Mutiny of the Heart

by Jennifer Bray-Weber

  “Good Lord, what was that?” someone inside said.

  They snickered and he ushered her quickly away from the window just before the curtain drew back. Ricker led her to the birdcage, their backs to prying eyes. She gazed up at him, a mischievous grin quirked in her swollen and red lips.

  He knew he shouldn’t ask, shouldn’t push her to talk more of her pain. But he had to know.

  “When was the other time?”

  “Hmm?” She tucked a curl behind her ear.

  “You said you’d been truly frightened twice. When was the other time?”

  “Oh.” She turned her attention on the doves fluttering about. “I fear ’tis nearly yet to come.”

  What did that mean?

  “Ah, yes. So you were correct, Mrs. Crowe. They are in the courtyard admiring your doves.” Valeryn, with Mrs. Crowe’s hand tucked into the crook of his arm, strolled into the courtyard. His forced smile accentuated the disapproval in his scathing eyes.

  “They are beautiful birds, my lady.” Joelle glided aside for their visitors.

  “Thank you, dear.” Mrs. Crowe beamed with pride.

  “Yes,” Ricker agreed. “I fancy the white one. It stands out among the rest.”

  “Oh, yes. She’s a dazzling, sassy little thing. Imported from America. The males are endlessly prancing and cooing for her attention.”

  “I’m not surprised. She’s a beauty,” Ricker looked to Joelle, “among a cage of plain pigeons.”

  Joelle arched a brow.

  Valeryn cleared his throat. “I was just telling Mrs. Crowe how you had hoped there would be dancing tonight.”

  What was Valeryn up to?

  “We do not have much room for dancing, I’m afraid,” Mrs. Crowe said apologetically.

  “Never mind that,” Valeryn said. “Let us just open that window. The music will be loud enough. Then Mr. Ricker will offer you a dance.” Valeryn was already tapping at the window and motioning the gentleman on the other side to raise the sash. “Isn’t that right, mate?”

  Joelle smirked, clearly enjoying the tit for tat.

  “Of course.” Ricker bowed to the giggling Mrs. Crowe. “May I have the honor?”

  Ricker wasn’t a terribly good dancer, but he’d been to enough balls with Jackson that he could get by without crushing any toes. Mrs. Crowe did not seem to notice. She smiled grandly as he led her around the courtyard, blushing so Ricker imagined it had been some time since she’d enjoyed such attention.

  A small crowd had gathered, including her husband. The commodore stood regally by with his glass of liquor, a stout but approving expression on his old mug.

  Valeryn had asked Joelle to dance. She laughed and whispered to him as the first mate twirled her about the gardens, not sparing a single smug glance Ricker’s way. Bastard was a better dancer than Ricker, too. It took no small amount of will to mask his seething envy.

  Soon, two more couples joined in, and then two more. The courtyard had become crowded with dancers, and yet, no one seemed to mind.

  Once the song ended—damn, but that was a long song—Ricker deposited Mrs. Crowe to her husband. He bowed his head. “’Twas truly an honor, Mrs. Crowe.”

  She curtsied. “Thank you, Mr. Ricker.”

  “Your wife, Commodore, is as graceful as a swan.”

  “Careful, young man, lest she believe it and wants to drag me back to London just to attend the parties.” He smiled. “And if so, I’ll be greatly inclined to send you in my stead,” he joked.

  Mrs. Crowe gasped, her cheeks redder than her roses blooming in the urns.

  Ricker chuckled. “Duly noted, sir.”

  A new song filtered through the window and the couples danced anon. Valeryn held Joelle closer than what was appropriate and Ricker wanted to rip his arms from their sockets. He’d settle for cutting in.

  He politely tapped Valeryn’s shoulder. “May I?”

  With a smile tighter than the caulked seam of a ship’s hull, Valeryn stepped aside.

  Ricker quickly spun Joelle around, her dress rustling at her feet. “You look breathtaking tonight.” He bent to her ear. “And you taste delicious.”

  “You incorrigible, charming rogue.” The curl on her lips was pure sin. He lived for sin.

