Captain of My Heart (49 page)

“
Moyrrra
. ..”

She circled her tongue around the tip,
sucking him hard, harder, until he thought he would die with the
sheer agony of it. Just when he thought he couldn’t take it anymore
she pulled back, straddled him once more with her weight on her
knees, and gently lowered herself down atop him, until her sex, hot
and wet and more than ready for him, was just touching the tip of
his erection, still held firmly in her hand.

He shuddered, breathing hard. She held him
there against her entrance, slowly rubbing the tip of him against
herself until he lost the ability to think, to even remember what
he’d eaten for breakfast that morning.

“Is this too much for you, Brendan?” she
asked with mock innocence.

He’d sooner die than admit that perhaps it
was, for his heart was pounding, the blood rushing through his
head, and her image was fading in and out behind a wall of dark
speckles and spinning lights. But strangely, the dizzying effect
only heightened the agony of pleasure. And as for her taunting,
teasing ways . . . well, he’d had enough of that! Fitting his hands
around her waist, he lifted her slightly, then lowered her, slowly
sliding her down, down, down atop himself, filling her, stretching
her, sinking so deeply into her that her triumphant smile faded and
her lips parted in a surprised and delighted
O
.

For a long moment he just held her there,
drinking in the sight of her flushed cheeks, her thick,
board-straight hair falling over her breasts. He twitched,
involuntarily, and felt her inner muscles tightening around him in
response. She took a deep, unsteady breath, then her head fell
back, her hair spilling down her back and tickling his thighs, and
her hips began to move atop him. Impatiently he slid his hands
beneath her shirt, finally pulling it over her head until her
breasts were bared to his palms. He gazed at the pale, sweet
globes, so perfectly formed, like twin melons capped by dusky
little rosebuds, and with his thumbs, gently tweaked the nipples
until she was whimpering and writhing atop him.

“So . . . is this my punishment, Captain?”
she breathed, squirming uncontrollably.

“I think it’s mine,” he said, feeling himself
being pushed closer and closer to release with every movement of
her hips.

“I like being punished.”

“No one deceives the captain and gets away
with it.”

“Then I must deceive you more often . . . oh,
Brendan, please . . . take me.”

“Not yet,
mo bhourneen,”
he murmured,
as she leaned forward and ground herself against him, her breasts
pressing against his chest, her lips finding his with desperate,
hungry abandon.

He kissed her hard, unable to get enough of
her, and then she began to move in earnest atop him, building a
rhythm, driving him closer and closer to the edge. His head was
swimming, his vision darkening, and he wondered if he could stay
conscious long enough to complete the act. His hands roved out over
the curve of her bottom, pulling her closer, pressing her further
down atop himself with each upward thrust of his hips.

“Brendan ...”

“Hold tight,
Moyrrra
. . . .”

“Brendan, oh, oh,
Brendan!”

She gave a sudden cry, her muscles
contracting gloriously all around him, and he thrust himself once,
twice, three more times deeply up and into her, causing her to
stiffen and cry out once again as she climaxed a second time. And
then he, too, was carried away, and maybe he lost both control and
consciousness, because when he opened his eyes she lay atop him,
blanketing his face with her hot damp hair, her arms wrapped around
him and her muscles still spasming all around him.

They lay together, breathing hard, slowly
drifting down from the heights. Brendan curved an arm around her
damp shoulders, clasping her to him as though to never let her go,
and it took a long time for either of them to realize that there
was a voice coming from high, high above.

“Deck there!”

Brendan raised his head.

“Brendan!” Liam was there, over the skylight,
his body cutting off the sunlight streaming down from above. “Come
topside, laddie! There’s a strange sail in the lee of one o’ these
here islands! She’s flyin’ British colors and runnin’ with her tail
between her legs!”

Brendan sighed and lay back, staring up at
the deck beams above. He let the silence stretch on, his hand
absently stroking Mira’s hair. “Well?”

“Well what?” she asked, cuddling up against
him and kissing the underside of his chin.

“Shall we take her, Mr. Starr?”

Their eyes met. Hers gleamed; his danced; and
beneath them,
Kestrel
whispered softly to herself.

