Pirate In My Arms

by Danelle Harmon

Not for a moment could I now behold

  A smiling sea, and be what I have been:

  The feeling of my loss will ne’er be old;

  This, which I know, I speak with mind serene.

  —Wordsworth

  During the night the wind strengthened, and Sam, wide awake despite the fatigue in his body, noted that Maria, huddled a few feet away, was shivering in her sleep. Shoving a float beneath the tiller to hold the boat on course, he carefully pulled her up against his chest so as not to awaken her, covered her with his coat, and held her until her trembling stopped.

  Awake, she was a thing of beauty, a strange mix of the exotic and the innocent; asleep, she might’ve been a slumbering angel, so perfect, so exquisite was every feature of her face. It made his soul hurt just to look at her. Her skin was like alabaster in the faint light, her lashes feathering her cheeks, her hair like cornsilk across his fingers. Softly parted lips tempted him to want to kiss them, the little hand that rested trustingly against his chest penetrated the tough knit of skin, flesh, and bone to reach his very heart until it swelled with a fierce protectiveness. He looked out into the dawn, troubled. He wished he had the heart to wake her—and the courage to tell her what he had not earlier.

  That his pirating days were far from over.

  He had lied to her.

  Aye, even if it had been to save her life, he had lied to her.

  He ought to feel remorse but he did not. For directly across this bay was Boston, where the Whydah’s survivors would rot in the gaol until someone had the mercy to toss a rope around their necks and end their misery. Never one to trust things to fate when he could have a hand in altering it, Sam intended to rescue them before someone did just that.

  But how?

  Grimly, he assessed his current situation. Warship: a small skiff. Crew: a worthless whelp and a girl who was likely to mutiny when she found out her captain’s plans. Armament: two pistols slung around his neck, a knife tucked in his belt, and his wits. Black Sam Bellamy, scourge of the Atlantic, free prince of the seas. Fearsome as ever, wasn’t he?

  He cursed and wished he had Paul, Louis Lebous, or even Ned Teach to help him.

  But he’d been in hopelessly bleak situations before. And as long as he was alive he was not powerless. It was common knowledge that Whydah’s bold and haughty captain had gone down with his ship, and this belief was one he didn’t care to disturb, if only to keep Maria safe should his rescue attempt fail. No, ’twould be better to hoist the old flag under a new name, a simple one that subtly mocked the knaves in authority who’d never discern who he really was. He tossed a number of aliases around in his head before he hit upon the right one. Black Sam, his men had called him. Why not Sam Black? Sam Black. He grinned, liking it. Ah, perfect mockery! And if his plans should go awry, Maria would be protected from the consequences of his real identity, for Sam Black was innocent of any crimes against the Crown, the Coast, and his fellow man.

  For now.

  He stared up at the sky, going pink now with the coming of dawn. “Ah, lads, the situation is not hopeless,” he said aloud. His surviving crew might think him dead, but by some miracle or the devil’s own hand, he was not. He was still their captain, the man they’d elected to lead them, guide them, protect them—and as such he would never desert them.

  It was then that a sudden thought struck him.

  There had been three other ships sailing with Whydah on that dreadful night, and only one of them, the pink carrying the cargo of wine, had been lost. But what of the other two? What had happened to Ingols’s sloop, Fisher, and the snow Anne they’d taken earlier in April?

  He remembered his last orders to their prize crews as the storm had built and the waves had begun to rise.

  “If we get separated, sail on to Monhegan. We’ll meet up, there.”

  Monhegan. It was a stark, mostly uninhabited island off the Maine coast. With any luck, his remaining men would still be there if news of Whydah’s loss hadn’t reached them. Sam’s smile gleamed with cunning and resolve. All he had to do was find those two ships, take command, get to Boston, and storm the gaol.

  And then he sobered. Maria. He could hardly see her lending support to such a scheme. But he would keep his plans to himself for the moment. Ignorance was bliss. When her trust in him was solidly rooted and her love was strong enough to withstand it, he’d explain everything and hope she’d understand.

  But would she? Her moral compass had been set in a Puritan town, and she’d made her feelings about piracy more than clear. She was as gentle as a lamb, as pure as winter snow. Well, almost. She had accepted him into her life, and into her body too, for that matter. He looked down at her sweet face, so trusting, so damned innocent, and felt his blood warm with longing for her. Already, he was growing hard beneath the weight of her in his lap.

