The Heart of a Pirate

Chapter 3

14 JANUARY 1719

14 JANUARY 1719

Dear Father,

Dear Father,

I have finally met a worthy mate in this den of pirates, named John James Rackham. He is the same Rackham who conspired with Blackbeard to maroon Captain Charles Vane on a little island so he could steal his ship from under his nose! His reputation as a trickster has been well-sealed. I have made him several pair of brightly colored britches that speak to his feats and he wears them proudly. They have become his mark of trade and he’s now referred to as “Calico Jack.” He has finally asked for my hand in marriage and I have accepted under the condition that he takes me with him to sail, so that I can remain vigilant for the Fancy flying her white flag with a red skeleton.

I have finally met a worthy mate in this den of pirates, named John James Rackham. He is the same Rackham who conspired with Blackbeard to maroon Captain Charles Vane on a little island so he could steal his ship from under his nose! His reputation as a trickster has been well-sealed. I have made him several pair of brightly colored britches that speak to his feats and he wears them proudly. They have become his mark of trade and he’s now referred to as “Calico Jack.” He has finally asked for my hand in marriage and I have accepted under the condition that he takes me with him to sail, so that I can remain vigilant for the flying her white flag with a red skeleton.

Your daughter,

Your daughter,Anne

Anne

It was time to return the gowns to Captain O’Brien’s trunk. Stevie entered his cabin and closed the door, then shrugged out of the black mourning gown. Gabriel had already hastily discarded the red dress, leaving it puddled on the floor. She picked it up and draped it over the chair where she’d left her shirt and breeches. The glimmer of the bold red silk forced her to pause and finger the fine fabric again. She picked it up and pressed it against her body, allowing herself a moment to dream. She ran her fingers over the seed pearls stitched around the neckline.

It was silly, considering the danger they’d been in, but she almost wished she could have worn this gown instead of the widow’s weeds for their charade. She’d never seen anything so beautiful. It was something an elegant lady might wear, or maybe even a duchess, not someone like her, who hid in the hot kitchens of a New Orleans gaming house. The dress was a bit short on her, but not overly so. How wonderful it would be to leave behind the men’s clothing her brothers had insisted she wear on their quest. While she had to admit she enjoyed the freedom of movement the britches offered, it felt awkward to be dressed as a man, especially around men who knew she was a woman.

She closed her eyes, daydreaming of dancing in an elegant ballroom, her hair swept up in an exquisite coiffure, one gloved hand on the shoulder of her handsome lord, the other held in his large palm. Delicate notes of a waltz drifted from the strings of the quartet in the corner. She and her handsome lord twirled around the ballroom floor, she in this gown, he in shiny cordovan boots, tan breeches and a dashing, deep green coat the same shade as his eyes. When he smiled at her, the dimple in his cheek showed above his neatly trimmed auburn beard, which made him suspiciously resemble a certain captain of a certain stolen merchant ship.

She opened her eyes and swallowed hard. She daydreamed about an impossible situation. She wasn’t an elegant lady; she was slightly above a servant. Or at least she was, until the fire. Conal O’Brien wasn’t her handsome lord or her anything, he was their prisoner, and she’d do well to remember that, no matter how handsome his face or broad and muscled his shoulders.

With more determined movements, she carefully folded the magnificent gown. Any aspirations she’d ever had of getting out of the kitchens and helping Adrian run the boarding house, or helping Tristan run the gaming house, drifted to the clouds along with the thick, dark smoke from the fire that had consumed everything they’d owned...everything except the marble box containing Anne Bonny’s journal and letters, and a tiny possibility of finding a treasure buried a hundred years ago.

It was time to stop fantasizing, put on her man-clothes, and help her family.

When Stevie reached for the trunk lid to raise it, a flash of dark red on the bed caught her attention. It was a long, bloodied strip of linen. Next to it was a shirt. Both items belonged to the wounded Captain O’Brien. When had he slipped away from Uncle Bernard to come down to change? The door lock clicked behind her and the hair rose on the back of her neck.

She whirled, realizing too late that Captain O’Brien was still in the cabin. He stepped away from the shadow of the door. While her gaze stuttered at his bare chest, it took him three strides he had his hand over her mouth and her back pressed against the wall.

He leaned forward and whispered in her ear, “My fingers are a mere two inches from your throat, which I can crush with one hand.” To make his point, he applied a gentle pressure in the hollow just above where her collarbones met.

She shot a glance at the door. Where was everyone? Tristan and Adrian would remain incapacitated for another hour or so, and even then would probably be too weak to put up much of a fight. She looked back at the captain.

