The Buccaneer (Pirates of the Coast)

by Barbara Devlin

  “Have you ever worked your craft on me?” He inclined his head. “And what of my wife?”

  “On you? No, sir.” She swallowed a sob of fear. “But I beseeched The Great Mother to guard Mrs. Cavalier during her pregnancy, after she took to bed in her final month.”

  “So your purpose is honorable?” His tone dripped skepticism.

  “Aye, sir.” Somehow, she had to make him understand her calling.

  “And how did you come by your unusual gifts?” At last, Jean Marc appeared to relax, as he continued the quiet interrogation, with Patience in his embrace.

  “I inherited my abilities from my father.” Nervous, Francie cleared her her throat and opted to tell the truth. “It is an Osborne trait, so to speak, often grossly misunderstood, and my ancestors paid a steep price for the ignorance of others.”

  “I am a man born of a cruel world, and I know of the violent history associated with witches in this country, which surprises me, given the same people who inflicted such savagery would call me a barbarian.” He smirked. “Yet they consider their behavior civil, so I am not your enemy, Miss Osborne, because you do not scare me. However, I would know what goes on beneath my roof, as my wife and child are my priority.”

  “They are mine, too, sir.” She bowed her head and assessed the posy she collected. “I use my knowledge of the natural world to create and maintain a safe environment for this household, first and foremost.”

  “Then your secret is ours to share.” His expression grew even more menacing, as he wagged a finger. “But I will not have you upsetting Maddie, so you will keep your peculiarities to yourself, and you will never practice on me.”

  “But I cannot promise that, because if something happened to you, I would be compelled to act on your behalf, to help you.” Even if it cost her the position as housekeeper, she had to be honest with him. “Since Mrs. Cavalier loves you, and I look upon her as one of my own, I could not stand idly by while you suffered.”

  “You were friends as children.” Jean Marc rubbed his chin.

  “Aye, sir.” She nodded once. “As I am older, by five years, I often watched her. Indeed, Mrs. Cavalier is like a younger sister to me, and I would defend her with my last breath.”

  “I believe you would, and the same could be said of her, in regard to you.” He averted his penetrating stare. “Does Maddie know of your abilities?”

  “No, sir,” she replied, in a small voice.

  “The day Maddie does will be your last of employment in this household.” Standing, he carried a sleeping Patience to her crib. “Do I make myself clear?”

  “Aye, sir.” She toyed with a violet in the bouquet. “Can I leave the posy for Miss Patience? I selected the blooms for protection, to enhance the blessing I invoked upon her.”

  “You may.” He drew a blanket over the babe and caressed Patience’s cheek. “And you are dismissed.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Cavalier.” After setting the vase on a side table, she barely resisted the urge to run from the nursery.

  In the hall, she veered left and headed toward the back stairs. As she passed a guest room, Cager leaped out, snaked an arm about her waist, and pulled her into the unoccupied chamber.

  “I always knew there was something unusual about you, and now I know I was right.” In a whisper, he said, “You truly are a witch, fair Francie.” Then he cupped her chin and frowned. “Your eyes are red and puffy. Why have you been crying?”

  “Do you really have to ask?” She sniffed. “You all but declared that we engaged in unscrupulous behavior, to Mabel and Hazel, two of the biggest gossips in Boston, if not New England, and you wonder why I am hurt? And now Mr. Cavalier knows of my craft.”

  “Shh.” To her dismay, Mr. Tyne drew her into his embrace. As he massaged her back, she relaxed in his hold. “I am sorry, Francie. I shamed you and dishonored myself, and I apologize.”

  “Do you?” While she hated to admit it, to herself or anyone else, she appreciated his comfort, as she needed his kindness just then.

  “I wish I could take it back.” As he stroked her hair, soothing warmth unfurled and spread, easing the tension that gripped her, so similar to the night they shared a kiss, and she ached to know more, to share more, to feel more. But reality crept into the fantasy, and she came alert, as he pressed his lips to the crest of her ear. “What can I do to make it up to you, Francie? How can I make you smile?”

