by Lynn Patrick
“You…you pirate!” she exclaimed, running her fingers through his thick hair and caressing the earlobe with the earring.
“I thought you were the pirate,” he said, covering her mouth with his and roughly kissing her.
“You’re playing the aggressor now.”
“Oh, I see how it is.” Fully aware that this night might be the last time he’d be with her, Bryce decided to go along with Caitlin’s imaginative games. If he couldn’t be her reality, he might as well be the best damned fantasy she’d ever had.
Pinning her down more tightly, he jerked the rest of her buttons open with one hand and said, “I’ve been sorely tempted to rip your bodice off long before this, milady. Now you’ve pushed me too far.”
“Please, Captain,” she pleaded, wiggling under him, creating delicious sensations as skin rubbed against skin.
“Please what? You know you want me, pretty wench.”
“But, Pirate captain, sir. If you take my innocence, no other man will have me.”
“Then I’ll keep you to myself,” he stated gruffly before kissing her thoroughly.
Wishing that he could actually possess Caitlin entirely and so easily, Bryce abandoned himself to their lovemaking as he never had before. Wrapping her slender legs around him, she responded with unconcealed passion. Isolated by the enveloping fog, it seemed as if they were completely alone in a mysterious floating world.
Only when they lay entwined together later, completely sated, did Bryce have second thoughts about the fantasy they’d played out. Was Caitlin only attracted to him because she saw him as the hero of her imaginative dreams? A pirate? An adventurer? A flamboyant captor?
Remembering some of the things she’d said during their night in the cave, he decided that he had reason to question her motivations. Could a wide-eyed dreamer have a continuing relationship with the ordinary man he really was?
Perhaps taking Caitlin to St. Vincent would be the best thing for both of them. Given a little time, her feet firmly on land, she’d surely recognize him and his lifestyle for what they were. She’d be happy to leave the West Indies. And he should be happy that he’d be spared the experience of seeing her awaken from illusion.
Not that the thought made his heart ache any less. How had he managed to get himself so involved? Willing himself to forget about the impossible situation, Bryce pulled the woman he loved tightly to him and breathed in the scent of her hair. He’d only have her a few more hours.
It was daylight when Caitlin awoke, though no golden sunbeams streamed in through the cabin’s windows. The world outside was shrouded by eerie white fog. Pulling up the sheet to cover herself, she wondered why she’d suddenly gotten cold, then realized that Bryce’s warmth was missing from the bed. How long had he been gone? Was he taking his watch? Or was he already preparing the ship for a sail to St. Vincent?
Feeling more than a little abandoned, she slid her feet over the bunk’s edge and glanced around the room, noting her scattered clothing on the floor. The clock on the table told her that it was very early, just past dawn. Should she get dressed and find Bryce? Maybe she’d think of some way to talk him into delaying their imminent journey.
She’d put on her dress and was attempting to smooth the wrinkles in the skirt when Bryce entered the cabin. “Going somewhere?” he asked, his green eyes curious.
“I was getting ready to look for you.”
“No need for that, milady.” He smiled sexily. “I’m here to see that you don’t escape my bed so early.” Lifting her easily, he carried her back to the bunk. “When I went to take my watch, Anselm generously offered to pull a double. How could I refuse? You and I have had so little time for loving.”
Between soft kisses he slipped the dress farther down her shoulders. “Why don’t we wait another day before we leave for St. Vincent?” she asked, luxuriating in the pleasurable sensation of his beard on her skin. “Won’t it be difficult to travel in the fog?”
“No, we can find our way with radar.”
“Oh.” Disappointed, she was trying to think of an. other excuse when they heard the ruckus outside. The popping noise she’d learned to associate with gunfire sounded rapidly, followed by hoarse shouts and thuds.
“My God!” Eyes widening with alarm, Bryce leapt up. “We’re being attacked! How the hell did they find us?”
He started for the door, Caitlin a few feet behind him. “Stay here!” he said, turning to order before slamming out.
But she had no intention of remaining in the cabin. How could she let Bryce face danger alone? Tugging her dress back up, she spied the cutlasses sticking out of the trunk. Hefting a sword in each hand, Caitlin went outside, determined to assist her man in any way she could.
