Mystery in the Moonlight (18 page)

“Ah, excuse me, Captain, but it’s midnight and my turn at the helm. Unless you want me to come back later?”

Bryce almost dropped her in his haste to set her down and check their bearing. Caitlin steadied herself by grabbing onto the wheel and adjusting it herself when she realized that they were once more off course.

“I’ll do that,” Bryce said gruffly.

He took over the wheel, though Caitlin was sure that she was getting the ship back in control just fine. She stomped away from him, annoyed further by the fact that she had to pass Anselm, who stood there grinning like an idiot. How long had he been watching?

“Thomas, take over. Keep her two hundred and ten degrees south-southwest.”

“Yes, sir.”

Then Caitlin heard Bryce mutter something to Anselm, who took over the watch. The black mate laughed softly. What had the scoundrel told him?

Anger built within her, the emotion equal to the desire she’d felt in his arms. Caitlin wished she knew which bothered her most—her letting Bryce kiss her and enjoying it tremendously, or his seeming embarrassed when he’d been caught at it. What might have happened if Thomas hadn’t interrupted them? How could she have forgotten even for a moment that Bryce Winslow was a kidnapper and a thief? A modem-day pirate? She was still stewing when he approached the sanctuary she’d sought at the rail. But rather than address the thing really bothering her, she took a different tack.

“Why did you do that?” she demanded, facing him.

“Do what?”

Bryce stopped a cautious foot away from her. His stance was belligerent, feet spread wide and arms crossed. With the waning moon haloing him from behind, he looked magnificent, she thought sourly.

“Why did you take the wheel from me?”

“I figured I’d get her back on course faster than you could.”

“Her?”
Caitlin knew her voice rose when she demanded, “You think of the
Sea Devil
as a woman, do you?”

“Of course. All ships are female,” he clarified with a hint of laughter that made her stomach flutter. “It’s tradition.”

“That’s because it’s tradition that men sail them.” Caitlin knew she was deliberately trying to pick a fight to forget the humiliating desire he’d stirred in her, the desire that still lay close to the surface of her emotions, intermingled with her frustration and anger. “Thinking of their sea vessels as female was probably used as a psychological ploy, to make men feel they could have the upper hand with their
boats
, as they did with their women.”

“Perhaps.” Even in the moonlight she could see Bryce’s grin widen, renewing a bud of desire in her. “But I’ll give you another chance to handle this
ship
. You can think of the
Sea Devil
as a man if that’ll make you happy.”

“Why would that make me happy? I have no desire to get the upper hand with my men!”

She could have sworn that some fleeting emotion—regret?—sobered his features before Bryce asked, “You mean, you don’t think it wise to keep the upper hand with a dangerous man like Jean Moreau?”

“How many times do I have to tell you I’m not his mistress? Besides, as far as I’m concerned,
you’re
far more dangerous.”

His concerned expression irritated her even further. It confused her, made her want to slip into his arms and absorb his warmth, as though it could comfort her. She thought she’d be undone when he stepped closer and touched her face with a gentle hand.

“Caitlin, I promise I’ll protect you from Moreau if you’ll tell me everything you know about his operations.”

She pushed his hand away, but the imprint of his fingers still burned her skin. When would he stop this ridiculous inquisition? When would he believe her? Frustration made her reckless.

“You really want to know about my association with Jean?” she asked softly, glancing up at him. When he nodded solemnly, Caitlin sighed purposely. “All right. You win. I guess you’ll get the truth out of me yet, so I might as well tell you.” Her mind raced, putting together a ridiculous story. “Actually, Babs and I came to this area to rescue some of our friends.”

“Rescue?” Bryce really sounded concerned, and he gripped both of her shoulders. “Were they involved in Moreau’s smuggling operations?”

Caitlin frowned at his words, but Bryce’s touch distracted her from their meaning. It was difficult enough to concentrate on spinning a stupid tale when he was so close. “No, they were left behind long ago, and we had to come get them before it was too late.”