  They’d made only one revolution around the fountain when Valeryn butted back in. Not wanting a scene, and with a great deal of resentment, Ricker made way for the first mate. He waited, fists clenched, for them to pass by so that he could have his turn with her again. Reluctantly, Valeryn bowed out.

  Joelle smirked. “Might I add you look dashing in that frockcoat. Blue is a good color on you.”

  “As is green.” He dipped his eyes down to the bodice hefting her buxom chest.

  She bit a tiny piece of her lip, still in a tantalizing smile. “Devil.”

  “Very much so.”

  Valeryn eased in. Ricker was left to wait not so patiently until they returned and he twirled away with her yet again.

  “The lady has exceptional taste in clothing,” he said, pushing away thoughts of being her charity. “I should very much like a chance to personally bestow my gratitude.”

  “I expect full reimbursement for the suit,” she teased.

  Someone tapped his shoulder. Ugh. Valeryn again. This game was getting old and had become fodder for spectators. He didn’t care much about the onlookers, but he did care about how close Valeryn was getting to Joelle.

  Again, Ricker spun away once more in dance. “I will satisfy my debt in full,” he said.

  “Tonight,” she answered.

  His cock stirred with anticipation, the tease of what was to come. “As you wish.”

  He glanced at Valeryn and deliberately slowed his steps. “Why do you let him do that?”

  “Do what?” She followed his line of sight to Valeryn.

  “Touch you, charm you.”

  Suddenly, her smiles faltered, becoming less genuine. Blast it! Why did he have to ruin their repartee?

  “I care for him, Sloan,” she said. “Do not expect me to change that because I feel the same for you.”

  But he did expect her to. He expected her to forsake Valeryn and all he ever meant to her. And that made him an arsehole.

  Chapter Sixteen

  He was wounded, that much she could tell. Yet Joelle was incapable of giving Sloan any other answer. ’twas the truth in her heart.

  She was glad when the song ended. She hurried out of the courtyard for fear Sloan and Valeryn would continue their juvenile game of touch, tap—each doing his best to woo her. Criminy. She wasn’t like the wistful women in the party ogling their interlude, longing for either Sloan or Valeryn to sweep them off into a close dance, have the men look upon them with desirous, heated eyes. At least she didn’t think she was like them.

  Joelle couldn’t deny she thoroughly enjoyed the attention. She knew the sins of pleasure with both.

  Either she was a whore, or maybe just damned lucky.

  Whore, luck, whatever ’twas, she knew where she wanted to be now, whose body she wanted to wrap her legs around. The sooner she finished with pleasantries, the sooner she could escape Pigeon House and collect her payment.

  A young blonde had managed to snare Valeryn into a dance. Poor soul. He had no idea what floodgate he’d started by suggesting Sloan dance with Mrs. Crowe. On the morrow, he’d complain he danced with all the ladies in attendance. She chuckled to herself. Served him right.

  She caught sight of Sloan quickly making an exit—the sly dog waited for her by the door. She took his arm and they strolled out into the night. Small talk lasted only until they reached the docks. They steered away from the wharf and took a path to a beach. Sloan held her hand to help her over the large boulders encircling the sandy swath of shore. Even without the benefit of a full moon, the white sands shone in the darkness. The inky sky was dusted by millions of glittering stars. They sat on the rocks enjoying the gentle roll of waves whispering lullabies on the breeze.

  “About that p
ayment,” she teased.

  “Aye, about that.” He leaned in for a kiss, a sweet tender, lingering kiss.

  She cupped his face, relishing his scratchy cheeks and firm lips. When he broke away, he let his forehead rest upon hers.

  “I’ve never met a woman who is as cunning and intelligent as she is beautiful. Wicked thoughts of you are only dulled by worry for your safety.” His urgent whispers were impassioned, heated. “You do things to me, Joelle. You drive me mad with your courage.”

  “You needn’t worry for me.”

  “But I do.”

  She offered him a simpering smile. “I prefer your wicked thoughts.”

  She didn’t need another man harping over her every action, every decision, telling her what was dangerous. Valeryn did that enough. More than he probably realized. Though she warmed at the idea of Sloan wrapping her in his protective arms, she couldn’t neglect how she eked out her living. Nor could she lose sight of her objective—what lay at the end of her map. She had no time to lose herself over a man.