Surprised that there seemed to be no fighting going on, she stopped short when she saw Anselm standing near the rail, his arms raised in surrender. Bryce stood a little behind him, Perry and Carlos off to one side. More crewmen were gathered near the hold, looking like they’d just been awakened. The scene was surreal. Everyone stared silently at an apparition, a large yacht that had pulled up at the ship’s side. It rocked with the waves, fog-shrouded and ominous. The armed men on the yacht’s deck trained their weapons on the Sea Devil.
“Don’t shoot.” Stepping forward, Bryce broke the silence. “I’m the man you’re looking for.”
“You are the one who’s responsible for my losses?” The bodiless voice was angry and slightly accented. “At last I have caught up with your black ship. You have been a great annoyance, monsieur.”
Jean Moreau suddenly emerged from the armed group, moving along the yacht’s rail through the swirling mists. His appearance seemed almost supernatural, his glittering eyes and teeth bared in an evil smile, making him resemble some kind of demon. At least that’s what Caitlin thought. Holding what appeared to be a sophisticated-looking submachine gun, Jean climbed up onto the yacht’s prow.
“I may have been an annoyance, but you’re a damned murderer, Moreau,” Bryce said accusingly. “Did you think you could get away with killing Ned Winslow?”
“Winslow?” Moreau knit his brows. “Is that what all this trouble has been about? Ned Winslow?”
“I’m Ned’s brother.”
“You think I murdered your brother? Is that the reason you have pursued me? To get your revenge?” The Frenchman’s lips twitched before he broke out laughing, some of his men joining in.
What a cold and heartless cad, Caitlin thought as Moreau followed several of his ruffians to the Sea Devil, leaping across the space between the two ships. She sucked in her breath, wondering what she should do, when outraged shouts came from the yacht. The ship rocked beneath her, and Moreau stumbled to sprawl on the Sea Devil’s deck. Glancing over the rail past the yacht, Caitlin spotted another set of masts through the thick fog. A third vessel had rammed the Frenchman’s boat!
Then she focused on the chaos around her. Grabbing anything available—belaying pins, wooden kegs, pieces of pipe—the crew of the Sea Devil valiantly gave battle, seeking to wrest the invaders’ guns from them. Even Low Tide Lars rushed up from the hold, yelling and brandishing a rolling pin. Caitlin ran toward Bryce, her heart sinking as she saw Moreau scramble across the deck toward the automatic weapon he’d dropped when he fell.
“Bryce!” In desperation she threw him one of the cutlasses.
Moving quickly, Bryce managed to catch the flying sword by its handle. Then he leapt at Moreau. As the Frenchman clutched his submachine gun, Bryce brought the cutlass down, knocking the deadly weapon from his hands.
“Sacré bleu!”
“Got it!” yelled Caitlin, scooping up the gun.
Cradling it in her right hand, a cutlass in the other, she wondered briefly if she should throw the automatic weapon overboard. But soon she had no more time to think. Ducking out of Anselm’s way as he slammed two smugglers’ heads together, she saw Moreau running toward her, Bryce right behind him.
“Give me the gun, little dove!” the Frenchman
commanded.
“Don’t call me any cute names!” Caitlin jabbed the cutlass at him threateningly and danced away.
Moreau paused, giving Bryce time to grab him. The two men grappled, exchanging punches. Then Bryce’s fist connected soundly with the Frenchman’s jaw. Moreau groaned, then dropped to the deck and lay still.
Quickly examining the unconscious man, Bryce rose to gaze around the ship. “Flatten the devils!” he shouted encouragingly before entering the fray to help his men.
But the Sea Devil’s crew was already holding its own against its adversaries. Some of them must have even boarded the yacht, because Caitlin could see men struggling there too. Curiously enough, all of a sudden there seemed to be an awful lot of them, more than Bryce’s full crew.
Before she could puzzle further, however, her attention was swayed by the predicament Lars had gotten himself into. Having bopped a thickset smuggler with his rolling pin, the sail maker backed away when the man came toward him menacingly.