His grip tightened, sending a shock through her. “Who was left behind? What are you talking about?”

Swallowing hard, Caitlin tried to ignore the languor that stole through her, starting at the warm touch of his hands. She licked her lips and croaked, “Babs and I are much older than you think. We lived on what you call the lost continent of Atlantis until it sank, after which we escaped to another planet.”

“Good God, Caitlin,” Bryce said, giving her a shake. His expression was fierce and determined. “Will you please stop making up these nonsensical tales and tell me the truth?”

She shoved at him, but it didn’t do any good. He only tightened his grip until she had to wince. Then he finally let her go, undoubtedly because he tired of her struggle rather than because of her strength. Stepping away from him, she felt the rail bite into her back.

“I’ve already told you the truth, Bryce Winslow, but in your stupid male arrogance, you won’t believe you could be wrong! You think I’m Jean’s mistress and therefore easy pickings, don’t you? That’s why you tried to make love to me!” she shouted indignantly.

“I’d hardly call kissing you making love!”

Caitlin gave him a nasty little smile and, faking a bored expression, said, “Actually, neither would I.”

Then she strolled away from the handsome pirate whose face was contorted into a mask of fury, vowing that she would find some means of getting away from him at the first opportunity. The situation was becoming too dangerous to handle.

Heaven help her: she’d wanted him, right in the middle of their argument!

Chapter Nine

“Perverted pirate! Captain’s a perverted pirate!” squawked Captain Flint, much to Caitlin’s amusement.

“Good bird!” she praised, wedging a piece of orange through the cage bars and quickly removing her fingers before the macaw could bite them.

Having cleaned the parrot’s papers first thing upon rising, she hadn’t been able to resist seducing the brightly colored bird with the fruit. Captain Flint had tried to attack her human caretaker as usual, but at least she’d been agreeable to learning the phrase Caitlin had repeated over and over again for the last half hour.

A small victory but it put Caitlin in the positive mood necessary for a successful escape. And once she was gone, she hoped the macaw would forever remind Bryce of the captive he hadn’t been able to best.

“Better not take Captain Flint above today, missy,” Lars said, slowly shuffling into the common area from his quarters, a mug in his hand. “Storm’s brewing overhead.”

“I know. That’s why I slept down here last night.”

And why she had to make her escape quickly, before the storm made it impossible for her to do so.

“Don’t worry, we’ll be snug enough anchored in this cove,” Lars mumbled, taking a long swig. “Captain Winslow’s a good man—won’t let anything happen to any of us. We’re snug as bugs in a rug.”

Ignoring the gibberish as well as the man’s undying trust in his captain, Caitlin asked, “Lars, isn’t it a little early for you to be drinking that stuff?”

“Never too early when you’re sad. Sad, glad, mad, bad,” the old sail maker singsonged to himself, shuffling toward the galley, his usually straight shoulders hunched. “Time to make breakfast. Maybe a tot of rum will improve the scrambled eggs.”

Wondering why the old man was feeling so sad this morning, Caitlin thought about following to find out, then scolded herself for being too soft. She didn’t have time to be concerned about anyone’s problems but her own. She had to concentrate on regaining her freedom, getting away from the man who threatened to capture more from her than he already had.

Wouldn’t that be a diverting tale Bryce could share with his mate? Caitlin thought angrily, remembering how Anselm had laughed after seeing her locked in Bryce’s embrace. She was sure the black man already thought they were lovers, as no doubt did the entire crew! Wouldn’t Anselm be amused if she fell in love with his captain?

Love?

What in the world was she thinking about? She was certainly attracted to the man, but that was as far as her stupidity went. Her emotions were definitely
not
involved.

Even so, Caitlin had a hard time hiding her agitation from the crew as they greeted her cheerily while gathering for breakfast a while later. And a knot formed in her stomach as she thought of what she was about to do while she served the crew their rum-doused scrambled eggs, burned bacon, and dry toast.

