The Pirate Captain (73 page)

The boat latched onto the
Griselle
’s blue hull. Cate rose and tucked her skirt hem into her waistband. The bay’s one or two foot swell meant a difference of between two and three feet in locating her first step. As she reached for it—“timing it with the swell” as she had heard seemingly time out of mind—she privately cursed the nameless fool who decided women should wear skirts. Clearly, it had been a man, because no woman would ever make a decision so markedly impractical. Halfway up the side, a pair of strong arms came over the side and lifted her the rest of the way.

The
Griselle
’s decks swarmed with activity. The jibs and mizzen filling, the larboard anchor was already on its cathead. Understanding that she was about to go on an unexpected trip, she whirled around on Thomas.

“Where are you taking me?” Cate demanded.

“Stand easy. The point is, you’re not with him.”

“And the point of that?”

“The point of
that
is Nathan will be half out of his wits, wondering what’s happening to you over here. That little walk on the beach last night was just the beginning.” His grin—seemingly having taken permanent residence on his face—grew even further.

“So I’m just a piece in your little game?”

A burst of laughter broke from Thomas. “No, no. You’re the prize, my dear. You’re the prize.”

Nathan’s enraged shouts reached them. Cate drew a breath to reply, but was cut off by Thomas’s hand over her mouth.

“She’s fine, Nathan. See you in a couple days.”

The deck shifted under Cate’s feet as the ship gained headway. Over the shouts of the crew, she could hear Nathan’s vehement oaths as they slid past.

“That’s Nathan for you,” Thomas mused, leaning on the rail next to her. “Always did have the vocabulary and the imagination to be one of the best cursers ever heard.”

Cate wrapped her arms around herself and hunched her shoulders. “I don’t think I can bear to listen.”

She cast a wary eye up at Thomas, and considered she might have misjudged him. His jovial manner, his friendship with Nathan and, most of all, his resemblance to Brian had caused her to throw caution aside. She fancied herself a keen judge of men’s character and their motivations, and yet with Thomas, had dropped her defenses. Such carelessness could have dire consequences.

“Then don’t, or go below. It’s no matter. We’ll be out of hearing directly,” said Thomas.

Chuckling, Thomas strolled away. She felt the stares and the press of the unfamiliar men surrounding her. It hadn’t been that long ago that she had stood on the deck of another pirate ship, as much a stranger and captive then as she was now. At least, English had been spoken there. That the
Griselle
had spent most of her time on the other side of the world was revealed in the foreign tongues now heard. The afterdeck there was as crowded as the
Morganse
’s: afterguard, watchmen, helmsmen, and the like. It was because of Thomas’s presence—as incensed as she was with him—and the safety his nearness provided, that she remained.

Cate stood at the lee rail as the
Griselle
made weigh. There she could keep an eye fixed on the
Morganse
, and therefore, Nathan. At first, the
Morganse
’s red-dripped hull was in full view. When the
Griselle
rounded the headland, her view was reduced to only the
Morganse
’s spars and rigging. And then, as the
Griselle
plowed across the heavy swell of the Straits, nothing. The
Morganse
’s topmasts would have been visible, had they been swayed up, but those were on deck, her head still bowed.

The oddments of her bracelet clattering softly as Cate touched the decorative knot of her necklace. Nathan was with her; she wasn’t alone after all.

Crossing the Straits turned out to be the minor issue. Faced with the hazards of coral, rock, and sand, and a treacherous current, impending darkness lent urgency to the
Griselle,
her captain, and her crew in finding an anchorage where to lie in wait. Once his ship was secure, however, and the watch lamps were being lit, Thomas fetched Cate and escorted her to his cabin. Beneath the quarterdeck, the
Griselle
’s Great Cabin was smaller, but still spacious. It was cozier, with Turkish rugs jig-sawed on the floor, soft elbow chairs, pillows and hassocks. Stacks of books nestled against chair legs, on the gallery sill, chart table and a corner desk. The room spoke of a man who enjoyed his comforts, but not his excesses.