  Let her sleep. At least in slumber there’s innocence—and ignorance. Trying to rein in his lustful thoughts, Sam hung his arm over the gunwale and trailed his fingers in the cold seawater.

  Dawn was gathering way, painting the eastern sky pink and glowing softly upon the slight chop of the bay. Cape Cod’s distant shoreline was now just a faint line on the horizon. He wasn’t sorry to see the last of that cursed place. Too many bad memories. Too many reminders that he was a man, not a god. He turned his head toward the open waters of the bay. Too many—

  His smile froze, his thoughts hanging suspended, forgotten in his mind. His chin came up and he stared with the fixed intensity of a wolf, suddenly awakened and oblivious to all but its prey.

  By the bloody gods….

  She was a trim little sloop with a long jib-boom, her single mast scraping the fading stars above. Her sails caught the colors of dawn. The flag of England snapped at her masthead, and reflections from her running lights—one at her bow, another at her stern—reached across the water like ghostly fingers. She was a mile away, but her sounds, that of a ship pulsing with life, carried clearly and quickened his blood. Seamen’s voices raised in a timeless chantey…laughter…the clang of a bell signaling the end of the watch.

  Sam’s heart began to pound. This was an opportunity he couldn’t have dreamed up in his wildest imaginings.

  Fortunately, Maria wasn’t awake to see his cunning smile, nor the hungry gleam in his eye. For here was the answer to getting his men out of the gaol. Here was a way to Boston, to the open sea, to Paul Williams, Monhegan, or wherever the hell else he felt like going. Here was the return of the freedom that had been so cruelly stolen from him with Whydah’s loss.

  For this nimble little ship would navigate the shoal waters that had been Whydah’s downfall with ease. That square topsail would let her fly before the breeze, that fore-and-aft rig close up against it. With such a vessel he could lurk the offshore islands, the inshore coves, the bays, the harbors, even the open sea, with no one to say him nay!

  She was spirited, lively, and convenient—and in her, Sam Bellamy saw salvation.

  In her, he saw a pirate ship.

  “Maria, lass, wake up!” he urged, his gaze still locked on that oncoming thing of beauty.

  Maria opened her eyes, stretching in an attempt to rid her joints of the stiffness brought on by moisture and sea air. Reluctant to face the chill of the morning, she drew the heavy weight of Sam’s coat around her and snuggled back within its delicious warmth. But the hand on her shoulder was persistent. Mumbling sleepily, she stretched again, knuckled her eyes, and dragged them open.

  Sam was in profile above her, the hues of dawn—gold, orange, crimson—coloring the black waves of his hair and casting him like a statue against the glowing brilliance of the sky. He was staring intently at something over her shoulder. Raising herself on one arm, Maria followed his gaze and saw a distant but oncoming cloud of white.

  She gasped in dismay. “They’ve found us!”

  He laughed, the sound both assured and triumphant. Without tearing his gaze from the ship, he said, “No one’s found us, princess. D’ye think any of your neighbors c
ould afford anything so fine?” He studied the way the sloop was cutting through the seas, the fresh canvas on her long nose. “Nay, I’d say she probably belongs to someone who has far more wealth than anyone back in Eastham.”

  “Where do you think she’s from?”

  “She’s flying British colors.”

  “Not a navy ship!” Maria cried fearfully. “They won’t even bother to give you a trial before they hang you from the bowsprit—”

  “Yardarm,” he corrected her, still studying his quarry.

  “Yardarm, bowsprit, what difference does it make?! I know naught about ships, but I do know about the navy’s tactics for dealing with pirates!”

  But Sam just gave a little smile and shook his head. “She’s no pirate hunter, lass. I can count her guns on one hand. ’Tis my guess her captain might be using her for something a bit shady—smuggling, perhaps. She’s certainly fast enough.” He rubbed his chin. “But then, I may be wrong. She might be totally innocent. One never knows.”

  “Maybe she’s a pirate ship,” Maria speculated, with disdain.

  “No.” And to himself: But she soon will be….

