by Lisa Olech
“Bald arsed, son of a cur!” Ric barked at him.
MacTavish only roared louder.
Hornbach and Dowd emerged from the galley. “What’s so damn funny?”
Wiping his eyes, MacTavish pointed at Ric and laughed some more.
“Not a damn thing. MacTavish’s brain’s getting too much air under that skirt,” Ric cursed. “Dowd, get your arse back in the nest.”
“But I’m not done eatin’ me breakfast,” the lad whined.
“Can put you on half rations, if it’ll help,” Ric suggested.
“I’m goin.’” Dowd grumbled and tucked the bread and cheese he’d been eating into his shirt for safekeeping and headed toward the rigging.
“Be on the watch for Isla Vaca. We should be brushing past her sometime today.”
Hornbach stood next to Ric and watched Dowd’s slow assent up the main mast. “We be stopping there to gather up more men?”
“No.”
Hornbach shot a disbelieving stare at Ric. “Why the hell not?”
“Isla Vaca is Captain Morgan’s holding. I want to keep our distance. We sail too close and we might as well hand him the Scarlet Night. Besides, I’m not bringing any new men to crew until I get Jocelyn away. Don’t need to be fighting every bastard who wants a piece of her.” Ric shaded his eyes to see Dowd had finally made it into the crow’s-nest. He shook his head in disbelief. The lad would cling to the mast for the next hour ‘til his knees stopped rattling. “We’ll round up more men closer to Port de Paix.”
“If we make it that far,” Hornbach ran a finger under his nose.
“We’ll make it. Keep our eyes open, heads down, and…” Ric’s attention diverted to the arrival on deck of a beautiful, dark-haired woman wearing his shirt. “…our wits about us, we’ll make it.” Try as he might to ignore the gentle sway of her hips, or the way the breeze lifted the curls away from her face, he followed Jocelyn’s every step across the deck and into the galley.
Ric cleared his throat and continued. “We’ll do our jobs, stay our course, and protect her at all cost.” Was he still talking about the Scarlet Night?
* * * *
“Look at him all puffed up and full of himself.” Jocelyn dropped a bit of fruit into Leviticus’s crate.
“Watch your fingers, he bites,” warned Tupper.
No sooner had she said it, the bird ruffled its feathers, squawked, and snipped at her. “Of all the ungrateful…” Jocelyn jerked her hand away.
Tupper reached in and stroked the back of her finger down the bird’s breastbone. “He doesn’t know it was you scooped him off the deck. You’re still a stranger.”
“He’s not biting you.” Jocelyn watched in amazement. The bird settled his feathers and made a small rattle sound.
“Knows my face. Crows are smart and loyal like a hound. He’ll get used to you.”
Jocelyn stepped back and let Tupper feed the bird. “You have magic where all manner of men are concerned it seems.” The words came out clipped and sharp.
Tupper brushed off her hands and frowned. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing. It means nothing.” Jocelyn pushed the hair away from her face. “I’m sorry, pay no attention to my ugly mood. I didn’t sleep well. I’m not myself.”
Tupper nodded and pulled a bottle out of a cupboard. She pulled the cork with a pop and splashed a measure into her glass. “A cot is no feathered mattress. You’ll grow used to it.”
Brandy. She was close enough to smell its strong aroma. Jocelyn recognized it from the warmth of Ric’s breath last night. “It wasn’t the cot. I’m used to a hard bed.”
“Worried about reaching your father?” Tupper perched on the corner of her desk.
“Oui…No…” Jocelyn planted her hands on her hips and sighed. “It’s difficult to explain.”
Tupper leaned forward and braced her elbows on her knees. “Try.”
Jocelyn hesitated for a moment before continuing, “Last night, I met Ric--”
“Oh, say no more.” Tupper straightened and held up her hands in surrender. “I figured it was just a matter of time. Did he try something? Kiss you?”
“No.” The word left Jocelyn’s mouth with an indignant rush.
Tupper jerked back. “Then what’s the problem?”
