It didn’t matter if sharing himself with Grace—and having her share herself with him—was the purest thing he’d done in years, it didn’t change the rest. She had a child to think of, and she’d be safer without him in her life. Both of them would be.
So he shoved aside the regret, told his fool heart to snap out of it, and ignored the hurt lashing back at him. Because sure as he was lying naked on his quarterdeck looking up at the stars, he was sticking to his plan. He was leaving Grace in Claire’s capable hands the moment they made port in Santo Domingo.
Beside him, Grace stirred. His hands twitched with a fierce desire to reach over and draw her close, settle her head against his shoulder, and promise her the very stars that mocked him from above.
He turned toward her. Womanly curves and dips lay before him like a banquet. Her skin shone like the most priceless pearl and he knew it to be smooth as one as well. The uncertainty on her face told him she was unaware of just how exquisite she was. If he were a different man, he’d cover her with his body and love her again. And again. He’d tell her how beautiful she was, how brave. He’d make promises, say whatever it took to keep her at his side.
But he wasn’t. He’d spent most of his life thinking of only himself, of what was best for Cale. It was why he’d cast Vincent out of his life, why he never took the time to keep in contact with his sisters. It was why he hadn’t been there when Catherine and Caden had needed him most. He wouldn’t do the same to Grace. He cared for her and, because he did, he was putting her life and happiness above his own.
Selflessness wounded the heart and made it bleed.
“We should get dressed before the men decide they’ve had enough frivolity,” he said, rolling to his feet.
He found her scattered clothes, set them beside her then went in search of his own. How had his trousers ended up hanging from the wheel? Feeling her gaze on his back, Cale yanked them on.
He donned his shirt and boots, waited until the rustle of clothing behind him stopped before turning to her. She was fully dressed, his shirt once again keeping her gown as modest as possible. He searched her face and was relieved to see there were no tears gleaming in the green depths of her eyes. Nor was there a smile or a frown upon her face. In fact there was no sign what they’d just shared had changed her, or affected her in any way. Why the devil wasn’t she feeling the same torment that was ripping him apart?
“Why are you frowning?” she asked.
Though it made no sense, he felt better knowing she’d noticed. Perhaps she wasn’t as indifferent as she appeared.
“I feel as though I should be apologizing.”
Her fingers twisted together. “Are you sorry?”
Was he sorry? Only because it could never happen again. He curled his hands around the wheel to keep from reaching for her.
But he wouldn’t lie to her. “No.”
“Neither am I.”
Thank God. His shame would have known no bounds had she said she wished to undo what they’d done. Yet despite her words, she didn’t look happy about what they’d shared either. She looked…unsettled.
“Is your wound paining you? We didn’t—”
“It’s fine. I hardly feel it.” She gestured to the stairs. “I’m going below. I’m tired.” Her words were as wooden as her actions, which seemed stiff.
Damnation. The weight of responsibility settled onto his shoulders. He couldn’t let her go like this, didn’t want her to fret and worry. While he had no future to offer her, he could do better than leave her unsettled and upset.
“Tell me about Ireland.”
“You want to know about Ireland? Now?”
“It’s as good a time as any. I’ve heard you sing about it, seen you weep over it. It must be a special place.”
As he’d hoped, her face filled with expression. She settled herself in the chair next to the wheel, and he was pleased to see her movements once again seemed natural and graceful.
“Ireland is music and family. ’Tis lying in bed at night, listening to your da tell stories of faeries and magic. ’Tis a warm fire and a hearty bowl of soup after working outside in the fields all day.”
“Sounds nice.”
She smiled. “Me da used to say there was a time it was neighbor helping neighbor, that he couldn’t walk anywhere without half the village waving at him, calling his name. But that was before.”
“Before?”
“Before Cromwell and his English army stole our lands, took everything that was rightfully ours.”
“Why?”
“Why? Because we were Catholic and he was afraid of us, or that’s what me da always said. I don’t remember much of that. I was only three when we went into hiding.”
“Hiding?”
