A single tear stole down her cheek. He reached to swipe it away but she caught his hand.
“No,” she rasped.
A sting of humiliation burned up his neck. After all he said, she would deny him. Fool.
Her eyes fluttered closed and she nestled her cheek into his hand, caressing his calloused palm. When she opened her eyes, she pierced him with those emeralds. “Should I want any of those things—stars, sea, war—we will do it together.”
Together. As one. Not as master and slave. Not as captain and jacktar. As Ricker and Joelle. Was it possible to love her more?
“Let me make love to you right and proper,” he whispered in her ear.
She leaned back, a quizzical stitch in her forehead.
“In your bed. In our bed.”
Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What are you saying?”
He gently cupped her chin. “That I want to claim you as my own. That someday you will be my wife.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “Make an honest woman of me?”
Ricker skimmed his thumb over her plump, divine lower lip. “As honest a map-making slave can make a pirate queen be.” He chuckled, but she silenced him with a tender kiss.
“Yes,” she whispered against his lips.
Ricker pulled back, falling into her green pools. “Yes?”
“Claim me as your own, as your wife.”
He collected her into a tight embrace, determined to never let her go, afraid without her body pressed against his, his heart would swell and float away.
“Sloan Ricker, you were the best twenty pounds I’ve ever spent,” she teased.
No bones about it.
Epilogue
Joelle had no business sitting up in the tree. The branch was smaller than she remembered, and the limb bent under her weight. But the view of the hillside rolling down into the distant sea was ever majestic. Rissa sat just off the coast, a grand ship atop the smooth, blue gloss of brine.
A breeze slithered through the tree causing the bough to sway. Verdant scents swirled in the rustling leaves. So tranquil, so familiar. As much as she cherished her sanctuary, memories of loneliness and long hours waiting were as much a part of the tree as its roots. Like the roots, over time, she dug deeper with resolve, weathered storms and grew stronger. Through it all, she wouldn’t have had it any other way. She was too happy now.
“Are you ready?”
She looked down to the main source of her happiness.
Sloan, arm out leaning against her tree, looked every bit the handsome rogue. Rays of light filtering through the leafy canopy dappled across his crooked smile and sun-streaked hair, longer than when they first met, curled just below his shoulders. She loved it when he missed a day or two of shaving. Loved how it made his kisses rough. Another breeze whisked through the branches and the shadows shifted on his face. His blue eyes caught the dancing sunlight like vibrant crystals.
Sloan was her balance, her equal in every way. And yet he let her be in control. Except in bed. Joelle reveled in the way he took the reins. She’d relinquished her tightly wound dominion, willingly giving herself over to him.
He recognized when to allow her to lead and when she needed him to be her foundation. She was no fool. His way of standing beside her was a choice he could easily reverse. Sloan could be her master. And she’d allow it because she loved him deeply, loved that he didn’t expect her to change. But she had changed—as a captain, as a friend, as a woman.
Over the past week, they’d scaled from mere lovers to fated, faithful, eternal soul-locked companions—a bit girlish and whimsical musings, and entirely true.
They had not yet pledged their vows of marriage. Not because they were not committed. If Ricker had his way, Henri conducting the wedding and swearing their matrimony on a bottle of his finest rum before the Rissa lads and God would be enough.
Oh, they’d celebrated their betrothal. The whole crew had celebrated, first and last, until they were well into their cups, and had to postpone weighing anchor from Barbados an extra day. Sam and Willie had brought on board several leaguers of rum for the festivities.
Sam had even located a special bottle of bois bande for her and Sloan to share. Bless that man.
The mops were locked away from Henri and the little crusty barnacle played his broken flute most of the night. Valeryn, God love him, had given Sloan a token, one of his favored pistols, and, without a sideways grumble, oversaw the ship as she and Sloan spent two days locked away in her quarters. Not once had he run the ship aground or caused an impromptu sea battle with a passing vessel.
As it was, Joelle longed for a real wedding, only she didn’t know how to go about it. Over the years, she hadn’t much experience with such matters, what with being a pirate captain and all. She’d wanted to speak to her friends, the wives of the other brethren captains she called brothers, for help. Sloan honored her wish, saying he wanted whatever it was that would make her happy.
So they’d set a course for Havana with a stop in Jamaica to visit Captain Zane Fox and his family. The commission she’d picked up for Rissa in Tortola at Mrs. Crowe’s ball would wait. Or perhaps she could convince the crew to vote Valeryn in as their captain for this one mission. Force him to become the man he could be.
But before they made their way west across the Caribbean, they made a stop here at Montserrat.
Joelle cast one more glance to the distant sea. Her future lay out there, with the man she loved. Soon enough, they’d be under sail.
She climbed down two branches and jumped to Sloan’s waiting, outstretched arms.
“I cannot wait for you to meet her. Mother Lotte is the closest thing I have to a mother.”
They strolled up a path and through a small orchard. She could hear the sounds of children playing and their peals of laughter before they rounded the bend and the old brick orphanage came into view.
Boys and girls ran circles around them, smiling, asking questions, giggling until they climbed the stairs and Mother Lotte stepped out onto the porch.
She had aged since Joelle’s last visit—a little shorter, a little slower, a few more wrinkles, and soft gray curls straying away from the small white cap atop her head. Yet her eyes were clear and her tongue sharp.
“Mind yer manners, children. Joseph, put down the chicken. Benjamin, wipe yer face. Emma, darlin’, go put on a pot to boil for tea.”
She extended her hands. “My Joelle, my sweet Joelle. I was wondering how long ya were gonna stay in that tree. Ya shouldn’t keep an old woman waitin’, child.”
