The Pirate Captain (72 page)

Cate resisted the urge to touch him, trace the curve of his lip, run her fingers through the ebony mat of hair at the opening of his shirt, or touch the vein throbbing at the base of his neck. She rolled toward him as near as she dared and inhaled. Amid the crushed grass and the pool’s sulfur, there was the smell of him, with the ever-present undertone of cinnamon, orange oil, and rum.

Dampened shirt clinging to his body, in his own barbaric way, Nathan was beautiful in spite of the lingering effects of the beating he had taken. Barefoot, fine-boned, and elegant, he bore a heretofore-unseen innocence, as if allowing her to see his truth. He slept, and therefore was saved from facing rejection, if she chose not to accept him. Lying there amid the moss and fern, dappled by the lacy shadows of the leaves, he could have been a creature of the forest, but the sea wouldn’t relinquish its grip, as proven by the swallows on his knuckles and tattoo over his heart.

She still stung with the mortification and hurt of the night before. The wall between them seemed a brick higher. Looking at the thick fan of lashes—copper-tipped by the sun, long and curving to the point of almost girlish—she wondered what it was which allowed him to be so malicious and cruel one minute, and so boyish and attentive the next.

Numbness was going to have to become a permanent state of being, if she was to be around Nathan. She was learning how to keep her heart locked away, and to desensitize herself against the constant barrage of moments when her breath caught and pulse raced. She had found a small corner in which to keep her heart, close enough so that, if the occasion should arise, it could be readily retrieved, and yet not so convenient as to be inadvertently exposed. It meant living a half existence, wooden and cold, the feelings she had thought to be essential, now dangerous liabilities.

Cate contemplated the risk of throwing herself at him, right there, right now. Only fear of the devastation of being repulsed stopped her. Restraint meant there was always a chance; succumbing could mean all hope would be lost.

The gnarled scar at Nathan's neck called to mind the one on her shoulder blade. She could feel press of the thickened slab when she thought about it. Time did have its benefits: the pain had long passed, though some days the bone beneath ached. She moved her hand under the quilt to her stomach and lightly traced the network of scars there. Most were but hairlines, though some were nearly the width of her little finger. Older than the one on her back, these were from another time, another place.

So much damage; proof time couldn’t heal everything.

Limp of limbs, with no strength or inclination to move, she closed her eyes and dreamed of seals in bathtubs afloat with pirate ships.

Chapter 13: What Friends Are For

I
t was late afternoon by the time Cate and Nathan returned to the shore, the sun a torrid globe a hand’s breadth above the island’s jagged backbone.

Much had changed in their absence. The pirates were striking camp.

With the fresh water casks filled, firewood loaded and the galley beams hanging with fresh game, the two ships collected their crews like mother hens calling back their chicks. It was a slow process, men and provisions incrementally returning in longboats and makeshift barges.

The
Morganse
’s decks were astir with stores to be loaded, and with what Nathan explained as exchanging her Number One anchor for kedges, lighter and therefore more readily retrieved, a significant advantage for a ship lying in wait. The Grisellers operated under the pressure of time: if they were to keep to their Captain’s plan, it was necessary for them to win her anchors, clear the bay, cross the Straits and settle to lie in wait while there was still enough light. Even in Arabic, there was no mistaking the bawl of her boatswain and his mates, urging the men to their tasks.

Cate bore a hand with packing stores and loading boats. In between, she sat on a storm-cut ledge of sand, blotting the sweat from her face. Nathan and Thomas stood at the water’s edge, arms crossed, intermittently interrupting their conversation to bark orders. Aided by the breeze, they were near enough that she could hear them detailing their attack plan, spoken in a tongue known only to mariners. It was a fascination how two men could communicate so much with so few words. A nod, a grunt, a shrug, a lift of two fingers, not to be confused with that of three, and volumes were spoken.

Business complete, Nathan dropped cross-legged in the sand next to her.

“We’ll hold off until the last boat. I thought you might desire to remain ashore as long as possible.”

“Firm ground has felt wonderful.” Cate leaned to add in a lower voice, “But hot water felt even better.”

Nathan ducked his head, grinning shyly. “’Tis pleasing to hear.”

“You think the ship will pass so soon?”

He surveyed the offing with a one-eyed squint. “Aye. A premonition, but a strong one.”

