parted on a gasp.
“It’s just . . . they’re so tight,” she said, swallowing thickly. “And leather. That can’t be comfortable.” She tore her eyes away.
It took Jonathan a moment, but he was nothing if not insightful, and with the dawning of realization, he leaned his shoulder against the tree with a satisfied smirk.
“Actually, they’re quite comfortable,” he said archly. He
might have also purposely hitched his hip outward just a little bit more than usual.
Perhaps.
Sarina’s eyes widened again. She turned her attention to another tree, apparently finding its bark extraordinarily interesting. She cleared her throat.
“Shouldn’t we be going?”
“In a moment.” He turned so his back was against the tree, hips thrust outward invitingly. “Smith?”
“Hmm?” She tracked the pattern in the bark with a fingertip, before she turned abruptly to look out over the water. “Lovely weather, isn’t it?”
Jonathan laughed. “The weather? Are you serious?”
“Well, it is lovely,” she stammered, waving at the sky. “So clear and blue. And the sea is so . . . clear. And blue.” She swallowed, shifting uncomfortably on her feet.
“Smith.” Jonathan twisted again, not missing the quick dart of her eyes at the movement. “Do you have a problem with my breeches?”
“Problem? No, of course not. Whyever would I have a problem?” She studiously avoided looking his direction.
Jonathan pushed off the tree and moved toward her. He saw her start slightly and step away, then her jaw tightened and she stepped back.
Brave girl.
He moved to her side, a little behind her, so her left leg was bracketed by both of his. She glanced down when his leather-clad thigh brushed hers, and gulped.
“What are you doing?” Her voice cracked.
He leaned in, unable to resist, his lips brushing against her ear. He felt her shudder as he murmured, “You like them.”
She inhaled sharply. “I don’t.”
“Oh, I think you do.” He reached out to grab her wrist, all teasing forgotten with the wave of heat coming off her body. She gave no resistance as he pulled her hand toward his leg, laying her open palm over his thigh. Sarina gasped, her fingers clenching involuntarily in the soft leather, molding to his muscular flesh.
Jonathan hissed, pressing his open mouth to her neck. At the sound of a throat clearing, he stifled a groan and stepped back reluctantly. Sarina’s hand drifted from his thigh and fell against her side. He turned to see Max watching him with an amused expression.
“Captain, I hate to interrupt, but we really should be going.”
Jonathan took a deep breath, realizing that now his breeches really were a little uncomfortable. “Yes. Of course. Right. Be right there.” Max nodded, turning to walk away, and Jonathan adjusted himself, under the guise of adjusting his sword belt. “Shall we, Smith?”
She glared at him. “That wasn’t very nice.”
“I’m rarely nice.”
She gave him a measured look for a long moment, then lifted her chin in challenge. “You know?” she said sweetly. “It is a bit warm, isn’t it? I don’t think I need this coat.” She removed her sword belt, then unbuttoned the coat, folding it carefully and draping it over a low log. The slight sea breeze fitted the thin fabric of her shirt to her body, making it cling along her breasts, her tiny waist. With another glare at Jonathan she pointedly unbuttoned the top two buttons of her shirt, then propped her fists on her hips. “There. That’s much better.”
Jonathan gritted his teeth, ignoring the surge of lust shooting through him. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“What?” She mimicked his guileless expression.
“Put your coat back on.”
“I think you like it,” she taunted, throwing back her shoulders.
Jonathan ripped the coat from the log, thrusting it at her. “Smith, if you don’t put this coat on, you are not coming along.” They glared at each other stubbornly for a moment, before Jonathan sighed heavily, looking into her eyes. “It’s imperative that you escape unwanted attention,” he said earnestly. “Believe me, if you go into town like that, Stanton will be the least of our problems.”
Sarina studied him carefully, then rolled her eyes and grabbed the coat. “Doesn’t seem fair,” she muttered.
Jonathan hid his relief under a smug grin. “Life usually isn’t.” She buckled her sword belt with a mulish frown, and Jonathan couldn’t resist adding, “Look on the bright side. You can enjoy my breeches all you like.”
“Arse,” she muttered.
“Such language!” He laughed, then on impulse wrapped an arm around her waist, drawing her close and planting a hard kiss on her mouth. He pulled away and took her hand to lead her toward the others, only releasing her when they started down the path toward town.
Every now and then he’d glance back to find Sarina’s eyes fixed on his leather-clad backside. But instead of blushing when he caught her, she’d stick out her tongue and mutter to herself.
Jonathan decided perhaps he should get another pair of leather breeches.
