by Cheryl Howe
Nolan put on his gloves and hat. “You don’t know what to do with it.” He stared at her, waiting.
She stared back. Going with Nolan to find the treasure would change her fate. She had to prove to herself, as well as Nolan, that she was a woman of her own means, master of her own destiny.
His anger was palpable. “You have more than your father’s eyes, Jewel. I hope it doesn’t bring you to a similar end.” Nolan walked out the door without a goodbye.
Jewel wasn’t insulted. She’d see him again. Nolan’s parting words were both compliment and inspiration. What would her father do if he were in her predicament? He would force Nolan to see reason. Over the years, she had prepared herself to be a useful member of her father’s crew. Growing up in a tavern had hardened her in ways that would make other women her age swoon. Nolan would not win their battle of wills. And if she discovered Nolan had done anything to harm her father, Jewel would show him she had indeed inherited more than her father’s eyes.
CHAPTER TWO
Nolan paused at Charles Town’s seediest tavern, identified by a door painted the color of blood. Located in a small alley east of Bay Street, the Maiden’s Head didn’t even have an address. A small version of a ship’s figurehead sprang from a windowless brick building marking the entrance. Two street lamps at the turnoff had been shattered, leaving the carved image of a woman muted by shadow. Nolan stared at the woman’s bare breasts and the black hair that fell to her waist.
He glanced away, disturbed that he’d been momentarily intrigued by the sight of the poorly carved statue. Five years had passed since he had set foot in a place like the Maiden’s Head. He straightened his jacket, secure in the knowledge that he’d become a different man. This establishment would not change that.
The moment he pushed open the heavy door, several patrons paused in throwing back their tankards to stare. Nolan met the wall of hostility with a fierce gaze, swept off his stiff tricorn hat and entered the thieves’ den.
He searched the room for John Wayland. Exposed beams crisscrossed one wall and lined the ceiling. Smoke from the fire at the far end of the tavern strained the plaster between those beams. Brick made up the other two walls, and there was a long bar at the back. After stepping in from the crisp spring night, heat from the sweating sailors and the flames hit Nolan like a fist.
He reached for his handkerchief, intent on wiping his brow, but realized he had left it with Jewel. He wished he could discard her memory as easily. She had not been at all what he expected. He remembered her as a wide-eyed little girl who had made him long for home. Barely out of his teens, he’d already become bored with the women he met in the drinking dens and alleys of the Caribbean. Though she’d worked at the Quail and Queen even then, Jewel had reminded him of the boy he might have been if he hadn’t run away from home at fourteen. A strange combination of adolescent lust and a man’s protectiveness had overcome him and urged him to challenge an opponent he couldn’t beat. His reward had been a dagger in the shoulder.
Had he been expecting gratitude five years later? Perhaps he had. Perhaps he’d thought she would come to realize her father was a liar and had only used her. The man had even used her to ensure Nolan’s obedience. Bellamy had promised to spread word of the map’s location if Nolan tried to leave his crew again. By that time, it had become clear to both Bellamy and Nolan that Captain Kent’s map couldn’t be read by just anyone, themselves included. Kent’s cryptic directions held secrets to which his grandson wasn’t privy. Fear of what would become of Jewel had kept Nolan in line for a short while. But it also had necessitated the impetuous Bellamy’s own downfall.
Nolan searched the crowd again, looking the fiercest men straight in the eye. Strangely, he felt more comfortable with these armed pirates than Bellamy’s offspring. He now gladly sought the worst his former profession had to offer, if only to prove how much he had changed.
Unfortunately, the identifying scar running from the corner of Wayland’s eye to the tip of his nose did not render him distinguishable in this lot. Missing eyes and noses were common among the weathered faces. Piracy had a tendency to wear down a man as traffic did the cobblestones on Bay Street. Bellamy was the exception. He still loomed larger than life every time Nolan thought of him.