  “I should return to my duties.” She shifted, but he would not release her. “I must compose a list for my trip to the market, tomorrow.”

  “Allow me to escort you. We can take lunch at a café near the docks, where they have the best scallops. And I would give you a personal tour of my ship.” He trailed flirty little kisses along the curve of her jaw, and her knees buckled. “I want to spend time with you, as I would know you better. Please, Francie.”

  And then he claimed her mouth.

  She was not sure what it was about his simple plea that moved her, but his invitation tempted her beyond reason, when coupled with his kiss. Perhaps it was the idea that she could exist as a normal woman, if only for a day. To enjoy the company of a man, to persist as something greater than herself, even if it was an illusion.

  “All right, Mr. Tyne.”

  THE BUCCANEER

  CHAPTER FIVE

  After donning his best coat, buckskin breeches, and polished Hessians, Cager combed his hair and made one last check of his appearance. In the long mirror, he winked at his reflection and then charged into the hall, skipped up the back stairs, and strode into the kitchen.

  At the stove, Francie scrambled eggs and fried bacon. Gowned in soft pink muslin, with her customary starched apron, and her beautiful blond hair arranged in soft curls, she presented a fetching sight. Sneaking up behind her, he moved with the stealth and ease of a pirate, bent his head, and pressed his lips to the back of her neck, and she started.

  “Oh—Mr. Tyne.” Then she giggled, an endearing little titter that worked on him in ways he could not have anticipated. “Good morning. Are you hungry?”

  “Good morning, to you, too.” For the first time in their acquaintance, he detected genuine amity in their relationship, and he relished the experience. “And I am starved.”

  “I thought we could eat before we depart for the market, as it can be very busy, and we could take a late lunch, prior to visiting your ship.” Peering over her shoulder, she smiled, and his heart skipped a beat. “I am so excited about touring the Lady Madalene.”

  “Then I shall endeavor to act as a most hospitable host and spare no detail, however small.” It dawned on him then that he glimpsed a possible future he had never dared to covet, were Francie his wife. But if she were his lady, she would prepare his meals, engage in seemingly inconsequential chatter, accompany him on trips, and warm his bed and bunk. Given the early hour, and the fact that they were alone, he turned her about, tipped her chin, and claimed a proper kiss to start their day.

  “Mr. Tyne, you should not take liberties that are not yours to own.” Ah, her rebuke did not fool him for an instant, as she sported an endearing blush and an arresting smile. “Now take your seat, so I may serve you.”

  There were many things he wanted from the adorable housekeeper, but food did not rank chiefly among his most immediate requirements. The buccaneer in him wanted naught more than to sit her atop the table, hike her skirts, lift her ankles, and take her until she screamed. Or he could bend her over a chair and sail her windward passage, something he dreamed about in the privacy of his room. In truth, he wanted every part of her, but in that moment he settled for far less, as he did as she bade.

  “This looks delicious, fair Francie.” To his right, she set a mug of coffee, his favorite.

  “I had thought, if you prefer, I could pack a basket for lunch.” As she perched opposite him, she unfolded a napkin and draped it in her lap. “We have some boiled chicken, grapes, cheese, and wine, which would make for a lovely meal, and we could eat in the Commons, as the weathe
r is fine. You need not spend your money on me.”

  “Is this a discussion on economy?” When she blinked, he could not help but laugh. “My dear, what is your concern, because I want to take you to the café, given I have eaten there so many times, alone? I look forward to sharing it with you.”

  “But money can be a precious article, and I would not burden you.” As usual, she thought of everyone but herself, and he reached across the table, to clasp her hand. “I would be content with the leftover fare, and it is enough that you accompany me to the market.”

  “I know that about you.” And what he would give to dress her naked body in precious gems from his fortune, in that instant. “Still, I can afford to buy your meal, and I will do so, as planned.”

  “Then let me clean up these dishes, and we will depart.” She snapped her fingers. “I almost forgot. I need to purchase some items for my father, and I wondered if it was too much to ask to deliver them to him, at his home on Frog Lane? It would save me a second trip, tomorrow.”

