by Hatch, Donna
She sat with all the dignity and grace of a lady in a drawing room, despite her loose hair blowing in the wind. He dragged his attention back to his task.
Aloft, while tying a knot, the air changed. From his perch high in the rigging, he peered into the horizon.
As he opened his mouth to sound the alarm, the lookout called, “Storm abrewing!”
All hands sprang into motion. Though a disreputable lot, they were undoubtedly proficient sailors. Jared clambered down and called for his glass. After he reassured himself that the Venture had seen the storm and had begun preparations, he turned back to lend aid. Amidst the activity, he found Elise deep in an earnest discussion with O’Brian who motioned below deck, no doubt pleading with her to go below.
She met Jared’s gaze with wide, frightened eyes.
He strode to her. “Go to my cabin. It will be all right. We’ll weather the storm, and with any luck be in port much sooner. Go on.”
“Then, you don’t think it’s a bad one?”
“Fear not; I’ll get us safely through it. I’ve faced plenty of storms.” He flashed a grin. “You don’t think the notorious Black Jack could be bested by a bit of wind, do you?”
She frowned, but appeared reassured.
Black clouds boiled, darkening the heavens, dimming the sunlight. Within moments, the wind whipped up. Jared looked back toward Elise. O’Brian towered over her, his hand under her elbow to steady her as she tottered on the pitching deck toward his cabin.
Praying he’d get Elise and his crew safely through, Jared turned back to face the storm.
CHAPTER 20
Elise awoke to the soft grind of a door opening. Pale, early morning sunlight filtered through the windows, illuminating Jared’s haggard face. They’d battled the storm half the day and all night, and his exhaustion showed. He offered a tired smile as he closed the door to the cabin and began peeling off his dripping clothes. Each layer he removed showed more of his perfectly sculpted body. His clothing landed with a wet plop on the floor.
Elise’s face burned and she turned her head, wishing she could turn off her imagination as he continued undressing.
“The storm is over, I see,” she said, stating the obvious.
“We’re through.” Weariness dulled his voice.
Hinges to his sea chest creaked and cloth rustled. Moments later, he padded quietly to the bed. Elise glanced back, almost afraid at what she’d see. His half-open eyes and drawn face revealed his fatigue. Wearing only breeches, he staggered forward and fell face-first onto the bed beside her. At least he hadn’t come to bed naked as she’d feared. Or had that been her hope?
The mattress sank under the weight of his body and Elise stiffened to keep herself from rolling into him. His eyes closed before his head found the pillow. Seconds later, his deep breathing filled the cabin.
Elise turned on her side and studied him. His tousled wet hair clung in dark waves to his face and neck. Seawater droplets seeped out of the ends of his hair and ran down his sculpted back, so hard and muscular even at rest. The raw masculinity of this man touched her on an elemental level.
He looked much as he had the day she’d first seen him. Only today, a new beard shadowed his face, making him look raw, savage, and so very male. She wanted to reach out and touch him, soothe him as she had when she’d freed him from the noose. But at the moment, he only needed rest, not whatever comfort she might provide. She touched his hand. It was cold.
Moving quietly so as not to disturb him, she pulled a blanket over him and lay close enough to warm him with her body heat. A small place deep inside questioned why she bothered.
His breathing never broke rhythm. Her own trepidations quieted and his warmth lulled her. She slept.
Elise woke to sunlight streaming in the windows. She lay curled up against Jared. Jared. It could be his real name, as he’d said. Or another in a very long list of lies he’d told. Even so, she had no idea how else to think of him. Black Jack, an admitted alias, probably had little to do with his real name. ‘Captain’ seemed too impersonal after all they’d been through together. He would always be Jared to her.
She admired his face, the curve of his brow, the feathered lashes, the shape of his mouth, the patrician features. How easily she’d believed him to be nobility. Perhaps he had some noble blood in his veins. Not that it mattered. His large, calloused hands, so strong, so gentle, lay limp and open. Her gaze followed his neck down to the ruthlessly honed muscles of his shoulders, back and arms.