“Plan on sleeping over there,” Thomas said, waving a vague hand toward a curtained corner. “You’ll find the bunk and necessaries. If there is something you lack, pass the word for either me or the cabin boy. Where has that little snip skulked off to now?” he muttered, looking about. “Anyway, he’ll be around. Vittles should be directly. I hope you like Spanish and Moroccan; the cook’s from there, so that’s what we eat,” he finished, with a half-apologetic shrug.

Cate nodded vaguely. Spanish food was familiar; Moroccan was quite another thing.

They stood in the middle of the room, looking anywhere but at each other.

“I think a drink would answer,” Thomas said finally and strode purposefully to a leaded glass cabinet. Returning with bottle in hand, he saw her seated.

Thomas poured with hands as battered as Nathan’s. Some knuckles were slightly misshapen from bits being severed away. Like Nathan’s, several of his fingertips ended at odd angles. The backs of his hands and forearms bore a fine latticework of scars, light against his deep bronze. Judging by the scar on his right hand—starting between the second and third fingers and going up—it had been nearly cleaved in half. A miracle that he had its use, it bothered him, for he often flexed it.

The wine proved to be a heady one, a deep burgundy, complex with layers of oak, moss, and berry, and a spicy bouquet. The complaint against red wine was that it didn’t ship well, but this one had managed quite nicely. Cate closed her eyes with each swallow; it had been a very long time since she had enjoyed something so good.

They talked one bottle dry, and then another. The third disappeared somewhere during supper: a seafood stew, served over rice, and warm flatbread. After came dessert: a caramelized custard.

“I think they call it flan,” Thomas explained over his shoulder as he rummaged through the cabinet anew. “And, if I can find that port…hah!” he exclaimed, holding up a bottle in triumph. “Now the evening can begin.”

The meal finished, they reclined in the elbow chairs, with cups of Arabic coffee, thick and dark, and port. Cate couldn’t decide which she enjoyed more. Coffee was always a favorite, but the port was exquisite. Thomas lounged with his legs extended and ankles crossed on a hassock. Once more she was reminded of Brian and their nights before a fire.

Settling her head against the chair’s back, Cate lifted her glass. “Where did you say you got this?”

“Card game. The poor dumb bugger was so drunk he didn’t know a king from a trey. I could have taken his whole damn ship. I decided I desired the port more.”

Conversation came easy and they talked, the hour candle burning down through its rings, the omnipresent watch bells pealing. At one point, the demands of command called Thomas away. He reluctantly rose and excused himself.

Deep in the chair, with her feet propped up, Cate felt a pang of guilt for being so content in such luxury. It was only a small one, fleeting, barely more. Truth be told, she enjoyed the freedom from Nathan’s watchdoggedness. Thomas was proving to be a fascinating delight, sweeping her away with his exuding charm and infectious laughter. His openness was refreshing and the lake-blue eyes held promise of…

“Another refill?”

Startled, Cate jerked, the port sloshing onto her hand. She looked up to find Thomas at her knee, looking down with a lopsided grin.

She sat up to recompose. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

Thomas took her glass, eyeing her as he filled it. “Daydreaming?”

“What would I be daydreaming about?” The room had suddenly gone warm.

He drew up the hassock and sat, his knees bumping hers. His elbows resting on the long line of his thighs, he meditatively rolled the bottle between his hands. Finally, he looked up and cocked his head slightly. “You don’t know very much about men, do you?”

“Excuse me? I had five brothers.”

“And I had four sisters. What bearing does that have on anything?” Thomas countered without malice. He fell quiet, the broad forehead furrowing.

“Years ago, I watched Nathan throw away happiness with both hands. Did he ever tell you about that? Maybe not. It’s not my place to say; you’ll have to hear that from him,
if
he wants you to know,” he added with a warning eye.

Cate stared, confused by this sudden cryptic manner. “And if he doesn’t?”

“Then, ’tis of little matter,” he said, with a dismissive shift of his shoulders. “It was a very, very long time ago, and there has been a fair bit of water over the decks since. The fact is, as clever as Nathan might be, he’s never been particularly sharp on knowing what he wants. Most times, it takes someone else to show him. Sometimes, it requires a sharp blow to the head,” he added, with a distant smile.

Cate idly traced the rim of her glass. Cryptic as he was, Thomas’ aims were quite transparent and she was reluctant to be led down a path she had strictly not allowed herself to follow.

