My Lady Pirate

by Danelle Harmon

  “And yet, what?”

  “You came back to me,” he said softly.

  “Aye, well I”—she looked down so he wouldn’t see how red her face must surely be—”I

  realized I was acting rashly about that—that woman.”

  “You acted . . . as I would have expected someone in your place to act.”

  Her head snapped up, her eyes blazing with challenge. “You don’t think I behaved like a

  damned fool, then?”

  “Oh, on the contrary, Majesty.” He smiled, and dropped a kiss on her brow. “But I love you anyhow.”

  A soft sigh ensued from behind her, and she gasped and spun around, remembering Colin’s

  presence.

  “Have no fear, love. As I told you, my captain is dead to the world and will not eavesdrop on us, I can assure you.”

  “What happened to him?”

  The admiral’s easy humor abruptly faded, and with a great, weary sigh, he gazed bleakly at the still form on the sofa. “Another casualty of war, I’m afraid, caught by a ball from a Spanish cannon. His leg is shattered and so, I fear, is his career in the navy. He may well end up as a cripple—even if he does live.”

  “Why wouldn’t he live?” she asked, frowning and following his gaze.

  “If gangrene sets in, the leg will have to come off. But let’s not talk of so gloomy an affair.

  We survived the engagement, thanks to a trick up this old dog’s sleeve, and as for young Colin—

  well, he’s made of strong stuff indeed.” He gave a brave smile, though she knew the fate of

  “young Colin” was very much on his mind. “He’ll recover—or I’ll thrash him to within an inch of his life, the pup!”

  Maeve swallowed hard, her heart aching for him. He was like his mentor, Nelson. Kind and

  concerned and always putting the fate of his men before himself. “I could send Aisling and Sorcha across to nurse him,” she offered, slowly. “Perhaps they could read to him, clean the wound, keep his spirits up. . .”

  “Oh no, they’re far too young; I could never allow it.”

  “Young, but not entirely innocent. His would not be the first male thigh they have seen. And besides, they’ll be together”—she paused at the stubborn look on his face—“for God’s sake, Gray, there’s only so much one overworked surgeon can do! He has a far better chance of survival with my girls tending to him.”

  But the admiral was cocking his head, narrowing his eyes and looking at her speculatively.

  “And just why do you care so very much, eh?”

  “What?”

  “I know he’s your cousin and all that, but you barely know him.”

  She caught her breath, feeling like a thief who’s been suddenly found out. “I . . . I don’t know.” She tightened her mouth, not willing to examine these feelings of tenderness and

  compassion for another. “I just do, all right?”

  His eyes darkened, and he took her face in his hands. “Maeve, darling, sweetheart, love. You try so hard to hide that gentle heart of yours beneath bluster and ferocity. But inside, you are a warm and compassionate soul, full of generosity, concern and caring, with so much love to give —”

  Panicking, she drew back, feeling suddenly threatened, vulnerable, scared.

  “Please sit down,” he said quietly. “Don’t abandon me. I could use a friend right now. It gets lonely sometimes, being the sole man at the top.”

  Don’t abandon me. Nothing he might’ve said could’ve affected her more. That simple, unashamed plea, that honest admission that he didn’t want to be alone—obviously the admiral had no such fears as she did about laying bare his heart, his feelings. Reluctantly she sat, pressed her palms together, and tried to avoid those dark, steady eyes.

  He poured two glasses of rum, sat down, and pushed one across the table to her. “Do you

  have any idea how I felt when I saw your little schooner leading the might of the Mediterranean Fleet back to me this morning?”

  She glanced at the door, her heart beginning to slam within her breast.

  ‘Trust,” he said gently, and she felt the warmth of his dark gaze upon her, “works both ways.

  You could have forsaken your promise to me and simply gone back to your island without ever summoning Lord Nelson. You could have abandoned me, but you didn’t. And I trusted that you wouldn’t. I trusted you so much that I kept my two ships sitting here in the middle of the damned ocean waiting for you, because I knew you’d return—and I didn’t want you to come back and find me gone. I didn’t want you to think that I had abandoned you, when it might seem that everyone else in your young life has done just that.”

