Capture The Wind

by Brown, Virginia

  “Watch the jellyfish,” Kit cautioned. He stopped and pointed to a shimmering glob of what looked like a translucent silk balloon. “If you step on it, you’ll regret it.”

  “Why?” she asked even as she was skirting the creature. “It looks harmless enough.”

  “Does it?” Kit picked up a piece of driftwood and knelt, then nudged one of the long, slender tentacles trailing in the sand. Immediately, the thready appendages coiled around the driftwood. Kit looked up at her. “If that was my hand or foot,” he said, “I’d have festering sores by now. It stings like the devil. I’ve seen men almost lose a leg after being stung.”

  Disengaging the wood with a brisk shake, he stood up. “This is a small one. A larger one would be around my arm.”

  “Why is it on the beach?”

  “Probably stranded by the tide. When the sun comes out tomorrow, it will dry up and die. Jellyfish have to stay wet.”

  “Oh.” She caught at his arm. “Can’t you put it back in the water?”

  He flashed her a strange glance. “Why?”

  “Because it will die if left here. Oh Kit, please. I hate to see it lie here waiting to die.”

  An amused smile curved his mouth. “So, the tenderhearted girl child can’t stand to see even a fish die? What do you think you eat whenever you get the chance?”

  “That’s not the same thing. This doesn’t even look like a fish, and besides—I don’t have to watch my meal die.”

  “I fail to see the logic in that, but never mind. If you think I intend to touch it, you’ve lost what little sense I supposed you had.”

  “You’ll think of a way to save it.”

  Kit stared at her in the moonlight, and Angela had the notion he was wondering if she’d lost her mind. Then he shrugged.

  “All right. If it will make you happy.”

  She watched while he removed his shirt, using it and the piece of driftwood to cautiously scoop the quivering jellyfish from the wet sand. One of the tentacles slithered toward him and he jerked back, swearing. The look he shot Angela made her quail, but she murmured encouragement that only made Kit swear again.

  “Damn bloody jellyfish—if it stings me, it’ll be your fault,” he muttered, reaching gingerly for the edge of his shirt to close the top and entrap the creature. It made a shallow trench as he dragged it out into the water, where the tide washed up to his ankles. He lifted the edges of his shirt and gave them a shake, dislodging the sea creature. It made a slight splash as it tumbled into the waves, then bobbed on the surface.

  Wading back to her, Kit muttered disgustedly, “It’ll just be washed back up on the beach, and now I’ve got wet boots.”

  She smiled. “But you saved it for me. Thank you.”

  He gave her another strange look, wringing seawater from his shirt with both hands. “Which only goes to show that I’ve lost what little sense I could claim. Why is it that you always have me doing things I don’t normally do?”

  “Such as?”

  “Such as rescuing a stranded jellyfish, for one.” He gave her an exasperated look. “And rescuing stranded females for another. I should have left you aboard the Scrutiny. My life would be much simpler.”

  “Do you really wish that?”

  “What—that I’d left you aboard a burning ship?” He wrung the last of the water from his shirt and shook it out. “I’d be better off, but no—I don’t wish that.”

  “I was beginning to wonder. You’ve remarked more than once that I’m a nuisance.”

  “And so you are.” He caught her arm when she took a step back. “But a pretty nuisance. I’ve grown accustomed to you by now.”

  She didn’t try to avoid his touch, but said, “And here I’ve been thinking you were trying to avoid me these past two days.”

  “Ah.” He released her arm. “Perhaps it escaped your notice that I’ve been rather busy scraping barnacles and other determined crustaceans from the hull of my ship.”

  “Not at all.” Escaped her notice? When she’d sat beneath the overhang of a tent and eyed him with a hunger that half amazed her, half shamed her? She could never admit that. “I do recall seeing you in that vicinity,” she said instead. “I wasn’t aware, however, that you were engaged in honest toil.”

  Kit snorted. “You’re not alone. You must have been talking to Turk.”

  “Yes, he was able to find time to visit with me, however briefly.”

