What a Pirate Desires

by Michelle Beattie

Her cheeks were raw from wiping her tears but she kept talking, needing to purge herself of this overwhelming guilt.

  “Please don’t hate me,” she begged, because if they hated her as much as she hated herself in that moment, she wouldn’t be able to bear it.

  Sixteen

  Sam sat up in her berth, blinking the grittiness from her eyes. She swayed slightly and pressed a hand to her head, which felt fuzzy as a peach. She must have dozed off. Carracks’s head was tucked into his feathers and a low snoring was coming from his cage. She turned to the window, but the sun’s position hadn’t changed much since she came below, so she knew her nap hadn’t been long. Nor had it been restful.

  She crept to the edge of her berth, but her limbs were unusually heavy and she nearly tumbled over the edge of the bed. Sam righted herself and stood, the room swaying slightly. She shook her head, drew deep breaths, and stretched her arms over her head until she felt more alert.

  “Well, I’ve had my time to feel sorry for myself,” she said, waking Carracks, who glared at her before tucking his head back into his feathers. “Now it’s time to get some things done.”

  The first thing Sam did was change into a simple lavender dress. The light cotton brushed against her bare ankles, swept just low enough to expose the creamy top of her breasts, and made her feel like a woman. From this day forward, she was just Samantha Fine. Whoever that was.

  She dragged the burlap sack she’d taken from Mr. Grant’s plantation from underneath her berth. Then, with a desire to rid herself of Steele, Sam stuffed the breeches and shirt she’d worn earlier into the sack. With hungry eyes, she devoured every corner, every shelf of her cabin.

  The buff-colored cap she’d worn the time they’d raised false colors and taken a galleon heading for Spain by surprise. It had been their most profitable plunder and had enabled Sam to set enough aside for the future. A future, she thought as she crumpled another pair of pants and stuffed them in after the cap, that loomed gloomy and unknown.

  There were logs of her destinations to throw away. Destinations her eyes couldn’t help but read. St. Lucia, Havana, Tortuga, Portobello, St. Kitts, and enough other names to shame her. So many places she’d searched in her need to right a wrong. So many times she’d failed to find her quarry and yet had determinedly kept going. She didn’t realize she was crying until the tears plopped onto the paper and blotted out the words. Unfortunately, her past couldn’t be erased quite so easily.

  With nothing left in the drawer but maps, she abandoned the table, drawer left open and gaping, to hunt down the remaining threads of Steele. Soon the sack was bulging with books, logs of journeys, and every item of clothing she’d worn while engaging in piracy. Every item but one.

  The red silk slid through her fingers, and for a reason she couldn’t explain, she drew it to her breast. She’d worn this dress when she’d met Luke. As though it was yesterday, she could easily envision the belligerent pirate who glared at her from behind bars in Port Royal. How was she to have known he’d steal her heart? She sniffed loudly, and this time she felt the tears. Felt their warm progress down her cheeks, a few dropping onto her chest.

  “Get out of my bloody way!”

  Luke’s angry words shoved their way through the hatch and badgered her as surely as if he were standing before her.

  “Ye won’t be goin’ down there. She said she don’t want ya near her.”

  There was a silent moment in which Sam figured Luke was contemplating shooting Joe. They’d be scowling at each other, she knew. Even below decks the air was thick with their hostilities.

  “She doesn’t know what the bloody hell she wants!” Luke argued.

  Well, Sam thought as she wiped her nose on the scarlet dress and tucked it in the sack, for once Luke was right.

  Oliver Grant might have made a fortune legitimately, but he wasn’t above using means that were a little less pure to get what he wanted. In this case, it was the men who worked the ship and directed it toward the bay. Men who were paid to act without question and forget just as easily.

  He was so close, he could all but smell the heat of her skin. One more jut of rocks and he’d finally have the rest of his slaves back, not to mention his ship. He licked lips that carried the salt of the sea. Samantha.

  Each wave the ship cut through sent Oliver’s heart thudding faster. Sweat beaded between his upper lip and nose. His hands dug into the gunwale. Another few minutes, and they’d clear the last obstacle. And revenge would be his.