Nolan walked to the bar and ordered ale. He took an ungentlemanly gulp, which prompted some of the hostile stares to slide away. He leaned against the bar, scanning the dimly lit tables on the fringes of the room. Wayland sat in the corner with his back to the wall. A shadow covered part of his face. When Wayland turned, catching Nolan’s gaze, light reflected off his glass eye. With a subtle nod, the pirate summoned Nolan over. Nolan ordered two more ales before complying.
Wayland grinned, and Nolan noticed he had lost a few more teeth. “I like the way you walked in here, lad. Ye’ve the gait of a captain.”
Nolan sat down and pushed a pewter mug in front of the pirate. “Since you knew I was in Charles Town, I’ll assume you know how I got here.” He leaned forward, and both Wayland’s artificial ice blue eye and his true dark brown one came into view. The mismatched glass eye was Wayland’s prized possession. Nolan had been there when he had snatched it from an unlucky victim. Most men, even other pirates, crossed themselves when they saw the freakish eye. Nolan was glad he’d remembered and didn’t flinch.
Wayland studied him. “Aye. I heard you got yourself a ship and a crew. The Integrity. What do you plan to be doing with her?”
Nolan shrugged out of his coat, the sweltering heat in the enclosed room winning over propriety. “I intend to privateer. War’s inevitable.”
“A privateer? Hmph. I guess that’s why you’re using the name Kenton instead of Kent.”
“It was my father’s name.” Nolan hadn’t heard the name Kent in so long, it no longer made him drop his gaze in shame. His last few years of sober repentance had finally convinced his father that he was truly a pious reverend’s offspring rather than the spawn of the most notorious pirate of the last century. Of course, his father was likely writhing in his recently turned grave. He wouldn’t believe that Nolan had used his inheritance to buy a ship merely to join the coming revolution any more than Wayland did.
Nolan might have let his father’s wishes to deny the family’s tainted past hold sway even in death if not for the worn leather book on the occult he’d found in the man’s possessions. If the cover had ever declared an author or title, it had long since been worn away. Inside, the print had smeared and faded as if the pages had been pored over for hours on end. Why his devoutly religious father had a book that spoke of mystical connections between astrology and varying alphabets, notes in his own hand in the margins, led Nolan to only one conclusion. His pious sire, too, had an interest in the notorious Captain Kent’s legacy.
“Where will you get your letter of marque?” The unmistakable note of disgust in Wayland’s question showed what he thought of privateers. He tipped his head, assessing Nolan with his good eye. “Will it be England? Is that why you changed your name? Sucking up to the bloody crown, hoping they’ll forget they hung a Kent not so long ago?”
Nolan drank from his tankard. “No, I remember what English justice did to my grandfather. I wouldn’t sail for them even if they pressed me in chains. I’ve been promised a letter of marque from Massachusetts. They’ll start issuing them any day now.”
“Massachusetts is no country. Sounds like piracy to me, lad.” Wayland eyed Nolan with pleasure.
Nolan forced himself not to flinch. Perhaps a slight thrill surged through him at this taste of his old life, but the horrors of those days still gave him nightmares. All he need do was recall the time that Bellamy nailed a particular captain’s foot to the deck when he hadn’t heeded the raising of the black flag quickly enough.
“Extreme violence, torture, death? I have no stomach for that. I’ll admit I’ve given in again to the lure of the sea, but you know how I felt about piracy. About Bellamy’s practices.”
“Bah. Bellamy wasn’t
as bad as most. You just had to show you had some ballocks if you wanted to stay afloat. He didn’t kill one woman he raped. Set ’em all on shore nice and gentle like. Hell, I’ll wager he didn’t even have to rape half—most of them highbred ladies came to him practically purring.”
Nolan shook his head and stared into his ale. After he’d returned home from his stint with Bellamy, his father could barely look at him. He’d thought his son had participated in every sordid crime attributed to pirates. Nolan’s own grandfather had been rumored to take women as well as plunder from the merchant ships he captured. Once they’d served their purpose and required more care than they were worth, he’d tossed them overboard to drown or be eaten by sharks.
