Pirate In My Arms

by Danelle Harmon

  “Maria…. You are the sweetest flower, the softest silk, and I cannot get enough of ye.” His hand drifted down her belly, parted her damp curls. “Open for me, lass.”

  She did, and at the same time he began kissing her once more, his tongue tangling with hers until she writhed beneath him in exquisite torment. His kiss stole her breath, and his hand and fingers, stroking deep within her, stole her mind until she felt the hard stab of his arousal there instead and with her own hand, guided him deep into the very soul of her. He sank down atop her, burying himself in the fanned spread of her silken hair, the thick and glorious length of him sinking deep and spreading her wide; his breath came harshly near her ear, stirring the hair there, and then he was kissing her once more, her long legs coming up to wrap around his hips and clasp him to her with fierce abandon.

  They began the age-old rhythm, he sliding deep and measured and strong with every thrust, she crying out in little gasps against his mouth as her senses built and her body caught fire. Her fingers dug at his straining shoulders, then tangled in the damp hair at his nape, pressing against his skull as if she could hold him against her forever. She felt the thick muscles at the back of his neck, the fine, downy hairs that grew there, the spill of his hair falling over her knuckles. He was the free prince of the sea, and the taste of it salted his skin; its pull was echoed in his hands, his lips, the sheer power of his body as he drew her like a riptide into deep water, swirling currents, fathomless depths…and then she was drowning, the coming waves of passion as timeless, surging and beautiful as the sea itself.

  Sam…oh, please forgive me.

  The spasms came, violent and swift, and she cried out in the sweet agony of it as he drove a final time into her and went rigid, her name tumbling from his lips into the damp golden hair spread out on the pillow beside her ear.

  For a long time they simply held each other, forgetting everything in the world but themselves. He eased himself down atop her, his forearms supporting his weight while he nestled his head within the curve of her shoulder, his fingers absently stroking her hair. He didn’t see the anguish in her eyes, didn’t know the willfulness that swelled her broken heart, didn’t feel the tears dampening her cheeks.

  “I love ye, Maria Hallett,” he mumbled thickly. “I’ll love ye ’til the day I die.”

  “And I will always love you, too, Sam.”

  If he noticed the catch in her words, he was too satiated to question it and too weary to care. Maria locked her arms around his back, treasuring these last moments. This is how she would remember him. Sam Bellamy, lean and warm and strong, his weight comforting and secure. Sam Bellamy, falling asleep in her arms, his body growing heavy atop her. For a long while she held him, her lips pressed against his shoulder, her hands stroking his hair, unwilling to let him go and dreading the moment when the bell would toll out the end of the watch and the others would be making their way to shore.

  She lay there beneath him long after he was nothing but dead weight upon her, his heart thumping steadily against her own, his deep, steady breathing stirring the air at her ear. She squeezed her eyes shut to stop the tears, and then carefully wriggled out from beneath him.

  She dragged on her shirt and breeches and stared down at him, forever imprinting his handsome face and powerful body in her memory; the hair, so black against the pillow, the lips, parted and sensual, the lines of exhaustion and weariness—and maybe sorrow, too—that slumber was already smoothing away. She leaned down and tenderly drew the coverlet up over his scarred back, his brawny shoulders, and the big, seaman’s arms she loved so well.

  One of her tears fell upon his forehead. Maria didn’t wipe it away. Instead, she bent down, pressed her lips to his brow, and straightened up.

  “I love you, Sam. No matter what you’ve done, no matter what you’ll do, I will always love you.” She put out the lantern. She pulled out her letter, its ink stained with her tears, and placed it on his desk beneath the bar shot. And then, her heart breaking, she quietly left the cabin.

  Chapter 21

  The rocks do not so cruelly

  Repulse the waves continually,

  As she my suit and affection.

  —Wyatt

  Forward, the bell was tolling as Maria, huddled in a frayed greatcoat that was several sizes too large for her, came up on the shadowy, moonless deck.