  The sloop’s lookout had spotted their boat, and Maria saw early sunlight flashing against his glass as he trained it on them. Commands from the deck drifted across the water. The ship turned toward them and shortened sail. Sensing movement beside her, Maria turned. Sam was picking up the silk scarf with its pistols, loading them with a speed and expertise that both fascinated and appalled her. He slung them around his neck, shouldered his ammunition bag, and drew on his coat, concealing both weapons and pouch. Almost as an afterthought he removed the hoop of gold from his ear and dropped it into one of his pockets. But it was not that, nor the way he was caressing his dagger, that gave him away—it was the calculating smile that had no right being there in the first place.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, frowning.

  “I’m sorry, lass. I didn’t tell you the whole truth before. For you, princess, I swear I’ll give up piracy—but not until I free my men from the gaol.”

  She stared at him in dismay, betrayal and shock in her eyes.

  “I know you’re upset, but I have the deaths of nearly one hundred and fifty men on my conscience, and while I can’t bring them back, I can do something about those in the Boston gaol. If piracy’s the only way I can do it, then so be it.”

  His voice was determined, his tone final. And with that, he stood up to face the oncoming sloop, waving.

  Speechless with disbelief and rising anger, Maria watched the sloop come closer and closer, her huge mainsail blocking the view of everything behind it, sunlight now gleaming all the way up to the truck of her eighty-foot mast, where a pendant fluttered in proud innocence. She passed them in a rush of water that rocked their little boat and made Maria clutch the gunwales, yet did absolutely nothing—unfortunately—to upset Sam’s balance. It fleetingly occurred to her to shove him overboard, but that idea was lost as some doomed sailor gave the order to heave to. Didn’t the sailor know what he was getting himself into? Didn’t he know that Sam was a pirate? And now the unsuspecting ship was heaving to, her sails luffing as she floated in the gentle swells.

  Maria spun on Sam with mutiny in her eyes. “How can you even think of doing such a vile, disgusting thing? These men have done us no harm!”

  “Don’t preach to me, lass,” he said offhandedly. His gaze, as sharp as a freshly honed knife, absorbed everything from the sloop’s glistening figurehead—a leaping dolphin—to the bit of giltwork decorating her counter. “Sixty feet from stem to stern, maybe a tad more, with a beam about twenty. Perfect. Now, just sit there like a good girl and keep quiet,” he ordered, “and let me do the talking.”

  “I’ll do no such thing! This is madness, do you hear me? ’Tis absolutely”—she cast frantically for the right word—“obscene! Here you have a chance to start a new life and what are you doing? Throwing it away! How can you even think—”

  “Keep your voice down, princess. Sounds carry across the water, y’ know.”

  “I won’t stand idly by and watch you kill someone!”

  “I said, quiet! Like it or not, you’re going aboard that ship, and I’ll have no more arguments from ye. Is that understood?”

  “You can’t intimidate me!”

  “Can’t I?” His tone was a warning one, his expression daring her to argue with him. “Now, stop wasting time. Lie down and pretend you’re ill.”

  “I won’t—”

  “Now!” His stare bored into her own. Challenged her. “Or would you have them kill me?”

  Gritting her teeth, she did as he instructed, hating him for what he was making her do, hating him for deluding her into thinking he was anything but what he was—a knave, a rascal, a blackguard. A pirate! How stupid she’d been to think he’d change just for her. Angry tears stung her eyes. Nails digging into her palms, she pulled her skirts clear of the dampness that lurked in the bottom of the boat and glared at him through the veil of her hair. “If you think that I’m going to—”

  He cut her off, his voice low, urgent, and authoritative. “Not like that. Put your hand over your belly. And close your eyes. You’re supposed to look ill, not dead.”

  “I will not be a party to this madness!”

  “God damn it, Maria, ye try my patience!”

  “I don’t care about your patience! All it’s ever brought me is grief, hurt, and heartache!”

  He caught her jaw, searing her with cold, angry eyes. To those watching them from the ship, the gesture appeared to be the concerned perusal of a lover; to Maria, it was anything but. “I’m warning you,” he said dangerously. “Unless ye want both of us to swing, cease your prattle and let me do the talking.” He released her abruptly and looked up at the men clustering at the sloop’s rail.