  “It is no trouble.” Given her delightful expression, there was nothing Cager would deny her.

  “Then I shall only be a moment.” As she departed the kitchen, he admired the gentle sway of her hips and then shook himself alert. “And I will meet you at the front steps.”

  Since the Cavalier household had no butler, given Jean Marc and Madalene’s unorthodox extended family and lifestyle, which bowed not to societal expectations, Cager cut through the garden to the stable, where he flagged a former sailor turned stablemaster, from the Morass.

  “Willie, I need the wagon hitched and a couple of hands to transport Miss Osborne’s supplies from the market.” Cager stopped and inspected the bays. “And I need my curricle brought around front.”

  “Aye, Cap’n.” Willie whistled, and two other old salts scurried into the stalls. “And I will send Pike and Reuben to help Miss Osborne.”

  “Thank you.” Cager saluted, rotated on a heel, and retraced his steps. In the foyer, Francie lingered, wearing a lace-trimmed poke bonnet that matched her dress, and he caught his breath when she faced him. “Sweetheart, you are beautiful.”

  “Mr. Tyne, you embarrass me.” Ah, she rewarded him with her characteristic blush. “Shall we go?”

  He sketched a bow. “Fair Francie, today, I am your humble servant.”

  ~

  Most young girls aspired to a life defined by her ability to secure a husband. For Francie, her existence revolved around her unusual gifts and her skill at concealing her powers. It was for that reason she never allowed herself to ponder a traditional family, including a husband and children, because that very reality ultimately destroyed her mother.

  However, as she perched in Cager’s rig, she began to see the world in a whole new light. While most people reacted with fear and outrage upon discovering her unique qualities, he made sport and then kissed her. So, as she sat by his side, she reflected on a dream she had long thought nothing but a fantasy.

  “What will you purchase, first?” Cager drew rein near the long lines of outdoor stalls erected for local farmers and merchants to peddle their wares.

  “The dry goods.” She consulted her list, which she slipped into her reticule. After he disembarked, he turned and lifted her to the ground. “We need flour, sugar, and rice. Then we will procure some dried herbs and spices.”

  It took the better part of three hours to make the rounds of the sea of wares, and she bartered for the best price, much to Cager’s professed admiration. At one point, he stopped a flower peddler and bought a single, long stem rose, which she partly tucked in her reticule. By the time the hands loaded her purchases on the wagon, she had yielded her reservations about the handsome captain.

  “Remind me to take you with me, the next time I refit the Lady Madalene, because the vendors will not know what to do with you.” Like a gentleman, he lifted her into the squabs of his curricle. “And I wager you would give the traders a run for their money, in Port Royal.”

  “Oh?” Was his an invitation? “I have never been outside of Boston.”

  “Now that is a crime.” Flicking the reins, he drove the rig into the lane. “Should we deliver the items you bought for your father, to his residence, prior to taking lunch?”

  “Yes, as it is on the way to the docks.” Settling her reticule in her lap, she thrilled to the speed with which he urged the pair of bays. “Turn left onto Frog Lane, please. And it is the fourth residence on the right.”

  After Cager parked the curricle, he collected her bundle of items. Together, they climbed the narrow stairwell to the third floor, where her father lived, and she knocked on the door.

  “Papa, it is Francie.” Telltale footfalls signaled his approach, and she stepped aside, as he set wide the oak panel. “Good afternoon.”

  “My dear child.” With an animated expression and a twinkle in his eye, he splayed an arm. “Come in and take your ease.” Then he blinked as he noted Cager’s presence. “And who is this estimable figure?”

  “Papa, allow me to present Mr. Tyne, a sea captain in Mr. Cavalier’s employ.” Francie turned to her escort. “Mr. Tyne, this is my father, Wesley Osborne.”

  “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, young man.” Papa extended a hand in amity, which Cager accepted. “Any friend of my daughter is a friend of mine.”

  “We just stopped by, bearing gifts.” To Cager, she said, “Will you deposit the bag on the kitchen table?”