  She paused, gazing up into the heavens as though seeking divine reassurance for what she had done, what she was about to do. The Milky Way was a band of fog stretching across the zenith. Vega twinkled and sparkled like a diamond on black velvet. A thousand billion stars tossed their reflections upon the vast surface of the ocean, but no divine voice came from their infinite depths to guide and reassure her.

  Her nervous gaze swept the darkened deck. She’d arrived just in time. By the glow of a lantern, several men were lowering the boat, talking, laughing, sharing a joke or two. Maria hesitated. What if they recognized her? But no. They were too busy, and far too drunk, to pay any attention to one more seaman.

  And in breeches and greatcoat of well-worn black frieze, her hair stuffed up beneath a wide-brimmed felt hat, she was indeed just one more seaman. Nobody paid her any mind.

  Nervously Maria glanced aft, expecting, and—yes, admit it—hoping to see Sam come charging up on deck to stop her. But the shadows from whence she’d come were painfully dark and empty. She thought of him as she’d left him, deeply asleep, dead to the world and ignorant of her plans. Did he know about the shore party? Probably. Sam was keenly aware of everything that went on aboard his sloop.

  Everything, that is, except what she was about to do.

  Fidgeting, Maria plucked at the salt-encrusted nap of the old coat’s sleeve. She felt sick at the thought of betraying Sam’s love, his trust. How would he feel when he woke up in the morning and found her gone? Her treachery burned like acid in her throat, and she choked it down, biting her lip hard as she stared across the water to where the lights of the settlement winked like fireflies in the darkness.

  I will not cry.

  I am tired of crying.

  This must be done.

  The men were lining up to go down the ladder, passing a bottle around, making ribald jokes as they went over the side like monkeys.

  Taking a deep, steadying breath, Maria crept out of the shadows and stood at the rail.

  Go back.

  Below, the boat bobbed in the swells and thumped against Nefarious’s sleek sides. The last tar’s head disappeared over the gunwale, and she was the only one left. They were all waiting for her. Below, Silas West held up the lantern.

  “C’mon, Johnnie. We ain’t got all night!”

  Johnnie? There was no time to be amused at their mistake. Maria took a shaky breath and closed her eyes. She put a leg over the side, held onto the rail and groped with her feet for the swaying rope ladder.

  Don’t leave him. He needs you.

  She paused.

  “Sakes alive, Johnnie, what’s taking ye so damned long?”

  Her teeth sank into her lower lip and she took the first steps down, frozen with indecision, regret, and—

  A hand closed over her wrist.

  “Going somewhere, lass?”

  Her head jerked up, the breath caught in her throat, and the blood drained from her face. “Sam!”

  Silhouetted against the night sky, he looked like some angry, avenging god. A sword belt girded his waist; the scabbard hung at his hip. He was clad in nothing but canvas breeches and these, he must have hastily donned upon finding her gone. And though his voice was deceptively mild, his face was thunderous, his grip on her wrist almost cruel. Maria panicked, grew faint, and would have fallen into the black waves below if it wasn’t for that vise-like grip. “Have ye forgotten what a light sleeper I am, Maria? Obviously. Otherwise ye might’ve taken more drastic measures to make sure I stayed asleep!”

  “Sam, I—”

  “Belay it, princess. Ye’ve all night to explain.” He looked past her and do
wn into the boat, where the men stared up at them in curiosity. “Carry on, lads,” he called, dispelling any doubts she might’ve had that he was unaware of their planned excursion. “Just be back by first light or we leave without ye.”

  “Are ye keeping young Johnnie with you then, sir?”

  “Johnnie?” Sam laughed then, a cold, chilling sound that was completely without humor. “Aye, I’m keeping the lad with me. And ye can thank your bloody stars that I caught him before he quit this ship, for so help me God, every damned one of ye’d be paying the price in hell if I hadn’t!”

  It was not an idle threat and Maria knew it. She trembled with fear, cold sweat breaking from every pore. The rope ladder was scratchy and damp against her cheek and inches from her nose, the glistening black wall of the sloop’s hull filled her vision. Sam’s hand remained fast around her wrist. Below, she could hear the boat crew’s hushed whispers.