  “Nag, nag, nag. Is that all women do?”

  “Hardly,” she snapped. “If you brought me out here just to pick a fight, I would as soon go back to my tent.”

  He caught her arm when she turned away, dragging her back to him. “This isn’t a fight. This is what passes for casual conversation between us. Or haven’t you noticed? We rarely chat idly.”

  It was true. She could count on the digits of a one-handed pirate the number of times they had enjoyed casual conversation. But it still stung to hear him blithely acknowledge this lack of civility between them, especially when she wanted so desperately to learn all she could about him.

  “So,” said Angela with what was—she hoped—a nonchalant shrug, “why don’t we try that some time?”

  “What? Informal discussions? How novel. It sounds delightful, but I’m not at all certain either one of us can manage it. We’re rather like flint and tinder, I’ve recently been told.”

  “Dylan’s words, no doubt.”

  “Ah, you’re quite perceptive. Come with me. No, I’m not going to drown you, angel. There’s a boat behind these bushes, and I had visions of a romantic moonlight sail.”

  Pleased—and more than a little surprised—Angela allowed him to lift her into the small dinghy. It rocked alarmingly, and she gripped the sides with both hands. Kit pushed it away from shore and clambered in, splashing water and sand on her.

  “Somehow,” she remarked as she brushed wet sand from her skirts, “I never envisioned grit in my romantic dreams.”

  “Ah, a decided lack of reality. But one should allow for certain intrusions into fantasy in order to enjoy it at all.”

  Leaning back, Angela watched the play of moonlight and shadow on Kit’s face as he picked up the oars and began to row. The slap of water against the small craft was soothing, and the fact that she was with Kit made her almost giddy with delight. This was how she had hoped it could be with them, this playful teasing and enjoyment.

  In the distance, she heard the cries of night birds in the trees and could still smell the faint fragrance of roasting meat from their evening meal. It was mixed with the salt tang of the ocean and a heady scent that she could not place.

  Shrugging when she asked him what it was, Kit said, “Spanish jasmine, I think. Some kind of flower. The island overflows with them. If we had time, I’d take you to the north side, which is a lot greener than this side.”

  “We passed a lot of small islands, I noticed. Wouldn’t you feel safer careening the ship on one of those?”

  “Definitely. But we needed to rid ourselves of a lot of cargo, so we took the chance of coming here.” Kit bent to the oars, and moonlight reflected from the smooth flex of his muscles.

  Angela watched, admiring the muscled curves of his bare arms and chest. She supposed that the taxing work he did kept him in shape and had the detached thought that he would look elegant in a well-tailored coat and doeskins. Yes, Kit Saber would turn any woman’s head, whether in London or the stews of the Caribbean. The elegant line of his jaw and high cheekbones gave him an aristocratic mien that would be at home in a royal drawing room or the most sophisticated club in London. It was a thought, and she wondered how he would react if she suggested that he give up a life of piracy for the more sedate, accepted lifestyle of a London gentleman.

  After all, he’d attended Oxford; he couldn’t be a complete barbarian, for he must have acceded to society’s rules at one time. Would he do so again? Especially if she asked him?

  Worrying her bottom lip with her teeth, Angela regarded Kit in silence, paying little
attention to their destination. It wasn’t until the boat bumped against shore again that she looked around her.

  A thickly wooded cove silvered in moonlight surrounded them, and she could hear the muted splash of water in the distance.

  “Where are we?” she asked, sitting up in the boat.

  “Careful. Don’t tip us over. I’ve no desire to bail water from the bottom of this thing.” Kit stood up in the prow, and the tiny craft rocked wildly. “Don’t worry,” he said over his shoulder when she gasped and grabbed at the sides, “I won’t dump us.”

  Leaping agilely from the prow, Kit caught up the line and beached it before returning to help her out. He lifted her easily, placing her on dry sand before he returned to the craft.

