by Kruger, Mary
“Yes, but—not like that.” Pressed up against the wall, she licked lips gone suddenly dry, and saw his eyes flicker. “But if you’re going to do it, then do it!”
Brendan laughed, the tension leaving his face, and leaned against the table, his arms crossed. “‘Tis a sadly practical streak ye have, leannan. Is there no romance in ye?”
Rebecca’s lips thinned. “There is no room in my life for romance, sir.”
“No?” He regarded her, his eye bright and curious. “Now why is that, I wonder? Is it that you’re not interested? Nay, I doubt that.” His smile was wicked, knowing. “Not the way ye react to my touch.”
“I do not react to you, sir! Not in that way.”
“Ah, then ye do know what I mean? There was romance there once, wasn’t there?” he said, his gaze and voice both suddenly sharper. “Is it that some man hurt ye, Rebecca? Is that it?”
“‘Tis none of your concern,” she snapped, feeling the color rise in her cheeks.
“Isn’t it, now?” He straightened, still studying her. “Why aren’t ye afraid of me, lass?”
Rebecca licked her lips again. “I am.”
“Ye don’t act it.”
Oh, but she was afraid of him. Afraid of him, and of her response to him, and what that meant about her. “If I did, you’d call me missish.”
He laughed again. “Care for my good opinion, do ye?”
“Certainly not! I never have understood the need for hysterics and the vapors.”
“Have ye not? A rare woman ye are, then. Most woman use tears to gain what they desire.”
“Tears have never availed me anything.”
“For example,” he went on, as if she hadn’t spoken, “if ye cried, I just might leave ye alone.”
There was silence for a moment. “I’m not going to cry,” Rebecca said, softly but determinedly. She would not show any weakness before this man. “You’d like it if I did, wouldn’t you? Would it make you feel like a man, then? That you made a woman cry in fear of you?”
“You should be afraid of me, by God!” he roared, whirling around and slamming his hand on the table. Rebecca flinched and blinked, and for a moment there was tense, tight silence between them. Their gazes held, and subtly, slowly, something shifted in the atmosphere around them. Something changed. He was not a man with power over her of life and death, but just, simply, a man. And a dangerously attractive one, with his shirt loose at his throat and the corded muscles in his neck standing out. He looked away first, and she was relieved.
“Ye should be afraid of me,” he repeated, turning away. “I’m the Raven, by God.”
“Yes, I know,” she said, almost gently.
“Ye mock me?” he demanded, glaring at her.
“No. Oh, no.” But neither did she quite fear him anymore. She had just snapped at him, defied him, goaded him, and he had not reacted as she’d expected. He had not struck her, but had instead held onto his temper with great restraint. “I’m sure your reputation is well-earned. Remember,” she hurried on, as he opened his mouth to speak, “I’ve seen you in action, as it were.”
He stared at her a moment longer, hands on his hips, and then, incredibly, he smiled, displaying the dimple she found so incongruous, and so entrancing. The smile turned into a grin, and then a chuckle. “Ah, leannan, you’re a rare one. And don’t say I’m not to call ye that,” he said, flicking her cheek with a fingertip. “This is my ship, and I’ll do as I wish.”
“Of course,” Rebecca murmured, looking down at her hands, linked tightly before her. She still felt his touch on her cheek, and a little sting that burned out of all proportion.
“‘Of course,’” he mocked. “Why do I doubt such meekness?”
“Well, I can hardly stop you, can I?”
“Ah, now that’s my lass. A good, proper waspish tone.”
“You make me sound quite a shrew.”
“Nay, lass.” His eye twinkled. “‘Tis remarkably forbearing ye are.”
“Have I a choice?”
He cocked his head to the side. “Is it really so bad here?”
She stared at him in astonishment. “So bad? You hold me captive on a pirate ship—”
“Aye. Better than going to England, is it not?”
“Better than—!” She closed her mouth with a snap. “It most certainly is not! You had no right to interfere in my life that way. And you look not a bit ashamed,” she went on. “You, a godless pirate.”
“I think I like ye better when you don’t preach, leannan.”