  “What’s he so angry about?”

  “Angry? Hell, man, what’s he talkin’ about?”

  “The lass.”

  “What lass?”

  “’T’ain’t Johnnie he’s got there, ye numbskull, ’tis the wench!”

  Hushed, shocked silence, then ribald laughter and much back-slapping. Maria looked down. Below, Phil Stewart raised his mug to her as they pushed off, and she heard the splash of oars, fading as the boat moved away from the sloop.

  But looking down had been a terrible mistake, for now there was nothing beneath her moccasins but empty space and the black, black sea.

  She panicked—and then her neck snapped back as Sam, cursing, yanked her up and off the rope rung, held her suspended in space, and heaved the ladder up onto the deck. He lowered her over the sea, the rigid muscles of his arm standing out, and with feet dangling, kicking, against the sloop’s wet hull, Maria screamed in sheer terror. Her hat fell off and tumbled down into the darkness.

  “Sam, please!” She clawed for something to hold on to. But he only lowered her farther until his arm was fully extended and she could feel the cold moisture that slicked the hull seeping through her clothing and dampening her skin.

  “‘Sam, please’ what?” he asked harshly. “‘Sam, please let me go so that I can swim to shore’? ‘Sam, please forgive me for deceiving you’? Or, is it ‘Sam, please, take me back to the cabin and do with me what you will’?” Never had she seen his eyes so terribly black, so cold—like the waters of a lake beneath a foot of winter’s ice—and she began to sob, terror robbing her of any dignity she had left. “Oh, don’t worry, Maria, I plan to take ye back to that cabin, God help me!”

  “Sam, no! Please, let me explain—”

  “I trusted you,” he ground out. “Trusted you, believed you, thought our differences were all straightened out. But now it seems they’re just beginning.” Eyes blazing with fury, he glared at her down the length of his arm. “Or shall I say that your difficulties are just beginning, Maria?”

  “Sam, please, don’t let go. Oh God, please Sam, please, don’t let go!”

  “And why shouldn’t I? ’Twould seem ye were most eager to leave me a moment ago. Changed your mind already? Fickle, fickle woman!”

  His grip on her wrist slipped the barest fraction of an inch. Maria clawed desperately with her free hand, mindlessly trying to clutch his arm but leaving long, bloody rake marks from her nails instead.

  “D’ye deny ye were trying to leave me?” he demanded.

  “I do not!”

  “Ye deserve no quarter, Maria! You’re more cold-blooded than the worst of this lot. Even the pirates ye so despise are more loyal than you are! I’ve a mind to release ye, right here and now, and have done with ye! Let ye swim back to Eastham!”

  She waited for him to let go of her, waited to feel the chilling embrace of cold black water, but instead he yanked her up and over the side, hefted her in his arms, and cursing, collided with a pack of bodies thicker than soldiers on a battlefield. Stripes, craning his neck to peer at Maria’s white, tear-streaked visage. Nat Paige, frowning. Even Johnnie, now hiding behind Billy Flanagan, and Jake Gillespie, whose hand was wrapped securely around the collar of a growling Gunner.

  “What the bloody hell are you all gawking at?” Sam snarled. “Leave us, damn the lot of ye!”

  “But Cap’n, we was just worried ’bout the girl,” Stripes offered meekly. “She was screamin’ fit t’ wake the dead….”

  “The only dead to be woken’ll be you, lest ye stand aside and let me pass!” He stormed past them, his face thunderous, his scabbard slapping his thigh. Behind him they exchanged nervous glances, then fearfully followed him to the cabin.

  “Captain, I think—”

  With a vicious kick, he slammed the door in their startled faces and stormed straight to the bunk, where he dropped Maria to the coverlet. Damned, meddling busybodies! Troublesome, treacherous female! God’s bloody teeth! He went straight for the bottle of wine and it was to this sight, of Sam with bottle in hand, stiff-backed and glowering as he stared out the stern windows, that Maria finally dared to speak.

