“On your orders, Captain.”
When Aidan had returned with his quiver over his back, he’d had his cutlass strapped to his waist and a musket and bow in his hand. Steele didn’t have to look to realize the remainder of his crew was as ready. The silence on deck told him what he needed to know.
Steele glanced from port side and the soaring outcropping of rock bulging from the sea to the ship approaching on his starboard side. Calculating distance and angle, he tightened his grip on the wheel. Not yet. Just a little bit longer…
Looking over the wheel, past the flapping sails and out over the rippling waters, he saw what he’d hoped to. And his mind was clear of all but the task at hand.
“Ready about!” he yelled. As his crew knew of his plan and were prepared, they called back, “Ready.”
“Come about!” Steele ordered as, hand over hand, he cranked the wheel, directing the Revenge directly into the wind. Since he’d shifted the rudder quickly, his crew had to man the lines just as fast. The main sheet was released. Men untied the jib from the port side, ducked down and raced to retie on the starboard side. The main sheet was secured again as Steele evened out the rudder. The maneuver took little time and within minutes Steele was on his new course.
With one hand holding the wheel, he pulled out the looking glass with the other. As he’d hoped the other ship also made adjustments.
“Looks like it worked, Captain.”
“For now. The key is to have them believing we’re running away, and thinking they can block our path on the other side of the island.”
Aidan smiled. “They’re in for a nasty surprise.”
Steele nodded but didn’t take his eye off the other ship. His plan depended on it going around the island as though to intercept the Revenge. If, however, they followed him, he was ready for that as well. He couldn’t go into battle with only one plan. Still, he’d rather his original one.
With each snap of the sail, the Revenge glided closer to the jut out of rock. As an island, it could never be inhabited. There were no sandy beaches, only stone faces reaching for the sky. Luckily those faces were tall enough to hide his mast. And his plan.
His bowsprit began inching past the island. Steele kept his heading but never broke contact with the other ship. Keep going, he urged silently, keep going. The other ship made an adjustment and seemed to pick up speed. He could see it clearer now along with the dozens of men moving about the deck. He didn’t bother looking for her colors; it mattered little. She was coming at him for one reason and it wasn’t a friendly one.
His attention was still on the frigate when the Revenge slipped completely behind the shield of rock and into the shade.
“Captain, wait.” Aidan grabbed his forearm. “I think I know that ship.”
Steele leveled his gaze. “Unless you know for certain the ship is friendly, we proceed.”
Aidan held his stare, but not for long. He removed his hand, ran it across the back of his neck. “I can’t, not for sure. But it looks familiar. And yes,” he added when Steele opened his mouth to argue, “I know we can’t risk everything on that.”
No, Steele thought looking at Aidan’s retreating back as his first mate headed down the stairs to the deck, we certainly can’t.
“Ready about!” he yelled and the same procedure was repeated in reverse. Fast feet and faster hands loosened lines, shifted sails, and retied the sheets. The Revenge sailed easily through the motions and soon was heading back in the direction from which it had come.
Steele tightened his hold on the wheel as they came out from behind the rock. For a moment the sun and its glaring beams off the water blinded him. He turned his head, squinted. Then cupping a hand over his eyes, he hunted for what he sought.
There it was, the stern of the frigate going around the other side. Knowing his quarry hadn’t yet seen him, Steele called to his crew. “Now.” Every piece of canvas was raised. The Revenge skipped through the waves and leapt toward its prey.
His shirt clung to his back. His heart beat loudly in his ears. They were gaining. Once he curved around the approaching edge of rock they’d be right behind the frigate.
“Raise the colors,” he shouted.
If there was one code Steele adhered to it was not to fire his first shot until his colors were raised and his intent clear. With his skull and crossbones flying, the Revenge made the turn. They were close, barely the length of two galleons away. And the frigate saw them. Shouts and curses rang over the waters but it couldn’t turn in time. While a frigate could maneuver well despite its size, the Revenge was already upon it.
“Fire the warning.” The front starboard swivel gun blasted, lobbing over the frigate’s gunwale and into the clear sea. The resounding splash was the only notice Steele planned on giving.