“But I am right, and you know it. Let us go,” she said, suddenly, not caring that she begged. “Put us aboard a ship to England, and we’ll not say a word against you. I promise.”
He stood, hands on hips, appearing to consider her request. “‘Tis what you want? To go to England?”
“Yes.”
“Ye lie, lass,” he said, very softly.
“I beg your pardon!”
“Ye no more want to go to England than I do. Admit it, leannan.” He leaned his hands on the table, bending close, too close, and for the life of her she could not look away. Had she really thought he was only truly dangerous in a temper? Oh, no, for how much more danger he posed now, close enough to touch, to smell the scent of the sea and the indefinable essence that was him, to touch the coarse linen of his shirt and his bronzed skin... Rebecca jerked back, and his hand shot out to grab her chin, imprisoning it, his gaze holding hers. “‘Tis not the life ye want. Ye want to be wild and free—”
“No,” she protested, weakly.
“Aye, lass. Ye do, deep inside. Free, with no one to tell ye what to do, to live your life the way ye please. Aye, to run barefoot if ye wish, to let your hair down and laugh. And,” he said, his mouth hovering near hers, “ye want me to kiss you.”
Chapter Seven
Rebecca stiffened. “You’ve no right to speak to me in such a way.”
“Let us get one thing understood, lass.” He leaned closer yet, his face almost touching hers. “This is my ship. If I want something done, it will be done. If I give an order it will be obeyed.” He stared at her, and she could find no trace of softness, of kindness, in his eye. “D’ye understand?”
“Y-yes.”
“Good. Just ye remember it.” Brendan straightened and turned to the door. “I’ll leave ye in peace.”
“Wait,” she called, as he swung the door open. “May I visit my sister?”
“No,” he said curtly, and slammed the door shut. And, inside the cabin, Rebecca collapsed against the back of the chair, shaking uncontrollably. She was trapped. There was no escape from this ship, or from him. God help her, which prospect frightened her more?
Brendan ran up the companionway with the ease of long practice. Aye, he’d had a narrow escape, he thought, bursting out onto the deck, startling the seaman who lounged nearby. “Why aren’t ye at your post?” he snarled, and the seaman jumped up, his eyes flashing white.
“I’m not on watch, Cap’n, I swear! Ask the mate.”
Brendan gave him one murderous glare and then spun on his heel, leaving the hapless seaman to quake in both relief and terror that his days were numbered. “I’ll be aloft,” he said to Starkey, the mate on watch, who nodded, uninterestedly. Nettled as much by the lack of response as he would have been had there been one, he began climbing the foremast shrouds, the tangle of lines that made up the standing rigging, higher and higher, surrounded by an ocean of canvas, a sea of sail. When he was a child he’d climbed to the top of the tallest tree, pretending he was on a ship, pretending that the wind sang through the rigging, rather than whistling softly through leaves. He’d been very young, he thought, with only a trace of bitterness, reaching his destination at last, the topmost yardarm. There he swung his leg over a spar and leaned back against the stout mast, swaying easily with the roll of the ship and lazily holding onto a line. Aye, he’d been young, and naive. As naive as the girl in his cabin, for all her show of bravery.
His lips tight
ened. God help him, if she didn’t know what had sparked between them just now, he did. He knew well the ways of man and woman, knew that in that moment he’d wanted her more than he’d ever wanted another woman—and she had felt the same. Innocent she might be, but the passion was there, banked deep, and if he awakened it he would be singed. Burned. For that reason alone he should avoid her for the rest of the voyage. But he wouldn’t.
From his perch, life looked simple, uncomplicated. Below him was his ship, and all about him, the sea. This was the easiest, and dullest, part of the adventure. Or, rather, it should be. With the northeast trade winds blowing steadily, with no sails in sight and with no set destination, running the ship required little of him. His mates and crew were well-trained; they knew to keep them on this empty stretch of sea and to watch for other ships, changing tack as necessary to keep to the meandering course he had set. The only danger he could see at the moment was the chance of a storm, in the clouds massing on the horizon far astern. That, and the woman in his cabin. Even in sleep he was aware of her, of her breathing and the little sounds she made in her sleep, aware that she was close, his for the taking. And that was something that bothered him out of all proportion.
