by C. K. Brooke
Abi looked back to the fire that Captain Morrow had built. It seemed that, along with the lobster pots and scrap wood, he’d uncovered an old bucket among the harbor’s ruins. It was already filled with water, ready for boiling. Quite a resourceful sailor, she noted to herself. She wondered how long the man had been working—and living—at sea.
He said nothing to her at first, his dripping clothes leaving a trail in the sand. With a sigh, he set down the crates. “Put the water on to boil, will ye?” he grunted. He seated himself near the fire and proceeded to remove his boots.
Abi raised the heavy bucket and set it over the fire. The water swayed within it.
“I found these,” he nudged the lobster pots with his foot, “at port. Bucket, too.” A V of seagulls panned over their heads, flying north. Morrow watched them until they disappeared behind the hills. “What is this place?” he wondered aloud.
“It’s called Monhegan.” Abi adjusted the bucket, ensuring that the fire burned evenly beneath it. “It’s been abandoned these last thirty years.”
Morrow looked over to her with interest, dumping puddles of seawater from his boots. “Why?”
Abi tried to trace her fingers in the sand, but it was too rough and weed-ridden. “The French captured it during King William’s War. They burned it down. Destroyed everything—the fishing fleet, all of the structures and people’s homes…”
Morrow scrutinized the blackened buildings peppering the isle.
“The survivors escaped to the Province of Massachusetts. No one lives here anymore. But the port remains as a stopover, for those who know of it.” Indeed, not too many knew of Monhegan. Pirate Bonita and Sam Bellamy used to frequent the place; they were the ones who’d shared the destination with Abi’s father. But few visited the desolate isle any longer.
Morrow looked thoughtful as he lifted the hatch of the first trap. A coal-black lobster wriggled fiercely inside. The man grabbed its tail and tossed it into the boiling bucket before the creature could so much as attempt to pinch him. Opening the second trap, Morrow delivered the next crustacean to an identical fate. A faint, high-pitched squeal streamed from the bucket, and eventually faded.
Captain Morrow cleared his throat. Abi thought he might say something to her, but instead he began to intone an old sailing chantey under his breath.
As they waited for breakfast to cook, the pair sat side by side, observing the sea. Abi couldn’t decide whether she was more relieved or apprehensive that there was no sign of The Indomitable. Hadn’t the captain said his ship was coming for them soon?
But another question was chipping at her. And somehow, this one seemed more significant. When she could no longer ignore it, she ended the silence with a gentle, “Captain?”
He glanced at her.
Abi hesitated. “Last night, when you thought I’d fallen overboard…why did you go after me?” Before he could look away again, she held his gaze. She needed to know. If she was merely a rogue, an inconvenient prisoner in his view, then why would he have forsaken his ship and risked his very safety for her?
In his eyes, she saw the gray-white froth of the sea, and also her own expectant face reflected. “S’pose I couldn’t stand the thought of someone so spirited, gone from me forever,” he replied quietly. “But apparently, that was yer intention.” His mouth twisted into a scowl.
Abi reached for his arm. It was a reflex. He regarded her hand on him. “I didn’t know you cared.” She searched his eyes. “Truly cared. I thought it was an act.”
As they watched each other, Abi wondered when she had stopped pretending. Perhaps Captain Morrow was too hard to read, and after all of the wrong things. But she was coming to know, in that instant, the only thing she was pretending anymore was not to want him.
She had tried to escape him. But was it really because he repelled her? Or rather, was it because she’d been growing too accustomed to his twinkling gaze and brusque manner? Was it her own frightening fondness from which she’d been trying to run?
“Abigail.”
She moved in closer at the intimate call of her name in his low timbre. She loved the way he said it.
“I’ll be honest, I didn’t mean to care,” he admitted. Abi trembled as his calloused thumb trailed its way up and down the curve of her throat. “But now, I find I irrevocably do. Do you understand?”
