Hart's Desire (Pirates & Petticoats Book 1) (8 page)

 
“I’m ready to return and give those pirates their due,” Conal growled, ripping off a chunk of scone. “The cannon shot that blew away the mizzen topsail and yardarm of my uncle’s ship sent splinters and shards raining down on the crew. May those pirates rot in hell. Beggin’ your pardons Mrs. Grey, Miss Grey.” He nodded his apology to Keelan and her aunt.

Landon lowered his voice before he spoke, “Conal’s Uncle Fynn captained the third ship in our small fleet. The falling mast killed him.” Landon’s head dropped slightly, and he spent a moment moving a bit of hash around on his plate.
 

Dr. Garrison interrupted, his words sounding sharper than usual, “’Tis a cruel end to meet. I, too, have lost family to the sea. You have my sympathies, sir.”

The doctor’s comment attracted Keelan’s attention. It was curious Dr. Garrison had never mentioned that before. Perhaps that’s why she’d seen him staring vacantly at the wooden model of Papa’s ship which sat on the desk in the study. Maybe he’d been thinking of loved ones lost at sea.

She nodded her thanks to Simon, Ruth’s husband, as he refilled her cup. She reached for the cream. Normally, she preferred her tea without the cream’s cooling effect, but the warmer spring temperatures in South Carolina demanded she adjust her preferences. She’d adapted to drinking tea at a more tepid temperature.

Hart continued, “Fynn took me in hand when I had nothing and taught me everything I know about the sea. His loss has weighed heavily upon us.”

“You have our sincerest condolences, gentlemen,” Uncle Jared said, laying down his fork.
 

“Thank you, sir,” Landon responded.
 

Conal leaned forward. “The main reason we accepted cargo bound for Charleston was to give my uncle an opportunity to meet with the commodore. We’d hoped Commodore Grey knew of my uncle or why he desired a meeting, but the commodore didn’t recall ever meeting Fynn when we spoke to him this morning.”

Uncle Jared’s face froze. He shook his head as if it was on a wooden post. “Fynn Ahern… I don’t recognize the name either.” He picked up his fork again, speared a piece of ham, and went to work cutting it into small squares, keeping his head down as he sawed through his meat.

Conal gave a slight shrug but watched Uncle Jared closely. “Uncle Fynn seemed eager to speak with Commodore Grey, although he wouldn’t say why, other than he wanted to be certain of his facts before he divulged his theories. Whatever he meant by that, I’ll never know.”

Her uncle’s shoulders tightened. Was he wondering if Conal’s uncle had sought her father because of the sinking of that passenger ship? Had Fynn Ahern lost a loved one? Had he tracked down Commodore Grey for retribution?
 

“I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. O'Brien,” Aunt Sarah said. “I beg your forgiveness at the indelicate nature of my earlier question.”

“No apology necessary, Mrs. Grey,” Conal said. “Were it not for the skills of Captain Hart, none of us would have escaped those pirates’ greedy claws at all.”

Hart shook his head in humble disagreement as he reached for his napkin. “It’s the speed of the
Desire
that saved our skins, Conal. That and a crew who knows every breath she takes.”

“Aye to that,” Conal responded, slapping his thigh. “Would that I could find a lass who handles as well, I’d marry her and leave the sea forever!” His laughter spread, and she had to admire the way he set aside his pain to lighten the mood.
 

Captain Hart continued. “Conal’s uncle ran the trade routes from Cartagena to Boston and back for years. Carthaginian pirates and privateers are thick along the southern route, especially in the gulf region. It’s not unusual to encounter them.”
 

“It’s Gampo, that bloody second of Lafitte’s who will see the broad side of my fist one day,” Conal said in a low voice. “Or the sharp end of my saber.” He suddenly seemed to remember where he was and hastened to apologize once more. “I beg your pardon again for my language. But I mean to avenge my uncle's death. It’s no less than he deserves.”

“It sounds as if you have quite a history with him,” Uncle Jared observed.

Landon chuckled. “Because we have slipped through their fingers so many times, I think we’ve become as much of a crumb in their craw to them as they are in ours.”

“That’s why Uncle Fynn taught Landon and me how to captain our own vessels. We covered his flanks so the pirates were outnumbered at the onset,” Conal said, a hint of pride in his voice.