“Me da was part of a rebellion in sixteen hundred and forty one. If word ever got round, he’d be killed. He knew a local farmer, protestant, though, truthfully, I don’t think he cared one way or the other. He agreed to take us on as farm workers as long we kept quiet and didn’t give him any reason to turn us in. He let us stay in a small shack and that’s where we stayed for eleven years.”
When she stopped, toyed with the hem of his borrowed shirt, he knew he was getting to how she’d come to be in the Caribbean.
“What happened, Grace?”
“Me brother Colin died in the siege at Drogheda. When me da heard the news, he surrendered to Cromwell who sent us here as indentured servants.”
“I’m sorry for your brother, Grace. But from what you said, life in Ireland wasn’t easy. You had your land taken. I’ve heard of the troubles there and Paddy’s spoke of it a time or two. It was war and fighting and unrest. You lived in hiding for eleven years and yet you make Ireland sound like the Garden of Eden.”
Her eyes flashed. “It wasn’t perfect, to be sure, but it was me home.”
“From what you just said, you didn’t really have a home. You were living in someone else’s shack, on their land, tending their farm. But even if you’d had your own home, what makes you think it would it be there now? You left over a dozen years ago. Surely the war changed the country and the people living in it? I don’t think you can expect to simply go back and everything will be as it was, or as you want it to be.”
“Well of course not but—” She frowned as she mulled over his words and the lines in her forehead deepened.
Cale could have kicked himself. By trying to make her feel better, he’d managed to make her feel worse. “I’m sorry, Grace. I didn’t mean to—”
“No, you’d be right.” She acknowledged, though he could see she wasn’t happy about her admission. “It wasn’t ideal, but it was what I knew and I had me family. Me ancestors worked similar fields, swam the same rivers, burnt the same peat fires.” She dipped her head. “There’s comfort in knowing you’re doing exactly what others before you have done. Somehow, you don’t feel so alone.”
“Someone had to be the first, Grace.”
“The first?”
He crossed his arms. “Someone had to be the first to walk that road, swim that river. You’ll get back to Ireland, I’ve no doubt, but pretend for a moment you didn’t. Your child,” he said, pointing to her stomach, “would walk new roads, swim this sea, and do it feeling the same sense of stability you felt in Ireland because he will know his mother was there before him. Don’t think of it as being alone, but as being the first to break the trail.” He smiled. “Whether you stay or go back, either way you’ll be giving your child a hell of a legacy.”
“Oh.” Her eyes shone and her hand went to her throat. “What a lovey way of looking at it.”
“If it’s so lovely, why did I make you cry?”
Grace stood and wiped her tears. “It doesn’t seem to take much to make me weepy these days.”
Yes, he remembered. Catherine had been the same when she’d carried Caden.
“Well, I’ve bared me soul. I think it only fair you return the favor.”
Hell, he didn’t like the sound of that.
“You never did tell me why you pirate.” She smiled when he glared. “I did notice you managed to avoid me question.”
“It’s getting late. You should get some rest.”
She held his hand when he would have turned away. “Cale, ’twould mean a lot if you trusted me enough to share this with me.”
Hell. He hung his head. He’d never had any success in denying a woman. It was lucky for him Grace wasn’t pressing him into marriage or he’d find himself a husband again. A husband raising a child. Fierce longing twisted around his heart. Yes, a good thing Grace wasn’t pushing him into such matters.
“You want to know why I pirate?” he asked. His gaze crawled up the bare mast to the stars beyond. “I do this for my brother, Vincent. He asked it of me on his deathbed. A deathbed I didn’t know about until it was too late.”
“Could you have changed it?”
Her voice was gentle as the night’s breeze yet the answer cut him deep. “No, but he wouldn’t have been hurt if it hadn’t been for me.”
“Was it you who put him in harm’s way?”
“Yes. By shunning him, by making him feel as though he was less of a man for being a dwarf.” To this day the truth of it was rancid on his tongue. “Had I accepted him, let him know he was enough just by being himself, he wouldn’t have looked for validation elsewhere. He wouldn’t have turned to piracy.”
