In a Pirate's Arms

by Kruger, Mary

  It wrenched at him, an almost physical pain, twisting deep inside. What hurt her so that she could cry so heartbrokenly, and yet not awaken? What pain was there inside her? Aside from whatever pain he’d caused her, he thought with a grimace, sitting carefully on the bed. Aye, ‘twould be best to put her and her sister on another ship, best for her, best for him. No matter how hard it might be.

  “Rebecca.” He laid a hand on her shoulder. Her breath caught, and then ebbed out again on a sob, and still she didn’t awaken. Now what did he do? Crying women were the devil’s own nuisance, but this—this was doing something to him. He couldn’t sit by and let her suffer through this alone.

  “Easy, lass,” he murmured, slipping an arm under her shoulders and lifting her against his chest. He should soothe her back into sleep, he knew, but he couldn’t. He had to stop whatever was causing her such pain. “Easy, now, Rebecca, ‘tis all right. Wake up, lass.”

  “Nooo,” came from her in a long, low moan, and she moved her head against his shoulder. She was shaking it in denial. “No! Oh, Robbie.” The last syllable rose, and broke. “Robbie.”

  Brendan sat quite still. Robbie. Here he sat, holding her, and she cried for another man. A fine fool he was. “Wake up, lass,” he said again, louder now, shaking her shoulder a bit harder. “Rebecca. Wake up.”

  “No,” she said again, and then went very still. He was quiet, too. She had acted like an outraged virgin this afternoon, when all the time there was another man.

  Rebecca raised her head, her face bewildered. “I—what is it?” she asked, her voice rough.

  “You were crying in your sleep.”

  “I was? Oh.” She seemed to realize for the first time that he held her, and she jerked away. He should have let her go, but even now, knowing what he did, he couldn’t. Warm and sleepy, she felt good next to him. Too good. “I—had a dream. Thank you for waking me.”

  “Aye.” He inclined his head. “A bad dream, by the sound of it.”

  “Yes. Excuse me, I wish to get my handkerchief.” Again she tried to pull away, and this time he let her go, watching as she fumbled in the pocket of her crumpled dress. He stayed beside her, somehow unable to move. “I’m sorry. I never cry.”

  He inclined his head. “Ye’ve been through enough these last days.”

  “No, it wasn’t that—yes.” She forced a smile. “Thank you for waking me.”

  He inclined his head again, watching her. “What was your dream?”

  “Nothing. Thank you, Captain. I’m sorry I disturbed you.”

  “Aye,” he said, and rose at last, any closeness he’d felt towards her gone. “Just one thing, lass.”

  She looked up, mopping at her eyes. “Yes?”

  “Who is Robbie?”

  Rebecca went very still, and then finished drying her eyes. “How do you know about him?”

  “You said his name.” He stared down at her. “Like your heart was breaking.”

  She looked away, biting her lip. “It is.”

  He didn’t want to ask the next question, but he had to. He had to know. “Someone you love?”

  “Yes,” she said, and sighed. “You might as well know. There’s no reason for you not to.” She looked up at him, her eyes clear and candid, and yet filled with pain beyond bearing. “Robbie was my son.”

  Chapter Nine

  “Your son!” Brendan jerked back. “But you’re not—”

  “Married. I know.” A wry smile twisted her face. “It happens, captain. I surely wouldn’t be your first woman.”

  “Well, no, but—that’s different.”

  “Of course.” She looked down at her hands. “Different.” Men were allowed such things. Women were condemned for them. “So now you know.”

  “I don’t know anything.” Brendan sounded bewildered as he rose and began to pace the cabin. “All I thought I knew—”

  “Come, Captain, we’re hardly that close.”

  “Brendan.” He swung around. “My name is Brendan.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “The Raven has a name?”

  “Stop it.” He stood in front of her, glaring at her. “We’re close to each other, lass, whether ye like it or not. Circumstances have forced it.”

  Rebecca closed her eyes. Oh, yes, circumstances, and if things were different, he would never have looked at her twice. In the past few days she’d come to know him in an oddly intimate way. Never mind that she actually knew little about him; never mind that he was a pirate. They were close. The fact that the closeness had been forced on her would make little difference to the gossips back home. “I’m your captive,” she whispered.