  Curiosity pricked, she eyed the bundle in his hands when he rejoined her, but refrained from asking about it. It wasn’t until they were several yards up the beach that he unrolled the canvas he carried, and she saw with delight that he’d brought candles, a thin mat, blankets, some cloths, and a package that smelled temptingly like roast meat.

  “A picnic—Kit, what a wonderful idea. But at night?”

  “That’s the best time. All the ants are asleep.” He flashed her a grin as he tossed down the mat and motioned for her to sit. As she did, he stuck the candles into the sand and dug in his pocket for a flint and tinder. In moments, he had the candles lit, small ellipses of light that stabbed the darkness and added a rosy glow to the beach.

  “The ants may be asleep, but you forgot about the other insects,” she observed when a flurry of pink-winged moths descended upon the candles, and he shot her a wry smile.

  “So it seems. Let’s hope they’ll be more interested in the flame than flesh.”

  Hugging her knees to her chest, Angela sat quietly while Kit set out food and a bottle of wine. When he looked up at her once, his eyes a dark blue in the shadows, she felt her throat tighten almost painfully against a surge of love. She wanted to tell him of her feelings, and how very touched she was by this gesture, but didn’t quite dare.

  What did she really know of love, anyway? Did she trust herself to recognize it? Perhaps it was all an illusion, as had been her feelings for Philippe. She’d wasted the words on a man who had not wanted nor deserved them. She’d been too foolish, too blind and innately selfish to understand what they really meant in terms of a loving relationship.

  Now, she no longer had silly virginal ideas about the realities between a man and a woman, yet didn’t know how to express herself. Mere words sounded so inadequate for how she felt, for the wealth of emotion bottled up inside her heart.

  Kit came to sit beside her, crossing his long legs and reaching for the wine bottle. He pulled the cork, glanced around, then swore softly. When she gave him a startled glance, he smiled crookedly.

  “I forgot glasses. Well, do you still remember how to drink from a bottle?”

  “I think I can manage well enough.” She took the bottle and tilted it, swallowing a small amount. As she held it out to him she said, “Much better than last time.”

  “Agreed. Jolly good thing, too. I forgot napkins.”

  Laughing, Angela asked, “Aren’t you going to drink any wine?”

  “I’ve already had some, thank you.” He stuck the bottle in the sand, adjusting it so it wouldn’t tip over. “Our friend from Bloody Bob’s was generous enough to deliver a sufficient supply for the return voyage. I sampled a bit earlier.”

  She stiffened at mention of the tavern. “What friend?”

  His brow lifted, and he grinned wickedly. “Monroe. Who were you expecting?”

  She looked down, chagrined that he could read her so easily. “No one. I just wondered.”

  “I’ll bet. Don’t worry—I doubt if Kate would dare come to our camp.”

  “She looks like the type who would dare anything,” Angela couldn’t help muttering, and looked up angrily when Kit laughed.

  “Jealous, sweetheart? Don’t be. Last time I saw her, she was quite taken with my chief gunner, Dane. He’s a good-looking blond chap with a big hairy chest. Just her type. I’m quite certain he’s keeping her busy.”

  “I really cannot imagine why you think I should care,” she said with a disgruntled sniff. “I was only curious as to who would have brought wine to our camp.”

  “So now you know. Here. Try this.” He held out a strip of meat that was slightly charred. “Don’t worry—it tastes much better than it looks.”

  Angela tried it, and found it delicious. “What is it?” she mumbled.

  “Pigeon, I think. Some kind of wood fowl that one of the crew shot earlier. A bit gamy if not cooked properly, but I think Dylan found the secret of using wood that smokes. It gives it a most interesting flavor.”

  Stripping off a liberal portion, Kit chewed silently for several moments, while Angela tried to eat daintily. It was a near impossible task, as there were no utensils and no plates. A cloth full of fruit provided their second and third courses, and when she was happily stuffed, she leaned back on the canvas mat with a sigh of satisfaction.

  “Most excellent,” she murmured. “I cannot think of a better meal.”

  Kit eyed her with a lifted brow. “I can almost hear the collective groans of dismays from all the chefs in London at that encompassing statement.”