“Ha ha! Can’t take me!” taunted Lars, dancing around and brandishing his unusual club. “I’m as fast as a bee and as strong as the sea, key, lee…”
“I’m going to take you and throw you overboard, you crazy old fool!” snarled the enemy as he advanced.
Caitlin ran to Lars’s aid, using the butt of the submachine gun to pummel the smuggler’s back. Unfortunately her blows only further enraged the burly man. When he turned toward her, she pointed the weapon at him, finger shakily on the trigger. Then Anselm intervened.
“This will teach you to respect women and your elders, mon!” the black mate yelled before knocking the surprised oaf to the deck with a huge fist.
“I think we’ve got things under control here now.” Blood on his chin from a cut lip, Bryce approached. Caitlin gazed at his injury worriedly, as well as at his dirty, disheveled clothing. Except for bruises and the minor cut, however, the captain didn’t appear to be hurt.
“What about Moreau’s boat?” asked Anselm.
As if in answer to his question, they all stared when someone shouted greetings from the yacht. The shouts were followed by the arrival of a black-haired, bearded stranger who’d jumped the distance between the two craft.
“Have we conquered the enemy?” the man asked, grinning and looking at Bryce. His bright blue eyes sparkled mischievously. “Shall we raise the triumphant flag now and portion out the spoil?”
Bryce made no answer. All the color drained from his face, as if he’d seen a ghost. Watching the interchange curiously, Caitlin was amazed to see Bryce embrace the newcomer tightly for a few seconds, his changing expressions indicating fluctuating emotions. Then, quickly stepping away from the man, Bryce drew back and slugged him soundly. The stranger flew backward and landed flat on his back on the deck.
Chapter Thirteen
“Bryce! What are you doing?” Caitlin yelled as the black-bearded man whom her lover had just decked groaned and tried to lift his head. “Why did you hit him when he and his men helped you overtake Moreau?”
Ignoring her questions, Bryce continued to glower at the felled man, who now struggled to sit up while muttering, “I guess I deserved that wicked right hook of yours for thinking you’d be glad to see me, eh, Bryce?”
“Why should I be glad to meet up with a smuggler named Eddie Teach?”
“So you figured it out.”
The younger man grinned, making Caitlin gasp.
“Eddie Teach?” she asked uncertainly, thinking how very much the bearded smuggler looked like… Her eyes were wide when she whipped back around to Bryce and asked, “Is he who I think he is?”
“He’s Eddie Teach,” Bryce repeated sarcastically. “Descendent of the scourge of the Caribbean, Edward Teach—or the pirate Blackbeard, as you might know him.” He stared down at the man on the deck, who now sat with his knees up and ankles crossed, pretending a lack of concern Caitlin instinctively knew to be false. “I should have guessed, I suppose, that you would treat your illegal activities with your usual irresponsible whimsy.”
“And you’ve got me tried and convicted without a trial as usual, don’t you, dear brother?”
“It is Ned,” Caitlin said softly, more to herself than for a confirmation.
Looking around quickly, she saw the truth in the faces of the crew, who awaited their captain’s orders at various points of the deck, where they held guns on their captives. She also noted that a few of the men had paired up and were greeting each other like long-lost friends. Or brothers, she silently added, turning her attention back to Bryce and Ned.
“Are you denying that you’ve been calling yourself Eddie Teach?” Bryce demanded. “Going around, spreading the rumor of your own death?”
“Why bother denying the truth? Though I never said I was dead.”
Ned rose and brushed himself off. Then he faced his brother squarely. Practically nose to nose, they were almost of a height, Bryce being the taller by barely an inch, Caitlin noted. And Ned wasn’t nearly as broad and well-muscled as his older sibling.
“You probably won’t believe this, Bryce, but I changed my name for your sake.”
“Ha! Don’t make me laugh! You’ve never thought about anyone but yourself—”
Perry cleared his throat and interrupted. “Say, Captain, what do we do with Moreau and his men?”
Before Bryce could say a word, Ned turned to the black man, who seemed strangely embarrassed and said, “Herd them together and keep them under armed guard until my brother and I decide what to do with them.”