  “I had a good reason,” she said quietly.

  He brought the bottle to his lips again and again with the kind of mechanical precision his men exhibited when they fired their guns. The glow of the lantern picked out the familiar scars that a long-ago lash had etched into his back, emphasized the taut bands of muscle working beneath them. He turned then and impaled her with a savage glare.

  “Consider yourself fortunate, princess, that I chose to spare your treacherous hide.” His voice was harsh and cold, seething with fury. “’Tis not my manner to go easy on those who betray me.”

  From outside came voices, Gunner’s barking, and then a wary knock upon the heavy, solid door that became an incessant pounding when Sam ignored it.

  “Captain? Is she all right?”

  “Answer them,” he snarled, his dark gaze boring into hers. “They think I’ve murdered ye, as well I might if I don’t get some goddamned answers!”

  Maria dared not take her eyes off Sam. “I’m fine,” she managed. “Just a bit shaken. Please, don’t worry about me.”

  “Are ye sure, Maria?”

  “Yes. I’m…quite sure.”

  More voices, and the sound of Gunner’s claws digging into the deck as they forcibly hauled him away. Muffled conversation. The heavy tread of retreating footsteps.

  And then she was alone to face the devil’s wrath.

  He came up to stare down at her, waiting. His jaw was set, his eyes ablaze with fury, but in the twist of his hard mouth Maria saw the pain of betrayal. She started to speak, not knowing what to say, nor how to explain her actions. Oh, why had she chosen to escape him in the manner she had? Open defiance of him would surely have been better—what she’d done was terrible. Even a pirate deserved more.

  “Ye drugged me,” he accused.

  “I won’t deny it.”

  “Ye wanted to leave.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Why didn’t ye just ask?” His mouth twitched with suppressed pain and he fisted his hands at his side. “D’ye hate me that much?”

  “I hate piracy that much. Not you, Sam. And it has become such that the two of you can no longer be separated.” She fearlessly met his accusing stare. “I heard all about your plans to build a pirate kingdom in Maine. You promised me you’d give up piracy. Setting up a pirate kingdom is hardly keeping your promise to me.”

  He remained glaring at her for a long moment more. Then he turned, as though he could no longer stand the sight of her. He went to his desk, where he stood gripping its edge, his back toward her, his head bowed. He stood that way for a long time. “What the bloody hell am I going to do with you?” he finally asked in a strangely quiet voice. “How long must I beat my head against the wall? I’m the biggest of fools, aren’t I? Well, no more. If ye want to leave, then fine. But at least do it safely.” He raised his head, eyes staring sightlessly at the bulkhead before him. “Tomorrow, I’ll make port at Provincetown and put you off t
he ship there. Ye shouldn’t have any trouble finding your way home.”

  “But Sam—”

  “No ‘buts,’ Maria. I’m tired of fighting ye. I’ve made my decision, and like it or not, tomorrow we part company.” He raked a hand through the his hair. “Damn my eyes, I should’ve let ye go with those men tonight, just to teach ye a damned good lesson.”

  She stared at him in confusion.

  He turned to look at her from over his shoulder. “Didn’t know, did ye? Why, I’ll bet ye thought they’re just venturing ashore for some mild entertainment, eh?”

  “That’s what Stripes said—”

  “Gullible, foolish child! There’s a fishing boat lying at anchor close inshore, poorly guarded and ripe for the plucking. Figure it out for yourself, Maria, what they intend to do with it.”

  As if to confirm his words, the distant report of a pistol cleaved the sudden silence.

  Maria felt her own anger returning. “You want to know why I tried to leave? Do you?”

  He just glared at her.

  “I can’t sit idly by and watch you sail toward your own destruction. I can’t watch you dig your own grave, as well as those of innocent men who’ve chosen to follow you. Do you think it makes me happy, knowing this road you’ve chosen is going to lead to one place, and one place only—the next cell over from your men in the gaol?” She met his fierce glare. “Never think I don’t love you! I love you with every fiber of my heart, my soul, my very being. But I can’t just sit here and watch you die!”