“But how do you know—?” she began with great trepidation.

“Haven’t you taken a good look at the man? He’s smitten. He’s like a love-sick puppy—”

“Nathan doesn’t—”

“As you said already,” Thomas interrupted, impatiently flapping a hand. “And as
I
said, he doesn’t always know what he wants.”

He hunched forward and peered into her face. “What do
you
want?”

She risked a peek from the corner of her eye. The candlelight played across the sharp ridge of his nose, flaring across his cheekbones, sparking in eyes that searched hers.

“Are you trying to bait me into saying something outrageously foolish, so you can go running to Nathan with it?”

The wide mouth curled at the corners and he coquettishly batted the thick fringe of lashes. “Now, why would I go and do a thing like that?”

“Because you’re friends,” Cate said meeting his teasing look with a level one. “And you want to protect him from a scheming woman.”

“If I thought that, I would have left you back there on that island. Is that what you think you are?”

She gave a tight smile. “What I think hardly matters.”

Sobering, Thomas propped his chin in his palm. He pensively stroked the scar that angled across his chest. “To my way of thinking, there’s only two involved in this venture: you and Nathan. From that perspective, what you have to say figures an even share. We know Nathan is on beam ends as to what he wants. I’m asking about you.”

“Maybe I’m just looking for adventure and fortune.”

“With Nathan?” Grasping his knees, Thomas leaned back and laughed. “That’s a good one!” he wheezed.

Dabbing one eye, he reached for his drink. “I’ll wager he still lives like a monk.”

Cate couldn’t prevent smiling at Thomas’s accuracy.

“If you claim to be looking for fortune, I’d call you a damned fool, because anyone what’s been around Nathan for more than a day would know he doesn’t give a damn for fortune,” Thomas went on. “Aye, he talks about it, but only to keep his ship and crew. Next, I’d call you a liar, and a bad one at that, because one look and any slab-sided dolt would see you don’t care two licks about fortune, either.”

Cate stiffened at the insult. A large hand came to rest on her arm.

“No, no, no, please,” Thomas said earnestly. “That’s not what I meant. You’re a beautiful woman, even in near tatters and a rope necklace. No money-grabber would settle for that. Nathan is generous to a fault. He’d give a swag pile, if a woman was to demand it, but it’s clear you haven’t.”

One eye narrowed as he regarded her. “I figure there’s only one reason you’re still on the
Morganse
, one reason you’re willing to endure that hardship.”

She dodged his all-knowing eyes, her grip tightening onto the glass.

“Nathan said there was nowhere safe enough to leave me,” she said in a small voice.

Thomas snorted. “And I’ll wake up the King of England tomorrow.”

“We’re friends.”

With the tip of his finger, he brought her by the chin back to him.

“Cate,” he began, with the measured patience. “There’s only one reason Nathan has you with him
.
You know it, and I know it, and every damned jack tar on that ship knows it, except Nathan.”

His finger moved to stroke her cheek, the blue look softening. “Now tell me, lovely, what do
you
want?”

Heart racing like a cornered rabbit, she took a barely-tasted gulp of port, in a futile search for courage. To engage in wild fantasies about what could or might be, was to pick at old wounds and served little purpose.

“What importance is it to you, anyway?” she asked, pulling away from his touch.

Thomas drew a breath to say something, then thought better. Blowing out a tired-sounding sigh, he took a drink. Rolling it in his mouth, he pensively studied the glass.

“Nathan’s a friend,” he began, carefully measuring each word. “He’s the best friend I’ve ever had or hope to have. I haven’t seen him in years, but I know I can trust him and I think he trusts me.” He looked up, his eyes darkened with solemn earnestness. “It would do my heart good to see the man have a little dose of happiness. Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but I could have sworn you were just as taken with him as he is with you.”

Cate stared at her fingers as they twisted the fabric of her skirt. She slid a nervous look from the corner of her eye, deep blue intently meeting hers. She still felt the sting of mortification after Nathan’s cruel taunt the night before. Nathan didn’t want her. It had been made eloquently clear time and again.

Pressing her fingers to the bridge of her nose, she said, “I don’t know if—”