  He’d dug into his savings, whittled away at profits. The slaves who were brought back had paid dearly. They were disciplined for their treachery and sent to work with little water and less food. He wasn’t going to sit back and allow a few runaway slaves to do what infestations and flooding hadn’t accomplished. Nobody and nothing beat Oliver Grant.

  He’d spent far more money than he was comfortable with to find his ship, his slaves. He’d spent long hours awake, contemplating. And he was so very close to getting it all back. Standing proud in the bow of the ship, he knew he wasn’t going to fail this time.

  Silently, the ship slipped around the corner.

  Air hissed through his clenched teeth. “Where is it? Where’s my ship?”

  His lips flattened. His eyes hardened. The ship that lay in the shallow water wasn’t his. The men repairing it weren’t his missing slaves. There was no sign of a young woman with long, tawny brown hair. Anger exploded like a lit fuse. His breath caught, then sputtered from his chest.

  “She should have been here. She was ahead of us, for God’s sake!”

  “Your orders, sir?” his captain asked.

  Oliver opened his mouth. The words died on his lips as a sharp slice of pain ripped from his chest and down his left arm to his fingers. Instinctively, he grabbed his elbow and pressed his arm to his chest. His eyes blurred with a pain as bright as lightning in a midnight sky.

  “Sir?” the captain asked, hand outstretched.

  Oliver refused the help, took a weak step back while fighting to clear his eyes. Concentrating on breathing, he managed to scrape in a few disjointed breaths. Sweat ran hot down his sides. It soaked his shirt, the thin cotton clamping onto his back. Slowly, the pain receded. He took a deep breath, and nearly shamed himself by falling when his knees turned to water beneath him. His steps weren’t pretty, but they got him to the gunwale, where he could lean on the ship for support.

  He held up a hand before the man could ask him if he was all right.

  “Bring us in, Captain. If she’s not here now, I’m sure she was.” Because he was panting like a damn dog in heat, he had to take a minute. He swallowed dryly, wishing for a tall glass of brandy.

  “And if she was here,” he continued, “we can’t be too far behind.”

  Dusk fell in a slow sweep, like a blanket floating down gently. From the chair she’d pulled to the window, Sam watched the sky ripen to the color of the juiciest plum. Darkness hovered on the horizon.

  With a small turn of her head, the scene changed. Barbados awaited to the left, newly lit streetlights flickering in the waning light. Sam pressed her cheek against the glass as the Revenge glided closer and welcomed the coolness against her face.

  Above her, Joe called orders to bring in some of the sails. Hasty footsteps trod above, then stopped. Sam closed her eyes, seeing in her mind the folding of white, the ropes being pulled and tied, the hungry expressions of her crew as the harbor reached out to meet them. She pressed her fists to her chest, where a swelling emptiness throbbed. Lord, but she was going to miss the daily tasks of a life at sea. And her crew. She’d miss them as well. The boat coasted to a stop.

  “Lower the anchor!” Sam mouthed even as Joe yelled it.

  The stark truth rushed up and slapped her. She wouldn’t be calling that command any longer. Dear God, Sam thought, her ship was no longer hers. She’d promised it to Luke. And despite her feelings toward him, she wouldn’t go back on her word. Besides, Samantha Fine had no use for a ship.

&nbs
p; Still, the hurt choked her. Everything in the cabin that had been Grant’s was gone. She’d replaced everything, painted everything, until the ship was hers. Only hers. When she’d promised it to Luke, she hadn’t realized, not fully, what giving it away would mean.

  It wasn’t only a ship and a way of life, it had become her home. The only place she’d felt safe since the loss of her family. She’d made it hers. She’d treasured it, taken care of it. Loved it.

  Her gaze feasted on the cabin, taking it all in. By the time it was halfway around the room, her vision had blurred.

  “What am I going to do without all this?” she cried.

  Seventeen

  The water in the bay was serene and inky blue. It reflected the light from Samantha’s cabin along with the few lanterns mounted on the gunwale. The Revenge drifted quietly on the short lead the dropped anchor provided. The crew, silent and awaiting their captain’s return above deck along with her instructions, waited on deck while their yearning gazes darted from Samantha’s closed hatch to the night noises that coasted from Barbados. Everything and everyone seemed almost peaceful.