Brendan stayed on deck the remainder of that day, and the next, preferring the simplicity of life from the yardarm. Time passed, however, and with the sun well up in the sky, it was nearly time to be taking the noon sights, to fix their position. Swinging onto the shrouds, he scampered down, as nimble and silent as a cat, so quiet that two seamen below him weren’t aware of his descent. Not on watch, they stood near the rail, one idly whittling, the other spitting into the sea. “What I say is,” the man who was whittling said, shaving another piece of wood off an already unrecognizable sculpture, “is why he’s got them both holed up below if he’s not doin’ anything with them?”
The other man spat again. “Aye, and why he took the old one in with him. Don’t know what joy he gets from her,” he said, and they both laughed, coarse, harsh chuckles.
“I say, if he don’t want ‘em, he should share,” the first man said, and Brendan, momentarily frozen, returned to life. If they were discussing the two women openly, then all the crew likely thought the same thing. It was a threat, not just to the Talbot sisters, but to his own power. To himself.
“I’ll take the little one. You can have the old one,” the second man was saying, when seemingly from nowhere Brendan landed on the deck between them. Both knife and wood flew from one man’s fingers, and flecks of spittle spattered on the other’s face. “Christ, Cap’n!” he exclaimed.
Brendan said not a word. He didn’t have to. His gaze, his very presence, said it all, that and the memory of all the past misdeeds it was rumored he’d committed. “Ye were saying, lad?” he said, his voice dangerously soft.
“I—nothin’, C’ap’n,” the man who had been whittling babbled, while the other one began to edge away. “We was just talkin’.”
“See to it that’s all it is, boyo.” Brendan’s gaze was unflinching, and though the other man didn’t look away his head reared back, as if in escape. “Because I protect what is mine.” His eye flicked down to the knife, still lying on the deck, and then back up. “By whatever means necessary.”
“Aye, C’ap’n,” the man babbled, bending down and scooping up knife and wood fragment in one fumbling gesture. “Beggin’ yer pardon, I’ll jist go and have me dinner—”
“Do that, boyo.” Hands on hips, Brendan watched as he scuttled away, throwing nervous glances over his shoulder. Good. He’d put the fear of God in him, and in everyone on the ship. He was the Raven, by God, and he did protect what was his. Be damned if he’d share.
Still smoldering, he strode across the deck and rattled down the companionway. Aye, the cabin was his, too, and yet he’d let a mere woman chase him from it. No more, he thought grimly, turning the key and pushing open the door. His ship, his cabin, and his woman, and—.
Rebecca, sitting at the table, looked up, startled, her eyes wary. His? He stopped in his tracks. Good God, no! His prize, yes, his responsibility, but not his in the possessive way he’d thought just a moment before. He must have been mad.
“Captain?” she said, when he didn’t move, and it released him from his paralysis. She had courage, he’d say that for her. His men had scuttled, and yet there she sat, placid as a ship becalmed. “Is something wrong? Is it,” her hand crept up to her throat, “my sister?”
“Your sister is fine,” he said rudely, jerked back to reality. Not his, by God. His keys jangled as he unlocked the cabinet and took out his sextant. “Ye’ll not question me.”
“I wasn’t—”
“And ye’ll not argue with me, either.” He rounded on her. “D’ye understand?”
“I wasn’t—no, of course not.” Her hands, which had fluttered nervously into the air, now settled onto the table, two small birds folding their wings.
“Huh,” he snorted, and went out, banging the door behind him.
Rebecca stared at the door in mystification. Mercy, what was that about? She hadn’t done anything to provoke him that she knew of. She glanced down at her journal, and then back at the door, and went still. She hadn’t heard him turn the key in the lock.
As quick as that, she was up and across the room, her fingers on the handle. Mercy, it turned, it was opening, and—Tyner stood in the passageway, a pewter plate in his hand and a quizzical look on his face. “Miss?”
Rebecca made a futile slashing gesture through the air and turned away, disappointment sharp within her. Escape was impossible, but if she could only get out, could only see Amelia and reassure her, ease her fears... “What is it, Tyner?”
