The Pirate Captain (63 page)

“Nathan, when this is all over,” Cate began, already regretting having started, “with Creswicke’s fiancée and all, I was wondering…if it would be at all possible…if I could…leave?”

Her query was punctuated by an expulsion of air. The worst was over; she had said it. Nathan nodded interestedly at first, but his expression clouded.

“Why?” His intent was to sound casual, but his voice caught. “Is this to do with Jensen?”

“No, it’s nothing about him at all. It’s something I’ve been thinking about… for a little while.”

Nathan bent to peer into her face. “Did someone bother you?

Only you,
she wanted to say.
Only you, because I can't bear to be around anymore, if it's always to be like this.

“No, no,” she said, with an emphatic shake of her head. “It's just that…that…”

It wasn’t going anywhere near the way she had hoped. And yet, it wouldn’t have come as a surprise, if Nathan hadn’t put up some kind of resistance. Deep down, she didn’t believe he would force her to remain. But then, if he saw this as an attempt for her to return to Harte, it could go quite badly.

“It’s just, I can't stay on a ship forever. I need a home; I need to start taking care of myself, again…somehow,” Cate said.

“You don't like it here?” Nathan asked dully.

“Oh, I do!” She hoped her earnestness didn’t come across as artificial. She ground her palm against the rail. “I was thinking I should start somewhere, to make a life again.”

Cate buried her face in her hands at realizing what a hash she was making of it.

“Certainly,” Nathan murmured as he straightened, adding more emphatically, “Of course.”

“I need to be not so dependent.”
God, that sounded whining!
“I need to be able to make my own way.”

“Doing what?”

“I don’t know. Sewing, maybe.”

His fist curled at the hilt of his sword. “I will not have you wind up destitute, in some goddamned hellhole somewhere, doing God knows what in order to eat!”

Nathan drew back, visibly collecting himself. “No, you’re correct: a ship is no place for a woman.”

“I’ll buy you a house,” Nathan said at last, sounding more like he sought to convince himself. “I've wanted you to have something…anything you desired. You've done a lot for the crew, healing and all; we owe you that much, at least.”

“No, Nathan, it can’t be like that. That would be trading one dependency for another.”

The black dashes of his brows nearly touched. “Dependent! How can you possibly think you’re dependent?” He gestured toward the crew and the ship behind him. “You’ve mended their wounds, sewn their skin, soothed their fevers, set their bones, lanced their boils and heard their confessions. If anything, they’ve become dependent on you.”

Snorting indignantly, Nathan began to pace in short agitated circuits. “They made you a member of this crew. You do your part and contribute your fair share.”

“I know, but I’ve made a promise to myself.”

Nathan fought off a smile. “Most promises are made to be broken.”

He braced against the rail, his knuckles white against the ebony. Head hanging between his arms, his back rose and fell with each breath. Cate wouldn’t have been surprised if he had just looked up, said “no,” and walked away.

“Is it me?” he asked, barely audible. He peered up over his arm, and then back down, kicking a toe at the planks. “I know I can be…grating, betimes…so I may have been told…maybe…a time or two,” he ended awkwardly.

“No, Nathan, it's not—”

“It is, isn’t it? I can change.” Nathan straightened, his swollen eyes narrowing in determination. “I know I came in on you that night, and I shouldn't have. I promise it shan’t happen again.”

“That's not it at all. It's just—”

“Go in that cabin,” he said, his vehemence building. “You draw a line anywhere on that floor anywhere, and I swear, it shan’t be crossed. Better yet, you take the whole cabin. I'll move the charts, the logs, everything, the entire space will be yours, I'll…” he said with an emphatic swipe.

Nathan’s words came faster and faster, the bruised eyes rounding in desperation. Unable to get a word in edgewise, she finally silenced him with her fingers to his lips.

“It's not you or anything you've done.”

“Then stay.” Gulping, his brows tilted hopefully. “The men want you. Hell, even the
Morganse
wants you.”

“The
Morganse
has no idea—“

“Yes, she does! I can tell. Anyone can. Look how she sails when you’re aboard!” His fingers arced toward the sails.

“It’s a charming thought—and I’m flattered—but I don’t think so.”

His jaw set and he sobered. “Then what will it require?”

