Her Pirate to Love: A Sam Steele Romance

by Michelle Beattie

  She swallowed the lingering fear that had engulfed her when she’d seen his fury. “I wasn’t going to let you hurt me.”

  He ran a hand over his beard. “I’m sorry if I scared you but I’ve just come from talking to Jacques.”

  Grace wiped her palms on the covers. Would knowing of the child change his mind about taking her to Santo Domingo? Taking her anywhere?

  “Is it true?”

  “Aye,” she answered.

  “The man who stabbed you? Did he know about the child?” His tone was sharp as the knife Roche had used to cut her.

  “No.”

  He exhaled heavily. “Was he the father?”

  “I’m no harlot. There’s only been Roche.”

  “Roche Santiago?” He gaped. “That’s whose ship we attacked? Dammit, had I had known, I would have gone after him.”

  “After him?” She felt all the blood drain from her face. “You didn’t kill him?”

  “No. He must have been on the longboat that escaped.”

  He’d fled? Dear Lord. There’d been many survivors from Roche’s ship; she’d seen them tied to the masts. The lot of them had witnessed this man take her onto his ship. Roche had a temper and he was known for going after his enemies.

  “What is it?”

  “There were witnesses who saw you take me. If Roche learns of this…”

  “He’d need a ship and a crew. Besides, he has no idea of my heading and I would wager he wouldn’t search the entire Caribbean for a woman he’s already tried to kill. And if he decides to come after me, you’ll be off my ship and tucked safely ashore by the time he can locate me.”

  Steele’s words were logical and should have put her at ease but she knew Roche to be evil and vindictive.

  “I’d hoped he was dead,” she said, instead. “’Twould be a better world if he were.” As a Catholic, such words were blasphemous, but surely even the Lord would agree the best place for Roche Santiago was hell. “Does my condition change your agreement to take me to Santo Domingo?”

  “No, I said I would take you and I will. And, as you’re hurt, you can have the use of my cabin until we make shore.”

  “I’ll not be someone’s whore.”

  “I’m not after one.” His voice snapped. “Nor a mistress, wife, strumpet, or any other sort of woman.”

  Hearing the finality in his voice, she found herself wondering what had happened to make him so cold.

  “When we reach Santo Domingo, I’ll take you to Claire. I’ve known Claire for years. She’s a good woman. She and her husband, Nate, own an orphanage and can always use more help. She’ll be able to give you work; offer you a room of your own. It will be safe for you until the child…”

  His eyes fell to her belly. His lips pinched and a vein throbbed at his temple. For a moment, two, the only sound was that of his breathing. Finally, he raised his gaze to hers. It wasn’t the shadows she saw that bothered her but the rawness, as though she was looking at an open wound. He blinked and she was once again peering into cool, emotionless eyes.

  “You’ll be safe with Claire. You both will.”

  She wasn’t fool enough to hand over her trust to any man, but so far, he’d kept his word and hadn’t hurt her.

  Still, she’d be cautious. “Thank you. I don’t know what to call you.”

  “Steele.”

  “Sam Steele?” Dear God in Heaven. She may have been locked aboard Roche’s ship, but her ears had been open and Steele’s name had been mentioned more than once. Sam Steele wasn’t the butcher Roche was known to be, but he’d committed his share of atrocities.

  The captain’s face went hard as his namesake. “Steele never hurt a woman, as you yourself can attest. And I’ve never raised a hand to a child, even an unborn one.”

  As though he sensed he must look capable of it at the moment, he took a step back, raised his wide palms. “You’ve nothing to fear on my ship, Grace, not from me or my crew.”

  “I haven’t had much luck with pirates.” She reminded him.

  He returned to the table, took hold of the knife. “Don’t,” he growled when she began to cower. Then, to her utter surprise, he flipped the weapon in the air, caught it by the blade and held it out to her. “Keep it. If you ever feel threatened, you have my permission to use it.”

  If her mouth had fallen open any wider her chin would have scraped the mattress. Yet it didn’t stop her from taking the weapon.

  “Feel better?”

  “Aye.”

  He gave a sharp nod. “Are you hungry?”