Of course, he’d already deduced her family had been weakened enough to enable his men to retake the ship. If her family relaxed their guard even a little, his crew could quickly overtake them—if it hadn’t already happened. In fact, to force a surrender all they would probably have to do was capture Gabriel...her heart lurched in her chest.

Or her.

herCaptain O’Brien’s eyes narrowed and glinted a cold grey-green, like an angry ocean. “I want some answers and you will give them to me, little rabbit. Agreed?”

Stevie nodded, taking short quick breaths; the effort pressed her chest against his. The warmth of his half-n***d body radiated across her skin where they touched, and all the places they didn’t. He was almost as tall and broad as Adrian. The reddish-gold of his neatly trimmed beard was a shade darker than the sun-bleached tips of the auburn curls framing his face. His cat’s eyes had a predatory sheen.

He spoke in a very low, velvet growl. “You will not scream and I will not hurt you. Yes?”

For a second, she forgot the question. His voice could charm a cobra.Did he pause to think of what her brothers would do to him once this interrogation was over and she told them what he’d done to her? Did this captain always act first and think second, or was he just that desperate? She locked gazes with him, and in that moment she knew that no, he wasn’t desperate, he was strong and confident, and fully expected to take back his ship.

Now.

⚓︎ ⚓︎ ⚓︎

Conal didn’t believe for a moment she would keep her word, but he still had to demand her cooperation, in case she was actually a female who kept her word. Not many did. Aside from his family, the only women he’d interacted with if you could call it that, were trollops and pickpockets (the last was not by choice). And again, aside from his family, women were a devious lot. He never trusted them. Never was a strong word, yes, but he meant never.

keptneverEither way, he was taking back his ship.

“Do I have your word you will make no move to draw attention to us?” He increased the pressure of his thumbnail into the skin of her throat. The fingers he’d curled around the back of her neck brushed against a puckered scar.

Her large grey eyes widened even further before welling with tears, and she gave a final nod.

Terrified, as usual. Good. At least her fear would reduce the possibility of a fight, which would cause noise, which then would draw unwanted attention. It was a small miracle he’d been able to slip away unnoticed by the two old sailors. “I’m going to remove my hand and you’re not going to scream.” A small tear darted from the corner of her eye and splashed on his hand. Blast it, she was about to burst into tears.

Slowly, he lifted his hand from her mouth. He trailed his fingers along the smooth skin of her jaw to her pale throat, then rested his palm against her collarbone. Her skin was warm and soft. She smelled faintly of cinnamon and sea air. She was trembling, and suddenly he felt like an ogre for frightening her. He had no other option at the moment, right?

This was no time to go soft. He would regain control of his ship.

wouldGritting his teeth, he tilted her face up with his other hand to capture her gaze. There was one thing he had to know. One very important thing.

“What business have you with Gampo?” he asked softly.

Although she quickly recovered, Conal didn’t miss the look of panic that shot across her face. “We are to bring him the cargo in the belly of your ship,” she whispered.

“Why?”

She swallowed, then licked her lips. He followed the movement of her tongue, suddenly aware of the press of his bare torso against her chest, with only a thin chemise as a barricade.

“He...he demanded it.” She straightened and tensed, giving him an accusing look. “My family...we were on our way to Savannah in Uncle Bernard’s boat when we were caught in a skirmish between this ship and the Dragon.”

DragonThat gave him pause. “You were in that little sloop?” That boat had drifted between the Dragon and the Seeker, providing the pirate a shield from Conal’s guns. Then the main sail fell on the sloop and her crew had scrambled to haul it back up. At the time, Conal had wondered what group of buffoons were aboard. It made sense now, knowing they had little experience aboard a ship. The family had succeeded in hauling the mainsail back up, but not before Gampo had tossed over grappling hooks.

DragonSeekerNo wonder.

Two seaman and eight lubbers with no idea how to trim a sail had been easy prey for the pirate.

Stevie’s eyes flashed. “Perhaps you remember? You fired upon us and damaged our mast, then left us helpless.”

“I thought you to be one of Gampo’s prize ships at the time,” he snapped. He hated himself for the way he was speaking to her, but guilt from disabling her vessel and virtually handing it to Gampo stirred his anger; he was unable to douse the heat of his words before they left his mouth. What was it about this woman that sent emotions exploding from him like a blast of grapeshot? One moment he was ready to shake the truth out of her, the next he wanted to kiss her.

Where had that come from?

Where had that come from?Now, her tears almost had him begging her for forgiveness. If only she’d stop crying, he could better focus on the issue at hand. “I could have easily raked the deck and caused all kinds of c*****e, but didn’t.”