  Blinking back tears of anger and despair, Maria clamped a hand over her belly and shut her eyes. She would go along with this…this lunacy, if only to protect his life and nothing else!

  “Damn you, Sam Bellamy,” she bit out through clenched teeth.

  But he only chuckled, ignoring her curse as he took up the oars and rowed the little boat into the shadow of the waiting sloop. Through slitted eyes, she saw him stand with feigned awkwardness, one hand hesitantly leaving the gunwale and ready to grab it should he lose his balance, his body towering above her as he answered the vessel’s hail. Oh, what an actor, she thought bitterly. The most successful pirate to plague the coast in recent years and he had them convinced he was nothing but an innocent landsman!

  Shading his eyes, Sam gazed up at the men gathered curiously at the rail. “Ahoy, there!” he called in a stranger’s voice, one that held none of the West Country cadences with which Maria had grown familiar. She came close to grinding the enamel from her molars; his awkwardness in the boat wasn’t the only thing he was feigning. “Thank the gods ye saw us! Lost I am, just a poor knave takin’ me young bride and her puppy-dog out for a day ’pon the water. Guess I ain’t no sailor, eh? And now the poor lass is seasick. I’d hate fer her t’ catch her death of a cold, what with the little boat leakin’ and all. Would ye be so kind as to let us come aboard ye?”

  An older man thrust through the men gathered at the rail. His steel-colored hair was scraped back in a queue, his face, deeply seamed with a spiderweb of lines, shadowed by a three-cornered hat. His eyes flickered over Maria and in them she saw hardness, cruelty—and lust. Suddenly, she wasn’t afraid for the crew of this graceful little sloop, but for herself and Sam. Did he know what he was getting them into? And to make matters even worse, another had joined him at the rail, a young man with fancy clothes and watchful brown eyes. For a moment, the two conversed in hushed tones.

  Sam’s whisper was urgent. “Damn ye, woman, groan! You’re supposed to be seasick!”

  A voice from above cut off her retort. It was the older man, his gaze still on Maria. “Aye, we’ll help you and your bride. I am Captain John Shilling, master of the free-trading slo
op Dolphin, and this is my first mate, Malcolm Hastings. And you, sir? Where are you from?”

  “Most recently from London,” Sam answered without hesitation. “Though I just arrived in Massachusetts a fortnight ago. Thought I could find me some land, start a farm or somethin’. Guess I should’ve stayed there, eh?” His laughter would have convinced the devil himself. “Don’t know a thing about sailing, but it looked so easy, thought I’d give it a try. The lass was begging me to, ye know. She wanted to see the sunrise. So I rented me a boat, took it out in the bay, but wouldn’t ye know the damned wind came up? Next thing I know we’re out here in the middle of the ocean. Guess we did a bit of drifting, eh?” He scratched his chin, looking at the empty sea around them. “How far are we from Boston, anyway?”

  “About ten leagues or so,” said Shilling, not bothering to hide his disdain at Sam’s lack of preparedness and seamanship.

  “Well, I told ye I wasn’t no sailor. Next time the missus takes it into her head to do a bit of sightseein’ I’m renting me a horse and carriage!” He bent toward her, pretending to have trouble keeping his balance. “Are ye all right, m’ dear?” he asked loudly.

  His concern had the desired effect. “Come aboard if you wish,” Shilling muttered, shoving his men back and away with an impatient motion of his arms. “You can tie up your boat at the stern and we’ll tow it to Boston. But be quick about it. I’m already two days behind schedule because of the ineptitude of this damned crew.”

  “Why thankee, sir,” Sam said with a grateful smile. “I quite understand. We’ll not hold ye up.” And as he inclined his head to Shilling and saw the sullen faces of the crew, the pirate captain’s keen eyes and quick mind took in the situation at once; here was a hard master, a crew of ill-used men who hated him, and a fast ship engaged in something that, given its predatory lines, was probably illegal. Oh yes, he understood, and understood quite well. Under such circumstances, it should be an easy task to overpower the master and take command. On falsely wobbly legs, Sam reached for the boat’s mooring line and tossed it up to a waiting seaman, all too aware that Shilling was eyeing Maria with open carnality, and that Maria herself was absolutely furious.