  “Would you like to stay for tea?” Papa asked, as he pointed to Cager and made a face.

  “Thank you, but we cannot.” She rolled her eyes, as her father nodded with enthusiasm. She would never hear the end of it. “Perhaps, another time.”

  “Of course.” Papa grinned and waggled his brows. When Cager returned, her father grew serious. “Hope to see you, again, Mr. Tyne.”

  “Same here, Mr. Osborne.” Never had she seen her father gush so profusely, but never had she brought a prospective beau to her family home. “And call me Cager.”

  “I am Wesley, to you.” Papa winked, and she was mortified. “Take care of my girl.”

  “Always.” Cager swaggered into the hall, and she wanted to crawl beneath a rock and hide.

  As they descended to the second floor landing, her father’s nosy neighbor miraculously appeared, and Francie cringed, because the entire building would be alive with rumors within minutes after her departure.

  “Well, hello, Miss Francie Osborne.” Mrs. Boswell, the grey-haired, large nosed busybody, who had long pursued Francie’s father, to no avail, assumed a position at the top of the stairs. “And who are you roaming about with, unescorted? That is no way for a lady to behave.”

  “Mrs. Boswell, it is always a delight to see you.” Francie could be struck dead for that falsehood, because the scandalmonger tested the limits of polite manners. “And I am not unescorted, as Mr. Tyne guards me.”

  “Just who is this Mr. Tyne to defend you?” Mrs. Boswell narrowed her stare. “Does your father know about this?”

  “Indeed, he does, and he adores Mr. Tyne.” Francie dipped her chin. “So I bid you farewell, ma’am, as we must return to Beacon Hill.”

  With that, Francie grasped Cager’s wrist and yanked him down the stairs, as Mrs. Boswell complained of appearances and damaged reputations. On the sidewalk, Cager peered at Francie, stuck his tongue in his cheek, and burst into laughter.

  “So I guard you, do I?” He winked, as he hoisted her to the curricle. “Are you sure you do not need to guard against me, fair Francie?”

  “I will take my chances, Mr. Tyne.” Indeed, she coveted so much hope, in that moment, as he took up the reins. “And now we venture to the docks.”

  “First, we dine, because I am hungry enough to eat my toenails.” When she wrinkled her nose, he elbowed her. “But I would much prefer to feast on your sweet lips.”

  “Cager.”

  “Ah, she finally calls me by my given name.” He favored her with a smug smile, which she did not find so ir
ritating as she anticipated. “Now that I know what works, I will shower you with improper suggestions.”

  “And that deviates from your customary repertoire—how?” She admired his profile, his chiseled cheekbones, his firm jaw, and his long lashes, which she could contemplate for hours.

  “You are staring at me.” He pulled into a gathering area, where several rigs were parked. “Did no one ever tell you that was rude?”

  “But you stare at me, all the time.” How she loved it when he teased her, although she would never admit it. “Are you trying to be clever?”

  “That sounds like the beginning of a great insult.” He jumped from the seat, turned, and reached for her. “Come on, Francie. Give it a go.”

  “My dear Mr. Tyne, if you believe yourself a wit, you are half right.” She expected laughter at her slight, but instead he kissed her.

  “Woman, you make me shudder.” He nipped her bottom lip. “Abuse me some more.”

  “Mr. Tyne, you would make an exceptional stranger.” She clucked her tongue. “And I truly wish we were better strangers.”

  “Well said, Francie, and how you boil my blood.” To her delight, he chuckled and bowed. “May I have the honor of escorting you to lunch, my lady?”

  “I suppose you will have to do.” With an air of snobbery, she raised her nose and settled her palm in the crook of his elbow. “In the event I forget to tell you, later, thank you for our day.”

  “It is my pleasure, Miss Osborne.” He covered her hand with his and led her to a charming establishment, with outdoor tables overlooking the ocean.

  “This is a lovely view.” After Cager ordered for her, she removed her bonnet. “Often I have admired the ships, wondering about the people aboard the graceful vessels, on their way to somewhere from nowhere. It must be marvelous to travel to new and exciting places.”