“Then what?”

He pursed his lips and counted off on his long, ring-laden fingers: “Deliver the ransom note, arrangement for an exchange and hide the hostage until said exchange.”

Cate winced at the word “hostage.” She had been—and for all that matter, could still be—a hostage. It was an uncomfortable word, with connotations she was disinclined to explore.

“Will Creswicke pay?” The mere mention of the man’s name gave her a sense of creeping evil.

“Oh, aye,” Nathan said with emphatic satisfaction. His arms came to rest his on bent knees. “He’ll pay, if for no other than the simple reason he can’t bear the thought of telling anyone she was taken, let alone taken by me.”

“What will he do then? I mean, after he’s gotten her back?”

His chuckle was heavily tinged with anticipation. “Everything in his power to catch us…catch me, that is.”

Nathan shook his head and smiled crookedly. “I pity anyone around him for the next while. He’s going to be insufferably insufferable. And he’ll do everything in his power to wreak his revenge.”

“On you?”

“Who else?” He spread his arms in a prideful display, more like a boy bragging on toppling the neighbor’s privy.

“You don’t like each other, do you?”

“Not much,” Nathan said indifferently. “One does have to admire a dedicated enemy.”

“Thomas told me some of it,” Cate said carefully, worried of possibly breaking a confidence.

Nathan twisted around. One brow arched in derision “He did, now? Rotting ol’ looby never could keep a stopper on his gob. Not as smart as he thinks his is, however.”

She waited. The lilt in his voice suggested there was indeed far more.

“There’s more?” she eventually prompted.

He squirmed, leaning away. “’Tis nothing. Trifles. Inconsequential indiscretions.”

“Apparently not, at least in Creswicke’s mind.” Cate inclined her head into his line of sight. “What did you do, Nathan?”

He twitched, fingers drumming a tattoo on his leg.

“Nathan, what happened?”

He shifted on his rear. Clearing his throat, he gave a wobbling smile. “Well…I might…just
possibly
,” he clarified, holding up a cautionary finger, “may have…” His voice faded; his throat moving as he gulped. “I may have bedded his mother,” he finally blurted.

Her mouth fell unbecomingly open. “What?” Cate cried with a force that caused several of the men to turn and look.

“How was I supposed to know?” he said, sounding even more like that privy-tipping schoolboy.

Stricken speechless, her mouth moved like a fish for air. “The name would have been a hint.”

“All I knew was Lady Arthur, or Anthony, or one of those ‘A’ names. Bloody royals and their pompous falderal!”

For all his amatory escapades—which were legion, to be sure—this one seemed particularly insidious, perhaps due only to the severity of its consequences. She had never thought of him capable of being that scheming and insensitive. Inconsequential, indeed.

“Nathan, how could you?”

“Allow me to point out, in me own defense, that she never said. I had no idea who she was, so it didn’t count, not really. There
is
something to be said about the older ones,” he sighed wistfully.

“Apparently it counted to Creswicke. No wonder he was so angry. Obviously he found out. Did he catch you?”

“Not
that
time.”

“There’s more?” Her jaws were beginning to ache.

“Very well, if you must.” Nathan heaved a long-suffering sigh. “I bedded his sister.”

Cate groaned and slapped her forehead.

“Lovely, plump little thing she was, fair of hair and blue-eyed,” he said with a blissful lilt. He sobered, his jaw twisting aside. “At least, I think that was her.”

“Why am I hoping that you’re lying?” she said into her hands.

“As God is me witness,” he intoned, extending a palm to the sky.

“Somehow I don’t think He would care to witness this. Was this before or after Creswicke’s mother?”

“After. Decidedly and most certainly, after.”

Cate arched her eyebrows expectantly, while Nathan examined his fingernails with great intent.

“Fight ensued,” he finally relented. “I emerged victorious, of course.”

“A fight? A sword fight?” The initial shock waning, she was beginning to follow his train of thought—a convoluted and dizzying ride, to be sure.

“Had to defend me honor.”

“
Your
honor. What about the sister’s?”

His pride deflated at that. “Turned out she was working her way through the alphabet of Company captains. The perverse wench started at Z; the B’s came at the last.”

Cate braced her head in her hands and groaned again. “So that’s why Creswicke hates you so much.”