“Dinner, miss.” The door was again closed; the keys were held firmly in his hand. Rebecca eyed them hungrily. “Cap’n’s in a rare taking,” Tyner went on, setting the dish onto the table. “Best you eat. No tellin’ what he’ll do in this kind of mood.”
Rebecca shuddered, her appetite gone. “What has happened, Tyner?”
“Don’t know, miss.” He turned the key in the lock, opening the door, and Rebecca tensed. If she moved quickly, caught him off-guard... “Never seen him quite like this, not in all these years.”
Impossible to overtake him, Rebecca thought, the mad impulse leaving as fast as it had come. Tyner was small and scrawny, but his shoulders were broad and his arms ropy with muscles. Better to bide her time and find another way to gain her objective, as she always had to do with Father. And the first thing to do, she thought, realizing suddenly what Tyner had just said, was to get information. “Have you been with Captain Fitzpatrick long, Tyner?” she asked.
“Aye, long enough. I’ll leave ye to your meal.”
“No, please, wait.”
He stopped by the door. “Cap’n’ll want me topside.”
“I know. But please, tell me. How does my sister fare?”
Tyner paused and then half-turned to her. “She’s not eating, miss.”
“Oh, drat,” she said, softly. Refusing to eat was a ploy Amelia often used when things weren’t to her liking. Effective against their father, and occasionally against Rebecca herself, but it wouldn’t work here. “She has to eat.”
“Aye. We’ll see to it that she does.”
Rebecca stared at him. “You will?”
“Aye. The cap’n’ll want her healthy for the ransom.”
“Oh, drat the ransom!” she cried, and with a sweep of her arm spun the pewter dish across the table, scattering its contents of fish and bread and potatoes. “Her life is at stake, and all you care about is the money? What manner of man is your captain?”
“A hard man. Best ye remember that.” Tyner frowned at the mess on the table. “And he don’t like tantrums.”
“If you think this is a tantrum, just wait until I get started. I’ll—”
“And what’s all this?” a voice said in the doorway. Rebecca looked up to see Brendan, and felt her face fill with color. “The food’s not to your liking, Miss Talbo
t?”
“The—the food is fine,” Rebecca got out, inwardly cursing her clumsy tongue and her earlier fit of temper. Mercy, what had gotten into her? “I would like to see my sister.”
“Sorry, lass.” Brendan shrugged as he opened the cabinet, putting away the sextant. “‘Tis not possible.”
“Ye’ve taken the sights already, cap’n,” Tyner said.
“Aye. Sam wrote down my readings. I expected to see you, Tyner.”
“I was busy putting down mutiny, Cap’n.”
“So I see.” Brendan glanced over at the table again, and unforgivably his lips twitched. “You’re forgiven, Tyner. This time. Now see to my dinner.”
“Aye, Cap’n,” Tyner said, and scuttled out.
“It wasn’t his fault,” Rebecca said into the silence.
Brendan turned from the cabinet. “D’ye think I don’t know that, lass?”
“I—I lost my temper.”
“Aye, so? Best ye clean that mess up, or ye’ll miss your dinner.”
“I’m not particularly hungry,” Rebecca said, but, cheeks aflame, she returned the larger morsels of food to the plate.
“It doesn’t matter, lass. Tyner has his orders.” All levity had left his face. “And if ye interfere with his duties again, I’ll have to punish him.”
Rebecca looked up, shocked. “But he wasn’t to blame—”
“No matter. He knew I expected him on deck.” He sat down at the swivel chair at the head of the table, watching her, face set and eye slightly narrowed. “Let that kind of thing go, and before ye know it ye’ve mutiny on your hands.”
“What—what would you do?”
“Hm?” Brendan looked up from writing some numbers on a slate. “Use the lash, I suppose.”
“What manner of man are you?” she burst out, appalled. “To do such a thing to an innocent man!”
“A pirate, lass,” he said, and, unbelievably, smiled. “And don’t ye be forgettin’ it. Eat your dinner, now.”
Rebecca sat down and stared at the food without seeing it. She was in the power of a madman. No matter his charm, no matter his looks. If he could so calmly consider whipping a faithful servant, then he was a monster.