Uncertainty wracked her. It would be folly to think this wasn’t another of his gambits, toying with her again. In the weeks that she had known him, she had seen him go through a number of personas, but never pleading or humble.

Unnerved by Cate’s hesitation, Nathan grew dark and accusing. “You’re a hard woman, Cate Mackenzie. They’ve taken you in, given you a place to belong, brought you into their hearts, and then you walk away. Is that all the gratitude they get? Is this how a friend shows gratitude?” He nearly spit the word.

“Is that what you want?” she asked in a thin rasp, hurt tightening her throat. “Gratitude?”

“I want what you want.” He inched closer, his mask of inscrutability now firmly in place. “And, if here is what you want, it would be what I want as well. But if you don’t want to be here, then my only advice would be to do as you want.”

He stood over her, as tightly wound as the tar-bound rigging behind him. The backs of her eyes knotted and they filled. Her chest constricted to the point where she couldn’t speak. He softened as he drew his own conclusions from her silence.

“You belong here.” Each word was uttered with singular emphasis, but the quaver in his voice diminished the intended effect. His throat moved as he swallowed. “Nowhere else, just here. Besides,” he added, the puffed mouth taking a wry twist, “put your mind to how dirty everything will be in your absence.”

He smiled, one of those gold-and-ivory ones, intended to charm…and it did.

Cate’s heart broke.

Independence had been her goal, for she knew the price of dependency: a dangerous commodity that could leave one devastated and bereft. With its burdens and pitfalls, dependence brought love, friendship, and camaraderie. Nathan was trying to say, in his own quirky, convoluted way, what she had dreamed of. It came, however, with a price: independence or him, with all the constraints he would impose, inviolate once the choice was made. It meant to be with him, so near and yet, so very far. There was nothing in between.

Here, among eight score of pirates, she had found everything she had longed for: someone to notice, someone to care if she lived or died, a place to belong, purpose… a home. She needed a friend, not a lover, no matter how much it tore at her to admit it. Nathan was all that and more.

If someone earlier had asked “What scared Nathan Blackthorne?” she would have been hard pressed to answer, and yet here he was before her, as mortally afraid as ever witnessed, terrorized by one thing: her answer. He couldn’t look up in fear of what he might see, and yet he did so anyway, to allow her a glimpse of his hope.

“Very well, Nathan,” she heard herself say. “I'll stay.”

She quaked as she bid farewell to one dream for another as Nathan made a victorious fist, closed his eyes and mouthed a fervent “Thank you.”

The watch bell clanged, drawing his attention aft.

“That will be me watch.” A hand drifted toward Cate's shoulder, hovered, and then dropped away. “I’d best be reporting; sets a poor example for the Captain to be derelict in his duties.”

Nathan hesitated, and then drew a length of cord from his pocket and dropped it in her lap. “You need practice.”

Watching as he sauntered away in his hitched gait, she thought perhaps a bit more spring could be detected. She smiled.

For all her denials, there was one glaring fact: she loved him, how deeply remained to be seen, but enough to know to walk away would be folly. A one-sided love was better than none at all. She had vowed never to settle for that, until faced with losing it. Nothing came without a price: hers was freedom, in order to be with someone who valued his even more. A home, exchanged for a racing heart and unending hope.

A part of her was relieved. Another was sickened, for that part knew all too well that, at any moment, the price of dependence could be visited upon her without so much as a warning whisper.

Could she ever survive it again?

Chapter 11: On a Beachfront

G
iven what Cate had learned at Lady Bart’s, Nathan and Pryce judged it would be a day or two before the ship bearing Creswicke’s betrothed would arrive, and so a course was laid for a place to wait. The men’s failure to reference their destination by name in Cate’s presence was taken as an indication that she hadn’t fully regained Nathan’s trust. There was the chance, of course, that he didn’t consider such bits of information to be of interest. It was anyone’s guess.

The studdingsails—pronounced “stuns’ls”—were set. Sideways extensions of both yard and sail, the vast spread of canvas gave the sense of the
Morganse
spreading her wings, rising from the water to sail like the wind-loving spirit that she was. Their destination was at last pointed out to Cate: a link in a far-flung chain of islands. Emerald against the azure of sky and water, skirted by a frill of white sand, to Cate’s eye, it possessed no distinguishing characteristics from the innumerable other razor-backed, hunched shapes they had passed. In the catalogue of islands Nathan carried in his head, however, this one was unique and the
Morganse
made for it with arrow-like sureness.