She wondered if the real Jared Amesbury had been so handsome. Or if the real Jared Amesbury lay next to her. He’d seemed earnest when he’d told her he truly was Jared sailing under an alias to protect his family.
Perhaps it was true.
She stilled, her mind working carefully. He had come to her grieving for his father. Two days later, she’d read in the paper that the Fifth Earl of Tarrington had died in his seaside home after a long sojourn in Bath. Then Jared had disappeared for over a week, the same time the funeral took place. All part of the act? Or the truth?
She let out her breath in a huff. Whether or not his name was Jared Amesbury, born the son of an earl, mattered not. He was a pirate. The facts were indisputable. And he’d admitted it.
Elise climbed to her feet. His trunk lay open, its lid resting against the wall. Inside, she found a clean shirt and donned it over her own very rumpled gown. It hung down to her knees and she had to roll up the sleeves several times to uncover her hands. His wool coat lay on the floor in a wet heap, tangled with the shirt and breeches he’d worn fighting the storm. She scooped them up and went out. The deck was deserted. No one even stood at the helm.
She draped his wet clothes over a barrel in the sun and went into the galley to find something to eat. Tiptoeing, so as not to disturb the cook who slumbered in his hammock, she raided a half-empty barrel of apples in one corner, and broke off a hunk of bread. After making herself comfortable at the prow of the ship, she ate in the sunlight with the breeze in her face.
In the distance, the waterspout of a whale blew white foam into the air. The sheer stillness whispered peace into her heart. The allure and the splendor of the sea, both its danger and beauty left her in awe. Here she was truly free from the stifling strictures of society. This must be why Jared loved the sea.
How she wished she could share this with Colin, minus Leandro and battles and danger, of course. With such a fascination with pirates and everything about sailing, Colin’s eyes would shine in wonder. She pictured him scampering about the deck and asking questions of everyone.
Perhaps when she arrived home, they could take a ship to Ireland or France, and give him something to feed his adventurous soul. After all, she’d dreamed of travel as a child, something she and her father had planned to do when the war ended. Colin harbored the same dreams. Soon, she would indulge them. Perhaps Jared would accompany them. She sighed at the wistful hope.
Then she wondered how Colin fared and if he were well.
Of course he was well. His nurse loved him like her own son. In fact, he had the fierce protectiveness and devotion of the entire household. They would care for him until her return.
“Bon jour, Mrs. Berkley.”
She smiled up at the first mate. “I was beginning to think you’d all jumped ship, Monsieur Dubois.”
The Frenchman grinned. “We sleep late after fighting the storm so long. And we got separated from the Venture, so we put down anchor to wait for her to find us. If not, we’ll turn back for her and send up signals.”
She raised her brow. “Loyalty among pirates? I assumed it was every man for himself.”
Dubois squinted up at the sunlight, his weathered face puckering. “The captain has his own set of ethics. We are a sort of brotherhood. We never leave ours behind.” He gazed out over the horizon. “In Havana, Anakoni and I were captured and stood trial. Long story. But the captain led a raid to free us before we were hanged.”
Elise could easily imagine Jared brand
ishing his sword and rushing recklessly into a fight. “I see. So murder and plunder are acceptable, but abandoning shipmates is not?”
“You don’t know our good captain well, do you?”
Bleakly, she shook her head. “I don’t know him at all. He’s not the man I thought.”
He watched her. “You think because he’s a pirate, he has no heart. No conscience. You’re wrong. He has no thirst for blood. He’s determined, smart, resourceful. He always gets what he seeks, and he gets it in the most efficient possible way.”
“Regardless of whom he hurts.”
Dubois studied her for so long that she grew uncomfortable. “Do you know anyone who never hurts someone? Rich landowners living in wealth to rival your king while his tenants live in poverty? Factory owners who care nothing for the women and children who work long hours and die caught in their machines? Is what we do even as bad?” His faintly French accent lilted his words.