Take her.

The tension built. Then, Mira leapt up. She
grabbed her breeches and raced across the cabin, hopping into them
as she went. Laughing, she snatched Brendan’s sword from the
bulkhead, and pirouetting on bare fairy feet, raced from the
cabin.

He, hastily buttoning his breeches and
waistcoat, was not far behind.

And when they emerged on deck, no one noticed
that their wee gunner’s hair was loose and unbound, her lips
swollen, her eyes gleaming with feline contentment. No one noticed
that their captain didn’t look quite so immaculate, his coat
half-unbuttoned, his tricorne slapped atop curls that were rumpled
and tousled.

And neither did
Kestrel.

For there, speared like a moth just beyond
her surging bowsprit, was a schooner, with the Union Jack
fluttering from her mast.

Brendan took one look and cupped his hands
around his mouth. “Trim for a broad reach! Crack on that last jib
and t'gallant, Mr. Wilbur! Faith, d’you expect to catch her with
Kestrel
half-dressed? Better yet, rig the studders, and be
quick about it!”

Topmen raced up the shrouds, out along the
yards. Sails spilled down and were sheeted smartly home.
Kestrel
rose on her tiptoes, the pitch of the sea against
her bows rising as she found more speed.

Brendan took the helm, thrilling to the feel
of the wind driving against that giant canvas and sending its raw
power thrumming down the masts, through the deck, and right up into
the soles of his feet. He let the schooner fall off a point, and
Kestrel
swung her jib-boom past a rock-rimmed islet well off
her bow, until the wind was coming over their larboard quarter and
sending her plunging toward the other vessel.

He felt a sadness that their quarry was a
schooner, but quickly drove the feeling from his mind. The British
ship and
Kestrel
were night and day, one short and stubby,
bluff-bowed and unwieldy, the other sleek and dark, dangerous and
beautiful.

“To stations, gunners!”

He saw Mira race past on her way to
Freedom,
and groaned inwardly.

Kestrel
was closing in now, swallowing
her prey’s foamy wake as she changed tack and tried to dart behind
an island. In moments, they were overtaking her. Unconsciously
Brendan slid his hand into his pocket and found his sketchbook
missing. He swore beneath his breath and grabbed the speaking
trumpet that Dalby, wheezing, thrust toward him. “Will you strike?”
he yelled.

A solitary gun boomed out in reply, slapped
through
Kestrel
’s jibs, and hissed into the sea.

“Very well, then.” Shrugging, Brendan raised
the trumpet once more, and caught Mira’s gaze from where she stood
waiting at
Freedom,
her gun crew holding rammers and
sponges.

“Gunners, cast off tackles and breechings!”
he called.

One by one, the commands were fired off with
swift precision and obeyed with equal smartness. At last, every gun
captain and every crew stared aft, awaiting the word—

“Run out!”

He saw Mira fling her hair over her shoulder
and crouch down beside
Freedom
’s ugly snout.

“Point your guns ...
fire!”

Kestrel
shuddered beneath the force of
the broadside. Blindly she drove on through thick, billowing gray
smoke, bursting free of it and into open sea once more.

Guns were sponged out, loaded. Again
Kestrel
's guns spoke, and a great cheer went up as the other
schooner’s fore topmast shuddered, leaned, and fell in a tangle of
rigging and sail to her decks below.

It was enough to send the British captain
racing aft to haul down the colors with his own hand, for the
identity of his attacker was no mystery to him. There was only one
schooner in these waters—indeed, anywhere—that looked like this one
did. Lean, rakish, and lithe, she could only be the Americans’
legendary
Kestrel;
and that blue-coated figure, framed
against the great, undulating backdrop of the glorious
red-and-white flag of the privateer, could only be Brendan
Merrick.

Captain Edward Sorrington was no fool. Let
Kestrel
have his schooner. It would probably be the last
prize she’d ever take.

For Sorrington was on his way to Penobscot
himself, and he knew information that might have saved the American
forces had they been privy to it.

Just one day’s sail behind him were the
reinforcements that the British general Francis McLean in the
Penobscot was expecting, a powerful fleet of British warships led
by Sir George Collier in the sixty-four-gun
Raisonnable.