Rina couldn’t take her eyes off those blasted breeches. No matter how much she tried to focus on the trees or the sand before her feet or even the conversation James was trying to have with her, her gaze kept returning to Jonathan’s firm backside, clad in soft, supple leather.
She might have even caught herself trying to reach out and touch it once or twice.
Jonathan knew, too, which was embarrassing, but did little to stop her apparently uncontrollable libido. He’d smirk at her and she’d want to be angry, but then she’d have a flash of the night before, that indescribable pleasure he’d brought her, and all she could do was force a glare until he turned back around.
Then she’d stare at his backside again.
Sarina feared she was becoming quite the insatiable trollop.
Fortunately, they arrived in town, enabling her to firmly push back any further considerations of Jonathan, his breeches, or his rather talented thighs. They gathered at the edge of the main road, and Jonathan fixed them all with a firm look.
“We all know the plan,” he said. “Ceron, you and Sarina keep watch outside while Hutchins, Baines, and I go in to speak to Pearl. I doubt Stanton will find his way here anytime soon, but the bastard has fooled me before.”
James nodded grimly. “Aye, Captain.”
With that, Jonathan, Max, and Sam made their way to the entrance of the Red Pearl. James sauntered over to a shop across the street and leaned casually against the corner porch railing. Rina took a spot under a tree just outside the tavern, one that provided a view through the wide front window.
If she was going to be kept out of the action, she was going to make certain she could at least see it.
It only took a moment before she spotted Jonathan and the others sitting down at a table, a serving wench placing jugs of ale before them. She smiled at Jonathan, before sitting in his lap, and Sarina stiffened. He whispered something in the girl’s ear and she giggled, wrapping her arms around Jonathan’s neck with a familiar air.
Was this the elusive Pearl? Rina pulled her hat low over her eyes to hide her appraising stare. The girl was petite, larger than Sarina, but still small enough to fit comfortably in Jonathan’s lap. She wore an ill-fitting, garish blue gown, hanging loose off one shoulder to reveal her pale skin. Blonde hair was piled on her head, a few strands clinging to her face from the heat, and her eyes were dark—outlined with kohl, no doubt—her cheeks rouged and lips red with stain.
Sarina bit her own lip, pale and pink, jealousy burning in her gut.
After a moment, Jonathan whispered in the wench’s ear again and she nodded, standing up. Jonathan smacked her backside and the group laughed as the girl slapped his arm playfully, then proceeded through a dark hallway at the back of the room.
Rina shifted against the tree, sparing one look across the street at James before turning back to the window. A few minutes later, the wench came back into the main room with another woman—tall and beautiful with bright red hair curling wildly around her shoulders. The redhead smiled at the group of men, embracing each of them before settling down in the empty chair at the table. She and Jonathan spoke—apparently in hushed tones, since they all leaned in to listen. After a moment, she stood up, turning to Sam Hutchins and beckoning with a f
inger and a wink. The master rigger grinned and stood immediately, taking her hand as she led him up the stairs in the back of the room. Jonathan and Max, meanwhile, sat back, exchanging a frustrated shrug before signaling the serving wench for another mug of ale.
“Sarina?” James’ quiet voice startled her, and she jumped, stifling a shriek.
“What?” she hissed.
James raised an eyebrow. “For someone who’s supposed to be keeping watch, you don’t seem to be watching much. Out here, at least.” He gave a pointed glance toward the window, where the serving wench was leaning on the table next to Max, offering a view of her ample bosom.
Rina glared at James. “Did you need something?”
All joking aside, he nodded. “I think I saw someone suspicious down the street a bit,” he said. “I’m not certain, but I thought I’d go look into it. I wanted to make sure you’ll be all right here by yourself.”
“Suspicious?” She felt a chill down her spine. “Who?”
“I don’t know. I thought I saw someone watching the tavern, but I also might be imagining things. I’d rather poke around a bit before interrupting the captain.” He looked toward the window, where Jonathan was laughing at something the wench said. “He’s obviously quite busy.”
Rina snorted. “Obviously.” She straightened. “Do you want me to come with you?”
“No, it’s better if you stay here and keep an eye on things. I shouldn’t be long.”
“All right then. Be careful.”
James nodded before melting into the shadows of the buildings and making his way down the street. Rina scanned the area but saw nothing out of place—just a lot of drunken men walking, some singing gleefully off-key. A group sat crouched on the ground in an alley a short distance away throwing dice and cheering loudly. She sighed and looked back toward the window. She had a sneaking suspicion that Jonathan’s decision to have her stay outside had little to do with keeping watch and more to do with keeping her out of the way.
Cutlass Page 27