“Pity you couldn’t have simply taken possession of his ship,” Keelan said. When Captain Hart glanced at her, the hunger in his eyes told her he would relish the opportunity to take such a plan of action. A cold quiver skittered down her spine, making her wonder exactly how dangerous Captain Landon Hart could actually be.
 

“Without a letter of marque from a friendly government naming us as a privateer, an action such as that would have been…illegal,” Landon answered with a stiff shrug.
 

“Why didn’t you plow a hole in her hull and sink her?” Dr. Garrison asked, matter-of-factly.

Conal cocked his head. “Well, that would have made us murderers rather than merchants, wouldn’t it?”

“Murderers? But it would have been justified,” Dr. Garrison argued. “An eye for an eye.” He reached over and stabbed a piece of ham. “He should pay for it,” he murmured.

“It would have made them
pirates
,” Keelan added, as she placed a scone on her plate. Hart glanced up and caught her gaze. A mischievous glint in his eye told her she wasn’t far from the truth. She couldn’t help wondering how Hart could deal with LaFitte’s second in command and still maintain his code of ethics. A conundrum to be sure.
 

“There are other ways to mete out justice,” Landon said, as if reading her thoughts.

What other ways were there? Perhaps Hart’s code of ethics merely stopped short of murder. Maybe all else was fair game.

“Their captain was a pirate to be certain,” Conal agreed. “But often times, pirates take prisoners and slaves and force them to do their bidding. You can never be certain all hands are willing.”

“Sometimes the right choice isn’t always the easiest.” Aunt Sarah nodded, as she passed a plate of brandied fruit.

Ruth bustled in, placed a fresh pot of tea on the sideboard, and removed the empty pot and meat platter, tossing Simon a quick smile.
 

Aunt Sarah spoke to Ruth, her brow furrowed. “Ruth, how is Joseph doing? I heard he had a fright this morning.”

Keelan froze. Afraid her expression would betray her unsettled nerves, she toyed with the food on her plate and surreptitiously watched Ruth’s reaction.

Ruth dipped her head. “He doing fine now, ma’am.” She glanced at Keelan then gestured at Hart. “I’m grateful for dis kind gentleman’s help.”

“I’m glad I was there to assist,” Hart said.

Conal swallowed a bite of fruit and nodded. “From the study window, I saw the knife strike the creature. It was a very good throw.”

Thank goodness! It wasn’t Uncle Jared at the window; it was Mr. O'Brien.
 

Dr. Garrison cleared his throat and folded his napkin into a precise rectangle and placed it on his lap. “I examined the boy prior to breakfast, to make sure he wasn’t bitten.”

“Thank you, Dr. Garrison,” Aunt Sarah said smiling. “We’re so lucky to have you with us today.”

Simon took the hot pot and filled Keelan’s cup, along with the others at the table.
 

Uncle Jared placed a spoonful of the fruit on his plate. “What hear you, Captain Hart, of the possibility of war between the United States and England?”

“War!” Aunt Sarah exclaimed, putting down her fork. “I thought the United States remains neutral with regard to the conflict between France and England. Has that changed?”

Landon spread jam on his scone. “It appears neither France nor England is willing to trade with a country who will not declare its absolute allegiance. It is only a matter of time before we are forced to choose sides.”

“Oh dear,” Aunt Sarah said.
 

Jared leaned in. “Will you have to adjust your trade route?”

Hart gave a slight shrug, “Possibly. Our primary mission is to avoid the British navy and the French privateers.” He glanced at Keelan and the corner of his mouth tipped up. “And other pirates.”

Sarah pressed her hand to her throat. “Are you saying the British navy will attack unprovoked?”
 

Captain O'Brien explained, “Not attack, exactly. The English still consider us British citizens, not Americans. They continue to illegally search our ships and impress American seamen into service for the British navy. And the privateers are given letters of marque from their king, giving them authority to take possession of enemy merchant ships in exchange for a share of the prize. It makes for dangerous waters.”

 
“Disrupt a country’s trade and you weaken the resources needed to fight,” Uncle Jared added. He tapped his finger on the table as he spoke. “Congress can no longer remain reticent. They will have to act soon. I believe it’s only a matter of time before we’re all pulled into war.” Her uncle sighed and shook his head. “Even though we cannot afford to participate since this country is still building its forces. It doesn’t yet have a strong navy to protect its coast.”