  Except Luke.

  He’d been simmering so long, he was surprised his head hadn’t shot off under the pressure. Damn Joe had kept him from Samantha since leaving Santa Placidia and had all but stood on the wretched hatch to keep Luke away. And the only reason Luke had backed off was because he’d been afraid that the big brute would fall through and flatten Samantha. The fact that Joe kept smiling at Luke, raising eyebrows thick and coarse enough to scrub Trevor’s pots, only added to Luke’s ire. Well, Luke thought, taking hold of a rope to keep from strangling Joe, it wasn’t over. He’d talk to Samantha if he had to drown Joe to do it. Which, for the first time in days, brought him a warm sense of pleasure.

  The hatch creaked open. Thirteen men took a step forward.

  Luke’s first thought was that Samantha looked tired. He couldn’t make out every feature in the fading light, but the way she held herself told him as much. Her shoulders weren’t quite as straight as usual; her chin wasn’t thrust forward in pride. Her hands were still and relaxed at her sides, almost defeated; her voice just a touch softer than usual.

  She drew a deep breath. “First, I want to tell you all how much your loyalty has meant. Not many men would have agreed to sail under my command. Not only did you sail, you listened, worked hard, and proved to be an exceptional group of men.”

  She stopped, ducked her head. Sniffed loudly. When she faced them again, her eyes shone. The men shifted and mumbled, not at all comfortable with the emotional scene.

  She cleared her throat, her hands now clasped firmly at her waist. “I appreciate that you kept my identity a secret, and ask only that you continue to do so. Even though I won’t be Sam Steele any longer, his identity could still see me hanged.”

  They nodded and promised, and Samantha gave them a watery smile.

  “You can take your things. You’re officially relieved of your duties. Thank you, all of you, from the bottom of my heart.”

  In turns, her crew came forward, clasping her hand, muttering a few words before they went below to fetch their things. From the boom, Luke watched her say her good-byes. The tears that clung to her lashes as she bid the men farewell were the best damn gift she could give them. Luke hoped they treasured it.

  Only Willy and Joe were left.

  Willy went first. Luke turned away. He walked to the bow to give her the time and privacy to say good-bye to her friends.

  “I’m not so fancy with words, Captain,” Willy began.

  “It’s Samantha now, Willy. Just Samantha.” And how long, she wondered, until she knew just who that was?

  “Samantha.” He nodded. “Suits you better.” He shuffled his feet. “Well . . .”

  She’d had all afternoon to prepare for this moment, and yet she realized just how unready she was. These men had been her family and friends for the last four years. Willy and Joe even longer. How did one say good-bye to that and not lose part of oneself in the process?

  “My father would have been pleased that you’ve stayed with me.”

  “Well”—Willy nodded, swallowed—“I figured I owed him no less. He was a good man, Samantha. You’d have made him proud.”

  She managed a wry laugh. Tears of shame trickled down her face. “I doubt that, Willy.”

  “You did what had to be done. It wasn’t all pretty. But you never made it any worse than it needed to be.” Solemnly, he laid his hands on her shoulders. “You were fair. Don’t be looking to remember it any other way.”

  Such a fine man. There had been many times she’d grieved for her family, many times she’d wished for something of theirs that she could hold, hold and remember. She’d cried over lost trinkets, keepsakes that had drowned with the Destiny. So many times she’d ached for a piece of her old life back. And all along here it was. Her father had chosen Willy and Joe as part of his crew; he’d respected them, laughed with them, and worked alongside them. His memory was a part of them. She latched onto the thought and clutched it to her heart. Her father had been with her all along. She might have been without her family, but she’d never been alone.

  “Thank you,” she managed around the knot of emotion in her throat.

  Willy held her gaze for another instant. When his eyes filled, he stepped back, then cleared his throat. “Well, I’ll get my things.”