Abi brought her nose to his. “More than you might imagine.” Her eyelids fell shut as his mouth closed over her bottom lip, giving it a tiny nibble. His lips massaged hers with tenderness, brushing back and forth in a tentative kiss.
“I can’t bear to think of you in danger,” he rasped. “It terrifies me. And the fact that it terrifies me, terrifies me too.”
Abi grinned against his mouth at the sweet confession.
He held out his arms to her, and she climbed into his lap. His protective embrace enfolded her as he kissed her deeply, the warm fire sizzling beside them. Abi smoothed her hand down the back of his head, wrapping her legs around his waist. She thought she might burst into a million particles. Perhaps no ship would ever come, and it would just be the two of them on Monhegan for the rest of their days. She could live with that.
Their lips parted. Opening her eyes, Abi inhaled a slow, satisfied breath. A new wave of uncertainty washed over her, although rather muted by his solid arms around her. Thankfully, it didn’t feel as though he planned on letting her go.
“So, what now?” she asked him, her voice little more than a whisper. Was she still his captive? Did he still covet her father’s head? She tried not to let confusion overwhelm her as she held onto him.
He sighed. “I know of no way to persuade ye out of yer devotion to your pa.” He said this with resignation, as though it was no longer his task. “But would you not want to try for a better life for yourself?”
Abi’s brow creased. “How do you mean?”
He backed away just enough to study her face. “I mean that no one would hold it against you if, one day, you sailed far and away, mayhap to the Kingdom, to settle for a true life, as a fella’s proper wife…maybe had some children.” He tucked a string of ginger hair behind her ear. “You’re young yet. There’s time to correct your course. Otherwise, if you aren’t careful, ye’ll become a pirate like yer pa, and I fear you’d be hanged before a bloke would be lucky enough to tie a string ’round your finger.”
Abi tried her best to keep from gaping, but her pulse was escalating. He was speaking of things she’d never considered possible for herself. Marriage, children? A home on land? Her?
“It’s not too late,” he urged her. “You can leave the slippery dangers of the Sweet Trade fer a decent life. I’m tellin’ you, there are ways. We can go where no one’ll know you…change yer name.”
“Change my name?” Abi shook her head. “To what?”
“Mrs. Morrow’s got a ring to it,” he murmured, “doesn’t it?”
She blinked. “Captain…?”
“James,” he corrected her. With his thumb, he gingerly tilted back her chin. Abi fell speechless, allowing him to kiss her again. This time, his tongue moistened her lips, just enough to tantalize her, before he withdrew. Abi regretted his stopping.
“I think,” he loosened his hold around her, “our bucket’s boiling over.”
Chapter 12
For three days, the island was theirs alone. James was ever mindful to keep the harbor in sight, in anticipation of his ship’s return. While he tried to mask it, his concern was increasing. Where was the crew? He’d told them where to find him. Had they made it safely through the storm? Was there damage to the ship, and that was what delayed them? He sifted through the possibilities in his mind, frequently scanning the horizon.
Presently, he waded through wild grasses and around a boulder in the ground. What if his men had mutinied, resolving to strand him there? But that was preposterous, he was fast to assure himself. He’d taken care of them. He had given them no reason to scorn him. At least, none that he could conjure.
&
nbsp; All things considered, though, he had no valid reason to complain. Monhegan, though eerie in its own right, was a peaceful place. And his sole companion…well, she made the sun brighter, the summer air even warmer.
In fact, all else was beginning to go rather fuzzy when she was around, of late. The important things suddenly were not so important. Urgent matters could wait. While Captain Morrow had confessed to being somewhat terrified by the softening of his own sentiments, it was also a rather liberating phenomenon. The usual worries, convictions and vows of vengeance, which had grasped him so tightly for so long, were coming loose by auburn strands flitting in the breeze, twirling around his fingers, and two magnificent green eyes piercing his, appraising him with silent fondness. She had a way about her, a wit and character he found irresistible.
