What a Pirate Desires

by Michelle Beattie

  She turned back to Joe and Copper, who was clearly following a path only he seemed to know. Soon the mass of leaves and branches cleared and Sam stepped onto a wide blanket of green moss complete with a small pond that reflected the shapes and color of the shrubbery that surrounded it. Without the cover of the forest canopy, the sun once again burned its way to the ground and slapped those beneath it with a fiery palm. Sam squinted as its brilliance bounced off the green water and cut a path straight for her eyes. She turned her head, and for the first time saw the little gathering of men huddled near the edge of the trees. One was lying down, cussing as the other three fussed with long scraps of ragged cotton.

  Luke stepped to her side, his left hand wrapped around her forearm.

  “The one on his back is Dervish,” he whispered.

  He needn’t have said it; she recognized his voice from that dreadful night, the night he’d robbed her of her very soul. The only difference was that there was no triumph bubbling through his words. Pain trembled on each word he spoke. It gave Sam a sick sense of justice. The mighty Dervish had fallen on hard times.

  And this time it would be he who lost everything. The triumph would finally be hers.

  “Captain,” Copper said, walking to his leader, “Sam’s Steele’s come to see you.”

  Though Luke’s hand tightened around Sam’s arm, she stepped forward, determined to get to Dervish whether she had to drag Luke along or not. He understood and let go. Joe scowled, but stopped mid-stride when she shook her head at him.

  “Copper, you idiot! You were to stay on the beach. Now get back to bloody work!” Dervish yelled.

  From between the shoulders of the three pirates crowded around their captain, Sam saw them pulling on long strips of cloth, wrapping it around something. From what she could see between their moving bodies, it was what remained of Dervish’s leg. As they drew another length taut, Dervish jerked on the sand, swearing words more colorful than the parrots he scared from their roosts. Sam flinched.

  “They have our ship surrounded sir, I had no ch—”

  “I made him bring us,” Sam said, surprised that the nervousness eating its way through her belly wasn’t apparent in her voice.

  For a moment silence reigned and everything stilled. Dervish’s breath sounded like a rusty saw trying to cut through steel.

  “I’m not fit for romancin’ at the moment, wench. Why don’t ye come back later? An hour should do it.”

  “You vile—”

  “She’s armed,” Copper warned. “They all are.”

  “Dammit, man, what’s in your head, sawdust?” Dervish struggled to sit up and spewed more ripe words as the effort increased his pain. “What wench dares challenge me?” he growled. “Well, get out of my bloody way so I can see her!”

  Three men stepped back, allowing Sam a clear view of her quarry.

  Her first thought was that the man didn’t match the voice. She’d imagined someone tall and commanding, and though he was sitting on the ground, she could tell he wasn’t any taller than Luke. His face was gaunt and had an unhealthy yellowish tinge to it, reminding Sam of overripe bananas. Sweat beaded his forehead and upper lip. He was thin. Frail. Shoulders that should have been broad and strong were hunched and bony.

  He’d removed his shirt, displaying a chest the same jaundiced color and the pronounced protrusion of his ribs. Black hair was stuck to his head in oily, matted sections. Time had robbed him of several teeth. Dirty, long fingernails extended from skeletal hands.

  Legs thin as bamboo shoots stretched out before him. One ended just below the knee, the stub of which was wrapped with yellowed cloth that was now mostly red. The crimson stain spread as she watched. Just then a breeze coasted over the palm trees and skimmed Dervish. When it hit Samantha, it was rank with the smell of rotting flesh. Samantha’s stomach heaved. She curled her toes until the feeling passed.

  Dervish took the time to look her over. It was a quick exploration that mostly touched on her breasts and just below her belly. Shrugging, he turned to Luke.

  “Luke Bradley. Back for revenge, are ya? I wondered how long it was going to be before ye’d be fool enough to try it.”

  Luke smiled. “Wrong again, mate.”

  It confounded Sam that Luke could come face to face with the man who had ripped his eye out and still be able to exchange pleasantries. What was the matter with him?

