His Pirate Seductress (Love on the High Seas Book 3)

by Tamara Hughes

  She pulled her sword and dagger from her belt and charged ahead. “I said, stand down!” The pirate with crude tattoos covering both of his arms turned to her, clearly perplexed. She knocked one dagger from his hand, and stared at the other. “Drop it,” she ordered. Her sword pointing at his throat, he did as she asked while Thomas ran his cutlass through the other. She sent Thomas a hard glare. “You didn’t have to kill him.”

  He shrugged, stepped up behind her prisoner, and knocked him on the back of the head, rendering him unconscious. The pirate collapsed to the ground. “They were trying to kill me,” Thomas explained. He dragged the first man into the shadows, then returned for the next, stripping them both of their weapons. “What are you doing here? I thought you were going to stay on deck.”

  “I was, until I saw these two men following you.”

  Thomas frowned. “I could have dealt with them myself.”

  “You’re very welcome.” She turned on her heel and started for the deck when a hand on her arm stopped her.

  “As long as you’re here, you can help me carry weapons.” A look of concern softened his features.

  Not this again. “I can protect myself.”

  “I never said you couldn’t.” He motioned her toward the weapon closet down the corridor. “Not all the crewmen are busy docking the ship. Some are down here. Hide the weapons beneath your coat so we can pass by undetected.”

  She didn’t move. “We agreed we didn’t need each other to accomplish our goals.” And she’d have to keep a close eye on Barnet to judge when to attack. “I’d best get back on deck.”

  Thomas held out his hand. “Fine then. Give me your coat.”

  “No.” Without her coat for cover, her shirt offered a view she’d rather not share with a ship full of men. The slight twitch at the corner of his lips suggested he remembered the sight as well. Devious man. He knew she’d refuse to hand it over, giving her little choice but to help him or worry he’d be caught.

  He walked to the closet and waved her toward him, arching a brow. “Come now. You’d have me carry them all in plain view, or have my men fight without weapons? They’ll be cut down in a matter of minutes.”

  Very well. She strode forward. “I’ll help you free your men, and then we’ll part.”

  “Agreed.” He unlocked the closet door and stepped inside. Soon she was weighed down with blades galore, while Thomas had stashed but a few. They found no pistols. Not a surprise. As prized as they were, the crew would have taken every one.

  She fairly jingled as she plodded along, her coat bulging at odd angles. Hardly suspicious.

  They descended a stairway to a lower deck where hammocks were strung in a maze of ropes. Voices approached. Thomas doused the light and swept her into the shadows as the glow of another lamp grew near.

  “Can’t wait to get ashore,” a deep voice rasped. “If I’m lucky, I’ll get me turn with Alice before the night is out.”

  “Not if I get to her first,” another taunted with a laugh.

  The footsteps quickened, too many for just two men, and Thomas drew her into a dark corner, his body blocking hers from view. They faced each other, utterly still and silent, the shadows obscuring their features even from each other. He leaned close, his arms around her, and his chest pressed against hers.

  She clasped him tight. Her heart pounding an irregular beat, she held her breath, oddly comforted by Thomas’s presence. At this moment, they were allies, despite the past or what might happen in the future.

  “The last time I laid with Alice, I came away with a stinkin’ itch,” a third complained as the men headed up the stairs, and she released the air from her lungs.

  “They’re gone,” Thomas whispered, his breath fanning along her cheek, making her shiver.

  It took her a minute to realize she still clutched his sides. “Oh. Yes.” She let him go, and he relit the lantern, then once again led the way.

  After descending one more flight of stairs, they reached the hold where the prisoners were kept. The ship had two cells, one on each side, both filled to capacity. Metal bars prevented the captives from escaping their cages. Two guards sat at a table, playing a game of cards. They both rose when they saw they had company.

  Thomas bent close. “How quickly can you dispatch yours?” he whispered.

  Always a competition. She nearly rolled her eyes. Catherine stepped forward, her coat hanging awkwardly. “Release the prisoners.”