He’d been about to do just that when his friend, Captain Hart had reminded him that if it was a prize ship with an enslaved crew, there was a risk he’d kill innocents. He took in a deep breath. Blast it. He could have killed her and members of her family in his fury. The added guilt created yet another unwanted sensation in his gut, a strong desire to protect her, shield her from any more despair and anguish.

Blast it.Stevie’s accusing glare did nothing but intensify it. “You left us there as bait for him...as a distraction while you made your escape. Do you know what kind of monster he is?” Her eyes glistened a silver blue, and welled again with tears. A single droplet broke free and slid down her cheek.

monsterHer lower lip trembled, and his gaze fastened on the tear creeping toward the corner of her mouth. It was sensually shaped, her mouth. The corners curved up impishly, even when she wasn’t smiling, much like her eyes. Even the delicate arch of her brows had a little peak in the middle.

Stop it. Focus on the interrogation.

Stop it. Focus on the interrogation.“Yes, I know what kind of monster he is,” he finally answered. “He killed my uncle a few months ago, and there’s nothing I’d like more than to see him swing from the end of a rope for it.” He wiped away the tear with his thumb, using every ounce of self control to keep from l*****g it just to taste the salt because it came from of her. “And when we sail into his den, I’ll give him more than just the bounty in the belly of this ship. I’ll give him the sharp tip of my blade through his cold, black heart.”

She gave him a look of disbelief. “He has over eighty men! We have less than twenty, many of which have never been on a ship this size, let alone sailed one.”

“The latter issue I can fix, if everyone is willing.” Now where did that idea come from? He needed to return his focus to the problem at hand. He was going to get his b****y ship back, that was a certainty.

Nowhere did idea come from? A thought began to swirl in his mind. Gampo expected the Seeker to sail into his hideaway—because the Sauvages should be commanding her—which meant he’d also welcome them in without firing a single shot. His guard would be down, the soft underside of his belly wide open.

SeekerThere was a flicker in Stevie’s silver eyes. Was there something she wasn’t telling him? Of course there was. Lies? Half-truths? It didn’t matter. He’d find out, eventually. He’d gotten this much out of her. He’d get everything else.

“If we combine forces and serve a single goal, we can defeat him,” he said. She didn’t belong here. Although she was dressed like a man, she was all woman, soft and tender. Weak. Afraid of her own shadow. A liability, yes. He could protect her, keep her safe. The best way to do that would be to leave her in Baracoa.

No, then he’d worry even more because she’d be vulnerable. The urgent need to protect her locked itself in his head. He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. What was he doing?

What was he thinking?

thinking“We can’t defy him,” she choked out in a quivering whisper. She averted her gaze and stared at his shoulder while another tear broke free.

“Yes, we can,” he said calmly. His cousin Brendan and Captain Hart were surely less than a day behind them. The crew driven from the Seeker would have immediately sought out the other two captains, and they would have mustered their ships and given chase right away. He would get his ship back before this was all over. She couldn’t know he’d soon have reinforcements of course, and he wasn’t going to tip his hand and tell her, but for some ridiculous reason he had to reassure her in some small way.

SeekerwouldIf only she would stop crying, he could think.

thinkShe shook her head. “Threaten me all you want. Or kill me. It won’t matter. My family will still do his bidding.” With that admission, she simply surrendered; her shoulders dropped and she no longer resisted the pressure of his body against hers. She was a little rabbit cowering and paralyzed with fear, awaiting the wolf’s teeth to pierce her throat.

“I must disagree,” he persisted, more curious now. “I’m sure your family will drop their arms in exchange for your life.” He waited for his words to sink in.

“They won’t.” She swallowed. Her eyes darkened to a stormy grey. “I won’t allow it.”

He laughed in surprise. Where had this sudden bravado come from? “How could you possibly prevent it?” His amusement dissipated at the sound of a soft click to his left. He looked down to see her holding a small pistol. She meant to shoot him again? Then she angled the pistol so it pointed to her own head.

He gaped at her. What was she doing? “You’d choose to kill yourself rather than allow your family to bargain for your life?”

She nodded.

“For the love of God, why?” One minute she was shaking in her boots, the next playing a martyr. Who was this woman? And why did he feel as if he could kiss away all her fear, all her worry, and all the darkness lingering in her eyes?

whyShe opened her mouth to reply, but cried out instead as he took advantage of that small moment of distraction. It took him less than a second to wrench the pistol from her hand and release the hammer. To prevent her from doing anything else with her hands, like pull out a knife, he grabbed both wrists and pulled them over her head, where he pinned them against the wall. He tossed the pistol on the edge of the bed next to his shirt then gripped her chin in his free hand. She smelled like fresh apples and sunshine.