Jocelyn wished she’d never started this conversation. It was foolish, but she couldn’t help but feel slighted. “He didn’t try to kiss me.”
“Wait.” Tupper cocked her head as if she hadn’t heard her correctly. “You wanted him to kiss you?”
“Oui.” She crossed her arms and curled her shoulders. She hated sounding like a petulant child who’d been denied dessert. “I can’t seem to think about anything else. It’s maddening.” She chewed at her lip. “I don’t know about these things. Maybe he favors someone else? Maybe he doesn’t even favor women?”
Tupper choked on a laugh. “Not favor women? No…that is definitely not the problem.”
“Then I don’t understand. I’ve given him more than one opportunity. Been a hairsbreadth away several times.” Her fingertips brushed her lips. “If he’d tilt his head and move a scant inch…”
“This is rich.” Tupper smirked and took a swallow of her brandy.
“Ric?”
“No, rich, funny, laughable,” Tupper clarified. “Ric Robbins needs no lessons in how to kiss.”
“So he’s not shy?”
Tupper snorted before pressing her lips together. “No, he is far from shy.”
“Then it is me.” Jocelyn tossed a resigned hand into the air. “It is obvious he is not interested. He finds me repulsive.”
Tupper stood and patted Jocelyn’s shoulder before helping herself to more brandy. “I think you may have this completely arse-backward.”
“I am still not understanding. What do you mean?”
“Oh, honey, he’s interested.” Tupper spoke into her glass before winking at her.
Chapter 13
Interested, her left foot! Jocelyn didn’t care how much Tupper insisted, if Ric Robbins was interested in her, he sure had an odd way of showing it. Days had passed, and she could barely get more than a few words out of him. Let alone find any time to be alone.
Hours stretched into days. They were never out of sight of land now. Ric kept the Scarlet Night tight to shore. He believed they’d run into less trouble there. The crew, what few there were, worked from sun up to sunset, trying to do the work of a half dozen each. Jocelyn kept offering to help, but more often than not, she was only in their way. If she didn’t have Tupper to talk to and MacTavish teaching her how to tie knots, she’d have surely gone mad.
She’d also learned a few simple hand gestures or signs to communicate with the boy, Bump. Putting her fingertips to her chin and moving her hand forward toward him, said “Thank you.” Using the same fingertip maneuver and dropping her hand, palm up, into her other hand was “Good.” She was still learning how to sign the words, morning, day, and night.
Tupper had begun to leave her quarters for meals, and to give a helping hand with some of the daily chores aboard, but grief would wash over her at times in unpredictable towering waves. Her only relief seemed to be found at the bottom of a glass.
Yesterday had been one of those waves. Ric gathered the crew for a small ceremony to honor those lost during the earthquake and tidal wave that decimated Port Royal.
The sails were lowered making the Scarlet Night seem to stand still upon the water. Flags flew at half-staff. All stood respectfully at the ship’s rail.
Ric led them in prayer. “For as much as it hast pleased Almighty God of this great mercy to take unto himself the souls of our brothers here departed, we therefore by marking this spot, commit their memory, if not their bodies, to the deep until that day when the sea shall give up her dead.”
MacTavish, White, and Summer had fired off three of the cannons, and Ric read a list of thirty-two names before dropping a black flag ti
ed to a large square of the Scarlet’s red sailcloth into the sea. The fabric lay atop the water becoming dark as blood before slowly sinking beneath the surface.
No one spoke. All you could hear was the gentle lap of the water against the ship’s hull and the low creak of the rigging as if the ship, too, cried for her loss.
Tupper’s door stayed locked that night.
Jocelyn found Ric standing in the bow long after the others had gone to bed. A round lemon moon spilled a path across the water.
She approached him on silent feet. “Beautiful night. The sea is so calm.”
Ric’s face told her she’d surprised him. After a quick glance, he focused his gaze back out to sea. “You should be asleep. It is almost eight bells.”
