In a Pirate's Arms Page 17

  To her consternation, he let out a laugh. “Is that what ye think ye are? A proper lady?”

  “Yes! And I am one!”

  “Nay, lass.” Laughter shone in his eye, and something else, something she thought might be affection. “You’re a woman, and that is much better.”

  “As you’re a pirate, I’d expect you to think so.”

  Again he laughed. “Rebecca, Rebecca. Do ye not know how beautiful ye are like this? Any man would want ye. Even a proper gentleman.”

  Her face burned. That was exactly the problem, though she didn’t expect him to understand that. “It’s—difficult for women,” she began, her voice halting. “If we behave like this we’re called terrible names.”

  “Who called you names, Rebecca?”

  She shook her head. “We must always be on guard and behave a certain way. Like ladies. There’s no in-between. Even you,” she raised her eyes to his, accusingly, “had second thoughts when you learned I’d had a child.”

  “Aye, lass, I did,” he admitted. “But only because I didn’t expect it. I like ye like this.” He brushed a strand of hair away from her face. “I like the woman you really are.”

  Her breath caught. “Do—do you?”

  “Aye,” he said, and flexed his hips, making her gasp again. “You like that, eh?”

  “Brendan—”

  “Ah, yes, and ye like this, too.” He lowered his mouth to her breast, and the feelings spiraled within her again, blotting out everything. That he and she both wore disguises of a sort no longer mattered. He was right. This was right, she thought, rolling with him onto her back and moving in time to the thrust of his hips, loving him, loving him. Clutching at his shoulders, she squeezed her eyes shut and gave herself up to him.

  Brendan perched on the foretopsail yard, staring out at an empty sea, the sun beating down on him. Any day now, and he’d spot the ship carrying Ezra Talbot, assuming it hadn’t been delayed by bad weather or other factors. He had been told to take hostages and so he had, but he didn’t like it. He liked it less now that he’d come to know Rebecca so well. When the time came for him to collect her ransom, could he do it?

  He left off scanning the sea to look below, to the deck, where he saw an unusual sight. Seated daintily on a hatch cover were Amelia and Rebecca, with Tyner standing guard, and Starkey, the second mate, talking with them. The crew seemed to go about their appointed tasks, but even from up here Brendan could see the fascinated way the men glanced at the women. Letting them come on deck probably hadn’t been such a good idea, and yet he couldn’t stop looking at them himself. At Rebecca. And though he knew it was a terrible thing he’d done to her, taking her captive, for his own sake he couldn’t regret it.

  So why, he wondered, leaning back against the mast, did he feel such a hollow sensation of impending doom? Danger, it screamed at him, and in the past he’d always heeded his instincts. This time he’d ignored them, going blindly and headlong into an infatuation with a woman. Aye, infatuation, and novelty. Rebecca was unlike any woman he’d ever known. She was quick-witted and made him laugh, and her warm, lush body excited him as few things ever had. Even sitting up here he felt stirrings of warmth, and that wouldn’t do. A seaman had to be alert at every moment he was aloft, or disaster would happen. If he weren’t careful, Rebecca could be the death of him.

  It couldn’t work, of course. He was who he was, and she was a lady. He’d no doubt of that, for all her misgivings. She would go back to her safe, comfortable home, while his future was uncertain at best. He’d taken chances with Rebecca, aye, too many, revealing too much of himself to her. No one knew him as she did; no one held such power over him. For a man who had been alone for so many years, it was a little frightening.

  Something fluttered on the horizon, far to the west. Brendan’s gaze sharpened, but it was gone—no, there it was. Raising his spyglass, he peered in the distance, and his lips tightened. A sail. Might be nothing, just a trader, or maybe a British warship, but he didn’t think so. He had a sinking suspicion that Talbot was on his way to collect his daughters.

  On the deck below, Rebecca turned her face to the sun, enjoying the unaccustomed warmth and light. Heaven, after weeks of being locked in a small cabin. Beside her Amelia was smiling up at Mr. Starkey and chattering away; he, poor man, looked dazed, as most men did when they came within Amelia’s orbit. She didn’t mind. There was no harm in it, not with Tyner and Sam and even Brendan standing guard. Amelia deserved a bit of fun after what she’d been through. For herself, Rebecca didn’t want a group of admiring men about her. Her gaze went up to the mast where Brendan perched, though the height made her shudder. She was interested in just one man.

  Amelia’s gaze followed hers. “Heavens, he’s up so high!” she said. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

  “Not for the cap’n, no,” Starkey said promptly. “Knows what he’s doin’ up there. Never seen a finer seaman, and I’ve served with plenty in my time.” He hawked, as if about to spit, and then appeared to think better of it. “Whenever I hear he’s mustering a crew, I sign on with him.”

  “Doesn’t he keep the same men from voyage to voyage?” Rebecca asked, her attention caught. Like Sam and Tyner, Starkey seemed a pleasant man. What had induced him to turn pirate?