But Merrick didn’t need to know that. He’d
find out soon enough.

Let him go to Penobscot. Let his legendary
vessel join the other American ships already there. Let him, and
the cocky Americans, think they could reclaim Penobscot Bay.

They were in for a big surprise.

And so was Merrick, he thought wryly, for in
company with the British fleet was HMS
Viper,
with Captain
Richard Crichton in command.

Chapter
30

“
That seat of Science, Athens, and Earth’s
proud mistress Rome! Where now are all their glories? We scarce can
find a tomb! Then guard your rights, Americans! Nor stoop to
lawless swa-a-y! Oppose, oppose, oppose, oppose, for North
A-mer-i-kay!”

Mira, clad in a blousy, white cotton shirt,
tucked her skirts up into her waistband and, laughing off the
crew’s lewd comments about her bare legs, danced barefoot atop
Freedom
’s barrel to the rollicking tune of Liam’s fiddle. It
was a new day, a glorious morning, and they were here in Maine on
their way to join the American fleet!

A brisk wind pushed
Kestrel
steadily
up the bay. Her prize schooner, with just enough Americans aboard
to sail her, followed, its crew locked in
Kestrel
’s hold.
Islands slid past, densely wooded with pine and cedar, their shores
rimmed with pebbled beaches strewn with green, purple, and brown
seaweed. Sapphire blue water surrounded them, and
Kestrel
’s
streaming wake glittered foamy and white in the sun. High overhead,
an osprey circled her proud mainmast and played chase with the
streaming pennants.

“
We led fair Freedom hi-ther, and lo, the
desert smiled! A paradise of plea-sure was opened in the wild! Your
harvest, bold Americans, no pow’r shall snatch a-wa-a-y, preserve,
preserve, preserve your rights, and free A-mer-i-kay!”

“
And free A-mer-i-kay!”
the crew
echoed.

At the helm, the captain grinned and moved
the tiller to compensate for a slight shift in wind. Amidships,
Dalby, clutching his ribs and complaining about a stitch in his
side, worked to repair the hole in one of the jibs, now laid out on
the deck around him. At the rail, the crew eagerly crowded for
their first glimpse of the mighty American squadron.

And
Kestrel,
caught up in the
excitement, lifted her bows and began to dance.

“
Torn from a world of ty-rants, beneath
this western sky! We formed a new do-min-ion, a land of liberty!
The world shall own we’re free men here and such we’ll ever be-e-e,
huzzah, huzzah, huzzah, huzzah, for love and liberty!”

They rounded an island, caught the breeze in
their faces, and saw, in glorious, magnificent array, the American
fleet spread out before them.

Mira’s first glimpse of it filled her with
awe. There they were, so many vessels she could’ve played leapfrog
from deck to deck. Nearly a score of armed warships drawn up in a
crescent, with the storeships and transports tucked safely behind
them. The pride of America. The might of their new country!

“Brendan, look!” she cried, hopping up and
down atop the cannon’s sun-warmed barrel.

But her breath caught in her throat. Tall and
handsome, the buttons of his blue uniform gleaming in the sun, he
captured her heart in a way the glorious American fleet could never
do. Her chest swelled with emotion, and she thought her ribs would
burst.

He was her captain.

Kestrel
was her ship.

And they would do what they had to do for
their proud young country.

Now she fully understood how Brendan felt,
why it was so important to him to be a part of this glorious
effort. Filled with an overwhelming sense of unity and joyous
elation, Mira curled her fingers around the fore-shrouds and felt
her heart sing with pride. And the crew felt it, too. They laid
fond, possessive hands on their ship, touched her gunwales, raised
her magnificent red-and-white flag for all to see. The fleet was
mighty, but
Kestrel
was
their
ship and they were
her
crew. And as they sailed boldly into the midst of that
immense gathering, a thunderous welcoming cheer echoed across the
water and filled their ears.

Liam put down his fiddle. “God Almighty,
would ye look at that,” he said hoarsely, his blue eyes strangely
moist.

Abadiah Bobbs was staring in awe. “Aye, a
fine, purty sight, ain’t it?”