Unfortunately, the frigate also had swivel guns, and they fired from their quarterdeck. The shot screamed from the stern of the other ship and ripped through the Revenge’s jib and exploded through part of its gunwale. His ship dipped and swayed as the blast rang in Steele’s ears and the smell of powder poured down his throat.
His crew dove for safety. Someone didn’t get away in time. His scream resonated along the cannon blast. Jaw clenched, Steele saw Smoky drag Pockets away. Blood smeared the deck. Cold fury filled Steele’s veins. He wasn’t going to let the same happen to more of his men. Or worse, Grace.
Eyes locked on his target, Steele eased the wheel to starboard.
“Captain!” Aidan yelled.
Steele couldn’t see his first mate through the lingering smoke, but as he’d only heard one man scream, assumed Aidan was fine. “Prepare to fire!” he yelled.
“Captain, wait!” Aidan ran through the veil of smoke, arms waving. “I know that ship. It’s the Oxford, Morgan’s ship.”
Steele didn’t give a damn whose ship it was. The Revenge was ready to broadside. “It’s shooting at us; now get to your station. Fire!” he hollered and the Revenge’s cannons roared in answer.
It was as though a hurricane came through. The blasts shuddered through the ship. The vibrations shimmied up Steele’s legs. He couldn’t hear anything but the weapons firing. Couldn’t see anything but smoke and pieces of debris flying. He blocked out everything else, including his worry for Grace. If a shot made it through the hull into his cabin…
He wouldn’t let it happen. Feet braced wide, Steele prepared to call another round. Through the smoke he caught movement at the gunwale and his heart came to a careening stop. What the hell was the Aidan doing? He was standing on the gunwale, precariously holding onto the lines with one hand and waving a white flag with the other. Steele’s knees shook. The boy wasn’t armed, was in plain view, and had at least two dozen muskets pointed at his head.
“Morgan!” Aidan called. “Captain Henry Morgan!”
“Aidan, get down!” Steele snarled. “Somebody get him down from there!”
He couldn’t swallow. Could hardly breathe. The other ship was coming around. In seconds they’d be at the mercy of its guns. What the hell was the boy thinking?
Smoky and Jacques were there, trying to pull him down. Smoky got a kick in the face for his efforts. Jacques grabbed the flag and after a brief tug-of-war, Aidan let it go. Jacques tumbled to the deck.
“Morgan! It’s Aidan, Luke Bradley’s son! We met in St. Kitts. You took me ’round the Oxford.”
Steele wasn’t waiting. He let go the wheel, grabbed the musket at his feet. If Aidan was too much a fool to save his own life, Steele would do it for him. He had the weapon in hand and he’d raised it to his shoulder when, to his utter shock, he heard an answering shout, “Luke Bradley’s boy?”
*
“Steele isn’t much for people, is he?” Morgan asked.
“Not really,” Aidan answered. “Though he stayed ashore longer than I expected he would.”
Morgan chuckled around a mouth full of salmagundi, a rare treat Paddy had made up of meat, eggs, onions, and whatever else suited his fancy. “Thirty minute
s is his breaking point?”
“Actually, thirty minutes is a record for him.” Aidan countered. He reached down, grabbed his cup off the powdery sand and drank deep of the rum Morgan had supplied. Both ships had contributed to the feast, but Aidan had to admit Morgan’s portion was far better, though the men scattered down the beach and around the fire weren’t complaining as they gorged themselves on salmagundi, Paddy’s famous turtle soup, and biscuits.
Aidan poked his stick into the coals. The embers flared red then simmered into a pulsing beat.
“If I was after a surprise attack,” Morgan said, continuing on about Steele’s absence, “I’d hardly have taken all my crew off the Oxford. Since we’re all here.” He gestured to the near seventy men ashore. “He has little to worry about.”