  What she needed at that very moment was Sloan taking her to places only he could take her with his body. Now. She’d worry with her heart later. She’d worry about how much he affected her later. Not until at least the mystery clouding her life was solved.

  She shifted her shoulder closer to Sloan and peered into his blue eyes darkening with her well-placed hand on his crotch. Already, he was solid as marble.

  “I require payment now, Mr. Ricker.” Joelle squeezed and rubbed her palm across the smooth fabric over his cock.

  He rumbled deep within his chest and captured her mouth in a searing kiss. But he did not loiter long. Sloan blazed a burning trail with his lips down her throat to the rise of her bosom. Her quickened breaths offered him plenty of flesh to sample. Thankfully. She continued groping him, stopping briefly to work the buttons of his silk breeches. His kisses became rough and frenzied as she slipped her hand into his trousers and stroked. His rigid shaft was velvety and warm in her hand.

  “Blazes, woman,” he growled between the dip of her breasts. “I want to take you. I need to take you. Now.”

  She pulled back and grinned. “And you shall.”

  His brow drew in confusion when she stood. Her smile slowly widened. Joelle gathered her skirts and straddled him.

  “No undergarments?” he mused, raising his eyebrows.

  She shook her head once. She’d forgone the damnable garments as much for the heat as for easy access to him.

  “Christ, woman. You’ll be the death of me.”

  His calloused palms drew up her thighs under her skirts, splinters of arousal shot straight to her core, throbbing with need. She directed the tip of his cock to her opening, keeping it in position with her nether lips.

  “Nay,” she said in a breathy voice. “I need you too much to kill you.”

  Grabbing his shoulders, she eased herself down, all the way, stretching to receive him. He rubbed his hands up over her hips to grip her waist. Up she languidly rose, drawing him almost completely out before driving down again.

  “So wet, so tight,” he groaned.

  Sitting on the jagged rocks gave him little leverage. ’twas all right. This time, she’d control the deliverance. Up, down, she picked up speed, slamming into him. Once the pace had been verily set, she altered the motion, taking in all of him and swiveling her hips in a circular motion, round and round. Sloan bit out a growl, his hands tightening around her waist.

  She rode him again, harder, faster, lancing herself over and over. Tendrils of her hair had fallen free from their pins and plastered to her sticky face. Her bosom bouncing so, they might just joggle free from her bodice. Sweat glistened upon Sloan’s forehead, heated sapphires bore into the depths of her soul.

  Faster, harder...

  Joelle burst without warning. She sucked in her breath, threw her head back, her thigh muscles constricted, her core knotted in pure torturous bliss.

  Sloan took over, showing her no relief from the sensitive shuddering overcoming her body. He pumped her onto himself fast and desperate until he seized, popping her off. Profanity and references to a mighty king escaped his clenched teeth. Warm juices dabbled then upon her thighs.

  He drew her close and laid his head against her chest. Joelle threaded her fingers into his thick, tawny hair.

  “Heaven help me,” he said, “but that was amazing.” He pulled her down into a sweet, passionate kiss.

  Heaven help us both. If heaven was bestowing favors, she was in desperate need of a few. Including an end to this feeling of falling.

  * * *

  Despite Valeryn’s threat that their fight for Joelle wasn’t over, Ricker remained in high spirits. Several nights ago, after she’d ridden him into oblivion, he’d seen something in her eyes. ’twas as if she mirrored his own emotions. He’d never been touched by love, wasn’t entirely sure if that was what he felt. But having her in his arms, the passion, the need to hear her laugh, to feel her heartbeat beneath his palm, was consuming. Even when apart, the ache of anticipation to touch her again was encompassing. Images of her seeped into his everyday duties, thoughts of her had made the last few days at sea, mending sheets, bearable.

  At night, after good-natured jesting meals with her and Valeryn, he’d begrudgingly retire to his cabin alone. So did Valeryn. And each night, he drew. Imagining her in the next cabin in her own bed was inspiration enough. He had a hand at drawing landscapes, but he found sketching a person much more difficult. He just couldn’t capture her beauty. Still, he kept at it until he was too damned tired to concentrate. Then, just as he did every night, he cursed that the ornate door to her cabin behind his desk was sealed tight.

