In a Pirate's Arms

by Kruger, Mary

  “You deserve it, after what you did to me last night,” she said, severely.

  “Rebecca.” His eyes were wary, and she looked away, biting her lips against a smile. So she wasn’t the only one feeling uncertain this morning. “What is it you think I did?”

  If that were meant to disconcert her, it didn’t. “You left me,” she said, and waited for the reaction.

  It was a moment in coming, so obviously had he expected something else. Then he grinned. “Ah, so ye think I should finish what I started?”

  It was her turn to be wary. “I—don’t know. Do you?”

  “Aye, lass.” His grin was wider, making her regret starting this. “But ye’ll have to wait ‘till this evening.”

  “Oh.” She looked down at her hands, not knowing what to answer, not knowing what she wanted. Propriety and her upbringing demanded she repudiate the feelings he’d awakened in her; something else, deep within her, urged her to accept those feelings, to rejoice in them. She felt so alive! Never before had she felt this way, not with any other man, not even when holding Robbie. Only in a pirate’s arms. Her pirate’s arms.

  She raised troubled eyes to him. “It can’t happen again.”

  He reached out to touch her cheek, and the heat of it branded her. “What can’t, lass? Our loving, or my leaving?”

  “Both. Neither! Oh, I don’t know.” She buried her face in her hands. Because she didn’t know which she feared, or desired, more. “Oh, please do go away.”

  From above came a cry, faint, distant. “Sail ho!”

  “Damnation,” Brendan said, glaring at the ceiling. “I am beginning to get very annoyed with this ship.”

  Rebecca hugged herself. Odd, but she suddenly remembered that moment on the deck of the Curlew, when the ship that had been spotted was the Raven; odd, that same feeling of foreboding shivered through her. “Can’t you outrun him?”

  Brendan, near the door, turned, startled. “Do ye not want to escape, lass?”

  “Of course I do!” she declared, with more force than necessary. “And if you can outrun him, I won’t.”

  “I will, Rebecca.” He paused, hand on the door handle. “But if I’m caught, I won’t give up easily.”

  “I wouldn’t expect you to.” What would that mean for her, and Amelia? What would it mean for him? “Mercy, not another battle.”

  “Are ye concerned about what will happen to me, Rebecca?”

  “What, a pirate? Of course not.”

  His eye gleamed. “So ye say.”

  “And so I mean! Do please go.”

  “Aye. But we shall see, Rebecca. Tonight,” he said, and went out.

  Rebecca flopped back onto the pillows, staring at the ceiling. Tonight. Oh, mercy! She wouldn’t think about it. Wouldn’t remember the hard pressure of his mouth on hers, or the warmth of his body, so close, or the feel of his hand touching her breast—

  Stop it, she told herself firmly, turning over and bunching the pillow under her head. She should get up, she supposed. Tyner would be bringing her breakfast at any time, and her upbringing had inured her to such hedonistic luxuries as sleeping in. There was, however, no place for her to go, nothing for her to do, and the bed felt good, soft and deep. Besides, she had a deal of thinking to do. After last night, everything had changed.

  Within only a few minutes, however, she threw back the covers and rose. No matter that she’d intended to think long and hard on her predicament; her unruly thoughts kept returning to what had passed between her and Brendan last night, and what might very well transpire tonight. She was uncomfortably warm, uncomfortably restless, and she certainly didn’t want to contemplate doing such things with a pirate. Even if that pirate were Brendan.

  In the act of splashing water on her face, she stopped. At some point she had stopped thinking of him as the Raven, and started using his name instead. It wasn’t a welcome change. To call him the Raven distanced him; using his name brought him closer. Made him into just a man, instead of a pirate. Dangerous, that. She must never forget how he had disrupted her life. And yet, she thought, toweling her face dry, one thing had changed. She was no longer afraid of him.

  She was thoughtful as she dressed, aware of the difference in sound topside. In the past week she’d grown accustomed to the tramp of men’s feet overhead, and the sounds of their voices, but this was different. It sounded as if Brendan had mustered the entire crew, who spoke with an urgency she hadn’t heard before. The other ship! Her hands stilled on the buttons of her brown walking dress. The other ship must be near. But that was surely good. It would mean release from captivity, so long as she and Amelia weren’t hurt. If only there were some way to advertise their presence...