  He swore, making her eyes open wide. “You’re more to me than that, and you know it.”

  “No, how can I?” Her temper flared. “You hold us and plan to trade us for ransom. That you’ve treated us well—” She slashed through the air with her hand. “‘Tis because of that ridiculous bargain we made.”

  “I’ve never touched you, lass.”

  “And you never will. I want no part of this.” She clambered off the bed, impeded by her full skirts, all the old hurt, all her self-loathing rising within her. “I’d rather go back to my cell than stay with you now.”

  “The devil take it!” he erupted. “Have I treated you badly? Hurt you?”

  “No.” Her voice was very quiet. “You only expected me to be a whore.”

  “By God, Rebecca, that’s the last thing I expected of you! I thought—”

  “You thought I was a virgin,” she said, when he didn’t go on. “And it bothers you. Mercy! It does, doesn’t it?”

  “The devil take it, yes, it does.” He rounded on her. “What kind of a game have you been playing with me? Playing the innocent when all the time you—”

  “I never said I wasn’t experienced.” She sat down, her hands folded in her lap, her anger gone. It would solve nothing. What was he to her, anyway? What could he ever be to her? “Do you know, when you’re angry you lose your brogue?”

  “Then ye’ll know when I’m in a temper, won’t ye?” he replied instantly, his eye startled.

  “Oh. Yes.” She looked down at her hands. “Please let us go.” Her voice was low. “This does no one any good.”

  “I can’t, lass.” He sat in his swivel chair, watching her. “You’re too valuable.”

  “Me? If it were only me I doubt my father would pay the ransom.”

  “What happened, Rebecca?” he asked, quietly.

  His face was serious, and for the first time, Rebecca felt that she knew him, that she could trust him. Very odd thing to feel about a pirate. “I—well, you might as well know. I had a child when I was seventeen.”

  “And not married?”

  “No.” She bit her lips again. “My father sent me away, to my mother’s family in the country, so no one would know. He didn’t want me to keep the babe.”

  “The father—”

  “He died,” she said, quickly. It was true, as far as it went.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Thank you.” She took a deep breath. “‘Tis past. ‘Tis only that I dream about it from time to time, when I’m upset.”

  “Aye. And your sister upset ye this afternoon. Oh, don’t look so surprised, lass,” he went on, as she blinked at him. “I know everything that goes on on my ship.”

  “I don’t doubt it.” Rebecca concentrated on pleating her skirt into precise little folds. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

  “Ye were crying, lass.” There was an odd note in his voice. “Your son? What happened to him?”

  Rebecca took a deep breath against the sharp pain in her chest. After all this time it shouldn’t hurt so much, but it did. “He was a beautiful baby,” she said, softly, remembering, savoring the memory of the moment when her son had first been placed in her arms. A moment that had more than made up for the difficult months before. “Healthy, fair like his father, and good-natured. Most of the time.” Her smile was rueful, wistful. “I stayed in the country so I could ke
ep him. I didn’t care what my father said, Brendan.” She looked up at him, gaze fierce. “There was nothing sinful about him, nothing shameful. He was three months old, smiling at everything, beginning to gurgle and to reach out and—”

  “And?” he prompted, when she didn’t go on. “Ye had to leave him behind when ye left for England?”

  “In a manner of speaking.” Again she took a deep breath, steeling herself against what was to come. So long since she had talked about this. So long since she’d even allowed herself to remember. “He died.”

  “Jaysus—”

  “There was no reason. No hint it would happen,” she went on relentlessly, ignoring him, lost in the horror and the guilt. “One day he was healthy. The next morning I went to get him up from his cradle and he wasn’t breathing.”

  “Jaysus, Rebecca.” He held out his hand, stunned by her words, by the lost look in her eyes.

  “I’m all right. ‘Tis long ago, now. But sometimes I wonder what I did wrong.” She sounded bewildered. “I’ve gone over it and over it and I don’t know what I did wrong. I took care of him, fed him, made sure he was warm—”

  “Rebecca—”

  “No, don’t touch me!” She jerked back. “He was—gone. And it’s my fault.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I didn’t get up to check on him!”