It was a fact Aidan couldn’t argue as he looked around. Groups had formed between the crews. A circle of about ten men played cards; a larger group drank companionably, telling stories. About two dozen more had set up a target against a tree and were taking turns hurling a dirk at it. Judging by the bottles of rum stuck in the sand at their feet, Aidan didn’t have to guess at what the wager was.
“He knows, or he wouldn’t have agreed to come back here.”
Morgan’s lips curled under his mustache. “The only reason he did was because I suggested throwing over the grappling hooks and coming aboard.” He chuckled as he stretched out his legs. “For a moment I thought he was going to use that musket.”
Aidan laughed, though he’d thought the same at the time. Despite the fact Morgan had ordered his crew to stand down and had stood as unarmed as Aidan had been, when Steele had come to stand at the gunwale he’d had his musket raised and ready.
“It made sense to come back since we’d left our supplies when we’d spotted your ship.”
“And it just so happened to be neutral territory. He’s smart, your Steele. He didn’t earn his reputation by chance.”
“No. No, he didn’t.” Aidan had liked Morgan the first time they’d met in St. Kitts, at Luke and Samantha’s shipyard.
He’d appreciated the man’s manner, smooth and polished, and had respected the way he’d treated Samantha as a lady. His impression went up another notch at Morgan’s assessment of Steele. It would be easy to see only Steele’s cool demeanor, as most did. It was a skill, Aidan had always believed, to look beyond the surface.
“You’re earning your own, son,” Morgan said. “Last time I saw Bradley he was bursting with pride talking of your skills as both a sailor and an archer. He and Samantha taught you well.”
“They taught me more than that,” he answered, his heart giving a little tug.
They weren’t his parents, but they’d taken him in as their own and loved him as though he was of their blood. They’d taught him everything. Not only about sailing but about loyalty, family, and love.
“Why is it, then, you don’t have a ship of your own? Luke and Samantha build the Caribbean’s finest. Surely you can have your choice?”
“I could, but I’m waiting for that one,” he said and pointed out to the shoals, where the Revenge rode at anchor, with the sunset colors spilling behind her; purples, blues, pinks and oranges. It had always been about the Revenge, and being Steele. He’d been too young before; he wasn’t now.
“You think he’ll ever give her up?” Morgan asked.
Steele was on deck, his forearms braced on the gunwale, his gaze on the beach. He looked exactly what he was, a solitary man. But suddenly another shadow appeared at his side. Grace. Not long after, Steele’s head turned toward the woman. For a moment Aidan watched them talk and his lips curved when they stepped away from the gunwale together.
“I think chances are good.” He grinned.
Chapter Ten
“’Tis sure I am, I don’t need any tending. You could have stayed longer, enjoyed yourself.”
“If I wanted to be there, Grace, I would be,” Steele answered.
As responses went, it was a solid one, but it wasn’t believable. Not when his attention had yet to shift from the beach. Grace wouldn’t blame him for wanting to be part of the festivities. The laughter, the drink, the food, the camaraderie. If it weren’t a group of pirates partaking in it, she’d be tempted to join.
“Why don’t you want to go? You can hear the laughter as well as I can. Seems to me there’s more fun to be had over there than here.”
His head came around. “I don’t want you left alone and, as for taking you ashore, you know why I don’t want you there.”
“I’m not after being the only woman amongst a drunken crew of pirates, so ’tisn’t me I’m sorry for.” Though in truth, she couldn’t help feeling a bit sorry for herself. Until Steele had rescued her, she hadn’t had any enjoyment since leaving Ireland. And while she wouldn’t argue she was glad he’d returned, she didn’t want to take this opportunity from him. “There’s no reason you can’t go enjoy yourself.” She urged.
“Someone has to remain clearheaded. Besides, it’s Aidan who enjoys the company, not me.”
“And you’ll indulge him and the crew, despite the fact you hate it?”
His gaze gave away nothing, as she was learning to expect from him, but his answer told her more, she was sure, than he wanted her to know.
“It’s not about me.” He responded. “Now let’s eat the soup Paddy brought over before it gets much colder.”
To save hauling dishes up and down they ate in the galley, in the glow of a single lantern. The soup was lukewarm but it didn’t stop either of them from having two bowls of it along with something Grace had never had before, salmagundi. Everything was delicious.