  “You,” one guard said, his face pocked by scars. He pointed a finger at Thomas. “I know you.” He pulled a pistol from his belt, but before he could aim it properly, she withdrew her sword and in an abrupt upward stroke, dislodged it from his hand. The other guard, Rupert, a burly man with a constant sneer, surged toward her with a swing of his cutlass. She blocked the blow and prepared for another, the weight of all the weapons strapped to her hips a hindrance she tried to ignore.

  While the prisoners cheered for freedom, the poxed pirate drew a blade, his attention still directed toward Thomas. With sure thrusts and parries, Thomas held the man off and sidled closer. In a deft move, Thomas snatched a dagger from her belt. Her breath caught at the swift tug at her hip, but she managed to keep her wits. “Don’t distract me,” she hissed, dodging a swing of Rupert’s sword.

  Thomas tossed the blade toward a cell. “My apologies.” He crowded in closer, his blade attacking both men.

  Blast him. “Stay back. I have this in hand.” She nudged him with an elbow, attempting to remain on task.

  “So you say,” he chuckled, still spreading his blows between the two men, driving them away.

  “Stop.” Sorely tempted to stomp on his bare toes, she resisted the urge. Clearly now wasn’t the time.

  As if he hadn’t heard her, he pressed his attack until Rupert’s spine was nearly against the bars. The hulking pirate grunted, and he tensed before he crumpled to the floor, revealing Thomas’s first mate with a bloody dagger in his hand. Thomas finished his battle with a final thrust of his cutlass.

  She glared at Thomas, who smiled in response. He’d fought against her. He knew what she was capable of. What right did he have to— The clink of chains rang hollowly throughout the hold. The anchor dropping. “We need to hurry.”

  Thomas searched the guards for the key to the cells and released his men while she rid herself of the weapons encumbering her, distributing them amongst the freed crew. Her captives’ wary looks and confused murmurs didn’t stop them from taking what she offered.

  Thomas’s first mate stopped by his side. He nodded in Catherine’s direction. “What’s all this?”

  “No time to explain,” Thomas insisted. “Take a weapon and help the men escape.”

  Giving her a last questioning look, the first mate accepted the blade she held out to him and joined the rest at the stairs.

  “Are you ready?” Thomas asked her as he led her toward his men.

  “Yes.” The sooner she had the cross back the sooner—

  Thomas wrapped an arm around her and hauled her against him, his lips dropping to hers in a kiss so impassioned, excitement jolted through her like a lightning bolt. She couldn’t help but kiss him back, her heart in her throat. After this moment, she might never see him again.

  He released her much too suddenly, and a cheer arose from his crew. Had he kissed her for their benefit? Damn him. Before she could utter a word, he strode forward, his cutlass held high. “Let’s leave this bloody ship!”

  With another hearty cheer, they charged up the stairs. She followed, clearing her mind of all but one purpose…reclaiming the Ruby Cross.

  By the time she reached the main deck, all hell had broken loose with Thomas’s men battling their way to the gangway leading to the pier. She scanned the deck and uttered an oath. Where was Barnet? She searched for him amongst the fighters, the darkness impeding her progress, until she finally caught a glimpse.

  A sword in his hand, he cut down one man after another. She raced toward him, her weapons at the read
y. “Barnet!”

  His head turned at the sound of her voice. “Go to yer cabin. This will be over soon,” he called back, blocking a strike aimed at his throat, then slaying his opponent with his next thrust but losing his blade in the process.

  He leaned over the body, prepared to pull his blade free, when she approached from behind and laid the tip of her sword to his spine. “Give me the Ruby Cross.”

  “Catherine.” His empty hands held up, Barnet turned about, his demeanor calm as if she were no real threat. “You’ll have the cross soon. I only have to get the vicar…”

  “No. You’ll give it to me now.” She brought her dagger to his throat, the pouch containing the cross peeking out from beneath his surcoat. “Hand it to me.”

  Barnet grabbed her wrist in a firm grip. “I know you. You won’t kill me.”