  Brendan hadn’t locked the door. The memory slipped clearly into her mind, of his walking out. She couldn’t remember hearing the click of the lock. If she had a chance of escape, she had to take it.

  Before she could stop herself she had crossed the room. The door handle turned easily under her fingers, and she stepped into the passageway, waiting, watching. Nothing. Not even Tyner. Her sister’s stateroom was close, but she dared not stop. At any time she might be discovered, and there would go all chance of escape.

  Biting her lips, she crept up the companionway, sticking her head cautiously through the hatch. After the enforced confinement of the past days the air was heavenly fresh, and the sun, even filtered through clouds, so bright that she blinked. She’d been right. There were a great many men on deck, some holding onto a line, for who knew what purpose, others up in the rigging. They blocked her view of anything beyond the ship’s rails, and so she went up another step, still cautious. She could see over the railings now, and she looked, ahead, behind, side to side, to no avail. The other ship was nowhere near.

  Relief flooded through her so strongly it staggered her. But no, she shouldn’t feel relief, she was thinking, when abruptly her arm was seized. “Devil take it, how did you get up here?” Brendan roared.

  “You forgot to lock the door, Captain,” she said, sweetly, and a sailor nearby sniggered.

  Brendan’s face grew even darker, and he tugged on her arm, yanking her onto the deck. “Damnation. I haven’t time for this. Tyner!” he yelled, dragging her across the deck with him. Now the rest of the crew was watching, all smiling, some even laughing.

  “Really, Captain, you don’t have to manhandle me so,” Rebecca protested, smiling back at a sailor, who was surely little more than a boy. “I can hardly escape.”

  “I never know what you’re going to do,” he growled, thrusting her to the side and taking the wheel. “Stay there. I haven’t time to deal with you. Sam! Where’s Tyner?”

  Sam came over, and though his face was solemn his eyes held the same amusement as the rest of the crew. “Hello, Sam,” Rebecca said, smiling at him.

  Sam inclined his head, the gleam in his eyes more pronounced, and then pointed downward. “He’s below? Then get him.” Brendan glanced at Rebecca. “And I’ll read him the riot act about keeping an eye on you.”

  “I’ll stay out of the way. You won’t even know I’m here.”

  “Not likely. You’re going back below.”

  “I thought the other ship might be nearby.”

  “Ah.” He glanced at her again, and for the first time his face relaxed a bit. “Thinkin’ of jumping ship?”

  “Of course.”

  “I warn ye, Rebecca, I’ll not let ye go that easily. And the other ship? Bah.” He snapped his fingers. “Too far to see from here.”

  At that moment Sam, crossing to them with Tyner in tow, stopped dead, staring past Brendan’s shoulder. Brendan turned to see what he was looking at, and swore. “What is it?” Rebecca asked.

  “Damnation. Sam, take the wheel. We’re at the crest of the wave,” he muttered, raising his spyglass. “Maybe that’s why—hell and damnation!”

  Rebecca caught his arm as he abruptly lowered the spyglass. A moment ago she had caught the flutter of white on the horizon, recognizably a sq
uare-rigged ship. “What is it?”

  “The wind’s to his advantage,” Brendan went on to himself, ignoring her. “Sam! Ready about!”

  Sam nodded and spun, remarkably quickly for so large a man, and that chill of foreboding went through Rebecca again. “Brendan,” she said, urgently. “What is it? Tell me.”

  “Well.” He turned to her, his eye a flat blue. “It seems ye may have your wish, madam.”

  “My wish?”

  “Aye. To see me hung. That”—he jerked his head in the general direction of their pursuer—“is a British man-of-war.”

  Chapter Eleven

  In the captain’s cabin, Rebecca huddled on the bed with Amelia in her arms, while overhead the preparations for battle went on. It was eerily reminiscent of the capture of the Curlew—could that have been just five days ago?—and yet there were differences. Then she’d heard panic in the crew’s voices; now she heard urgency, but no real fear. She also suspected that Brendan was a far better mariner than Captain Smithers, and that the Raven would be hard to catch. One thing remained the same, however: her fear of being caught.

  From far off came a faint boom, and, closer, a splash, almost drowned out by the savage yells overhead. Amelia shuddered and huddled closer to Rebecca. “They’re firing at us.”