“You don’t know, perhaps he might have.”
“He was my brother and I should have loved him as he was instead of thinking myself superior for the simple reason I was taller. I shouldn’t have worried about what others thought, about how walking beside him discomfited me.”
“You loved him. You still do. ’Tis why it hurts you.”
His eyes squeezed. What he would have given to be able to see his brother alive one last time, to say to Vincent what was in his heart.
“He sailed on this vessel. He was first mate to Nate Carter, Claire’s husband, who was Sam Steele at the time.” He waved a hand. “It’s a long story, but there’s been a line of Sam Steeles. At any rate, Nate found Claire and was going to resign as Steele. Vincent said he wanted it, that he needed to be known as something other than a dwarf. He told Nate he’d felt inferior his whole life.
“He was wounded in their last battle and never made it to shore alive. But before he died, he asked Nate, and his friend Blake, to find me, and ask that I become Steele in his stead. When they found me, I denied I was Cale, told them I had no family. All I had left of my brother was his dying wish and they had to beat me into accepting it.” There. Now she knew. She didn’t know his worst sin, which remained locked in his heart. Catholics believed confession was good for the soul. He knew better. His soul felt as soiled as it had before.
For a moment, nothing moved other than the sea nudging the hull. His crew’s laughter continued to ring out in the night as he and Morgan’s men celebrated on shore. Then her hand crept over his. He opened his eyes, figured on seeing revulsion in hers. But when he looked at her, her face was soft with sympathy. Lord, he didn’t deserve it.
Nor did he deserve her touch, but it didn’t stop him from accepting it when she cupped her hand over his cheek.
“He loved you. He wouldn’t have asked this of you if he didn’t. He loved you enough and trusted you enough to know you’d honor him.”
Cale shook his head. “I almost didn’t.”
“But you did.” Her kiss was gentle, devoid of the passion that had burned between them earlier and more powerful because of it.
She placed her hand over the necklace, which once again hung over his heart. “You’re doing a fine job honoring your brother. He’d be proud.”
She thought the necklace was Vincent’s. If she knew the truth she wouldn’t be speaking of pride. “You’re wrong. I haven’t done anything to make Vincent proud.” Not Vincent and not anybody else. Removing her hand, Cale headed for his cabin.
*
Leaning against a ten-pound gun in the dark, the only sign she wasn’t alone was the faint yellow glow coming from the captain’s hatch. She wondered briefly if he’d fallen asleep but then dismissed the thought. It was easier to envision him at the table, his brow furrowed and chest heavy with the load he insisted on carrying.
She’d known his heart wasn’t in piracy and she’d watched him do it, and do it well. Now she understood why. For a brother he loved deeply enough to want to make amends with, even if Vincent would never know the price it cost Cale.
How long had it been since he’d taken over as Steele for Vincent? How long would he continue at it? The answers tugged at her heart. This wasn’t where he belonged. He belonged on land with a wife and family, with people he could care for. He belonged with someone who could love him the way he deserved to be loved.
Grace raised the shirt she wore to her chin, smelled the wind and the man on the garment and pulled it a little closer. For a heartbeat, she saw him holding a child, while looking lovingly toward a wife who looked too much like Grace for her peace of mind. She shook off the vision. It was much too similar to the vision she’d had while he was still inside her.
Lord, it had scared her to death when she’d realized what sharing her body truly meant. No consequences, she’d naively thought before they’d made love. There were consequences. Maybe not any which could be seen, but there were a lot she felt. If she’d thought herself vulnerable since leaving Ireland, ’twas nothing to how defenseless she’d felt wrapped in Cale’s arms, her body trembling from his lovemaking.
Suddenly she’d wanted things she’d sworn she didn’t need. A man. Marriage. Holding Cale close. She couldn’t imagine never holding him again. Never feeling complete again.