Landon cocked his head and placed his elbows on the table. “The United States has several frigates on the seas. Commodore Hall, of the
USS Glory,
is a good friend of mine.”

Uncle Jared looked hard at Landon. “This war will not be fought solely on the seas.”
 

“That’s certainly true, Mr. Grey,” Captain Hart agreed. His gaze locked on Keelan as she bit into a scone. “We all might be asked to do our part. Why, who knows, perhaps women will have to be instructed to bear arms as well.”
 

The sizzle of her nerves fraying like brittle twine was almost audible. She tried to swallow the scone, but it had turned to dust in her throat, making her cough.

“Are you all right, Miss Keelan?” Dr. Garrison asked, patting her back.
 

Aunt Sarah gave her a concerned glance before she smiled and responded to Captain Hart. “What a silly thing to demand. There are better ways for women to help in times of war.”

Keelan attempted to wash down the offending morsel with a gulp of tea and instantly regretted the action when the scalding liquid hit the back of her throat and threw her into a worse fit of coughing and sputtering. She did her best to ignore the two seamen who attempted to hide their amused smiles behind their own cups. Insufferable ingrates.

“War and weapons are no place for women or children,” Uncle Jared stated, oblivious to the cause for Keelan’s discomfort. “It’s a man’s duty to protect his own and be noble enough to never engage the fairer gender in battle.”

“Are you all right, my dear?” Aunt Sarah asked as Keelan reached for the cream pitcher. Keelan poured a liberal amount into her teacup, nodded and stared hard at Landon Hart, wishing he were the one mute from a scalded tongue.

“Here, Miss Keelan,” Dr. Garrison said. “Have a sip of my tea. It’s gone cold. I added too much cream I’m afraid.”

She nodded her thanks and gulped down the rest of the doctor’s tepid tea, noticing as she did so that Dr. Garrison was watching Captain Hart intently. His gaze shifted to her then back to Captain Hart for a second time. Why?

She returned the cup to his saucer and refolded the napkin on her lap. Had he noticed the familiarity between her and Hart, or was he only interested in the conversation?

“And if the fairer gender fires the first shot?” Landon asked, a wicked gleam in his eyes. “What then?”

Uncle Jared paused and gave the captain a puzzled frown. “To what do you refer, Captain?”

Keelan gripped her napkin tightly. Her heart ricocheted against the walls of her chest, its vibration pounding in her ears.
 

I’m a naïve little fool!
 

She should have suspected he wouldn’t keep his word! Regardless of his promises, he was a scoundrel. A black-hearted man with no scruples or honor. He was a seaman.

Surely, even a pirate would be less nefarious.

Afraid her expression would betray her fear, she stared at her clenched fists. A sickening sense of dread pulsed in her stomach. If Daniel suffered a punishment because of Landon Hart’s words, she would seek her own vengeance.
 

And although Hart seemed to harbor no moral compass when it came to keeping his word, he was about to learn that Keelan Grey always kept
her
promises.

Landon chuckled, placed his elbow on the table, and rested his chin in his hand.
 

“There are tales of a lady pirate who dressed like a man. For a while, even her husband’s crew did not know her fairer gender.”
 

She let out a long slow breath and narrowed her eyes at him. In return, she received a merry wink. Taking a smaller sip of tea, she tried to hide her agitation. The captain seemed to enjoy watching her squirm in her chair. She wished she could turn about the conversation in a way that would make him squirm, too.

To Keelan’s surprise, her very proper aunt’s eyes widened before her excited intake of breath drew the captain’s attention. “How scandalous! Please tell us more about her.”
 

“Her name was Anne Bonny,” he answered. “She handled a blade and pistol as well as, and sometimes better than, any man. Eventually she was captured and sentenced to hang in Jamaica.”

“Oh, dear,” Aunt Sarah sighed.

 
“However,” Landon continued, “she was with child at the time and received several stays of execution. Until one day, she vanished from the gaol.”

“Vanished! Where did she go?” Aunt Sarah leaned forward. “How did she escape?”

Landon shrugged. “It is alleged that a group of loyal friends crept ashore in the dark of the new moon to rescue her.”

Unable to help herself, Keelan asked, “And what of her husband?” The story seemed incredibly romantic to her, but why would her husband not lead his men?