Joelle hugged her. “’Tis good to see you, too, Mother Lotte.”
“Who is this here fella?” She squinted at him with skeptical regard. “Ya ain’t never brought anyone back with ya before.”
Sloan respectfully bowed his head.
“Sloan Ricker,” Joelle said, grinning. “We are to be married.”
Mother Lotte settled her hands on her hips, her thin eyebrows high on her forehead. “Married, ya say?”
“’Tis a pleasure, Madame.”
She eyed him up and down, pursing her lips, and making no effort to hide she was casting her judgment. Joelle was somewhat surprised by her nervousness. She hoped Mother Lotte approved of him. ’twould crush her if she didn’t.
“Seems to be of good stock. Handsome, too.”
A crooked grin slanted up his mug.
“Ya ain’t cocky, are ya lad?”
“No, Ma’am,” he respectfully assured.
“Well, ya’d have to be a fine, honorable man for Joelle to wed ya.” She shuffled over to a wooden bench. Her bones creaked as she sat, and she smoothed out her drab skirts.
Joelle sat beside her, while Sloan remained standing.
“I intend to live up to Joelle’s every expectation and more for as long as she’ll have me,” he said.
“See to it that ya do, lad. She’s a gem, though I suppose you’ll have a devil of a time keeping up with her.”
“I do not doubt it.” H
e winked at Joelle, and she suspected he meant more than just her wild temperamental ways. Her stomach fluttered with the thought of sweaty, tangled limbs and a particular new use for a head scarf.
Were her cheeks burning? Blazes, only Sloan could do that to her.
Mother Lotte chuckled, patting Joelle’s knee.
“I have something for you,” she said. She handed Mother Lotte a pouch.
“My sweet Joelle. Ya don’t have to keep bringin’ us coin. We do all right.”
The orphanage would have boarded up long ago when the home’s benefactor passed away had Joelle not made her brief visits. She knew it, and so did Mother Lotte. However, the old woman would never ask Joelle for help.
So it went with each visit, Joelle would leave money on the kitchen table and Mother Lotte would pretend not to see it.
Mother Lotte gave the children a fighting chance in an unforgiving world with her love, teachings and firm hand. With Joelle’s earnings from her buccaneering commissions, Joelle made sure the orphaned children and Mother Lotte had what they needed—a home. Mother Lotte did the rest.
“Open it.” Joelle pointed to the pouch, squirming in her seat with anticipation.
With her long, bony fingers, Mother Lotte opened the pouch. Gemstones and gold cast star-like reflections on the porch ceiling. Dirty, little faces pressed between porch slats twittered over the prism of colors.
“They’re beautiful. But what will I do with all these stones, child?”
“Why, buy the land your home sits upon.”
The old woman’s gaze slid to the sparkling treasure in her lap.
“Sloan already arranged a meeting with the lord proprietor.”
“The deal is as good as done,” Sloan said. “We just need you to show up with the gems and sign the papers.”
“I...I do not know what to say,” Mother Lotte stammered. “How ever did ya come by these?” She frowned. “Ya didn’t pillage a town for them, did ya? Heaven save ya, ya promised ya wouldna do that again. Ya wouldna be that kind of pirate.”
Joelle laughed. “No, Mother Lotte. You’d never accept it otherwise.”
“Then how?”
She shined with pride. “Consider it a gift from me and my father.”
Mother Lotte’s weathered face shot up, her jaw slackened. “You solved your father’s riddle,” she said, with only a smidgen of surprise.
“Well, Sloan did.”
Her hand fluttered to her chest, looking back and forth between her and Sloan, tears pooled in her pale eyes. “My sweet child. You’ve found your peace.”
“I’ve found much more than that.” Joelle smiled at Sloan. The love in her heart for him was immeasurable. He reached for her hand and kissed it.
Aye, she’d found much, much more.
* * * * *
Hooked on pirates and historical romance? Read the first two books of Romancing the Pirate!
A Kiss in the Wind
Marisol Castellan is in trouble—again. Against her pirate father’s orders, she snuck off their ship to intercept a message meant for a rival captain, one that offers a clue to the whereabouts of her estranged brother Monte.
Pirate captain Blade Tyburn is not pleased to find the letter he’s been waiting for is missing. He’s even less pleased when he discovers the thief is a raven-haired beauty who bewitches his senses and muddles his thinking. The note gives the location of a silver-laden ship that’ll make his fortune; Blade must find it, and if that means bringing Marisol along on the voyage, so be it.
The Siren’s Song
Pirate captain Thayer Drake lures ships onto reefs for plunder, and business is lucrative. Yet, saving a lass from drowning after her ship wrecks becomes more than he bargained for when the crazy wench dives back into the raging sea for her blasted purse.
Tavern songstress Gilly McCoy, penniless and fleeing from the man who murdered her lover, stowed away on the doomed ship. Now at Drake’s mercy, Gilly must earn her passage by performing for the captain. And that is not all: she must also kiss the captain at every ring of the ship’s bell. But she discovers kissing the handsome rogue is not entirely a bad bargain...
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About the Author
Jennifer Bray-Weber has always wished for real life to mimic adventuresome tales, especially those of the high seas. Holding degrees in Music and Video Business and Liberal Arts, she continued her higher education, until a professor challenged her to write a novel. Never one to back down from a dare, her passion led to award-winning pirate romances. Though she hopes to one day live as a Caribbean island goddess, she currently lives in Texas. Connect with Jennifer at www.jbrayweber.com.
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ISBN-13: 9781426898525
MUTINY OF THE HEART
Copyright © 2014 by Jennifer Bray-Weber
Edited by Mallory Braus
All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
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