“Eight, four, halves. I fear I’ll never get used to your bells. We had bells, too, at the abbey, but they called us to prayer three times a day…the Angelus. After so many years, now I hear a bell peal, and I feel the sudden need to kneel.” She was babbling. “It was a lovely ceremony you gave today. Very respectful.”
Ric pulled a deep breath into his lungs. “It is the duty of the captain.”
“I remember only bits from my mother’s funeral. I was barely four. It rained, poured. The mud seeped into my shoes and stained my stockings. I’m not sure whom it was stood by my side, but she held my hand so tightly it hurt my fingers. Father wasn’t there, and the smell of the lilies cloyed in my throat. Two days later, I arrived at Saint-Genevieve.”
Ric turned to look at her. “You’ve been there all this time?”
“Oui. I received an education most men would wish for, languages, arts, music. I was allowed to see father four times a year, but he always seemed to be a world away when it came time for him to come. I would receive his letter days later apologizing, explaining the importance of his position, how I should be proud to have a father fighting for our country. Other times the days would pass one after the other. I lived a…quiet life.” It was her turn to watch the shimmer on the water.
“Quiet?”
Jocelyn smoothed a hand over the polished rail. “Barren. Colorless.” She peeked a quick glance in Ric’s direction. He watched her. In the dim light she couldn’t read his face. She continued, wanting to explain. “Once a year, the Sisters would take us to the beautiful cathedral of Sainte Chapelle. The first time I stepped inside, I wept. The stained glass windows held every color God had ever created. For hours I would sit and wrap myself in the splendor of it all, then we would go back to our stone walls and brown garments.” She plucked at her skirt. Holding up a hand, she turned to face him. “I sound ungrateful. I’m not. It was a privileged life. It simply lacked certain very important things.”
“Like color,” he offered.
“And love. Simple touch. Warmth. Passion. Without such things, a person comes to crave them like a drowning man craves air.”
Ric turned back to the sea. “You’re to be married soon. Perhaps you will find those things then.”
“And if I don’t?” she whispered.
“You will.”
She hated the final decisiveness of his words. “What if I don’t want to wait?” Her voice sounded small. Considering the boldness of her words, you’d have thought she screamed them.
Ric’s head snapped to look back at her. “What are you asking?”
Jocelyn was never more grateful for the dark. Her cheeks flared with the heat of embarrassment. What was she asking? For him to love her? Hold her? Teach her what it felt like to be kissed? She’d let her mouth run away with her heart. Idiot.
She turned away from the rail and waved a hand as if to brush away her words. “I don’t know. Pay no attention. I was talking to the moon.”
* * * *
“The moon?” Ric paced the deck for an hour after Jocelyn disappeared into the night. One minute she was talking about mud-stained stockings and the next she was talking about love and passion and…and what?
He’d tried to keep his distance from her, but every time he turned around, there she was carrying ale to a thirsty man, laughing with MacTavish, walking with Tupper, or looking lovelier than she had a right to.
She refused to wear a hat. The sun kissed pink of her cheeks and shoulders turned golden. Shimmering strands wove through her hair. She fairly glowed.
Night before last, he’d been working in the galley, going over the charts, handling the business of the ship’s log when she came in to refill a mug of rum.
“Thought you’d learned your lesson about rum.”
Jocelyn turned and smiled. His world lightened. “I didn’t see you there.” She raised the mug. “This isn’t for me. It’s payment for MacTavish.”
“He has you fetching for him, does he?” The big oaf of a Scotsman had accused him of jealousy. Ric couldn’t deny the slight greening of his eyes now. Not when it came to her.
“It’s part of our agreement.” She brought Ric a short mug as well, taking a sip for herself before setting it down before him.
“What agreement have you made?”
Jocelyn pulled out two lengths of rope from a small pouch tied about her waist. “He’s teaching me knots.”
Ric laughed. “And why would you be needing knots?”
She toyed with the ends of the thin rope. “You said I knew nothing about life aboard a ship such as this. I decided to learn.” A prideful grin curved her lips. “MacTavish says I’m a natural born seaman.”
Amused, Ric leaned back in his chair. “MacTavish just wants someone to bring him his rum.”
