My Lady Pirate (25 page)

Then, as though the outburst had never happened, he relaxed his death grip on her and

resumed his brisk pace.

She was too stunned by his unguarded display of emotion to remark upon it, and instead,

maintained a sullen silence as he carried her up through the hatch to the next deck. A myriad array of feelings tore through her, not the least of which was guilt. She swallowed hard. His behavior when she’d awakened to find him hovering anxiously over the surgeon, alternately pacing, slamming his fist against a bulkhead, inquiring after her prognosis, declaring his love for her in one breath and damning himself in the next for having left her alone— could not have been more genuine.

Don’t let yourself be fooled,
she told herself.
He'll only hurt you. Betray you.
She tightened her arms protectively over her heart.
Abandon you. He’s a rake for God’s sake!

A very handsome rake. And in that glittering admiral’s uniform—

She shut her eyes, feeling the heat of his body against her own, his muscles moving

smoothly beneath her as though she weighed no more than his hat and coat.

“I love you, Maeve.”

“Really? Well I love you, too. About as much as I do el Perro Negro.”

“Maeve, that hurts. I know you’re angry, and you’ve a right to be. But if you’re trying to get a reaction out of me, I fear you must work harder. When you’re well again we can fight all you want.”

She tilted her head back to stare up at him. “How can you be so
nice
to me after what I did to you?”

“Pray, what did you do to me?”

She thought of the bloodstained hemp aboard
Kestrel
with which they had bound his wrists, the dank cell they’d kept him in, the cruel treatment he had endured at their hands. Shame washed through her, deep and biting and sharp.

“Maeve?”

She looked down. “Never mind.”

“Oh, you must be referring to my, er,
captivity
while on your island? Your ship? Dear lady, do not trouble yourself over
that;
it was indeed an adventure. Why, ’tis not every day that an admiral who wishes he was born a pirate gets to be captured and held prisoner by a whole gang of them! Indeed, it will be something to tell our children about.”

“Tell
your
children about,” she corrected him.

“Oh, no, Majesty. You will marry me. I vow it.”

“Over my dead body.”

As usual, he continued on as though he hadn’t heard her. “We’ll have fine, strong sons, and daughters as lovely as you. You’ll have to give up your piratical pursuits, of course—I’ll have no wife of
mine
risking her neck by sailing the seas as a pirate, no matter how charming I might find the vision!—but oh, think of what children we shall have; why, I hope they get your hair, have I ever told you how beautiful it is? I had a most wonderful time braiding it. Come to think of it, I’ll wager that the formidable Anne Bonney’s was of a similar shade—”

“I
want
to go back to my ship,
Gray.
”

“However, her beauty and fire would not have held a candle to yours. I am the lucky one,

am I not? My God, I can’t wait to get you to England, and show you off to my sisters, my family, my peers, my friends at Portsmouth . . . How they shall envy me!”

“I—
want
”—she ground out through clenched teeth—“to go back to my
ship.
”

“No doubt you do, and then you’d be away from me and leading me a merry chase. Ah, yes,

where was I? England. We’re going there, you know. The Admiralty has granted me some leave time and so we'll be escorting a fleet of merchant ships back home. They can use all the

protection they can get, what with the damned French running around loose. And Nelson, he is in awe of you. Do you realize how much favor you have won with him for your bravery, for

returning me to him, and, of course, for telling him where the French had
really
gone? He was most impressed, dear lady,
most
impressed; why, he has invited us both to his home, Merton, upon our arrival in England, where he wishes you to make the acquaintance of his dear Lady Hamilton. You will like her, Maeve, she is a true sailor’s woman, full of bawdy humor and ribald fun, a real gem if I do say so myself.”

“I don’t want to meet Lady Hamilton, I don’t want to go to England, I don’t want to suffer your intolerable company another blasted minute; I JUST WANT MY SHIP!”

They had arrived at the door of Sir Graham’s quarters, where a scarlet-coated marine,

assigned to guard the life of the most valuable man in the fleet, snapped rigidly to attention.

“Evening, Sergeant Handley,” Gray said brightly. “Breeze is getting up, I fear!”

The guard, staring straight ahead, did not shift his gaze, did not crack a smile, did not move anything except his lips. “Sir.”

“We shall have a blow by daylight, eh, Sergeant?”