“What are you not telling me about your bargain with Gampo?” He clenched his jaw at her silence, then used the one thing he knew would break her. “I’ll have it from you now, or Gabriel later. And I’ll be a lot less gentle with Gabriel.”

youThe look of panic on her face told him his threat had hit home. She might be willing to sacrifice her own life, but not her younger cousin’s.

Finally, she looked up. Grey irises rimmed in silver-blue studied him a long moment and it seemed as if she were looking into his mind, listening to his thoughts. She seemed to come to some sort of conclusion, and finally answered his question. “Gampo took the young ones with him. Jacqueline and Julian are only eight years old.”

Another tear. He wanted to rip out that pirate’s heart with his bare hands just for making her cry.

“I had pulled them into a hiding spot in a dark corner of the hold, but...” She squeezed her eyes shut and more tears streamed out. “A rat ran across my foot and I made a small sound. It was out of my mouth before I had time to think, and because of me, Gampo’s men found us.” She swallowed. “I begged him to take me instead, but he just laughed. Unless we bring Gampo this ship and its cargo, he’ll kill the little ones. He said he’d hang them from the main mast of our own sloop and leave them there for us to find if we didn’t bring in the Seeker by the end of the month.”

thisSeekerBlast it all. “He specifically wanted the Seeker?”

Blast it allSeeker“Not just the Seeker.” She hung her head. “I’m...I’m sorry for the deception. We’d hoped you’d be less likely to resist if you were told Gampo wanted only your cargo.” Her voice dropped to an agonized whisper. “He wants it all, your ship and everything it contains, including...you.”

SeekerHe cursed under his breath. It would have been easier for him if she hadn’t apologized for lying. One minute he was ready to wring her neck, and now he wanted to hold her and tell her everything was going to be fine. Her tears were shredding his insides. Now, a strong desire to comfort her and stop those infernal tears had taken over his rational mind.

Before his brain could formulate another thought, he said, “I’ll help get them back.” His mind froze in shock at the words. It had no time to re-engage before he lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her. He wasn’t sure why he needed to kiss her. He certainly wasn’t attracted to her. He supposed it was because it was the only thing he could think of to comfort her. To quiet her. To quiet his guilty conscience.

A kiss certainly would have quieted him.

himShe stiffened, then with the tiniest of movements, softened. Her scent mesmerized his senses and he breathed her in until his lungs could hold no more. He slid his other hand behind her back and held her tighter. She made a small sound between a whimper and moan that made something flare inside him.

A desire?

A realization.

realizationA realization of what, he didn’t quite know, but it wasn’t anything he’d ever felt when tupping a wench while at port, so it was different from the simple urge to couple with her, although the urge existed.

His brain attempted to re-engage, telling him to pull away, but it was a little too late for that.

He was used to dwarfing most women, but Stevie wasn’t like most women. Her eyes were level with his mouth and while she was slender and sleek, he had a feeling she was a lot stronger than she looked. Those eyes were now limpid and wide, her mouth pink and slightly swollen.

At some point, he must have released her arms because they were now around his neck and pulling his head back down for another kiss. With a groan, he succumbed. This time she kissed him back like a tempest, a hurricane-driven storm of heat and moisture. Tears were still streaming down her face; he tasted the salt as he trailed kisses along her jaw and down her throat. Her fingers dug into his neck and shoulders, and she made an irresistible sound deep in her throat.

That simple movement, that tiny resonance was his undoing.

“Sweet Calypso, Stevie,” he whispered against her lips. “Tell me to stop.”

“No.” Her response took him by surprise and he pulled away to look at her. “Conal—” she said, using his given name as he had used hers. Her eyes were closed, dark sooty lashes resting against the top of her cheeks. Her breath came and went in short, trembling pants. When she raised her lids, her eyes were liquid silver and brimming with yearning.

“What did you say?” He barely choked out the hoarse whisper. His desire for her was so great he could hardly form the words to speak. “I think you should change your mind.” If he was smart, he’d be the one changing his mind. He should just turn and leave, but it wasn’t that simple.

Her words were feather-soft. “I like your kisses.”

The words were small—barely a whisper—but their impact was tremendous...greater than a thirty-six-pound shot.

The raging storm in her eyes challenged him to kiss her, and at the same time shimmered with uncertainty and a vulnerability that had him struggling to stay in control. She was trembling, and when he reached out to grasp her hand, he noticed he was, too.