  “Did he cry?”

  “No,” she said, reluctantly. “But I should have checked on him—”

  “How could you have known?”

  “I should have! I was his mother. I should have known.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, awkwardly.

  “I know.” She nodded. “It’s been hard. I went home after that. No one knew, though everyone suspected. My father felt I’d disgraced him.”

  “This is more than disgrace, Rebecca.”

  “Yes, I know.” Her head was bent. “It almost ruined Father.”

  “The devil take your father,” he said, impatiently. “You didn’t deserve to lose your child.”

  She looked at him blankly. “I believe we’re speaking of two different things. But it doesn’t matter,” she rushed on. “It’s in the past.”

  “If that’s so, why did your father send you away?”

  “Mercy, that had nothing to do with it!” she said with forced lightness.

  “No?”

  “No. And, to be honest, ‘tis rather a relief to make a new start.”

  Brendan frowned. Her words were light, but under them he could hear a vast, deep pain. Aye, a new start, until he’d taken her captive. Whatever the scandal she’d faced in the past, this would be far worse. Not to mention the effect on him. He was beginning to suspect that taking Rebecca hostage was among the worst mistakes of his life. “It’s late, lass,” he said, remembering just in time to thicken his brogue. If she hadn’t said anything, he wouldn’t have realized that his accent slipped when he was emotional. But then, until she came aboard he rarely had become emotional. “Best we both get some sleep.”

  “I—yes.” Her eyes were uncertain as she rose. “I—we did make a bargain.”

  He stopped in the act of dousing the lamp, as stunned as he had been by any of tonight’s revelations. “I won’t touch ye, lass. Not unless ye wish it.”

  “What? A gallant pirate?”

  “Nay, lass,” he said, very gently, because he had learned tonight that self-mockery was how she dealt with her pain. “‘Tis just what I said. ‘Tis late, and we’re both tired.” And, truth be told, he wasn’t certain that he did want to bed her. Not just now, at least. Appealing she might be, but tonight she had become more than an inconvenient hostage to him, more than an unexpectedly amusing pastime. She was a woman, with hurts and dreams, and he was, as he kept reminding himself, a man of honor. Though what honor dictated in this situation, he didn’t know. “Go to bed, lass. I’ll take a turn on deck for a time.”

  She stayed standing where she was. “I—would you rather I went in with my sister?”

  “Nay, lass,” he said, though that would make matters vastly easier. “Go to bed.” And with that he went out, closing the door behind him.

  Rebecca stared at the door, and then sank down on the edge of the bed. He hadn’t locked the door, but that no longer mattered. Where was she to go, should she escape? Telling her story tonight had brought home to her just how difficult her life had been the last few years, and how empty the future seemed. Only during these few days aboard the Raven, had she felt alive. Frightened, angry, even wanton, but alive in a way she hadn’t been in far too long. And all because of a pirate.

  “Oh, no, you don’t,” she said aloud, rising and pacing about the room. She would not allow herself to be attracted to a pirate. Not what she’d expected a pirate to be like, true. She frowned, rubbing a thumb across her lips. He hadn’t taken advantage of her, though she’d given him every opportunity; he was literate, intelligent, quick-witted, and tonight, when she’d faced the vast emptiness left by Robbie’s death, he’d been unexpectedly gentle. Shocked by her story, of course, but that wasn’t surprising. No, not at all how one would expect a pirate to behave. Who was Brendan Fitzpatrick?

  Thoughtful now, she returned to the bed, automatically taking down her hair and braiding it into a thick plait. Dangerous, the path her thoughts were taking. Yes, he’d been gentle with her, and yes, she was at peace with herself in a way she hadn’t been in many a year. Dreams of Robbie usually left her feeling unsettled, miserable. Guilty. Not tonight, though. Tonight she was distracted by a pirate. It was not to be borne. With quick, decisive movements, she peeled off the wrinkled gray gown, making a face at it, and let her nightdress settle around her. Robbie was in the past. Whatever she had done wrong then she could not undo, no matter how frantically she might wish to. The Raven, however, was another story. She was not going to make the same mistake twice.