  The room grew very silent. From somewhere above, came the shrill of a bosun’s pipes. A

  long moment passed; then, he reached across the table to lay his knuckles gently against her cheek. She shut her eyes and caught his hand with her own, pressing her cheek against his palm and wishing for more than just a simple touch, wishing he would carry her away and make the world cease to exist, cease to matter. Hold me, Gray. Love me. . .

  “I never loved Catherine,” he said softly. “I never had any intention of keeping her or any other woman as a mistress once I met you, Maeve, because after that, all other women ceased to exist for me.”

  “But you said you had a mistress on Barbados, and that was well after we met. . .”

  “Yes, I did say that. And it was a lie—my desperate and panicky attempt to make you so

  very angry that you'd take me back to Nelson as you'd originally planned to do. I had to think of something, and something quick . . . something that wouldn't make you suspicious.” He smiled.

  “You decided to 'keep' me, remember? But I had had nothing to do with Catherine since before you and I met. She only came here to try and change my mind.” His eyes grew dark and intent, almost pleading, as he brought her hand to his lips. “Forgive me love—I could think of no other way at the time, and I didn’t know you well enough to trust you not to bring me to Villeneuve instead.”

  Maeve could not hold that gaze. She looked down, and swallowed hard.

  She felt him pull his hand from her grasp and came around the table. He knelt down before her, and put his fingertips beneath her chin, lifting her head so that she had no choice but to look up at him. “I love you, Maeve,” he murmured. “Nothing can change that. I love you, and I would like you to be my wife.”

  His wife. The words should have thrilled her; instead they brought a bleak despair to her heart, for his wife was something she could never be.

  “You still want to marry me?” she asked, her eyes bleak.

  “Of course I still want to marry you.” He pulled the hat from her head, tossed it to the table, ran his hands along her long, silky ponytail. “Nothing has changed.”

  He was right. Nothing had changed. She was still the Pirate Queen of the Caribbean. Pirate queens didn’t desert their ships, their crews, the lives they’d built for themselves to take a reckless gamble on a man’s love. And pirate queens didn’t marry admirals.

  Not if they intended to remain pirate queens.

  She bent her head, picking at a hangnail on her thumb while he planted a kiss against her nape. “Gray,” she said slowly, “I don’t think we can get married.”

  “Don’t be silly, love, of course we can get married.”

  “No. We can’t.”

  His lips found the sensitive spot behind her ear. “And whyever not, sweeting?” he said,

  cheerfully.

  “Because your career as a naval officer would never survive the reality of having a wife

  who’s out roving the Spanish Main.”

  He looked amused and, straightening up, ruffled her hair affectionately before tugging the bright purple ribbon from her nape. Then his lips came down against hers and she moaned softly as his tongue explored the recesses of her mouth. “Ah, Maeve,” he murmured, reluctantly breaking the kiss. “Any roving you do after we are wed will
take place in our marriage bed.”

  “No, Gray,” she said firmly, savoring the taste of him on her lips. “I intend to remain in my present capacity as the Pirate Queen.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, dear. There is no reason for you to carry on as you are. I can give you everything you need—lovely clothes, servants, and maids; grand parties, balls, and soirees. You will entertain dignitaries, diplomats, and naval officers, take tea with members of your own fair sex instead of crossing swords with criminals, killers, and rogues. By God, never again will you have to steal just to feed yourself, fight just to defend your honor! I will take care of you, Maeve.

  I will love you. As my wife you shall enjoy the life you deserve to have, one of grandeur, society, and status.”

  “But that is not the life I want.”

  He drew back, hurt. “What do you mean? Isn’t that what every woman wants?”

  “It is not what I want. And I am not ‘every woman.’”

  “Well, what do you want, then?” He twisted the purple ribbon in his hands, looking bewildered, confused, lost. “Ask, Maeve, and you shall have it.”

  “My freedom. My ship. My life, to live as I see fit. Please understand, Gray. It’s not that I don’t love you . . . it’s that I’m scared of becoming an admiral’s wife. I won’t fit in. I have obligations—to my girls, my ship—” Her voice grew desperate. “Please say you understand.”

  “As my wife, you won’t need a ship.”