“Privateers operate under a different set of rules. We only take ships that are sanctioned in our letter of marque. And harming the passengers or crew of said vessels is not part of the game.” Nolan glanced up to see Wayland’s amused gaze. He said, “I’m returning to the sea because of something I believe in beyond my own selfish lusts. It’s not just about freedom for the few who can take it by strength and violence. It’s about freedom for an entire nation.”
“I like to see that passion in you, Nolan. The sea is in your blood, like it was in your grandfather’s.” Wayland took a pewter flask from his coat pocket. The once red garment had turned the color of dirty brick. Even the coat’s original cut was altered by disuse, but Nolan had the distinct impression it once had been part of a British soldier’s uniform. Obviously not content with his ale, the pirate took a long swig from the dented flask. He offered the container to Nolan, who winced at the slight whiff—kill-devil, a vile but potent rum from Barbados.
Wayland chuckled and tucked the flask back in his pocket. “I say pirating is the only true life that’s free, but you make a strong argument for the patriot’s cause. I think I’ll join you.”
Nolan tried not to laugh outright. Wayland would terrorize his crew more than the British. He shook his head, grinning. “I don’t think you could tolerate the rules of a privateering vessel.”
The barmaid set down drinks Nolan hadn’t ordered. Before he could tell her so, Wayland grabbed her wrist. “Meet the captain of the Integrity, Kat. Nolan, this is Katie. Say hello to my friend properly, love. I’d wager he’s been real lonely these last few years.”
The dark-haired barmaid giggled and plopped herself in Nolan’s lap, throwing her arms around his neck. Her curves fit him in all the right places. “Nice to meet you, Nolan. I get off at midnight.”
Wayland had guessed correctly. Nolan had been very lonely since he gave up pirating. Katie felt warm and soft in his arms, reminding him of all he had tried so hard to forget. He even liked the cloying fragrance of her heavy perfume because it smelled exclusively feminine.
He craned his neck away. If he caught the scent of her long cascading hair, he’d be lost despite himself. “Sorry, I’m leaving at dawn. Maybe the next time I’m in Charles Town.”
“We can make it quick if you like, love.” Katie settled herself deeper in his lap.
Nolan’s sharp inhalation garnered another scratchy laugh from Wayland. He had lost his taste for tavern wenches when he still wore an earring, but Katie felt too good to ignore. A sensation, a dangerous one, one he had learned to instantly douse, sparked in Nolan’s groin. He quickly gripped her corseted waist and put the woman on her feet.
“Another time.” He tipped her a shilling, double the price of the ales. She walked away with hips swaying and a wink over her shoulder.
Wayland rested his chin on his hand and studied Nolan. “Don’t like women anymore, lad?”
Nolan smiled. “I’m more selective than I used to be.”
Wayland shrugged. “As long as you still like ’em. I don’t want to be sailing with no one I have to be watching me bum around.”
Nolan laughed. He had forgotten how good it felt. He’d also forgotten how good it felt to act freely. He doubted he could offend Wayland if he tried. “You don’t have to worry because you’re not coming with me.”
Wayland grinned. “You’ll need me. And you’re lucky, I’m between captains. After being with Bellamy all those years, it’s hard to take orders from a lesser man. But I’ll be proud to sail with you. Bellamy thought of you as a son.”
Nolan’s smile faded. “No, he didn’t.”
“Still, he taught you well. You were the best, as good as Bellamy his—”
“I don’t think you’ll like the kind of ship I’ll be running. My concern is with fighting the British, not loot and plunder.” Nolan shook off his previous ease. Over the years of reform, he’d focused exclusively on the brutality of his former life. He’d never intentionally taken a woman against her will, but he now wondered if he’d been too into his cups to notice when fear was the cause for lack of resistance.
Nor had he killed without cause, but he’d broken a few bones on Bellamy’s command, all in the name of building a reputation. Nolan couldn’t afford to let himself act freely, no matter how appealing. The abandonment of one restraint so easily led to another.
“Who’s your carpenter?” asked Wayland.
Nolan sipped his third ale with more caution. “You won’t know him. He just finished his apprenticeship with one of the finest shipbuilders in Boston.”
Wayland made a mule-like sound through closed lips. “He’s been in battle then?”