“But you kill,” she protested.
“Oui, sometimes, but most surrender without a fight the moment they see our captain’s flag. When they heave to and let us board, we only take cargo and supplies, not hurt the crew.”
“And if they resist?”
“We cripple the ship, make much smoke, board during the confusion. Once we are aboard, their captain usually surrenders.”
“But all those stories about Black Jack torturing those who resist him…”
Dubois chuckled. “Aye, good stories, non? They aid in the deception. Captains surrender without a fight if they think resistance is both useless and will guarantee a painful death. No fighting means no one gets hurt on either ship.”
She blinked. “Then the stories aren’t true?”
He sobered as he realized she was in earnest. “I’ve known Jack since before he took command of the Mistress. Been at his side at every battle. Never saw him torture anyone. We spread those stories ourselves when in port.” He grinned. “His brother told the best stories.”
She digested his words. All those tales were fictional. Mere stories so lives would be spared. She looked out over the water. Jared hadn’t tortured anyone. He hadn’t killed them slowly and painfully to make an example of them. He’d only created those tales to prevent bloodshed.
She should have known.
“But you steal. It’s wrong.” When he appeared unmoved, she tried a different argument. “Don’t you worry that you’ll hang?”
“Death is inevitable. For a sailor, it comes quickly. We face storms, uncharted shoals, and sandbars, and disease such as scurvy, dysentery, and smallpox.” He shrugged. “Hanging is a small threat.”
“If life as a sailor is so bad, then why do you do it?”
“It’s all we know. Some of us are craftsmen; carpenters and such, but most served in the navy or on a privateer during the war. Wages were low, the officers had absolute rule and many were cruel. Living conditions were very bad. Sometimes we went months before we found fresh water. Often food ran out or spoiled. We were kept prisoner on board while at port. But never for the officers, oh, no, they never suffered.”
He toyed with the hem of his coat. “But on a pirate ship, we are all equal. We sign articles of agreement which promise equal share of the plunder. Now we never go hungry or lack for water because we take provisions from ships we board, or we head for land. The captain is no better than anyone else aboard. We have wealth. There is no cruel punishment on the whim of an officer. The only time we obey the captain without question is during battle. Otherwise, we all decide what we do.”
“I had no idea.”
“Our captain’s one of the few men aboard who can navigate, work a quadrant, and read charts. He can steer a steady course. He knows where the best shipping routes are, understands trade winds and currents. He’s aggressive, but not reckless. Never risks men unnecessarily. We follow him because we choose to. It’s why we elected him captain.”
Elise blinked. “You elected him captain?”
“Oui. It is a democratic system.”
Perhaps she’d had too much sun, but she actually understood his reasoning. She knew the war had left many military and navy men unemployed. If the picture Dubois painted of life aboard a civilized ship had really been so bad, she understood the lure of a ship offering equal say and equal division.
Elise idly watched sailors who appeared and saw to their duties.
Dubois gestured to a young, fit man wearing a knotted scarf around his head to protect it from the sun. He stood several inches shorter than the others but had a broader chest and shoulders. “Dawson, there, was an indentured servant before he joined us. This is freedom for him. We rescued him from a ship we plundered.” Dubois gestured to another. “Now Anakoni, he is quartermaster. He divides up plunder. He keeps everyone honest. He can read and do figuring faster than anyone I ever saw.”
Elise recognized his name from the conversation she’d overheard in Port Johns. Anakoni had rich brown skin and untamed black hair. The quartermaster looked like a boy not even old enough to shave, perhaps the same age as O’Brian.
Dubois indicated an enormous man with shining, black skin. “The gunner makes sure we have all the weapons we need and that they stay in working condition. He ensures there’s enough gunpowder and cannon balls. He also commands the gun crews during battle.”
“Everyone looks so young.”
“Aye. Most are in their teens or twenties. A sailor’s life is too grueling for many. I’m the oldest aboard.”