  Joe waited until Willy was gone before he came forward. Unlike the rest of her crew who had bid her good-bye with different degrees of emotion, when Joe marched toward her, his face gave away nothing. Indeed, it appeared cast in stone.

  “Ye may have said all yer good-byes, but don’t be ex-pectin’ mine.” He gave a sharp nod of his head and crossed his arms over his chest.

  Sam laughed at his stubborn expression. Of all the ones he’d worn over the years, she’d seen that one the most. It helped ease the fist that was wrapped around her heart. With the back of her hand, she wiped the moisture from her cheeks.

  “You always were the most hardheaded man,” she said.

  The corner of his mouth twitched slightly. “Aye, and that won’t be changin’ now.”

  Sam sighed. “You have to move on, Joe. You’ve given me four years already. It’s time you settled somewhere.”

  She pressed her lips together and gathered her strength. “It’s time you had a family.”

  “We’re family, lass.”

  “Joe.” She blew out her breath. “You can’t stay with me. I’ve no plans. I don’t know where to go, where to begin again. It may take me some time to put the pieces of Samantha Fine back together again.”

  “Put ’em together. Take all the time ye need.”

  “Joe—”

  “Lass,” he interrupted, and the stone face began to crack. “I’ve nowhere to go meself. It may be that I’ll need as much time to think things through as ye.”

  Over Joe’s shoulder she watched Luke turn around. He’d said nothing as she’d seen each one of her crew off. He’d backed away, allowed her privacy. Knowing he’d been there, waiting for his turn, filled her with dread. There was much to say, and yet there was nothing to say. And facing him, saying good-bye, would surely shatter what was left of her heart. He came toward them.

  “Joe”—Sam turned her attention back to her first mate in order to keep his attention on her, lest he remember Luke was there and decide to shoot him on the spot—“you can’t wait on me. I have no idea how long it will take. I need to find somewhere to stay, and then—”

  “You can stay here,” Luke announced.

  “Now that’s just ridiculous,” Sam sputtered. Despite the way her heart leaped at his words, she knew she had to leave the Revenge.

  “Aye,” Joe concurred. “I agree with Luke.”

  “You what?” Both Sam and Luke gaped.

  “Ye need a place to stay; this is yer home. Until ye know otherwise, why not stay here?”

  “You agree with Luke? Since when?”

  Jo
e shook his head. Clearly even he couldn’t believe he was doing it. “ ’Tis the right thing, to stay here. Then I won’t be worryin’ about ye. I’ll know yer safe.”

  Sam met Luke’s dark gaze and swore she heard a click as they locked onto each other.

  “As long as you want it, it’s yours.”

  “But I promised it to you,” Sam argued.

  Luke stepped in front of her. His knuckles grazed the length of her jaw. “It’s only a ship to me, luv. To you, it’s your home. I can wait until you don’t need her anymore.”

  It took three tries to swallow the lump of emotion in her throat. There was something shining in Luke’s eye that had never been there before. Something that penetrated to her soul and curled warmly, despite her anger toward him. It might have made a difference had she seen it before. She wouldn’t allow it to now. Piracy for her was over. Hadn’t she already wasted four years of her life for it? But it wasn’t the same for Luke. For Luke it was his life.

  “I need to get Aidan,” Sam said, and headed for the ladder.

  “Samantha,” Luke called.

  A part of her wanted to stop, needed to. But there was so much turmoil within her, she couldn’t think straight. Dervish was dead, but she had no more peace now than she had before. Who was Samantha, and what did she want? The questions spun and spun, gathering speed and force like a hurricane.

  “Give me two days, Joe. I should know by then what my plans are.”

  “And me?” Luke asked. “There’s things that need to be said.”

  Still too much a coward to turn and face him, Sam slipped over the edge of her ship onto the ladder. She kept her gaze lowered. Forced her voice not to crack.

  “I have nothing to say, Luke. Come back in two days, then you can have your ship. I won’t need it anymore.”

  “You didn’t tell her. Why?” Luke asked Joe.

  Joe faced the man he’d hated for the last few weeks. He’d thought Luke arrogant, lazy, and untrustworthy. At least now he knew the last one wasn’t true.