  “A little,” she confessed though in truth she was ravenous.

  However, having learned from Roche that her needs could be used against her she didn’t want to appear too eager, lest Steele withhold the food.

  The glint in his eye told her she hadn’t fooled him, but he didn’t press the point. “Since you already know Jacques, I’ll have him bring you something.” Then he turned on his heel and left.

  Grace slid the knife under her pillow and eased back against it, considering what he’d said. He’d claimed never to have hurt a woman or a child. She couldn’t know if it was the truth but he’d sounded affronted by the insinuation she considered him capable of it. Was it a ruse? Unfortunately, there was nothing she could do but wait and see. She’d learned on Roche’s ship—despite her one ally, a crewman named Fitch—there were little options to be had in the middle of the ocean. She couldn’t run and there was nowhere to hide.

  Yet, he’d let her keep the weapon. More, he hadn’t used it against her. He hadn’t hurt her and she wasn’t defenseless, wasn’t completely at someone’s mercy. It was more than she’d had in years.

  And it had come from the hand of a pirate.

  *

  Rum wasn’t the answer. Hadn’t he learned the hard way no matter how much or how long he drank the demons came right back? That they would only remain held at bay so long before they broke through the haze of drunkenness? Knowing, however, didn’t stop him from raising the near-empty bottle to his lips and swallowing another mouthful. Whether they returned tomorrow or not, he just needed the damned fiends gone tonight.

  He had a steadfast rule in that he didn’t drink himself into oblivion before his crew but tonight he had little place to hide with Grace occupying his cabin. He took another gulp, relished the heat that burned his throat and warmed his belly.

  As soon as he’d learned Grace was with child, he’d felt as though he’d been turned inside out and scraped raw. He’d been around pregnant women since Catherine’s death. Every time, it seemed, he saw Aidan’s family, be it Claire or Alicia, one of them was carrying another babe. While he couldn’t look at them without remembering Catherine in the same condition—remembering and burning with the memories—this was different.

  Because, until they made port and he saw her safely to shore, Grace was under his protection. Bloody hell. He didn’t want to be responsible for her. What if they were attacked before they made it to Santo Domingo? What if she were hurt? What if the child died?

  He didn’t know Grace; certainly, he didn’t owe her anything. Yet if anything happened to her or her babe while aboard his ship, whatever life he’d made for himself since Catherine and Caden would be gone forever. There would be no surviving such guilt a second time.

  Raising an unsteady arm, he lifted the bottle. Somehow, he missed the target and rum trickled from the corner of his mouth, through his beard and onto his shirt. Concentrating harder, he tried again. Nothing came out.

  “Blasted thing is empty.” He slurred.

  Funny, the wind wasn’t any stronger on his face than it had been all evening and yet the ship was pitching like a bucking horse. A fog must have drifted in because everything was hazy. And suddenly Aidan appeared through the fog. He looked at the bottle, met Steele’s gaze.

  “Off to bed?” Aidan asked.

  Steele slapped a hand on Aidan’s shoulder. “Can’t sleep yet, I’ve an errand to run.” He lifted the bottle, barely missing Aidan
’s jaw. “See, it’s empty.”

  “But you’re not.” Aidan grabbed the bottle, whipped his arm, and threw the glass overboard.

  Steele shoved his first mate aside. “I’m not done drinking.” He took two steps before Aidan grabbed him and turned him around.

  “That’s enough for one night.”

  “I’ll decide what’s enough.” He countered with a glare. Of course, he wasn’t sure which Aidan to scowl at since there were suddenly two. He wrenched his arm free but the sudden movement spun his head and he stumbled back. His heels came up against something hard and the next thing he knew he was flat on his arse, looking up past the mainsail to the starry sky.

  Aidan reached a hand down and hoisted him to his feet. When they were eye to eye, he added, “Come on, Cale, you’ll be sorry come morning as it is.”

  The ship steadied long enough for him to grab Aidan’s collar and spit. “That’s Steele to you, boy.”

  “Then act like it.”