  “Luke was paid to help find you,” Sam said.

  Dervish didn’t bother shifting his gaze her way.

  “Luke, Luke.” He clicked his tongue. “Ye’ve resorted to taking orders from wenches?”

  His men chuckled, Luke simply shrugged. Dervish turned his attention to Joe.

  “Steele, is it?”

  “Aye,” Joe answered.

  “Well,” Dervish asked, spreading his arms wide, “What do ye want?”

  Joe looked to Sam, then back to the pirate. “Ye killed the lass’s family.”

  Dervish arched his brows then threw back his head and laughed. “Ye came huntin’ fer me because of a wench?” He shook his head. “I should shoot ye just for that.”

  “Ye hurt her,” Joe said, taking a step closer to Dervish.

  Sam grabbed his arm with one hand and gripped her weapon more firmly with the other. She reminded herself to stay calm, that Dervish would pay. First, however, she had things to say to the man.

  She raised her pistol and shot over Dervish’s shoulder. A warning only, but a message she hoped he understood. It was her he needed to pay attention to, not Luke or Joe. The crack of the pistol tore through the foliage. Slowly, unlike his men, who’d dropped to the ground at the shot, Dervish brought his lifeless eyes to hers.

  “Listen, you loathsome coward, I’m the one who wants to see your miserable life over.” This time there was no masking the emotion in her voice.

  He sneered at her as though she was little more than a worrisome rat on his ship. “Get out of here. Now.”

  “You’re not in charge, Dervish, and I don’t do anyone’s bidding.”

  “She’s right, man, trust me,” Luke muttered.

  Dervish looked her over more thoroughly this time. When his head came up, he had a lecherous expression on his face.

  “You’re here to kill me? Is that it?”

  The clash of wills resounded in Sam’s ears. Her throat was dry. The heat pummeled her back, and yet she shivered.

  “You killed my parents, my sister, and our crew. You destroyed our ship. Then you turned your back and walked away. How can you be so cold?”

  All this time she’d thought the question she wanted answered most was why he’d done it. She realized as she spoke that it wasn’t. They looted and killed for profit, she knew that. What she couldn’t understand was how the screams of those he’d attacked didn’t haunt him. Wasn’t there even a slight part of him that regretted it afterward?

  “Tell me,” he said as he settled himself back on his elbows. “Did I have the pleasure of your precious mother and sister before I shot them? I did shoot them, did I not?” He scratched his head and laughed. “Damn, I can’t remember for certain. There have been so many.”

  Joe sputtered. At her side, Luke inhaled sharply, and she felt his hand on her shoulder as she aimed the other weapon she’d brought at Dervish’s chest. She couldn’t say his heart because she now knew for absolute certain he didn’t own one.

  “You murdering son of a bitch!” she growled.

  The grin never left his face, though his eyes seemed more wary. His three men, as cowardly as their commander, stepped back, leaving him a clear target.

  “Today you lose,” she warned.

  Dervish rolled his eyes. “Well, then, get on with it.”

  He didn’t think she’d do it. Damn the man and his arrogance! She drew back the hammer. From her right, she felt Luke’s stare. He squeezed her shoulder.

  “Be sure, luv,” he whispered.

  But she was. She wanted Dervish to feel the pain her family had felt. To suffer. Per
haps the chest was being too kind. She wanted to kill him, but she also wanted him to suffer. Maybe the knee would be better. He’d be in pain then, the way she had been for the last five years. She looked down the barrel, taking aim at his knee.

  Then she noticed the pistol was shaking in her hand. She spread her legs, planting herself more surely. She even brought her other hand up to secure the weapon. Nothing worked. The trembling increased. What was wrong with her? Tears began to well in her eyes and she sniffed loudly.

  Dervish laughed out loud, taunting her further. His men followed suit, even going so far as to sit down, clearly thinking she posed no real threat.

  She turned to Luke. In his eye she saw herself reflected, saw everything she’d been through for the last five years, and everything she was sorry for. So many things she regretted, so much shame she carried on her shoulders.

  “It won’t bring them back,” Luke said softly.