“Could be…part of it…maybe.”

She gave him a narrow look. “There’s more?”

He hesitated, then a slow smile grew. “During the fight, I may have wounded…nicked him.” Illustrating with two barely parted fingers, he wrinkled his nose. “Just a bit.”

“
May have
?”

“Certainly was a lot of blood.”

“Where…?” She stopped, afraid to hear the answer, yet driven to ask. “Where was he injured?”

Nathan waggled his eyebrows and grinned. “All I’ll say, is it was a hell of a place to be wounded. Ah, they're ready,” he said, returning a beckoning wave to the hands standing at a boat.

He rose lightly. Dusting his bottom, he handed her up. “C'mon, luv.”

Thomas stood at the water’s edge, overseeing the last boatload to the
Griselle
. “You’ve got a bit of a problem, Nathan,” he declared, splashing toward them. “Your last boat barely has room for one. You go on, n’ I'll toss Cate in mine, drop ’er off as we pass.”

“No, no, it’s fine.” Nathan already had Cate by the arm, and was pushing her toward the
Morganse
’s boat. “We’ve plenty of room.”

“Nonsense.” Thomas seized Cate by the other arm and pulled her back. “Look, the bloody thing is near to the gun’ls now. Be damned embarrassing to founder right here in the bay. Certainly you don’t mean to take her to the bottom?”

Nathan frowned; Thomas gave him a friendly shove, urging him on.

“Go on. Go on. Don’t be such an old grandmother. At the rate your men row, she’ll be handing you aboard. Now, go!”

Casting a wary look over his shoulder, Nathan waded to the boat and adroitly stepped in. Thomas and his men heaved heartily to set the craft on its way. Nathan stood at the prow, waving a two-fingered farewell, eloquent with trepidation.

“Stretch out! Stretch out, there, I say!” in Nathan’s gruff-voice carried easily on the breeze.

Shielding her eyes against the lowering sun, Cate watched the boat pulled across to the
Morganse,
squinting in order to see the men clamor up the black hull. Nathan was easy to spot, hand-over-handing it up a manrope. Once aboard, he stood amidships and waved. She waved back.

“Have they stowed the boats yet?” Thomas asked, coming up next to her. He didn’t wait for an answer, seeing for himself they still laid alongside. “Very well. Call out when they have.”

He walked away, leaving Cate to stare curiously after him.

The
Morganse
’s boats—longboats, gigs, dinghys and such—were commonly left afloat. If stowed aboard, they tended to dry out in the tropical sun, causing them to leak, or leak worse, that is. Cate was yet to see one with a dry floor. And so, the boats were rigged to trail like ducklings on a string at the
Morganse
’s stern. As the last was being secured, Thomas came from behind and scooped Cate up with startling swiftness. Carrying her in his arms, he splashed through the surf to set her down in the
Griselle
’s boat.

“C’mon, lovely,” he declared, stepping in beside her. “Let’s get you home.”

Pushing off, the oarsmen settled to their task, pulling in strong even strokes. His leg snug against hers, Thomas sat hunched forward, elbows on his thighs.

He chuckled in eager anticipation. “You watch Ol’ Nathan. He's going to have kittens.”

She was about to inquire, but his plan suddenly became obvious: they were not heading for the
Morganse
, but the
Griselle
, instead. Thomas’s laugh grew in direct proportion to her alarm.

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

“We're getting his attention. Don’t worry, lovely, you’re safe. It’s just that
h
e won’t know that, will he?”

“You lied.”

“Being ’round Nathan this long, I expect you are accustomed to that,” he said, grinning.

“I told you I didn’t want to play juvenile games,” Cate hissed.

His laugh boomed across the water. “He needs a little wake-up call, that’s all. Nathan has never been canny about what he wants. We'll just give him a little shove. I feel like a bloody goddamned Cupid!”

Thomas gave her knee a fatherly pat. “Stick with me, lovely.”

“Stop calling me that,” she snapped, attempting to squirm clear of his reach.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, spewing with mirth. “Yell a bit louder, so he can hear you.”

“Go to bloody hell!”

Thomas drew away in mock fear. “Ho-ho! Outspoken lass, aren't you? I’m beginning to understand what Nathan sees in you.” Elbow on the gunwale, he looked away across the bay, thoroughly pleased with himself.