  “Yes, but they missed,” she said soothingly, brushing back Amelia’s hair.

  “Is it much bigger than us?”

  “No,” Rebecca lied. Ordinarily the Raven could outsail just about any ship afloat. But the wind was from the north, and that wasn’t good, Tyner had told her as he’d escorted her back to the cabin. A square-rigger with the wind dead aft could easily outdistance a fore-and-aft rigged vessel like the Raven. But she shouldn’t worry, Tyner had added with a grin. He’d seen the cap’n get out of tighter spots than this. “They’re British, Melia.”

  “Then they’ll rescue us.” Another boom. Amelia shuddered again. “If we’re not killed first.”

  “We won’t be.”

  “I hope they catch us,” Amelia said with sudden vehemence.

  “Y-yes.”

  Amelia pulled back. “You don’t sound very sure.”

  “Of course I’m sure. I hope they catch us, too.” Overhead a gun roared, followed by the eerie whistling of the round shot. The ship veered crazily, and Rebecca threw out her arm, bracing herself against the wall. “Mercy! What is he doing?”

  “Because if they catch us they’ll catch him,” Amelia chattered, and Rebecca had no doubt she meant Brendan. “And he’ll hang.”

  “No!” The word slipped out involuntarily.

  “He deserves it, after what he’s done to us.”

  Rebecca’s eyes squeezed shut against the image of Brendan’s lifeless body swinging at the end of a rope. Dear God. She swallowed hard, tasting bile. Dear God, but he’d come to mean more to her than she’d realized. If he died, it felt almost as if she would, too.

  Again the ship veered, and this time she and Amelia toppled to the deck, both of them crying out. Oddly enough it was Amelia who recovered first, rising to her knees and reaching out to help Rebecca. “I’m—are you hurt—Rebecca!”

  “What?” Rebecca sat up, her glance following Amelia’s to the stern window. There, so close it seemed they could touch it, loomed the other ship, the cannon in her bow flashing fire.

  “Get down!” Rebecca gasped, grabbing Amelia and pushing her to the floor. But again there was a splash as the ball missed, and, after a few moments, she cautiously raised her head, staring at the other ship, Union Jack fluttering from its stern, in horrified fascination. A British ship, under other circumstances symbolizing order and authority and safety. For Rebecca all it meant was doom.

  Amelia sat up beside her. “Do you think they’ll fire again?” she said in a very small voice.

  Rebecca’s eyes were fixed on the ship and the storm clouds beyond. Or were they only clouds of smoke? “Yes.” The British ship would fire, and with Brendan standing defenseless at the helm, that would be that.

  This time she sensed the ship’s veering before it actually happened, giving her a chance to grab Amelia and brace them both against the sudden slanting of the floor. The ship slewed around, and through the window she could no longer see the British ship; just the sky. Those were clouds, scudding across the sky. From the south! If a storm were coming, then the winds would shift—

  Abruptly there was a volley of shots overhead, shaking the ship to its timbers, and savage cheers. Then the Raven was slewing around yet again, and picking up speed. Rebecca crouched on the floor, Amelia’s head buried against her shoulder, and stared out the stern window. No sign of the warship, but distant cannon fire, followed by shuddering, told her the Raven had been hit somewhere. If Brendan were captured and hanged, how would she survive?

  Another volley of shots, and another cheer, and again the Raven turned. Grabbing onto the table to keep from tumbling across the floor, Rebecca looked up slantwise through the stern window, able to see, again, the warship, now broadside to them. Forgetting Amelia, ignoring even her own safety, she clambered to her feet, hope clawing at her at what she thought she’d seen. Could it be—”Yes!” she exclaimed, running to the window and bracing one knee on the bench. The warship grew ever more distant, but even so Rebecca could see that on her decks was a tangle of masts and spars and canvas. The Raven had crippled her, and escaped.

  “Oh, yes!” she exclaimed again, and jumped down from the bench, doing a little dance of joy. “He’s safe, Melia! Safe!”

  “Becky.” Amelia sat up, staring at her. “What are you talking about? Who’s safe?”

  Rebecca froze. “Father,” she said, the first person she thought of, knowing she could never tell Amelia who she had really meant. “He’s safe, Melia!”

  “Papa?” Amelia climbed to her feet. “Is he—oh.” This as she caught sight of the warship, far distant now. “Oh, Becky! They didn’t catch us.”