Maeve’s temper exploded. “Furthermore,” she raged, “I will
not
marry you and spend my days as a—”

The admiral clapped his hand over her mouth. She bit him. He never flinched, only grinning and pushing his palm harder against her teeth to smother her snarls of fury.

The marine’s gaze moved, briefly, to take in the struggling girl in Sir Graham’s arms, and he caught the gleam in the admiral’s eye. He stared again over Sir Graham’s shoulder. “Er, yes, sir.

If I, uh, do say so myself.”

“Pay it no heed, I shall set storm sails to ride it out. Carry on, Handley!”

The admiral pushed open the door of his cabin and kicked it shut behind him.

“I have no intention of being your Lady Falconer,” Maeve exploded, the moment he

released her mouth. He carried her through the dining cabin and past the paneled bulkheads with their pirate paintings and crossed cutlasses. “I have no intention of giving up the sea, my ship, or my life, so I wish to hell you’d quit telling everyone otherwise. Furthermore, I will not stay near or with you one moment longer than I have to and I’ll never help the British Navy again, because you’re all a bunch of arrogant blackguards with no thought for anyone else and nothing but betrayal and conquest in your foul hearts. I hate you, I hate your navy, and I hate Nelson!”

“Maeve!” He halted, looking properly shocked, but whether it was genuine or not, she could not tell.

“What?”

“How could you hate Lord Nelson? Whatever has he done to you to make you say such

harsh things about him?”

“He lied to me,” she said, sullenly.

“Did he, now?”

“Well”—she faltered, suddenly ashamed—”he went along with
your
lies!”

“Pray, with enthusiasm or annoyance? I should think it the latter, as we had a bit of a tiff about that, he and I, and it was
my
impression that his lordship was not at all happy about having to play along with my game.”

“I’ll bloody bet.”

“Indeed, dear heart, he was not. Took me quite to task, and it was only after I assured him of my intent to marry you that he left off.”

“I will
not
marry you, d’you hear me? I—will— not—marry you.
Period.
”

“So anyhow,” he continued, once again ignoring her outburst, “I think you’re being terribly unfair to poor Lord Nelson.” Still holding her in the curve of his arm, he bent to tidy the pillows on the sofa. “After all, you have
him
to thank for your life. If not for his quick thinking—and that of your crew, I might add—you would be dead. Now, where would that put you, if you were dead? I cannot bear the thought of it! And to think that he even allowed you aboard the
Victory
— he does not allow women aboard his ship, you know, does not suffer himself even to touch one unless she answers to the name ‘Emma Hamilton.’ More jealous than a school-lad, that one, and she no better besides! But oh, it suits them. A better-matched couple I’ve yet to imagine, although I must admit that you and I will have a fine go of it once the squalls leave off.”

He talked too much. And yet Maeve sensed it was not chatter, but merely a buffer, a way of glossing over some shrewd intent, some hidden motive, a way of lulling an adversary into letting down his—or
her—
guard. Falconer was no fool. She had already seen the swift direction his thoughts could take, the sudden turn of his temper, the rapier-sharp intellect behind the navy blue (and what a damned
appropriate
color) eyes. He knew how to put a person off guard, then slam in for the kill.

She must be on her toes. He was shrewd, this admiral.

She must be more shrewd.

“So really, Maeve, I beg of you, do not harbor such anger toward poor Nelson; he did all in his power to help you. He is a kind man, blameless, much loved by his sailors, his officers, the Fleet, and everyone who knows him.” Lowering himself to the sofa, he settled her across his lap, cradled her shoulders within the curve of his arm, drew the sheet up over her breasts, and smoothed the fringy end of her braid. His touch aroused a hot wash of desire in her blood and she bit her lip, hard, hoping the pain would distract her.

“Furthermore,” he said, lifting a glass of lemonade to her lips and tilting her head forward so she wouldn’t choke, “he is very anxious about your health, and I’m really the only one to deserve the heat of your anger—”

“Fine, dammit! I forgive him, all right? I FORGIVE HIM!”

“Good. Now that
that’s
settled, I should like to re-braid your hair and then strike a bargain with you,” he continued, not missing a beat. He turned her onto her side and she felt his fingers smoothing the hair back from her temples, sliding along the length of the thick plait. Mutinously, she stared at the windows directly across from her, then the grinning countenance of Henry Morgan. The admiral’s knee was hard beneath her cheek, but not uncomfortable; his hands were sliding through her hair now, gently loosing the tresses from their mussed-up braid. She shut her eyes. It felt good. If this was how he gained his victories, no wonder he was an admiral at such a young age.