With the ship empty save themselves—even a wounded Pockets wouldn’t be kept from the fun—the only sounds were that of their breathing and the scrape of spoons against empty bowls. Without asking, Steele poured her more grog.
The intimacy of their situation wasn’t lost on Grace, and neither was the fact she wasn’t troubled by it. While she had no interest in pursuing a romantic relationship with Steele, she could nevertheless enjoy the moment. She wasn’t working her fingers to the bone, wasn’t being ordered about, her life wasn’t in danger, and she wasn’t in hiding. She was enjoying a quiet meal with a man who intrigued her.
He was different from most of the men she’d met over her twenty-three years. Those she’d been able to identify easily; braggart, liar, cheater, thief, soldier, coward, villain. Usually after a glance, occasionally taking as long as a few minutes, she had a man’s measure. But she didn’t have Steele’s.
When she’d first seen those cold eyes and thick beard she’d thought, pirate. And yet, at almost every turn, his actions belied what she believed a pirate to be. What Roche was. Steele wasn’t mean; he wasn’t ruthless. He wasn’t gentle, but he wasn’t unnecessarily rough and forceful. He not only listened, he took into consideration his crew’s wants and needs. Even if it wasn’t what he himself wanted or needed.
He’d said it wasn’t about him.
“Who is it about?” she asked, pushing her empty bowl aside.
Steele went completely still. His cup stopped midway to his mouth.
After a moment, he lowered it. “Who is what about?”
“You said it wasn’t about you. If you’re not doing it for yourself, who would you be doing it for?”
“You’re referring to the men out there?” he said, speaking of his crew on the beach.
“Aye.”
“If you recall, the plan was to have some time to swim and to have supper ashore. Morgan’s arrival simply delayed things a few hours. Once Aidan convinced me Morgan wasn’t a threat, I saw no need to abandon the plan.”
“Why not?”
His forehead furrowed. “Because we had to come back for the supplies left when we thought Morgan an enemy. Besides, the men were looking forward to a night of fun.”
“You weren’t.” She reminded him.
“It’s not—” He stopped, caught.
“It’s not about you.
Aye, so you’ve said. I’m beginning to think none of this is about you.”
His eyes darkened. He pushed away from the table, rose to his feet. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.” He marched from the room and up the stairs to the main deck.
“Oh, no you don’t,” Grace muttered.
Taking the lantern she followed him. They hadn’t been below long, but it had darkened considerably in that time. The burst of sunset colors had faded to deep purples and indigos. Stars were beginning to fill the sky. The moon glowed from the heavens. On the beach the fire was now the size of a barrel. Flames speared upward; sparks exploded and fizzled. The men’s voices were louder with the drink, and their singing and dancing rolled down the beach and across the water. Grace shuddered when a drunken sailor wove a little too close to the fire. She thought she recognized Aidan steering the man in the other direction. Like his captain, Aidan took care.
She found Steele exactly where she’d anticipated she would, behind the wheel on the quarterdeck.
Hanging the lantern on the perch which was usually reserved for Carracks—Aidan had taken him ashore—Grace took a seat on the same chair she used when they were underway. He didn’t acknowledge she’d followed him.
“If you were hoping I’d give up simply because you walked away, you don’t know the Irish very well.”
With the ship at anchor Steele, could only pretend he was busy for so long. Turning, he leaned against the wheel, crossed his arms over his chest. His white shirt was open to mid-chest, sleeves rolled to the elbows. With dusk adding shadows to his face, he certainly looked a pirate. But she was beginning to think it was all a ruse.
“Why do you pirate? ’Tis clear to anyone who takes the time to look ’tisn’t in your heart.”
“And what would you know of it?”
“Roche’s eyes gleamed with hunger. He loved the brutality, the thieving. He didn’t care about his crew, he only cared about himself.”
Steele angled his head toward shore. “Morgan’s crew doesn’t fear him.”
Her Pirate to Love: A Sam Steele Romance Page 12
