Pirate In My Arms

by Danelle Harmon

  Someone handed him a bottle of something and she watched as he lifted it to his lips and drank deeply. His sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, his forearms dark against the whiteness of his shirt. The mild breeze flattened its sleeves against his arms, outlining the detail of muscle beneath. Full canvas skilts reached to his knees and a scarlet kerchief was knotted carelessly about his neck. She watched as he tugged it off and mopped his forehead with it.

  “Idle hands, eh?” Paul called back. “Ha, no doubt yours shall soon be. Look yonder, my friend. You have a visitor.”

  Sam turned his head. Seeing her, his face brightened and he lifted a hand in greeting, but Maria, too mortified, too ashamed of herself for coming out here so brazenly, could not return it. Fidgeting, she swallowed hard and looked down at her toes peeping from beneath the hem of her petticoats.

  Risking a glance up, she saw him descending the Jacob’s ladder to the little boat bobbing alongside Lilith’s weathered, peeling hull, his powerful muscles flexing as he rowed the craft through the waves toward the dock. His boots thudding against bleached planking, he strode past crates of chickens and casks of water awaiting their turn to be loaded onto Lilith for the voyage south.

  And then he was there, taking both her hands in his own. “Maria!” Heat flooded through her. She blushed furiously, and the sight of him—so handsome, so obviously pleased to see her, only tugged the color all the way up to the roots of her hair. “Is everything all right?” He frowned suddenly. “Your aunt—by God, she didn’t punish ye, did she?”

  “No,” Maria said, looking at the provisions destined for his sloop. Was he planning to sail away so soon?

  “I’m glad to hear it, then. I was worried about ye.” He grinned. “Why, even that damned dog of yours is friendlier than your aunt is.”

  “I’m sorry for what she said to you. It was unkind, unforgivable—”

  “Here now, what are ye apologizing for?” Fondly, he took her chin in his hand and lifted it. He was smiling, the little creases drawn by sea and sun fanning out from the corners of his eyes, and the effect—his easy charm, his warmth, and the feel of his rough fingers against her skin—turned her heart to pudding. “Such a little worrier you are, always concerned about other people’s feelings. Don’t make excuses for your aunt. Besides, can ye blame her? I’m not exactly something to take home to Mama—or rather, Auntie.” His grin deepened. “It must’ve been a hell of a shock for her to come home and find me sitting by her fire!”

  “Now you’re making excuses for her.”

  “Am I?” Taking her elbow, he guided her to a nearby stand of pines, out of the sun, and away from the curious eyes of his crew. He sat down, leaned his back against a tree trunk, and stretched his long legs out before him. A sparrow flitted in the branches of a nearby elm, and he watched it for a moment before looking up at her in concern. “Are ye sure you’re all right, Maria?”

  “I’m fine. ’Tis just that…oh, Sam, you might as well know why she’s like this. It’s not because you’re from ‘away,’ it’s not because of any reputation the townsfolk have given you, it’s because you’re a seafarer. My father—her brother-in-law—mastered a ship. I was a little girl when he died, but I remember how much he and my mother loved each other, how happy Mother would be when he came home from a voyage. And then one day he didn’t come home, and she cried and cried. They told us his ship went down in a storm. I can still remember how angry Auntie was, how she held Mother all through those awful weeks, and later, when the sickness came—”

  “Angry? Whatever for?”

  “Well, Father was seldom at home to begin with, and now would never come home again. And Auntie always believed the worst of him, saying he spent so much time away because he loved other women in other ports. He didn’t, though. I have all the letters he wrote Mother during his voyages to prove it. ’Twas just that he was a seaman and seamen are, well, always on voyages. But Auntie still believes his death was what caused my mother’s…that she pined away from grief.”

  “Well then, another reason for her to despise me. She doesn’t want ye to suffer the same heartbreak as her sister.”

  “Oh, Sam, don’t be silly. You’re not going to die in a shipwreck like Father did. Besides, you’re making excuses for her again.”