  Kill an unarmed man. Kill her husband’s murderer. The rights and wrongs of it swirled around inside her head. “Perhaps not.” She pointed her sword below his waist to an area most men would defend with their lives. “But I have no qualms about cutting off pieces of you if needed.”

  His nostrils flared, and his lips thinned. The threat of violence in his glare stole her breath. He’d never bestowed such a look on her before. Barnet released her wrist and freed the pouch from his belt. He held it out for her.

  Raising the edge of her dagger, she forced him to tilt his head back, then sheathed her sword and seized the pouch from his grasp. Just the feel of its weight in her hand, the knowledge that she possessed the cross once more, soothed the ache in her chest.

  She stepped back, eager to be away. A wild look of longing flared in Barnet’s eyes and he lashed out, knocking his arm against her wrist so hard her dagger clattered to the planks. She reared away, drawing her sword, but not quickly enough. Barnet gave her a hearty shove, sending her tumbling backward. Her head struck the capstan behind her, and pain blazed through her skull, darkness crowded her vision.

  Barnet kneeled at her side. “You’ll never be rid of me. I’ve waited too long to make you mine,” he muttered as he reached for her sword.

  Spying her dagger an arm’s length away, she tightened her grip on the sword’s hilt. When he couldn’t pull the weapon away at first tug, he cursed. “Release your sword or you will never see your son again.”

  Barnet’s warning burned through her brain, igniting an unquenchable need to put an end to the threats against her family once and for all. She seized her dagger and thrust forward, sinking the blade deep in Barnet’s chest.

  Shock widened his eyes, and he leaned away, his hand on the dagger’s hilt and his shirt growing red with blood. A look of confusion creased his brow as his gaze returned to her. “Catherine, what have you done?”

  Her stomach churned, and a tremor raced through her, her pulse frantic.

  He fell back, gasping for breath. Shaking, she rose unsteadily to her feet and hurried away, numb to what she’d just done. She veered as far as she could from those who still fought and headed for the gangway. She’d known Barnet for nearly all of her life. Had she killed him? She couldn’t help herself. She looked over her shoulder to where Barnet lay still on the deck.

  A blade sliced across her arm. She cried out and faced her assailant, a man with one arm—one arm the size of her thigh, holding a blade twice as thick as her own. He eyed the pouch containing the Ruby Cross clutched in her hand. “Give me the cross,” he demanded, his cold stare boring into her.

  “Never.” She held her sword in front of her, her headache growing so intense black spots marred her vision. She blinked and shook her head, but the action made matters worse. She wavered on her feet. Damn.

  The sailor swung his sword, and she braced herself, only to be shoved back by a strong hand. Her view became obstructed by a tall form she immediately recognized. Thomas.

  In less time than she would have imagined, he turned toward her, her opponent lying in a heap on the deck floor. The shrill, reedy song of a boatswain’s whistle reached them from off-ship. Good God. The Royal Navy. Who else would interfere with another ship’s matters except the navy?

  Others must have had the same thought as a mass of men deserted the ship, pirate and prisoner alike.

  Thomas’s gaze dropped to her hand and the pouch. “Let’s go.” He ushered her along with the others. Hiding the pouch beneath her coat, she accepted his assistance, for now, her sword still firmly in her hand. But once she set foot on the pier, she would ward him off before he dragged her to the authorities, reclaimed the cross for himself, and sent her to Newgate.

  Her mouth dry as the dust beneath her feet and her head swimming, she hurried down the gangway leading to the pier, Thomas’s hand at her back. His first mate met him at its end.

  “Round up the men,” Thomas told him. She didn’t wait for him to finish. She rushed past, but he grabbed her arm. “Catherine, stop.”

  With the threat of her blade, she forced him to release her, then backed away a few steps, turned tail, and ran. He couldn’t have the cross. Her need of it far outweighed his. She panted for air and struggled to run a straight path, her vision ever narrowing until she felt herself crumple. An arm caught her around the waist before she hit the wooden planks of the dock, and the world turned to darkness.