As they drew nearer, the sails were furled, the ship folding her wings, like a bird circling to land. The topmasts were swung down. Usually executed to reduce overhead weight, in this case it was the ship’s version of ducking her head, rendering her almost visible against the island behind which she now laid.

Impromptu rafts were quickly rigged, some to move everything necessary stores ashore. Cate was beginning to appreciate the concept of “the New World,” for that was what lay before her. Her foot tapped an impatient tempo on the floor of the longboat carrying her ashore, anxious for first opportunity to freely roam land.

From the anchored ship, the island looked exactly as one would expect a pirate safe haven: a broad sparkling bay, with a long stretch of white beach, bracketed by palm trees. Up close, the beach wasn’t as pristine as one would have thought. Signs of previous visitors abound: charred stumps of campfires, posts erected in the sand, tree stumps, and piles of discarded coconuts. Still, there was an Eden-like air.

“Damn near every one of these islands harbors wild pigs or goats,” Nathan cried. “Let’s have some fresh meat!”

Going ashore called upon an entirely different set of skills, each man assuming a new identity. Those who knew the land or were decent marksmen were sent as foragers. The strongest swimmers were sent with nets and spears. The strongest backs were put to chopping wood or hauling fresh water. The less adept were relegated to propelling the constant flow of craft to shore and back, loading, unloading or setting up camp.

Even with Hodder’s colorful expostulations echoing down the beach, rules ashore were a considerably more lax; no man was shy in his work, but neither was one shy in taking his ease. If a duty was finished, waiting for the next assignment could well mean laying in the shade, with a lavish application of grog.

“Is this what pirates do? Lay around on a beach, drinking?” Cate asked. Years of living in the Highlands had instilled in her the Scots’ distaste for anything that resembled laggardliness.

Intrigued by the notion, Nathan paused to look around. “Pretty much. If idle hands are the Devil’s playground, best not leave a hand empty, eh?”

He plucked a horn cup from a nearby lounger and downed its contents in a single gulp. Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, he gave a roguish wind and strolled off.

Eager to see the island, Cate gathered up several baskets in preparation to join one of the foraging parties. Her hopes were dashed by a bejeweled hand on her arm and a “Not bloody likely!”

Cate had brought both her blood box and basket containing honestones, oil, and rags. It took both her stones and Petrov’s, the armorer’s, grinding wheel to keep up with the demand for edges on everything from broad axes to skinning knives. She was caught in an odd cycle of sharpening, and then repairing the damage inflicted by the same: a hatchet into a leg, a knife-speared hand and a machete-sliced arm.

The sound of a musket shot broke through the drone of labor. Everyone stopped to swivel his attention to the eastern arm of the bay. A residual puff of gun smoke marked the signal from the lookouts: a ship had been spotted.

…Seven…Eight…Nine…

If it couldn’t be heard, the silent counting on the part of every man could be felt.

Ten.

Nothing. One shot, one ship.

“Any vessel bound from Boston would be a-comin’ out o’ the west,” Pryce said, appearing at Nathan’s elbow. A clatter of rings marked Hodder’s presence. Their gazes fixed to the east, Pryce only put to words what they all appeared to be thinking.

Nathan nodded distractedly. “If they mean ill, they’ll pull in for sure; if they’re friendly, they’ll drop anchor.”

Neither scenario sounded pleasing.

Shortly, a runner arrived. Smalley—the longest-legged, and therefore, the fastest—skidded to a halt. “Compliments and duty, sir. Sail!”

“So I gather,” Nathan said dryly. “And?”

“Three-master.”

“Ah, well, that narrows it down to roughly two-thirds of the vessels what ply these waters. Report when you can illuminate us more fully.”

“Back to work, the lot o’ ya’s!” Hodder’s bellow startled Cate, spurring everyone to their tasks.

Idleness not being Cate’s nature, during a lull in the sharpening, she set to packing sand into the freshly Stockholm-tarred, wrist-thick ropes of the boarding nets, and then dragging them into the shade to cool and harden. As she worked, her mind continued to drift to the invisible approaching ship. She was entirely too new to this pirate world, and was envious of their ability to go about their duties with such blithe disregard.