“I don’t want any pirates on my ship.” Nolan wasn’t about to reveal how green his crew was. “My goal is to harass the British whenever possible. I told you before, I’m not concerned with plunder and I don’t want anyone on my ship who is.”
Wayland winked his brown eye. “Captain Kent’s treasure concerns you, or you wouldn’t have gone to see Bellamy’s girl today.”
Nolan stopped his surprise from reaching his features, though it gripped him by the throat. He should have known that was why Wayland had sent him a note requesting this meeting.
The pirate smiled widely, apparently unconcerned with his lack of teeth. “Didn’t know for sure what happened to that map, but you made me sure. I’m going with you.”
Nolan glanced over his shoulder. His old instincts returned. He wondered if Wayland had allies stationed nearby. In this crowd, it would be easy to slip a dagger between his ribs and carry him out into the alley without anyone noticing or even caring if they did. In an old habit he’d sworn he’d rid himself of, he eased his hand to a dagger that wasn’t there. To come to a place like this unarmed had been stupid.
“Leave her alone,” he said with enough threat to compensate for being unarmed.
Wayland waved his hand in a gesture of dismissal. “I won’t hurt the chit. And you don’t have to look around like I have mates to jump you as soon as you get on the street. I know I can’t read the map without you. If I could, we would have found the treasure with Bellamy.”
Nolan leaned back, but he was far from relaxed. He had not handled his confrontation with Jewel well. Her stubbornness had knocked him off guard. That, and the unexpected surge of guilt temporarily capsizing him when he stared into her clear green eyes. He had thought protecting her from her father was a sort of gift, but he’d not considered the life he’d abandoned her to. Was the man who’d left in a rage actually a suitor, or was he something more sordid? And no doubt that British officer would be back. The man covered his aggression with polite language, but the colonies had been preyed upon by wolves in sheep’s fine aristocratic clothing for years. The Quail and Queen reigned far superior in its clientele than this den, but arrangements forced upon women with no family were not uncommon even in the finest of establishments.
Jewel’s predicament was not entirely his fault, Nolan forcibly reminded himself. Relieving her of the map would be better for her all around. He’d move her to a safe place while helping her find a situation that was less compromising…and less dangerous. If Wayland had been watching, someone else might have, too.
Wayland’s raspy words punctuated Nolan’s last thought. “Don’t sco
wl so, lad. You’re too young for that. Always the serious one, you were.”
Nolan took another sip of ale and watched Wayland over the rim. From here on out, he had to live as if the war he’d been anticipating had already begun. Only, he’d be battling more than just the British.
Wayland emptied his tankard and chased the ale with a swig from his flask. “Why wouldn’t the girl give you the map?” he asked.
Nolan hesitated, thinking before he spoke. Being with his family in Boston had softened him, but now he was back in a realm where every move, every word had to be guarded. He wasn’t about to give out any more information that might put Jewel in danger. “What makes you think she didn’t?”
Wayland laughed. “’Cause when I mentioned her, you looked like you had a bowsprit stuck up your arse. Did you tell her her dad’s dead?”
Nolan nodded but couldn’t stop himself from glancing down at the table. God, how Bellamy would love to know that after all these years, he still couldn’t hide his emotions.
Wayland raised the brow of his good eye. “Maybe that’s why she won’t give you the map.”
Nolan leaned back, struggling to look relaxed when he really wanted to grab Wayland’s tattered jacket and haul him across the table. “I didn’t tell her how he died.”
“Hmm. Must have been hard for you to see her. She looks like Bellamy, don’t you think?”
Nolan was trying not to think of how she looked at all. It was better when he remembered her as a child, when his adolescent admiration had sparked nothing more than images of long, stolen glances and heated moments holding hands. Now she was a woman who might or might not be experienced. If her flirtatious handling of the British officer didn’t convince him, the way she’d challenged Nolan while looking directly into his eyes made him think so. Unfortunately, that didn’t seem to diminish his attraction. After five years of marriage-minded society virgins, a woman who knew what a man was about had become fresh and enticing all over again. “She favors her mother.”