Except for the occasional brief and meaningless exchange, he’d never wasted much time with women. And he had never intended to let this particular one under his skin. But he was strangely grateful he had.
James had meant what he’d suggested to Abigail, on their first morning on Monhegan. If she was willing, he would take her far and away. How he longed to begin anew, with her. Gladly, he would give her his name, a home, a future.
The man paused, his stomach twisting with regret. But of course, there would be no future for either of them without obtaining the very ends he’d been after all along. Though his feelings for her had changed the reasons behind it, they did not altogether alter his goal. In fact, if anything, they strengthened it. He still required information from her.
Yet, how could he go about extracting it now? They were finally starting to trust one another. It was fragile and he couldn’t bear to break it, to even introduce it to a hairline crack. If James gave Abigail any more reason to suspect him, who knew how easily he could lose the surprising—and unexpected—connection they had discovered those days and nights on the island together as they trailed the sands, fished for food, and shared stories beneath breathtaking sunsets?
All the same, when it came to the truth, he knew not where to start. He only knew that his newest desire, which had taken precedence over all else, was to return to his homeland with the girl in freedom. If only he could make her understand why he needed what he did, in order to do it. But even so, would she want the same? And would she ever agree to the cost?
A freshwater pond, one of several at the place, expanded beyond him. James halted at the bank, drinking in the late afternoon sky, rich with clouds. In the distance, he discerned the throaty bark of harbor seals. He didn’t notice the pond rippling until, with a small splash, a soaked head broke through the surface.
His breathing suspended. A long sheet of slick red hair fell down her bare back, the complexion strikingly pale there, in contrast to the tan forearms she raised overhead in a languid stretch. She tilted back, dipping her head so that her hair floated in fiery tendrils, chin pointed at the sky.
As quickly as she’d surfaced, she submerged again. He watched her shadow glide like a dolphin underwater. She hadn’t been lying; she was a very good swimmer. Once more, she popped up, catching her breath and rubbing water from her eyes. In front of her, the tops of her breasts bobbed, dove-white. The man swallowed hard, heat climbing up his neck.
A startled gasp told the captain she’d spotted him. He averted his eyes, allowing her to collect herself.
“James.” Though her tone was cross, there was a chance of a smirk in it. “You were spying on me?”
“Not spying,” he contended, his voice oddly strained. He was surprised he’d managed to say as much; he seemed to be having trouble formulating complete sentences at the moment. All he could see were two round, glistening shoulders, a strong clavicle, and a pair of moist, pursed lips that had uttered his name.
She watched him expectantly, as though daring him to ask to join her. Though he desperately wished to, he wasn’t confident he could accomplish more than stammering just then.
At last, the man lifted his foot and pulled off a boot.
Her thin eyebrow lifted. “What’re you doing?”
“Ain’t no fiddler here, I know.” He pulled off his other boot. “But I’d like to pay for that portrait now.”
***
Abi watched with a mixture of thrill and some confusion as the strapping man removed his garments, one by one. What had she told him she would accept as payment for her self-portrait?
Ah, yes—a dance.
She immediately felt herself rouge from her forehead to her toes. “You want to dance now?” She stood motionless, the water falling perfectly still around her nude form. “L-like this?”
James lifted his shirt overhead. A broad, knotted chest with more muscles and scars than she could count met her face-on. Her breath lodged in her throat. He bore two enormous tattoos, one on his chest, just over his heart, of a great blue anchor, and the second, a fierce-looking swallow—if a swallow ever looked so fierce—on his right bicep, with jagged wings and blades for a beak.
Abi burned with fascination, but sheer nerves…and desire…overpowered any of her questions. The man stepped down the bank. As he waded into the water to be with her, she thought she might lose balance. The heat emanating from his skin was enough to match the sun. He approached her, their eyes fastened on one another. She sighed audibly when his hands met her bare waist, his fingers stroking circles over the flesh on the small of her back.