“You are enthralled by officers; I, by pirates,” he murmured, from above her head. “What

say you and I share bedtime stories? You tell me a story about pirates, I’ll tell you one about my adventures as an officer. Do you wish to go first?”

“No.”

“Very well, then. Allow me . . .” And as she closed her eyes and allowed him to brush out her thick tresses, her anger faded to wariness, her wariness to acceptance, her acceptance to exhaustion. His voice faded in and out, and she knew only the feel of his hands, gently tugging and pulling on her hair, slowly plaiting it in a long, thick braid. He took his time about it, apparently enjoying the task as much as she did, telling her about the ships he’d captained, the places he’d gone, the thrill of having the King knight him for his bravery at the Battle of the Nile as one of Nelson’s “Band of Brothers.” He told her about his sisters—all six of them— and how much he loved them, he told her about his home in England, he told her about his Cornish ancestors—“pirates, Maeve! I had
pirates
in my background!”—and his own since-boyhood obsession with the buccaneers who’d carved a bloody, romantic path through the Spanish Main nearly two centuries ago . . .

The braid was finished, and now there was just his fingers, gently stroking her cheek. “Am I boring you, love? Are you comfortable?”

She lifted eyelids that felt like fishing weights. “Huh?”

“I said, are you comfortable?”

Comfortable . . .
She was more than comfortable, though she’d never admit it. She felt . . .

safe within the admiral’s protection. Cherished.

Loved.

It was frightening, letting go and allowing herself to feel such things normally reserved for weak and insipid people. She fought against them. Felt herself losing the battle.

Allow it, Maeve.

“Aye,” she murmured. “I’m . . . comfortable.”

“Well then, I think that is all for tonight’s bedtime stories. You will sleep now.”

“I don’t want to sleep.”

“Oh, but you will, there was laudanum in that lemonade you’ve been drinking. But have no

fear, sweeting, I shan’t leave you until it takes effect.”

“You’re . . . despicable.” She dragged open her eyes, trying to be angry with him for this latest manipulation, but it was hard to summon fury when he was being so damnably
nice,
so damnably
caring,
so damnably
gallant.

He eased himself out from under her and with tender care, pulled the sheet up to her chin.

His fingers brushed her shoulders as he tucked her in, his lips grazed her temple.
Stay,
she wanted to say.
Don’t leave me.
But her eyes slipped shut before her heart could betray her, and she lacked the strength to force them back open.

Her lips moved against the pillow. “And where are you going,
Admiral?
. . . Don’t
you
ever sleep?”

She sensed him kneeling down beside her, felt his breath on her cheek as he lovingly

absorbed every detail of her face and smoothed the wispy hair that had come loose from the braid. “Sleep? Not when my lovely Queen is under my protection. I am an officer, Majesty, and I have my sworn duty.”

An officer.
Guarding the lives of those he loved.

“I love you, Maeve,” he said softly, and kissed her.

She sank, down through warm, comforting darkness, his words following her, wrapping

around her, infiltrating her last coherent thought before sleep claimed her.

I love you.

“You did
what,
sir?”

“Now Hardy, don’t give me that look; I only did as I saw fit. Besides, I’ll answer to any ill consequences that come out of it.”

“Does Sir Graham know you wrote this letter to her parents?”

“Of course not, this is no one’s business but my own. And I don’t want his flag-captain to know of my meddling, either—the fellow
is
the girl’s cousin, you know, and of course
she
cannot know, because what if her parents really
don’t
show up? No, no, they shall come, I am sure of it, Hardy. No parents would abandon their daughter like that, and besides, didn’t Captain Lord himself say they think her dead?” Lord Nelson waved his hand, fussily dismissing the matter and snatching up a telescope from the rack. He strode to the side, climbed up onto a cannon, and pushed the long instrument through the shrouds to balance it. “Now I don’t wish to hear any more on the subject, Thomas! Just get me to Antigua, where I hope, no,
pray!
to receive word of my friend
Veal-noove.
Oh, the thought of returning to England empty-handed does not bear thinking about!”