  Chapter Nine

  From a nearby chair, Thomas studied Catherine in his bed. So pale and still. Too damn still. He leaned forward and set his elbows on his knees. Raking his hand through his hair, he let his head hang. Now nigh upon midday, she’d been unconscious for hours. His gut turned to stone. What if she never awakened? What would happen to her son and mother? What would happen to him? He shouldn’t care as much as he did about her welfare or that of her family. And yet, the thought of her never awakening squeezed his heart so tight he could scarce draw a breath. He couldn’t lose her. Hell, even if she recovered, the thought of her returning to the Rookery of St. Giles to live…

  He lifted his head and stared at her once more—her ebony hair fanning out on the pillow, expressive features that could hide nothing of her thoughts and emotions, and skin so soft he ached to touch its warmth again. Wake up, Catherine. Please, wake up.

  As if she’d heard him, her eyes fluttered open, and relief flooded him. Confusion wrinkled her brow before she gasped and frantically searched the blankets.

  “Looking for this?” Thomas retrieved the Ruby Cross from the table at his side, his attention drawn to it for several seconds. How good it felt to have the cross in his possession.

  She attempted to sit, but groaned. A hand to her head, she lay back down.

  “Lie still.” He set aside the cross and moved to sit on the edge of the bed. Touching her forehead, he checked for fever, as he’d already done, too many times to count. “What happened to you? You have a bump on your head the size of an egg.” He grazed his thumb along her cheek. If only he’d been there to protect her.

  “Barnet knocked me senseless, is all.” She glanced down at her bandaged arm. “Where am I?”

  Thomas bit back a growl. Barnet could go to hell. “You’re in my house. Safe.”

  Her dark brown eyes grew wary. “Why am I here?”

  “Where else would I take you? You collapsed in my arms.” He’d feared she had a mortal injury. To be honest, his wits had left him, and he could think of nothing but bringing her here, to his refuge. He’d summoned a doctor whose silence could be purchased, but the man had done little to tend her. Not a surprise. Blasted doctors.

  “What do you plan to do with me?” she asked, a nervous glint in her eyes. “I would have thought…” She rubbed her face with trembling hands. “I’m surprised I didn’t wake up in prison.”

  “I have no wish to see you in Newgate.” Hell, Newgate prison was no place for anyone but the utterly depraved. Even the most debauched areas of London were a luxury in comparison. “Are you hungry? Thirsty?” he asked. “You’ve been unconscious a long time.”

  She dropped her hands to the bedcovers and shook her head. “Is that where the
crew of the Sea Sprite are? In Newgate?” Her eyebrows drew low. “And Barnet… Is he really dead?”

  “He is.” Thomas’s first mate, Hugh, had found out what he could. He’d also gathered their men and notified Gordon Lamont of the fate of his ship. Hugh had definitely earned his wage last eve. “The Royal Navy joined in the fight. They captured several pirates, including Barnet, but he passed away a short time later.”

  She closed her eyes in a pained grimace, then stared at the ceiling. “I killed him.”

  “No loss there.” Unless… “After all he’s done, you don’t feel guilt, do you?”

  “No, I suppose not.”

  And yet, her fretful look remained.

  “We were friends for such a long time,” she admitted. “I still find it hard to believe he killed Peter.”

  With a dismissive grunt, Thomas cocked his head, incredulous. “He was using the cross, and your son, to force you into marrying him… I promise you, I won’t do the same.”

  Her gaze darted to him. “What do you mean?”

  “I want to help you and your family.”

  She stiffened, and those lustrous eyes of hers clouded with mistrust. “What if I don’t want your help?”

  “Then you’re a fool.” Why not accept a hand when it’s offered? Instead, she only grew suspicious. Did she really have such a low opinion of him? Or of all people in general? “You shouldn’t go about this alone.”

  A frown tugged at her lips. “What will you get in return?”

  The knowledge that he’d kept her as safe as he could. That he’d reunited a mother and son. He glanced at the cross lying on the table. Not only that. “When it’s all done, and you have your boy and mother at your side, I intend to get the cross back.”

  She turned away to look out the window, but the slight purse of her lips gave away her thoughts. His answer wasn’t what she’d hoped to hear. What had she hoped for?