Abi slowly arched her neck. He began at the base of her throat, his hot, hungry mouth climbing incrementally, torturously. Against her legs, his own impossibly solid ones melded beneath the surface of the cool pool. Her pulse jumped so intently, she thought he would taste it.
Her frame went limp, allowing him to gather her in his mighty arms. She could have disappeared in a mist of bliss. Faintly, almost imperceptibly, he rocked her from side to side, his chest firm against hers, his lips playing at the tips of her ears.
When Abi had fancied her first real dance, she had never envisioned anything so erotic.
As he led her slowly through the water, a surge of inexplicable devotion sprung up within her. It was mindless, completely blind to circumstances, unconcerned with the past or future. It knew nothing but its own presence. And Abi was lost in it.
Why, she wanted no one other than him. And if she ever did leave the sea someday, if there was a way to pursue a whole new life, well, then she wanted to embark upon it with James Morrow for her partner. She longed to fill her days learning all there was to know about him, walking at his side and, when the sun went down, awaiting him in his bed.
She traced the inky anchor over his heart with a curious finger. Where scars nicked his shoulders, she bent her neck and kissed them. “James,” she whispered, her flesh alive beneath his roaming hands. “Do you think we can…?”
She couldn’t finish the question. To her surprise, he scooped her up and lifted her out of the pond. Normally, she’d have been cold from the shock of dry air on her dripping skin, but his taut embrace kept her positively feverish.
With ragged breaths, James laid her down in the grass amidst their strewn clothing. Abi closed her eyes, transcendent, as he positioned himself over her. She felt him swell against her inner-thigh, and shivered with deep pleasure as he caressed the curve of her hips.
He paused, and Abi reopened her eyes. He simply petted her cheek with the back of his hand, his eyes aglow like a warm, crackling fire. “Aye, I think we can make love now.” He smiled. “If that was what you were about t’ ask.”
An amused grin hooked her lips. “Oh. No, actually.” Her grin faltered as he waited for her to explain. Abi felt suddenly sheepish. In truth, she’d been about to ask something a bit deeper. Not that making love to him was a shallow matter. “I was, erm, going to ask if you think we can sustain this.”
He watched her, nonplussed.
“Us,” she clarified quietly, connecting her hands around the pillar of his neck. She laced her fingers together.
His expression conveyed that he’d caught on to her
meaning, but his silence told her he had no immediate answer. For a moment, they simply studied each other. At last, he exhaled. “I’ll keep ye as long as I can.”
She realized she’d been hoping for a different answer, as this one didn’t appease her. “But will that be long enough?” she pressed him.
His mouth devoured hers by way of response. Abi hung on, pinned beneath his weight. How extraordinary that this was the same man who’d commanded her to scrub his decks, relegated her to his cabin when they’d made port, the very one from whom she’d been so eager to get away. Now, she could think of nothing she dreaded more than being separated from him.
“How long is enough?” he asked her.
The vapory clouds shifted overhead as Abi replied earnestly, “At least a lifetime.”
His grin stretched as broad as the rest of him.
They were about to proceed when a most ill-timed shout sailed upon the wind. A very human-sounding one.
Abi and James sat upright, peering down to the harbor. They were equally stunned to see the silhouette of a mast peeking out from behind the accumulating fog. The ship must have just arrived!
In a rush, they threw on their garments, lacing and tucking, fingers working overtime to fasten buttons. Though disappointed by the interruption, Abi took consolation in the thought that there would be plenty of opportunities to resume aboard the ship, and in the private luxury of his quarters, no less.
She tied up her damp hair. Once fully clad, the pair set off downhill together. Abi considered taking James’s hand, but decided against it. Might be best not to reveal the nature of their unfolding relationship to the crew just yet.
Down at the docks, men were lazily assembled, laughing coarsely and shoving each other about in horseplay. Tobacco smoke wafted in Abi’s direction. Beside her, James slowed. Abi, too, sensed something awry, especially in the odd familiarity of the shadows as she drew closer.