  “No. I do need my ship—”

  “For God’s sake, Maeve, I won’t have my wife sailing the Caribbean as the modern-day incarnation of Anne Bonney!”

  She leapt to her feet. “I thought you liked Anne Bonney!”

  “Aye, but I damn well wouldn’t marry the woman!”

  “Oh, I understand, now,” she said hotly, grabbing her hat. “It’s only the fantasy, isn’t it?

  Well, my gallant admiral, it’s about time you learn to distinguish the difference between reality and fantasy. I am a pirate. Understand?” She jabbed her finger into his chest. “Pirate. I steal, plunder, and fight as well if not better than any man! I curse and drink and toast my skin in the sun! I’d never do as an admiral’s wife, because I would embarrass you in front of those people you’d want me to impress!”

  “No, Maeve, you would make me proud, d’you hear me, proud!”

  “I am a pirate!”

  “I wouldn’t care if you’re a bloody gutter rat; I love you, dammit!”

  Their breathing echoed harshly through the cabin. She snatched the purple ribbon from his hand and, turning her back on him, stuffed it down her bodice with quick, angry jabs. Outside, the sea washed around the rudder and from the sofa came the flag-captain’s soft breathing.

  She stared at the wall, trying in vain to control her emotions.

  “Very well, then.” His voice was flat and toneless from behind her. “I guess we can’t get married, then.”

  “Aye.” She swallowed hard. “Guess not.”

  “For God’s sake, Maeve!”

  She spun around, eyes blazing. “Don’t ‘For God’s sake’ me, Gray! I’ve fought hard to get

  where I am and now you’re asking me to give it all up. For what? Fancy balls, a life of bored leisure, and ‘Lady’ in front of my name? Your name? I’ll not grow fat and lazy entertaining a bunch of stuffy hussies who’ll only sneer at me and whisper about me behind their backs. I’ll not desert, nay abandon, those who depend upon me for leadership, their next meal, their very existence. They’re my family now, Gray, the only family I have. I cannot desert them! I learned my lesson the hard way, seven years ago, when I gave up everything I had for the sake of a man’s love, and I’ll never do it again!”

  “Maeve!”

  “Never!”

  She stormed across the room, tore open the door—

  And came face-to-face with el Perro Negro.

  Chapter 28

  Maeve didn’t even have time for a startled scream. Her hand went for the knife at her waist even as el Perro Negro’s fist crashed into her jaw and rocked her head back on her neck. White lights exploded in her brain and she fought to maintain consciousness, knowing even as she felt herself falling, sinking, fading, that she . . . could . . . not. . .

  Her eyes rolled up and with a little sigh, the Pirate Queen sagged bonelessly into el Perro Negro’s clutches. Immediately, he grabbed her hair, yanked her head back to expose her throat, and thrust the flat of his knife against the pale flesh.

  He looked up—and saw Sir Graham facing him from behind the mouth of a pistol.

  “Drop the gun, Admiral.”

  Falconer's eyes burned with murderous fury. “Release her. Now.”

  “I said, drop it. Or the puta dies.”

  Gray never flinched, though his hand was sweating around the pistol’s grip. How the pirates had escaped he didn’t know, but all seven of them filled the doorway and there was no room for heroic measures. Beyond, he could see the faithful marine sentry, sprawled on the deck with his throat cut and gushing blood. On the deck directly above, he could hear two lieutenants, obviously unaware of what was happening, calmly discussing the weather. He looked into the desperate black eyes of el Perro Negro . . . at Maeve, hanging senseless over his arm, her exposed throat vulnerable to his knife . . . thought of Colin behind him, defenseless and now, starting to stir— “Kill her.”

  “Belay, damn you!” Cursing, he lowered the pistol, tossed it to the table on a snarl of

  disgust, and stood helplessly as el Perro Negro threw Maeve roughly against one of his cohorts.

  Then the pirate stepped behind Gray, looped his arm around his neck, and held the knife to his throat.

  “Pig-Eye! Give me the almirante' s pistol.”

  Gray’s dark stare bored into the eyes of the pirate who held Maeve. If you so much as breathe on her, I’ll kill you, he silently vowed, unflinching as el Perro Negro, the gun now in his hand, shoved it against his temple.