  Lips firmed, she turned down the wick on the lamp and climbed back into bed, arms crossed on her chest. Tonight she might have seen a side of the Raven that few knew existed, but it didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t. She was his captive, nothing more. And if he thought she would be a passive, timid captive, she thought, turning over and punching the pillows, he would soon learn differently. Brendan Fitzpatrick at last had an opponent. The battle between them was joined.

  At horizon’s edge, the rim of the sun appeared, slowly, almost tentatively, before bursting up in a display of color and light that dazzled any watchers. Brendan didn’t notice. Perched high on the foremast, he kept his spyglass trained aft. North, where he’d sighted that elusive sail just a few moments before, fluttering just above the horizon. It had disappeared again, but it was there. He could feel it, and he didn’t like it. Not when they’d changed course in the night, to escape this elusive pursuer.

  The wind shifted, and he looked up at the royal, the highest sail, frowning. Still fair, but if it shifted the Raven could be in trouble. She was a fast ship, but with a following wind a large square-rigger could catch them up easily. If that happened, more than his freedom would be in jeopardy.

  Raising the glass to his eye again, he scanned the horizon, and came to a decision. Whoever was behind them had to be shaken off. He grabbed a line and rode it down to the deck. “I’ll take the helm,” he said to the man at the wheel, taking the spokes confidently in his hands. “Prepare to come about!”

  “Aye, Cap’n,” Starkey, the mate on watch, answered, and yelled the order to the crew. They scrambled to their positions, uncoiling the lines that secured the mast yards and the big mainsail, standing ready to his command.

  “Ready about.”

  “Ready about!” Starkey bawled to the crew.

  Brendan’s eyes were on the sails, gauging the wind, the current, his ship. “Any moment now. Any moment—now! Hard alee!” he said, and put the helm down, changing the ship’s direction ninety degrees. The big main boom swung over, the yards creaked in protest as their angle was changed, and for a breathless moment all was still, except for the shaking of t
he sails. Then, with a cracking of canvas, the sails caught the wind, bellied with it, full and white against the brightening blue sky. They were away on a new tack, and a new course.

  Brendan stepped away from the wheel. “Maintain course,” he said to the helmsman, standing back and studying the sails, feet braced, hands on hips and eye narrowed. Aye, they’d caught the wind, and a fair one, at that. The Raven would show that ghost ship her heels.

  Well satisfied with the morning’s work, Brendan strode across the deck to the hatch that led below. Time to break his fast. Aye, and time to face Rebecca again. The thought made him frown as he scrambled down the companionway, blinking to adjust to the darkness below. Devil take it, this escapade was becoming a lot more complicated than he’d ever expected. Bad enough he’d had to take hostages, but it was too much to expect him to deal with a weeping female as well. God knew, he thought, pushing a hand through his hair as he stood outside his cabin, how she’d react to him this morning. God knew how he’d react to her, and that was the real problem.

  The door to the pantry opened, and Tyner came into the passageway, a pewter dish in his hand. “Mornin’, cap’n. Be ye wantin’ breakfast?”

  “Aye.” Brendan looked again at his door. “That for her?”

  “For Miss Talbot? Nay. For the younger one.” Tyner scowled. “Proper riled up, she is. Started banging on the door at six bells and demanding to be let free.”

  “Did she, now.” Brendan looked consideringly at the door down the passageway, and then nodded. “Give me that, Tyner,” he said, reaching for the plate. “I think it’s time Miss Amelia and I had a talk.”

  Aboard HMS Cardiff

  “Lost ‘im, Cap’n!” the lookout bawled down from the crow’s nest.

  Captain Lancaster frowned. “Where away?”

  “Last time, heading due south, Cap’n.”

  “Due south,” Lancaster muttered to himself. “Could be a trader heading to the Brazils.”

  “No.” Lieutenant Dee, standing next to him, shook his head. “It’s him. We can’t let him go. Change course, Captain. Due south.”