“You don’t look much over thirty.”
“Only just.” Something caught his eye, and he inclined his head in a brief bow. “Excuse me, madame, but I have duties as well.” He joined the surprisingly well-ordered ship’s operations.
She tried to stay out of everyone’s way, amazed they were so industrious. She’d imagined pirates an indolent lot. According to the stories, many pirates had been captured or killed because they’d been too drunk to fight. Whenever she pictured pirate ships, she’d envisioned floating dens of sin and debauchery. But no other women were on board. She saw no signs of gambling or riotous living. These men were hard-working sailors first and thieves second.
At noon, she ate a cold luncheon in the galley, chatting with the cook who’d lost both an eye and a leg. Disease had pocked and scarred his face, but he spoke to her with courtesy she did not expect to find from such a frightening-looking man. After she finished, she went back up on deck.
O’Brian made a seat for her near the prow of the ship and brought her a coat. “It’s a fine wind. Don’t want you to get chilled.”
She smiled up at him. “You’re very kind.”
Blushing, he stammered, “A pleasure, ma’am.”
“How old are you?”
“I’m about sixteen or seventeen, ma’am.”
“Don’t you know?”
He looked away. “I come from murky origins, if you get my meanin’.”
Sympathy crept over her. “No matter. You are a fine young man and I’m grateful to you. I see why the captain thinks highly of you.”
He blinked and a slow look of joy overcame his features. He squared his shoulders and actually puffed out his chest.
“I’m glad you’re seeing to her comforts, O’Brian. I knew I could depend upon you.”
Elise inwardly groaned at the way her heart fluttered at the sound of Jared’s voice. Wearing his smug, lazy smile, he lounged with his arms folded, one shoulder resting against the nearest mast. His shirt whipped around him in the wind and his skin- tight breeches hugged his long, muscular legs.
O’Brian murmured something about seeing to his duties and beat a hasty retreat.
Jared prowled closer, with a very predatory glint in his eye. How could a barefoot man appear so dangerous? He stopped an arm’s length away and smiled down at her as if she were the most beautiful woman alive. She couldn’t help but return the smile.
“You were gone when I awoke. I missed you.” He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. His thum
b traced a line down her cheek; tender, intimate, possessive, invoking eddies of pleasure.
As she looked up at him looming over her, feeling safe rather than threatened, she realized she still loved this man. Desperately, completely. He made her feel cherished. Protected. Desirable. Loved.
She loved him.
She loved him despite the shadows of his profession. He would stand between her and all danger. She would do the same for him. Loving him did not catch her in a trap. It freed her.
Tears tickled her eyes and she looked away lest he see her sudden emotion. Other women prided themselves on crying at will to appear poetic, or romantic, or to coerce others into bending to their whim. Elise prided herself on her decorum. Yet Jared turned her into a weeping ninny.
Absently watching a crewman mop the planks of the deck, she said, “You certainly keep your ship clean, Captain.”
He grinned. “You expected a slovenly bunch, no doubt. To be honest, we don’t swab the deck to keep it clean; we do it to keep it wet.”
“Why?”
“Dry wood shrinks. Shrunken wood makes big cracks. I swim well, but not enough to get me all the way to land. Do you?”
“I don’t swim at all.”
“You don’t know what you’re missing. I spent a great deal of my youth in the lake.” He held out a hand. “I need to go to my cabin for a moment. Would you care to get out of the sun?”
She took his hand. “I would.” His fingers curled over hers in a surprisingly intimate touch.
Inside the captain’s quarters, while Jared spread out a map and weighted the edges while he studied it, Elise perused his library. She took up a book and settled down to read, but found it more interesting to watch Jared. The men came freely in and out as if they had as much a right to the cabin as he. They spoke with him regarding the ship, asking his opinion, informing him of matters. They never asked his permission, but sought his approval, nonetheless. The crew might see themselves as equals on the ship, but they deferred to his judgment.