At what should have been daybreak if the sky hadn’t been darkened by gray storm clouds, they’d anchored off one of the small, deserted Grenadine Islands. Caitlin had formed her plan after overhearing Perry say he hoped the fishermen who usually set up camp on the other side of the island had had enough warning to find adequate shelter. Counting on the fact that these local fishermen would still be around, Caitlin planned on swimming to the island, trekking to the other side, then bribing one of the men to take her to Hibiscus or any other inhabited island.

But to do that she had to slip off the ship unseen. She wondered where Bryce was as she put out the last platter of scrambled eggs. Caitlin practically moaned aloud when she decided he must be on deck. How was she supposed to escape with his watchful eye on her?

Just as she was about to admit defeat before she’d even begun, she heard his voice.

“It’s going to be a nasty one,” Bryce was telling Anselm as the two men entered the room.

“This storm is going to delay our plans, mon.”

“Delay but not cancel. We’ll find Ralph as soon as it’s clear. Then we’ll get that bastard Moreau.”

Stiffening upon hearing Moreau’s name, Caitlin turned around and headed into the galley. She knew Bryce saw her, that his green eyes followed her every step of the way. Good, let the captain think she was helping the old man clean up, while in reality she’d be making her escape. Lars sat in a corner singing into his grog, oblivious of her presence as she walked through his domain. Glancing at the old man, she felt a pang of regret at leaving him, then hurried up the narrow companionway to the deck and her bid for freedom.

Bryce shoved the plate of half eaten, strangely flavored scrambled eggs away from him. He didn’t have much of an appetite, anyway. He was too tired to eat, since he hadn’t slept well again. How could he when his body had burned for Caitlin? And every time he had managed to fall asleep for a short while, it had been only to dream of her.

Had she thought of him at all during the night?

Obviously she was uncomfortable in his presence, or she still wouldn’t be hiding in the galley with Lars. She’d been in there for at least ten minutes now.

“What’s the matter, my friend?” asked Anselm in a low murmur that the rest of the noisy crew couldn’t hear. “Lost your appetite? It must be love, huh?”

“Love? Don’t be ridiculous!” Bryce bellowed, the sound cutting through the various conversations in the room. Silently the men turned to stare at him, and he noted more than one amused, knowing expression. “I don’t love this food,” he muttered, trying to cover his embarrassment. “It’s swill! I’m going on deck for some air.”

But as he passed the macaw’s cage, Captain Flint provoked him further by squawking, “Perverted pirate! Captain’s a perverted pirate!”

Bryce froze. His men snorted behind him, and someone had the temerity to laugh. Who the hell— Caitlin. Only Caitlin O’Connor would have had the nerve to teach the damn bird to ridicule him after she’d unfairly accused him of taking advantage of her. Well, she wasn’t going to get away with it.

“Caitlin!” he yelled, turning and stalking toward the galley, ignoring the growing amusement of his crew. He burst through the doorway. “Caitlin, where are you?”

But the galley was empty except for Lars, who slept in the corner, softly snoring. She must be on deck. He took the stairs two at a time, trying to imagine what tasks he could give Caitlin for making him look ridiculous in front of his men. But he’d already made her do just about everything a green sailor could do, Bryce realized as his feet hit the deck, which was beginning to rock in the wind that blew in chilly gusts.

And he had to admit that she’d met every challenge with spirit.

Thinking about it, Bryce began to feel guilty about the way he’d punished Caitlin for not giving him the information she swore she didn’t know, anyway. Maybe—just maybe—she’d been telling the truth from the start. Maybe she wasn’t Moreau’s mistress, after all.

His anger deflated as quickly as it had risen. And yet Bryce wondered if he weren’t guilty of wishful thinking. Not wanting to analyze why he suddenly hoped he’d been a fool all along, he strode aft, yelling, “Caitlin!” into the wind, knowing his voice wouldn’t carry very far.

Where the hell was she? Bryce checked his cabin and the chart house to no avail. He was about to go below when Perry and Anselm came up the companionway.