  No, it wouldn’t. It would only give her one more thing to hate about herself. With a wailing sound very similar to that of a wild animal caught in a trap, Sam lowered her weapon and turned away.

  A resounding pistol shot screamed in her ears, stopping her dead in her tracks.

  Fifteen

  Sam’s eyes pressed closed and she waited for the explosion of pain, the blast of the shot ripping into her back. But nothing happened. Her cheeks were wet and warm from her tears and her nose was running, but she hadn’t been shot.

  With that realization came a sob of relief. She had done awful things, but she had a chance to set things right, to start again. Her shaking hand wiped away her tears. She breathed deeply, never so appreciative, as she was then, to be able to fill her lungs.

  Willy ran into the clearing. Vines were twisted around his ankles. His cheeks were white, his hair held leaves and twigs. He must have thought she’d been shot and had come running. But she hadn’t been.

  Dear Lord! She spun around, the breath caught in her throat. Luke stood with legs braced one behind the other, his right arm extended straight ahead of him. A pistol—a recently fired pistol, judging by the smoke curling from the barrel—was in his hand.

  Dervish’s men slammed their mouths shut and scrambled to their feet. Dervish lay dead, a gaping hole in his chest and unseeing eyes fixed on the cloudless sky.

  As she stared at the lifeless body, wondering what it all meant, a part of her registered the sound of men yelling and crashing through the underbrush. A flock of birds screeched their way skyward, and the rustling of their wings snapped Sam back to reality.

  She spun to Luke. He’d lowered his weapon, but his stance hadn’t relaxed. His muscles were tight; he was ready for anything. Dervish’s men, however, weren’t in any hurry to avenge their leader. They made no move toward Luke or Sam. Luke gave them a warning glare, then moved toward Sam.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  “You killed him,” Sam accused.

  “I know,” Luke acknowledged. “You can thank me later.”

  “Thank you?” Sam sputtered, rage finally clawing its way through the shock. “This was my decision to make, mine! How dare you!” She balled her hands into fists and came at Luke with all the fury of a hurricane. “He murdered my family. This was my revenge, and I chose not to take it. What did you do? Did you decide that since I couldn’t, you might as well? Well, damn you, Luke Bradley, damn you!”

  “Lass,” Joe said, coming to her side.

  “You stay out of this!” she screamed, then refocused on Luke, who said nothing. His eye was dark and troubled, his jaw set. She reached for the pistol he’d used and flung it among the trees. The mossy ground absorbed the sound.

  “Years I waited for this. I did things I’m ashamed of and I’ll have to live with for the rest of my life. But you were right, dammit. Killing him wouldn’t have brought my family back, it would only have given me more reason to hate myself.” She drew in a breath, aware that the men from the beach had plowed through the vegetation and circled them, though they only stared at her in stunned silence. “But when I couldn’t, when I faced the truth and turned around, you killed him! For your own revenge! You make me sick, Luke Bradley!”

  He flinched.

  “First you use me to get to your precious treasure, and then you use me again. Are you happy now? You have your fortune and revenge for Dervish taking your eye.”

  “Lass, list’n to me. Luke was—”

  “Luke was only looking after Luke’s own interests.” Her gaze bored into Luke’s. “That’s all he’s capable of, Joe. He has no remorse for what he’s done, do you?”

  Luke lifted his chin, his gaze narrowing. “None whatsoever,” he said.

  Sam felt sick. Sick of herself, of Luke, and of the life she’d been a part of these last few years.

  “You know what, Luke? Your stepfather was right. You’re nothing but a bloody bastard.”

  She glared at every man present, daring them to take her on. Since none moved, she dropped her own pistol onto the moss, stepped over it, and headed back to her ship.

  As pirates weren’t known for their great loyalty, nobody bothered Willy, Joe, and Luke as they made their way back to the ship. The hammering had resumed and the work continued on the Devil’s Wrath. No mention was made of their dead captain; another would be chosen by the end of the day.