  “Nay, merely observations.” He patted the soft carpet of pine needles, inviting Maria to sit down beside him. Drawing her knees up to her breasts, she modestly pulled her skirts down to cover her ankles, encircled her legs with her arms, and propped her chin upon her kneecaps, all the while fully aware of how near he was. Her heart, quickening in tempo, was aware of it too.

  They sat together for a moment, listening to the sigh of wind through the pines, the birds singing above their heads, the gulls crying, the distant chatter of the men as they went about their work. More supplies were being rowed out to the sloop, and the sinking feeling in the pit of Maria’s stomach could be denied no longer.

  She picked up a little clump of pine needles and twirled it between her fingers. “You’re getting ready to leave, aren’t you?”

  He glanced at her, surprised, and she wished she were better at hiding her feelings. She could feel his gaze upon her for a long searching moment—and then, for the first time since that night beneath the apple tree, he took a liberty with her. Raising his arm, he rested it across her drooping shoulders and pulled her closer to him. She stiffened, then relaxed, and blinked back the sudden sting of tears.

  “I know what ye’re thinking.”

  She said nothing, only put a knuckle to her eye.

  “Ye’re thinking that I was going to sail away without coming to say good-bye, aren’t ye?”

  Maria nodded, swallowing hard.

  “Ah, love. I thought ye had more faith in me than that.”

  “It looks like you’re off, soon. Talk in town says it’ll be on the morning tide.”

  “And that is my intent. But did ye think I wouldn’t have come tonight to say good-bye?”

  “Auntie would never permit it.”

  “No, but the tree that stands so close to your window certainly would.”

  “Sam!” A smile broke through the clouds that shadowed her face, but he merely grinned. “You’re not afraid of anything, are you?”

  “Certainly not old women with guns. Just sniveling whelps with a taste for my blood—and my stockings.” He drew her up against his hard strength. Maria trembled, unsure if she should allow him to hold her so closely, but unable to deny herself the pleasure his nearness brought.

  What difference did it make, really? By this time tomorrow, he’d be gone. Tears sprang to her eyes once more and it was all she could do to blink them back. If only Auntie had consented to his request for her hand. If only things could have been different. But then—perhaps they could be. Hesitantly, Maria raised her head and looked up at him, her eyes suddenly hopeful. “Sam, I don’t have to marry who my aunt chooses.”

  “Don’t worry, lass, you shall not.”

  “I mean—”

  “Ye’ll marry me,” he said in a way that brooked no argument and confirmed her suspicions that Sam Bellamy was a man who was accustomed to getting—and taking—exactly what he wanted. And he—handsome, bold, and dashing—wanted her. Maria took a deep and steadying breath and looked askance at him, but he was staring off past his sloop, just visible through the trees, and toward the sea beyond. “I’m sailing tomorrow, Maria,” he said. “The Spanish treasure ships are waiting. Oh, I used to think it would be a grand thing to do, a way to have some fun and make some quick money. But not now. Now, those wrecks mean something entirely different to me. One of the reasons your aunt dislikes me is because she knows my wealth doesn’t extend beyond this ship and the clothes on my back. Well, when I return to Eastham, I’ll be a rich man. Richer than anyone in this parish—richer, even, than everyone in this parish put together.” His voice hardened. “Your aunt will not refuse me then.”

  Her eyes widened at the savage conviction in his voice.<
br />
  “And will you wait for me, Maria?”

  “Of course I will. Forever, if need be.”

  “Because when I return I’ll have a hold full of treasure, just for you—jewels, silver, gold. God and the devil be my witness, I’ll take you away from here and make you a princess of a West Indies isle where the sun is always hot, the wind never cold. I’ll make ye my wife, and that’s a promise.”

  He drew her against him, and Maria—though it was within her power to do so—did not resist. “Now kiss me, lass. Leave me something to remember you by while I’m gone.”