Her jaw dropped. “Not true.” She sat next to him and tapped the arm of his chair. “Put your arm here, I’ll show you.”
Ric leaned forward again and returned to his writing. “Do you think I’m daft enough to let you tie me to a chair?”
“What are you afraid I’ll do? Draw pictures and scribble in the ship’s log?”
Ric set aside his quill. He’d humor her. He pushed up the wide sleeve of his shirt and laid his arm along the curved arm of the chair. “What have you learned?”
“Well every good seaman knows how to tie a bowline knot. I even know the double bowline.” She wore an impish grin and tapped her chin with a small loop of rope. “But, I think I need a buntline hitch in this instance.”
He couldn’t help but smile. “Aye, sounds right.”
“So, let me think…” She traced her fingers down his arm and held his wrist as she looped the rope around the arm of the chair. “Around the tree…”
Jocelyn caught her bottom lip between her teeth and dipped her head as she concentrated. Ric had to close his eyes against the attack to his senses. He fought the rush of heat that flooded his limbs. He’d done his best to stay far enough away from her to keep himself from taking her in his arms again, and here she was practically in his lap. He tightened his grip on the chair.
“You’re not watching,” she scolded.
Ric’s eyes snapped open to find her staring at him. He could see the deep brown that rimmed the lighter iris of her eyes. The tips of her hair brushed his thigh. From this angle he could follow the shadowy path of her cleavage past the line where her tanned skin stopped giving way to the pearl white tops of her breasts.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, surprised he could form the simple word.
Jocelyn went back to her task. He watched. Deft fingers looped and tied. Her chest rose and fell in a gentle cadence. Ric found himself matching each breath with his own.
“There.” She pulled the rope snug. “A perfect buntline hitch.” Jocelyn captured his other hand. “I’ve learned the round turn and two half hitches as well,” she announced with pride. “I’m still practicing the last part,” she paused as if trying to remember. Her face brightened. “…whipping the end to the main.”
“Very good.” Sweat crept down his temple. He’d never been so happy to have his hands tied. Kept him from grabbing her, pulling her closer, setting her in his lap.
She turned then as if
reading his thoughts. “Still watching?”
“Aye.” His voice broke the word in two. The pressure building in his britches caused a low moan in his throat.
Her eyes widened. “Is it too tight?”
Dear God, yes. Ric shook his head, “No…”
She went back to work. “I can’t believe you’re letting me do this.”
Lurid images floated through his brain. He’d never imagined the idea of being her captive would arouse him this much. Giving her complete control. Wanting, needing, to take her in his arms and not being allowed to only added to his frustrations. He tugged against the restraint holding his right arm as the ache in his crotch made him squirm.
“It’s lucky I have no evil plan for you, no?” Jocelyn laid a hand on his shoulder and sat back. “For I have now tied you to the dock.” She took another sip of his drink. “And I’ve stolen your rum.” She wiped a stray drop from her lip. “I may be a pirate yet.”
Ric’s left hand tangled into her hair, pulling her to him as the rope fell to the floor. Her gasp giving him the perfect opportunity to ravage her sweet mouth before sanity reigned and he pulled away. “You’re no pirate. You’ve lost your ship,” he panted.
Without looking, she reached over and tugged the tail of the rope still holding his right hand, tightening it. She searched his eyes. Her chest rising and falling with each heated breath. Lowering her gaze to his mouth, she tipped her head before moving her lips to his.
“But I still have you.”
Chapter 14
Jocelyn relived the kiss. Savored each second. Every detail. The smoothness of his lips in contrast to the rough scratch of his jaw. She could still feel him. The moist heat of his mouth. She could still taste him.
Her heart had been hammering so loud, she was sure he’d hear. Had she still been breathing? When he’d swept his tongue between her teeth to tease hers, all thoughts of hearts and breaths dissolved. All she could think about was how one kiss could hold such power, and render her helpless.
She mirrored each movement of his mouth. Learning. Following his lead. Waves of desire making her bolder than she ever dreamed possible.