No, that was nonsense. She didn’t need a man to be whole. Still, she’d have fled to the sanctuary of his cabin if he hadn’t managed to get her to speak of home. While he’d forced her to acknowledge Ireland wasn’t the fairy tale she’d carried in her head, he’d nonetheless made her feel better. She couldn’t get the image of being the first to lay a trail her ancestors would follow out of her mind. A lovely little trick and she couldn’t help but smile as the gesture was so completely Cale. He’d sensed something was wrong, though he couldn’t possibly know what, and he’d hastened to make her feel better.
She intended to return the favor.
By Grace’s calculations, they had two more days until they reached Santo Domingo and Claire’s orphanage, and she intended to use the time to convince Cale he’d more than paid his debt to his brother. Pleased with her decision, she decided she’d done more than her own share of worrying for one night. Pushing away from the cannon, Grace ducked underneath the boom and crossed to the gunwale. It wasn’t until she saw the low flames and the dark shapes spread out haphazardly across the sand that she noticed the lack of noise.
Apparently the festivities were over.
Two men remained awake. One moved through the maze of bodies, while the other waited at one of the longboats. Grace recognized Aidan’s lean form as he checked on the sleeping sailors. She smiled when he dragged a man further from the fire and tossed sand onto the flames. At the water’s edge, with Carrack’s cage in one hand, he and the other man parted ways. Aidan headed for the Revenge, the other, Morgan she assumed, veered his longboat toward the other ship. As the rope ladder remained hanging from Paddy’s supper delivery, Grace had nothing to do but peer over and watch Aidan secure the boat.
*
Halfway up the ladder, the hairs on Aidan’s arms stood up. He raised his gaze, surprised to see Grace watching him and not Steele.
“You’re up late,” he said. “Where’s the captain?” He clambered over the gunwale, set Carracks’ cage down, then proceeded to haul up the ladder and fold it onto the deck. The crew was asleep and likely wouldn’t stagger awake until the sun beat through their eyelids, and while he didn’t anticipate trouble from Morgan or his crew, it was always better not to leave things to chance.
“Below. Sleeping, I hope, though I d
oubt it.”
“Oh?”
Grace folded her arms, settled against one of the cannons. “Do you know of his brother?”
Aidan raised a brow. Steele had told her about Vincent? Well, well. “I do.”
“I’ve been noticing how he doesn’t get the same enjoyment from pirating as the rest of you, and I asked him about it.”
“And he told you?” Aidan couldn’t mask his surprise.
Lord knew Steele wasn’t the talkative sort. Hadn’t Aidan himself spent years with the man and gleaned nothing more about him than what he already knew?
“Not at first.”
Squawk. “Not at first. Not at first.”
She bit her lip, looked away. Mentally rubbing his hands together, Aidan struggled to withhold the mirth pulling at his lips.
“But…later he did?” He coaxed.
She nodded, swallowed. He barely managed to smother the grin before she looked his way again.
“He carries such guilt. I told him Vincent would be proud of him but he refused to listen. He’s been in his cabin ever since.”
“How long ago was that?”
Grace shrugged. “An hour, perhaps longer.”
“I’m sorry, Grace. Had I know I wouldn’t have lingered so long with Morgan.”
“I don’t need a keeper, Aidan. I’m fine on me own. Besides, ’tisn’t me I’m worried about.”
“You care for him.”
“I—well—that is—” She huffed a breath. “Fine, yes, I care for him.”
When Aidan lost the battle and his grin spread wide, Grace narrowed her eyes, took the same haughty Irish tone he’d heard Paddy take when he was good and riled. “Get those romantic notions out of your head, I can care about him without wanting to shackle meself to him.”
“I agree Steele isn’t the easiest sort to deal with, but I hardly think he’d shackle you.”
Squawk. “Shackle you. Shackle you.”
“Don’t be daft. You know what I be meaning. I’d have no freedom.”
Curious and amused, Aidan lifted himself on the next cannon. “Was your mother shackled to the table?”
Her Pirate to Love: A Sam Steele Romance Page 15