“Until we decide?” Bryce raged. “I’m in charge here, not you!”
“Just as you’ve always been? Let’s go into your cabin where we can discuss this privately.”
Bryce’s fury had startled Caitlin, considering that she knew how much the man had suffered thinking about his younger brother’s death. And though Ned had made his request softly, there was a familiar hard edge to his tone that she recognized. Giving orders seemed to come naturally to the Winslow men.
“Do as Ned says,” Bryce growled, leading the way. “Anselm, keep an eye on things.”
“I was planning on it, my friend.”
Hesitating only a second, Caitlin brushed past Anselm and followed the two men into the captain’s cabin. Ned almost closed the door in her face before realizing that she was there.
“Hello. Who are you?” he asked, his vivid blue eyes inspecting her. A wicked smile curved his lips, and he turned toward his brother. “Bryce, sailing with your mistress? Well, well, well.”
The man sounded as if he were delighted that his older brother had been caught in the midst of a transgression, Caitlin thought. Her cheeks flamed when she realized that was exactly what had happened. She pushed past him, giving Ned a defiant look as she moved toward the man she loved.
“Caitlin,” Bryce said gruffly. “I think you’d better wait outside while Ned and I settle things.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Please don’t give me a hard time. Not now.”
Crossing her arms, she said, “The only way you’ll get me out of here is to carry me out screaming.”
“A feisty one too,” Ned said with a chuckle. Closing the door, he strolled past the couple into the cabin. “Looks like you’ve picked a winner this time, brother. A woman you can’t control.”
Caitlin aimed a poisonous look at the man who’d caused Bryce so much heartache. “I think I have a right to hear the reason I was kidnapped and held prisoner on this ship.”
“Caitlin—”
But Bryce’s admonishment was interrupted by his brother’s hearty laughter. Doubling over and holding his stomach, Ned dropped to the bunk.
“Kidnapped? My moral, upright, responsible brother Bryce Prescott Winslow kidnapped a woman and held her prisoner? And he has the nerve to punch me out for a little smuggling?” Ned threw back his head and guffawed loudly. “Kidnapped! Now I’ve heard everything.”
“You don’t understand the circumstances,” Bryce
gritted out.
Sobering quickly, Ned sat up straight and challenged his brother. “And neither do you.”
“Then explain them to me.”
Ned looked her way for a few seconds. Afraid that he was going to insist she leave, Caitlin purposely sat in a chair beside the table. Unless they threw her out bodily, she planned on observing the two brothers thrash out their differences. It should be quite a show.
She was relieved when Ned seemed to forget her presence. He refocused his attention on Bryce, who leaned against the table in a casual pose, his arms crossed over his chest. But loving him as she did, Caitlin knew better. She could almost feel the tension emanating from him.
“It started with that twerpy little tourist, Jane what’s her name.”
“Our tourists aren’t twerpy, and I’m sure you remember that her name is Jane Cagney.”
“Twerpy is the kindest word I can think of for little Jane,” Ned retorted, sounding amazingly like Bryce. His bitterness was obvious when he added, “But you believed her story.”
“Why shouldn’t I have believed her? You were always wild.”
“But I’ve grown up, dammit!” Ned yelled, rising from the bunk and glowering at Bryce. “It took me long enough in your shadow, but I finally did it. You just never realized it. And the incident with Jane happened exactly as I told you. She did try to get into my bed, and when I kicked her out of my cabin, she threatened to turn me in—to say I tried to take advantage of her. And you believed her, for God’s sake.”
Bryce shifted uncomfortably, yet he defended himself. “You always were a womanizer too.”
“As you say, a womanizer. I can’t believe you’d think I’d have anything to do with a seventeen-year-old girl.”
“So that’s it. That’s your explanation. You’re trying to tell me you joined Moreau in his illegal activities because we had a fight over the girl’s story?”
Ned shook his head. “It wasn’t just the girl. It was my life. You never forgot that I sailed away with Ambruster’s boat when I was sixteen. You always judged me badly, no matter what I did or said or wanted. And so did Mother and Father.”