  “One wrong move, Admiral, and I’ll splatter the Fleet’s intelligence all over these pristine decks, ye hear?”

  Gray didn’t answer.

  “You hear me, Almirante?” the pirate shrieked, jabbing the mouth of the pistol against his skull.

  “You’ll not get away with this,” Gray said coldly, but his unflinching stare was still locked on the pirate who had Maeve.

  El Perro Negro’s laughter was high, desperate, hysterical, the stench of his unwashed body

  —and the fear that reeked from his every pore—pungent and acrid. “No, Almirante, I will get away with it! For I will take you, king of the sea, as hostage to ensure my escape from this ship.

  You think I’m estupido, fool enough to believe I’ll get a fair trial back in England? Baah! You English peegs are all vile, wretched bastards! Tie up that puta, Renaldo, good and tight. And hurry up, I don’t have all day!”

  “Ye ain’t takin’ ’er with us, Capitan?”

  “I don’t have time, idiota! I have the almirante; he is all the insurance we need. Now, move! ”

  ###

  Maeve . . . Maeve, wake up . . . please, wake up . . . Splitting pain cleaved her skull and she moaned in agony with every gentle roll of the deck beneath her. Something hard and unforgiving lay beneath her cheek, and she tried to move her arm . . . couldn’t . . .

  “Maeve . . . help me.”

  The voice was real . . . the accent, English . . . not Gray’s.

  She opened her eyes and saw her cousin Colin lying on the deck not five feet away from her.

  He was on his stomach, his bright hair falling over his sweating brow, his gentle eyes glazed, and half of the bedding trailing behind him and connecting him to the sofa. Stupidly, she thought he was supposed to be in bed and started to scold him . . . Belatedly, she realized she, too, was lying on the deck. Memories slammed into her aching head. She surged to her feet, only to lose her balance and fall, painfully, back to the deck.

  “Colin, the admiral—”

  “I know,�
� he whispered, his voice tight with agony. “I heard most of it. They have him

  topside, Maeve. I—I tried to go for help . . . can’t get any farther with this leg, God knows I tried

  —”

  “They’ll kill him, Colin! They’ve tied me up; you’ve got to help me get loose!”

  “—God knows, I tried . . . you’ve got to save him.”

  “Dammit, Colin, you’re drunk!”

  “Yes, I daresay . . . drunk . . Got to save Sir Graham.”

  Desperately, she managed to get to her feet, even as she realized the deck above was deathly still and quiet.

  “Colin, help me!”

  He shook his head, and she saw a flash of sobriety in his eyes; she squatted down before

  him, thrusting her bound hands directly in his face. “Colin—my knife! It’s in my belt, you’ve got to cut me loose!”

  “Drunk . . . Maeve . . . might cut you . . . can’t.”

  “For God’s sake, Colin, we’re talking about Gray’s life!” Damn you Gray for getting him so bloody soused he can’t even think straight! “Colin—my knife. Please.”

  She felt him pulling the wicked, deadly blade from her belt, bit her lip as he began to saw, slowly, too slowly, at her bound wrists. “For God's sake, hurry up!”

  “Hold still, almost there . . . hurry, Maeve . . . they’ll kill him—”

  She felt the last thread break free just as Colin sank back beneath the haze of pain and

  alcohol. On a little cry, she grabbed up the knife, stumbled once, twice, and fled the cabin, leaving the flag-captain passed out on the black-and-white-checkered deck.

  ###

  “One more stupid move and your commander in chief dies!” el Perro Negro snarled, holding

  the pistol against Sir Graham’s temple and daring Triton's crew to try any more foolish heroics in an attempt to rescue him.

  The pirate was not taking any chances. He felt the fury emanating from his hostage, the raw power in his body, the deadly rage in his stance. But the almirante had remained dangerously silent as they’d forced him up through the hatch and onto the quarterdeck, and that was somehow worse than anything he could’ve said, done, or threatened—for el Perro Negro had no idea what clever plan was going on behind those dark eyes, and that alone was enough to bring fear tingling up his spine.