  Steele’s fist came up but the rum impeded his aim. His knuckles barely grazed Aidan’s chin. Before he could try again, Aidan came round with a fist of his own. White stars exploded in Steele’s eyes. He staggered, blinked. The stars disappeared but the fog was back, rolling in thick and grey until he couldn’t see.

  *

  Aidan watched Cale fall to the deck, hoped to hell he’d stay there this time. He flexed his fingers, winced. The man had a damn hard jaw. Aidan took no pride in besting his drunken captain but letting him drink more would accomplish nothing but ensuring Steele would be even surlier come morning.

  From behind him, Smoky asked, “You going leave him there?”

  Since Cale was already snoring, it was clear the captain was out until morning. “Help me get him to the quarterdeck. His cabin is occupied and he’ll be out of the way there.”

  Together, they moved him up, settled him against the gunwale.

  “Thanks.”

  The tip of Smoky’s cigar glowed red as he inhaled. “No problem.” He exhaled a plume of smoke and left Aidan and his sleeping charge alone. Aidan stepped back to the wheel to ensure they hadn’t gone off course while he’d been dealing with Steele and noticed someone creeping toward the captain’s hatch.

  “You there!”

  The sailor jumped, but he was smiling when he faced Aidan. “Yes, sir?”

  “Those are the captain’s quarters. You’ve no business there.”

  “Aye, sir,” the man named Isaac replied. “I dropped this, and was only reaching to pick it up.” He held up his hand but in the darkness Aidan couldn’t see exactly what it was.

  Knowing Isaac wasn’t on duty, Aidan answered, “Then goodnight. You’re tasks are done for the day.”

  Isaac’s smile seemed to waver but he turned to the right and went through the main hatch. Aidan scanned the deck, but everything else seemed in order so he stepped back to the gunwale and looked upon his sleeping captain. Cale Hunter. Sure, the man pretended Cale no longer existed. It was clear he preferred to be Sam Steele. Yet there were moments, a few a year, when Cale couldn’t be silenced. In the time they’d sailed together, Aidan had kept track of when the captain lost himself in rum. There were four days a year altogether and today’s date didn’t coincide with any of them.

  Aidan returned to the wheel as heavy steps and the smell of cigar smoke announced Smoky’s return. He took the stairs to the quarterdeck two at time then tossed Aidan a blanket. “Figured the Cap’n could use it.” Smoky rolled the cigar to the other side of his mouth. “Looks like the ghosts caught up to him again,” he said.

  “Appears so.” Aidan conceded. It didn’t surprise Aidan Smoky knew of Cale’s ghosts, since, like Aidan, he’d been with Steele these last four years.

  “Any idea who those ghosts might be?”

  “Other than his brother? I can’t say I do.”

  Smoky blew a plume of smoke over his shoulder. “It still strikes me as odd that as tall as Steele is, he had a dwarf for a brother.”

  Aidan shook his head, a smile on his lips as he remembered Vincent. Vincent had been a cheery sort, always happy, always smiling. Everyone had loved him.

  Smoky drew on the cigar again; it was nearly down to a stub. “Still, it doesn’t seem like enough reason.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve lost family. Most of us have. It doesn’t cause us to drink ourselves blind.” He bid Aidan goodnight and tossed what remained of his cigar into the sea. Before he even stepped off the quarterdeck he’d bitten off the end of another.

  Hearing Smoky say the thoughts he himself had been having for years strengthened what Aidan had always suspected. Cale’s ghosts weren’t only about his brother.

  Aidan couldn’t help but think of Samantha, and how the best thing she’d done was to confront the pirate who had murdered her family. Once she’d done so, she’d been free. Free of thoughts of revenge, free to be who she wanted. Surely if Cale could confront his own ghosts, he’d finally be rid of them as well.

  Perhaps, Aidan thought as he guided the Revenge silently through the night, Grace’s presence would somehow force Cale to face his past.

  “Either that or it’ll kill him,” he muttered.