  “Perhaps the quality of the meal has something to do with the quality of the company,” she retorted.

  “In which case, I accept your compliment with all due humility” He stuffed his last bite into his mouth and wiped his hands on his trousers, ignoring the cloth she held out to him. Rising in a fluid motion, he held out his hand. “Those are towels. We can wash our hands in the sea. Mother Nature has provided us with an entire ocean full of water for our convenience.”

  But when they reached the water’s edge, Angela discovered that Kit had more than washing on his mind. Grabbing her around the waist, he held her up against him, his mouth next to her ear.

  “Ever been for a midnight swim, milady?”

  She drew back slightly to look up at him. “I don’t swim.”

  “No? That can be rectified.”

  “Kit—no,” she protested, struggling when he began to unfasten her gown. He stopped, but there was a militant gleam in his eyes that should have warned her what he intended.

  “All right. Have it your way.” His hands moved to his waist and he flicked open the buttons on his trousers with a deft motion while she spluttered.

  “Don’t you dare!”

  “No?” Moonlight gave his face a hellish cast as he grinned at her with unabashed amusement. “How can I teach you to swim if I don’t go in the water with you?”

  Angela turned away, her face flaming as he stripped away his trousers. She fled to the water, and to her surprise, found it warm and silky as she waded out up to her knees. Plopping down, she was covered up to her neck, her gown floating about her in billowing drifts.

  “Oh no you don’t,” Kit said, coming up behind her. “Coward. Come on. It’s just you and me. No one else is here. Besides, the bugs won’t bite if we’re in the water.”

  The water looked black, the only light coming from the moon above and the candles behind them, and Angela shivered. “It’s too frightening,” she murmured at last. Kit knelt beside her in the sand and water and took her hand.

  “I won’t let anything hurt you. Trust me.”

  She hesitated, then nodded, allowing him to draw her out deeper. He was surefooted, keeping one hand on her waist to guide her and the other supporting her arm. Though she half expected him to touch her elsewhere, he didn’t. The water lapped around her, loosening her hair from its braid so that it floated like pale seaweed around her shoulders and in front of her, making her think of the tentacles of a jellyfish as it coiled and moved with the waves.

  There was a sensuous delight in the warmth of the water and Kit’s hands supporting her, and finally some of the tension left her and she began to enjoy it. There was a sense of weightlessness, of being free of restra
int as he lifted her off her feet, and after she had conquered the first surge of panic, she relaxed. Kit smiled, his teeth white in the murky light.

  “You like it, don’t you.”

  It was more a statement than a question, and she nodded. “Yes. But you tricked me.”

  “Would you have come in if I hadn’t? No, don’t answer. You and I both know you wouldn’t have.” He shifted slightly to move in front of her, and put both hands on her waist.

  Lightly holding her, he said softly, “You would make a beautiful mermaid, angel.”

  “Like the one in the story Dylan tells?”

  He laughed. “God, I hope so. But you may have heard a different version from the one I’m familiar with.”

  “No doubt,” she said tartly, and he laughed again. The water was up to her chin now, and she grasped his arms. “Don’t take me any farther out. This is deep enough.”

  “Where’s your sense of adventure?”

  “Excuse me, but being captured by pirates was adventure enough. Swimming with their captain exceeds even my imagination.”

  “I never knew you were so limited in imagination. No, don’t pull away. I won’t take you any deeper if you don’t want to go.” His voice lowered slightly, and his hands moved up to her rib cage. “Haven’t you ever been in over your head, angel?”

  She caught her breath. She knew he wasn’t talking about the water. There was an underlying current to his words that made her heart lurch, an unspoken question that she didn’t know how to answer.

  Resting her hands on his shoulders, which were well above the water, she whispered, “Kit, what do you want from me?”

  For a moment he didn’t answer. Then he leaned forward, one hand moving to hold her head while his other slipped beneath the hem of her dress to slide over bare skin. She drew in a quick breath at the sensation of his warm hand against her thigh.