  This night was different. On the morrow, they’d arrive in Barbados.

  Joelle had indeed secured another lucrative commission during the party at Pigeon House. As Valeryn handed out the crew’s earnings from eliminating Leviathan and getting the missive to the Commodore, she’d announced her plans to first sail to Barbados on a personal mission. She’d given the men the option—to go with no personal gain or be released from the Articles. To the captain’s surprise, all the lads, save a few swallowing the anchor and retiring from the sea, insisted on following her on her quest.

  Ricker had watched on as she struggled to hide her bewilderment and tears. She’d been downright giddy ever since. The bonds of the brethren were tight indeed, and she’d declared, this time, she’d be successful—with his help, of course. She’d be free of her burden.

  For Ricker, it meant his freedom.

  He’d all but forgotten that Joelle still owned him. Literally. Legally. He should be bothered, outraged, by the fact. Somehow, it didn’t plague him. Not now, not after what they’d been through.

  With Barbados’s coastline within reach, he, Joelle and Valeryn perused the map once more. They decided to sail to the northern part of the island. Ricker wasn’t too familiar with Barbados’s inland, but he was aware of the posts built on the hills overlooking the entire isle and surrounding waters. To avoid too much suspicion, they decided to sail for the northern coast where cliffs rose from the sea and the population was sparse.

  Joelle spoke of foiled attempts to locate any semblance of where the map led. She had been met with betrayals, desertions and failure. Pity to those who crossed her.

  Ricker felt the answer was in the riddle. Not so much the map itself.

  Follow the trade winds up the face of Lucia, be swallowed for her key. To seek the place of emeralds, for under the beard there you’ll be.

  Hell if he knew what that meant. And what of those islands her father drew on the map to the northeast of Barbados? What could they mean? Surely they had some significance. At first, he’d just ignored the dots. Yet, Ricker couldn’t shake the niggling feeling they were something more.

  He lay back on his bed, his arm tucked under his head, and stared at the beam in the ceiling.

  No islands to the northeast or east of Barbados. No geographical points, suc
h as shoals. ’twas deeper water out there. No navigational bearings.

  Bearings.

  Like the release of a padlock, something clicked in his mind. He envisioned the map, saw the rough-drawn dots. Why didn’t he see it before? Not islands at all. They were rock formations.

  He shot up. That’s it! Suddenly, he knew what the riddle meant. He needed to look at the map, but he was well certain. He couldn’t wait to tell Joelle. How happy she’d be!

  Her cabin was empty. No one in the galley. Most everyone would be asleep at this hour. He went in search for her on deck.

  The salty winds outside were warm but brisk against his skin. The sky winked with limitless stars. Abysmal darkness promised nothing but mystery for what lay ahead and what followed behind. The middle bell rang out. Midnight. Ricker didn’t initially find Joelle on the waist deck, but as he climbed to the quarterdeck he spotted her with Valeryn near the bow sitting on the capstan.

  He inwardly growled. They were sitting far too close for his liking. Bastard.

  Ricker didn’t know why, not really, but he quietly climbed down and slinked to the bow. What did he hope to accomplish by not announcing himself? Casually leaning behind the mainmast, he strained to listen to their conversation. The winds spirited words away like the sea spray off the waves. Yet he managed to snatch a word here and there. “Ricker...Together...Understand...”

  Joelle rested her forehead against Valeryn’s and cupped his face with both hands. Ricker distinctly heard her next words. “In love with you.”

  And then they kissed.

  Ricker turned away, leaning his head back against the mast. His heart had just been wrenched from his chest. Anger, hurt, swirled in to fill the gaping hole. Disappointment lodged in his throat, clouded his mind, his judgment. He wanted to rip Valeryn off his woman, toss him into the sea. Even nearly took a step revealing himself.

  She wasn’t his woman. From her own lips. She had made a choice. It wasn’t Ricker.

  Why the hell had he thought he’d take Valeryn’s place? Two of a kind, they were. What a fool he’d been. How much it physically hurt to be that fool.