  Chapter Four

  With his body weakened by rum, the demons attacked Cale’s dreams with a vengeance. They brought images of Catherine, looking so real and alive he smelled the scent of her skin, felt the warmth of her touch. His eyes feasted on her smile, on the laughter in her voice as he enclosed her in his arms and told her he wasn’t letting her go, not ever again. He relived making love to her, reveled in the feel of her smooth skin sliding against his once more. He promised her, from the depths of his soul, he wouldn’t let her down again, he’d be the husband and father he should have always been. He vowed, as he held her face within his hands, he’d never put treasure before her and Caden again.

  At the mention of his son, the scene changed. They were outside at the dock’s end. Caden had a fishing pole Cale had created and baited with a fat, twisting worm. The boy teased his mother with it until she squealed he had better not take one step closer with that foul thing if he wanted a piece of pie for dessert. His son laughed, relented, and joined his father at the dock. The sun beat down, warm on their faces, the gulls screeched overhead, the water glistened like the brightest of jewels. He had Caden on one side and Catherine on the other, her delicate hand resting on his waist. Cale had never believed he’d ever be this happy again.

  Suddenly something shoved his foot. His surroundings dimmed, he rushed to grasp Catherine, shot out a hand to grab Caden, but they vanished like sand through his fingers. Not again. Please, not again. The shoving became more insistent and he came awake with a growl of anguish.

  It was sunny. Gulls screeched as they drifted by on the breeze, but nothing else of what he’d dreamed was real. Emptiness threatened to consume him.

  “Crew’s waking, Captain,” Aidan said.

  It took everything Steele had to come to his feet as though his heart wasn’t in shreds. “Horizon?”

  “Clear.”

  “Good.” He rubbed his aching jaw. “Thanks for what you did last night.” Then, deciding he wasn’t going to say any more about it, he said, “I’ll be back once I’ve checked on the woman.”

  “Paddy’s fixing breakfast, I heard him banging pots about twenty minutes ago. You can take the time to eat before coming back, I’m not tired.”

  Steele looked him over. No, the cursed lad didn’t look tired. His eyes were alert and he looked as though he could work the day long while Steele felt as if he’d been dragged headfirst along a rocky shore. At least the damn bird wasn’t there to add to his misery this morning.

  “Where’s the parrot?” he asked. “I don’t suppose he managed to escape his cage in the night?”

  “Sorry to disappoint you. I set him at the bow.”

  If he thought it would be safe for his crew to leave the bird there he would, but he didn’t want them tripping over the cage and hur
ting themselves. Life at sea was dangerous enough. “Get the blasted bird back onto the quarterdeck. I won’t be long,” he said and headed for the galley.

  “Ye be right on time,” the small Irishman said as he flipped little browned circular cakes onto a growing stack. “We found a right treasure on board that ship yesterday, Cap’n. Potatoes, bags of them. I’m fixing up enough boxty to feed an army.”

  It wasn’t the first time Paddy had made fried potato pancakes, but it had been a while. Steele had come to the galley with thoughts of getting food for the woman rather than himself since his belly was churning from last night’s rum, but he’d be a fool pass up boxty.

  “And,” Paddy added flashing a wide grin, “they had sugar as well. We’ll be eatin’ us a feast this mornin’.”

  Steele fixed himself a hearty plate, sat quietly as his crew came and left, slapping the cook on the back for the great food as they took their leave. There was a table in the galley which could hold six, but as breakfast wore on, Steele remained alone as his men chose to eat on deck.

  He couldn’t explain why the lack of company grated since he normally ate alone, be it in the galley, on the quarterdeck, or in his cabin, yet the more men who took their leave rather than join their captain, the pricklier he became. It built within him, the irrational frustration, until it consumed him. Then, angry at own senseless feelings, he shoved aside his plate.

  “Full up, are ye, Cap’n?”

  Fed up was more like it. “I could use a plate for the woman. And a cup of tea for her as well.”

  While Paddy prepared a tray, he whistled some lively Irish jig. The Irish and their music. Grace, too, had been humming when he’d found her. Yet the jaunty music seeped into Steele and took the edge off his anger. Listening to the melody eased his frustration and made him realize something. It wasn’t company he was after, or even someone to talk to, but neither could he stand being alone this morning. The music eased his loneliness yet didn’t require anything from him.