  Rebecca put a comforting arm around Amelia’s shoulders. “I know, Melia.”

  “Then we’re still captives—Becky, was Papa on that ship?”

  “No, Melia.”

  “Then why—”

  “I meant he’s safe, thank God he’s safe at home,” she babbled, knowing she made little sense. “If he were here—two battles, Amelia, and we lost both—well, you know he has a tendency towards apoplexy!”

  “But, Becky.” Amelia leaned against her. “When he finds out where we are, what will he do?”

  “He’ll get very angry, I imagine,” Rebecca said, calm now that Amelia seemed to have accepted her nonsensical explanation. “And then he’ll come after us.”

  “But we’re still captives.”

  “I know. But I’ll keep you safe, Melia. I swear.”

  The door behind them opened, and Tyner looked in. “All right and tight, miss?”

  Rebecca turned. “Yes, Tyner. We’re away?”

  “Aye, miss.” Tyner’s eyes lit up. “A splendid battle, miss, splendid! Never saw the cap’n in finer fettle, that I haven’t.”

  “He’s all right?” she said, before she could stop herself.

  “Him? O’ course. Has the devil’s own luck. Ball came this close to his head,” Tyner held up thumb and forefinger a scant inch apart, “but it just flew by, and he laughed.”

  “Oh,” Rebecca said faintly. “Was there any damage?”

  “Some, but not much to signify. Don’t ye worry ‘bout it. The cap’n will get us away.”

  “But we didn’t want to get away!” Amelia cried, her eyes filled with frustrated tears, and they both turned to her.

  “Melia,” Rebecca began.

  “Well, miss, could be worse,” Tyner interrupted. “A girl like you don’t want to get mixed up with a bunch o’ Limeys.”

  Amelia stamped her foot. “But they would have rescued us.”

  “As for that, miss, ye’re safe enough. Now if you’d—”

  “Becky.” Amelia turned to her. “Can’t you make him understand? They have to g
o back and let us go.”

  “Aye, and if we do that, miss, we’ll all be caught and hanged, and ye wouldn’t want that, would ye? Now, seeing as how we missed dinner, I’ll see if Cook has something for ye.”

  “Becky,” Amelia protested again.

  Rebecca laid a soothing hand on her arm. “There’s no help for it, Melia. It looks like we won’t be rescued yet. But I’m sure we’ll be fine.”

  Amelia stared at her. “You trust—him?”

  Somehow Rebecca knew she meant Brendan. “Yes, Melia,” she said, softly. “I do.”

  Her words drifted back to her later, after they had eaten dinner, and Amelia, worn out from the morning’s excitement, had fallen asleep on the bed. She did trust Brendan, not only with her life, but with her sister’s. It said much about how she had changed since she’d been taken captive. For she’d learned a great deal about him in the past few days. She knew he was not the simple, evil pirate he appeared, but a complex man, intelligent, quick, charming when he wanted to be and dangerous when it was needed; capable of great anger, but also of laughter and poetry. And tenderness. The way he treated both her and Amelia was proof of that. Not a monster, but a man who tried to hide who he really was, for some unknown reason. A man who had quickly become important to her. Frightening thought, but as she looked at Amelia, sleeping with one hand under her cheek, she knew one thing. She would not rest until that man, her man, stood before her, safe and sound and unhurt.

  Aboard HMS Cardiff

  The grim task of cleaning up after fighting, and losing, a major battle went on, as the ship’s surgeon tended to the wounded and the carpenter oversaw the rigging of a jury mast. Standing on the quarterdeck, Jeremiah Dee saw none of it. His thoughts were far away, ranging across the sea where the Raven had fled. Lost, now, and all because of Captain Lancaster’s incompetence. If that cannon shot had been just a few inches to the left, they’d no longer have Brendan Fitzpatrick to deal with, and he, Jeremiah, would at last be at peace.

  The last time Jeremiah had encountered the Raven, he’d been left with a scar, a nagging sense of familiarity, and a deep, burning hatred. This time he was luckier. There’d only been a glancing blow to his head from a falling spar. It had made everything fuzzy for a time, but the surgeon had assured him he’d recover. His only other injury was a cut on his arm. Not his sword arm, for which God be thanked. He’d need that arm, to do God’s own work.