  She raised her face to his, breathing deeply of the wonderful, masculine scent that was his alone, of salt and sea and ocean wind. He had vowed to lay the riches of the world at her feet when he returned, and she had no doubt that he would do just that. He was a man of his word. Their love was assured. It was the most natural thing in the world to melt against him and let her body do as it had been yearning to do ever since that magical night beneath the apple tree.

  Her eyes drifted shut and sunlight warmed the inside of her lids. And then she felt his hand cupping the back of her head, his thumbs tenderly smoothing the hair away from her hot cheeks, and his lips came down hard and demanding against her own. She made a soft little noise of joy, twined her arms about his neck, and didn’t protest when he drew her onto his lap, where she could feel his manliness, hard and unyielding, pressing against her hip. He was doing things with his tongue that both shocked and excited her; tasting her, touching her teeth, running it across the swell of her lip until the tingling in her breasts and between her thighs grew so strong that she began to squirm against him, unwittingly inciting his own passion. Unable to stand it any longer, he tore his mouth from hers and looked away.

  His breathing was ragged and harsh, as if he’d just run from here to Eastham and back.

  “Sam?”

  “Keep that up, Maria, and I’ll never leave.”

  She bit her lip, assailed by unmet needs, her heart thrilling to the knowledge that he desired her even as it wept with the fact that he would soon weigh anchor and leave. Slowly, she moved off his lap and resumed her seat on the pine needles beside him, watching him closely.

  “Sam—”

  “Maria, d’ye remember what I said about that tree that grows outside your window?”

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  “Well, keep your window unlatched tonight, will ye?”

  He looked at her. His eyes were dark and bold, his meaning clear.

  “Sam,” she said shyly, reaching out to touch his lips, “not only will I leave it unlatched. I’ll leave it as wide open as it will go.”

  Their gazes locked in mutual understanding and consent. He took her hand, pressed it against his mouth, and kissed each knuckle, his gaze never leaving hers. Then he folded each finger down upon itself and rose, pulling her to her feet. Covering her hand with his, he guided her back through the woods and toward the harbor.

  Jilly stood where Maria had left her, blinking sleepily in the sunlight. Maria climbed up into the cart, her blood humming, her heart pounding as she anticipated the coming night. The seat was warm with sunshine, the day unfairly beautiful. But the night…oh, she could not wait.

  She gathered the reins in one shaky hand and looked at Sam. He stood in the typical stance of a seaman: legs planted slightly apart, hands clasped behind his back. He was smiling, but it was a hungry smile and it reached all the way up to his eyes.

  “Don’t I even get a good-bye kiss to hold me over, princess?”

  She flung herself out of the cart and into his arms. It didn’t matter that his crew had stopped working again and now stared at them, elbowing each other in the ribs and smirking. It didn’t matter that she was likely to face an inquisition when she got home. It didn’t matter that the sun had crested the zenith and would soon set on Sam Bellamy’s last night in Eastham. Nothing mattered, except being in his arms….

  And the fact that he loved her.

  All too soon the kiss was over. With effort, Sam drew back, tearing himself away from her and leaving nothing but a lingering throb, and then an empty coldness, where his lips had clung to hers. She shut her eyes as he touched the back of his hand to her cheek, then stepped away from the cart. “’Til tonight, then?” he murmured.

  She opened her eyes and met his gaze. “’Til tonight.”

  Emotion threatened to destroy her composure. She climbed into the cart, dug beneath the seat, and thrust the blanket she’d made for him into his arms.

  And as she slapped the reins against Jilly’s back and sent the startled mare off at a gallop, she couldn’t know that he watched her until the cart turned a bend and disappeared behind a grove of pines. She didn’t know that he stared at that empty spot in the road for a long, long time. And she didn’t see the expression that came into his eyes as he finally looked down at the beautiful blanket he held in his hands.

  And of course, she couldn’t know that he wasn’t thinking of the blanket, nor of Spanish treasure—but of the tree that grew tall and straight just outside her window.

  * * *

  Dawn.

  An unforgettable night.

  A piercing ache that penetrated her very soul.