  The Revenge sailed out easily with a snapping breeze, Joe at the helm. Luke hadn’t seen Samantha since coming aboard. The crew was silent as the ship cut through the waves. There was work to be done, there was always something that needed tending, but Luke couldn’t summon the energy to tackle any of it. He was below decks, amid the barrels and supplies. The smell of wet wood filled the small space. Luke Bradley was alone. Again.

  He needed to think of the future. Samantha hated him so much he didn’t hold out any hope that she’d keep her end of the bargain and give him her ship. Not that he blamed her.

  Bastard. Bloody bastard.

  Her words tormented him, drowning out the sound of waves washing over the hull, the moan of canvas. He’d seen her angry and hurt before, even scared. But nothing came close to the way she’d been in that small clearing. There had been occasions in his life when he’d felt low, felt worthless. But even his stepfather’s words hadn’t cut him the way Samantha’s had. Maybe that was because he knew he’d never had Percy Young’s love. He’d tried to earn it, God knew he had, but he’d never succeeded.

  With Samantha, he’d done nothing to achieve her affections. He’d been himself, as much as he was capable of. And yet, for some reason he still couldn’t understand, she’d given it to him. Love.

  He banged his head against the damp wood, drawing his right knee closer to his chest. His left leg lay motionless on the floor, his boot as black as his mood.

  Jacqueline said to fight for her. Ha! Even if he’d entertained the idea before, he had no intention of doing that now.

  A bastard.

  He pounded his fist against the cask next to him, and closed his eye against the pain. Not the hurt in his hand, but the deep despair that had robbed him of breath since he’d heard the word come from Samantha’s mouth and seen the belief in her eye.

  A bastard.

  There was time, an hour at least, to indulge in pity and regret. Sam lowered the hatch and walked dazedly to her berth, through no conscious thought of her own. She couldn’t think of anything but what had happened on that island. Luke’s betrayal haunted her. She’d thought she knew the man who hid behind the pirate flag.

  “How could I have been so wrong?” she whispered. She grabbed her pillow and squeezed it to her aching heart. The soft cotton absorbed both her tears and the sobs she couldn’t hold back.

  She wept until she was spent and the pillow was warm and wet from her crying. When she thought she couldn’t possibly shed another tear, her thoughts turned to her family.

  Dervish had taken them along with her happiness. He’d ripped away everything that had mattered to her. By doing so, he’d led her to Grant, who’d
taken the only thing she’d had left, her body’s innocence. Then, when all she’d had was to take Dervish’s life as he’d taken hers, she’d failed.

  The wrenching pain came fast and strong. It grabbed at her heart and mauled its way through her body. Tears that started in the depth of her soul surged forward and robbed her of breath. How could this be? She’d given everything, everything she was, to finding Dervish. How could it have ended like this? Yes, he was dead, and she couldn’t be sorry about that, but when she’d had the chance to avenge her family, she’d finally realized it wouldn’t matter. Having a man’s blood on her hands wouldn’t make the past any better, wouldn’t make her any better. For the first time in years she’d taken the higher ground.

  And Luke had ruined it.

  He’d ripped her heart open with his lies and deceit, and any good that could have come from her decision not to kill Dervish, he’d robbed her of as well. For the first time in a long while she could have felt good about herself. Not for leaving the miserable wretch alive, but for not tainting her soul any more than it already was by taking a life in cold blood.

  But now it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Her family was still gone, and there was no sense of the peace or finality she’d prayed Dervish’s death would bring. Aidan hated her, though she wasn’t done with him yet. She’d felt a piece of something, something real and good, with Luke, but he’d used her. The hell of it was, she’d let him. She’d known, taking him to Santa Placidia, that he and Dervish had a past of their own. Yet she’d naively assumed he was there only to help her. Now not only was her past in ruins, but so was her future.

  Sobbing, she turned onto her side and curled into a ball.

  “Mother, Father, Alicia.” Her words cracked, but she forced them out. Otherwise her chest was going to explode with the pain. Sam pressed her palms over her heart, and she swore she could feel the pieces of it where once a whole had been. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me for what I’ve done and who I became.”