  She stood at the edge of the sea cliffs that faced and held back the wide Atlantic, the sun warm against her face, the wind a gentle caress that raked the sea, played with her hair and dried the tears upon her cheeks. Swallowing tightly, she watched as Lilith’s sails grew smaller and smaller.

  Lifting her chin, Maria hugged her arms to herself in a futile attempt to hold the pieces of her breaking heart together. Her lip trembled as she raised her hand and waved in farewell.

  And aboard the sloop she saw a movement, tiny with distance, as Sam Bellamy returned the gesture. Moments later, the ship was just a speck on the southern horizon; then, it was gone.

  And so was he. Taking a tremulous sigh, Maria turned, blinked back the tears, and began the long walk over the lonely moors back to town.

  Chapter 6

  The Music in my heart I bore

  Long after it was heard no more.

  —Wordsworth

  By August, Maria knew that something was wrong.

  By September, she suspected she was with child.

  And by October, she knew for certain that she was.

  And so did Aunt Helen who, upon noticing Maria’s thickening middle—went into a rage, tearful hysterics, and finally silence. It had been an awful time.

  But that was all past, thank God. Now, there were only three things Maria had to contend with: daily reminders of her wickedness from Aunt Helen, dire warnings not to tell a soul about her condition, and nightly prayers to the Lord above to send Sam back to her—and soon.

  The latter, of course, was the easiest. It was too bad that Auntie didn’t feel the same way. To her, the only reason to have “that hellspawn” back was so that he could do right by Maria and marry her, for no matter how much she hated Sam, she moaned in despair at thoughts of Maria suffering the disgrace that was sure to come when the villagers found out about her condition.

  To Maria, it seemed like a century ago that she’d stood at the top of the sand cliffs and waved good-bye to her beloved, eons since they’d lain together beneath the apple tree—and, forever since that last night in her attic bed with her cornhusk-and-straw mattress rustling beneath their hot, straining bodies. But the memories were never far away. His commanding eyes. His hair, black as a crow’s wing and just as glossy, his hands…oh, especially his hands. She could still feel them, so rough against her belly, her breasts, her thighs as he’d spread them wide….

  Funny how all she had to do was think about him and her body thrummed with need.

  But he’d be back soon—any time now, probably. Even now, he was probably filling Lilith’s hold with Spanish gold and silver reales. Even now, Lilith must be riding low in the water. Even now, he must be on his way back to Eastham, back to her….

  Maria Hallett coul
d not know that her dreamy imaginings were the furthest things from the truth—for far, far away, Sam Bellamy’s taste for trouble had convinced him to give up on Spanish treasure ships in favor of other, more lawless pursuits. But Maria, on her way to the village green this fine October morning, was blissfully ignorant of any of that. And it was just as well.

  The baby was still four months away. Four more months of hiding her blossoming figure beneath woolen cloaks and keeping her secret from the villagers, four more months of trekking to the Great Beach, where she would sit for hours with her eyes trained on the empty horizon. Watching. Waiting. Alone, except for the sigh of the wind and lonely cries of the gulls, straining her eyes as she prayed for a ship to hove into sight. Not just any ship but a small, weathered sloop whose hold contained riches beyond her wildest imaginings and upon whose decks stood the most handsome man in the world….

  It didn’t matter that Auntie berated her for wasting time up at the Great Beach, for Auntie, of course, was quite adamant in her belief that Sam was never coming back.

  But Maria clung to the knowledge that he would. He’d made a promise to her. And wouldn’t it be nice if he came soon, so that she could share with him the beauties of the season before the weather turned bitter and cold. They could hold hands as they trudged through a sweet-smelling carpet of crimson, russet, and gold leaves. They could gather the bayberries together, make candles with which to light their home. They would eat squash and pumpkin pies, string apples up to dry, and go to bed snuggled beneath piles of thick, woolen blankets….

  “Oh, Sam,” she said aloud. But the place where he should have been walking beside her was empty, and the only voices that answered her were those of the bleached cornstalks, shaking themselves in the wind and rustling like old bones.