  “No, not him.” He hawked again, and this time took out a crumpled, stained kerchief. “Excuse me,” he said, blowing his nose lustily. “Cap’n don’t go out that often. Don’t need to, with the prizes he takes. And when the voyage is over he flies away, just like the raven they call him.”

  Rebecca shivered again, in spite of the heat of the day. In the past few weeks she thought she’d come to know Brendan well, yet much of his life was still a mystery to her. “You’re English, Mr. Starkey, aren’t you? Did you serve in the navy?”

  His face darkened. “Aye, that I did, and a worse time of it I never had. Hard work on low rations, manning a gun on a second-rater, and they let me go without so much as a farthing when this happened.” He held up his left arm, and for the first time Rebecca realized that most of his hand was missing. “If not for the cap’n, I wouldn’t have work.”

  Amelia’s eyes brimmed with sympathy. “That must have been terrible, Mr. Starkey,” she said, with such warmth that he turned red. “But surely you didn’t have to become a pirate.”

  “Well, miss, it’s like this. I like bein’ at sea, and the cap’n gave me a chance. He gave a lot of men here a chance. Look at Sam, there. Won’t tell you what happened to him, too awful for ladies to hear, but who would have taken him on, I ask you that? Or Ramshead, there, with his peg leg? And he’s got deserters from his Majesty’s bloody—sorry, ladies—Navy, them who’d be hung if they were caught. Good men, all, but only the cap’n would take ‘em on.”

  “So that is why everyone is so loyal to him,” Rebecca murmured.

  “Aye, miss. He treats us well, keeps us fed and gives us work. What more could a body ask?”

  “Starkey,” a voice drawled, and Rebecca looked up to see Brendan. She hadn’t seen him descend the mast. “Ye talk too much, did ye know that?”

  “Aw, there’s no harm in it, Cap’n,” Starkey said, not a whit abashed by the reprimand. “Just talkin’ to the ladies.”

  “Mm-hm.” Brendan looked unconvinced. “Time for change of watch,” he added, as the ship’s bell struck eight times, and Starkey, muttering something, hurried away.

  “He’s very nice,” Amelia said, tentatively, for she had yet to overcome her wariness of Brendan.

  “Nice?” Brendan’s eye crinkled, though he didn’t smile. “I’m not sure as I’d say that, but, aye, he’s a hard worker. Are ye ladies comfortable?”

  “Oh, yes, ‘tis ever so nice to be outside again, I’d quite forgotten what it was like.” Brendan smiled as Amelia chattered on, and then glanced over at Rebecca. She returned his look.

  “Sail ho!” the lookout cried, high above.

  “I know,” Brendan called back. “Saw him ten minutes ago.”

&nb
sp; “Another ship?” Amelia’s eyes were wide. “Oh, not another battle!”

  “I don’t know. Ladies, if you’ll excuse me, I have to take the noon sights.” Executing a neat bow, he turned and headed towards the stern of the ship.

  “The sights?” Amelia’s brow was wrinkled. “What does that mean?”

  “Navigation,” Rebecca said absently, watching him walk away. “He is a fraud.”

  “Becky!” Amelia stared at her. “Whatever do you mean?”

  “Hm? Oh, nothing.” Rebecca busied herself with arranging her skirts in precise pleats, only now realizing she’d spoken her thoughts aloud. Who was Brendan Fitzpatrick? She’d puzzled over that many a time, but she was no closer to an answer. A pirate who didn’t act like it. An Irishman who sometimes sounded English. A hard man who yet crewed his ship with men others rejected. And something more, something she sensed, from his occasional silences, from a certain look in his eye. Something he took pains to keep hidden. She needed to solve the puzzle he posed. If she could, perhaps there would be a way for them to be together, after all.

  The ship heeled, making both girls grab onto the edge of the hatch cover where they sat to keep from falling, as the long main boom swung over. “We’re changing course,” Rebecca said. “I wonder why.”

  “Becky.” Amelia’s voice was hesitant. “Forgive me if I’m prying, but—is he nice to you?”

  Into Rebecca’s mind flashed, unbidden, an image of Brendan looming over her, his face serious and tender as he made love to her. She flushed. “He treats me well enough,” she answered vaguely. “Don’t worry about me, Amelia.”

  “But I do! I don’t like it, Becky.” She pouted, her chin outthrust. “How do you think it makes me feel that you’re doing—that—for me?”

  “For both of us, Amelia.” She spoke sharply, wishing Amelia had never had to know anything about the bargain. Thank heavens she had no idea how matters really stood. “This is really none of your concern.”

  “But you’re my sister!”

  “And I’ll do what I think is best for both of us.”

  “Cap’n,” the lookout called from above, and Brendan, who had just put away his sextant in its mahogany case, walked amidships and looked up, hands on hips. “She’s in sight now.”

  “Can you make her out?” he asked.

  “Aye, but not well. Full-rigged, cap’n, might be R. N.”

  “R. N.?” Amelia whispered.

  “Royal Navy,” Rebecca said, and felt again that same chill of foreboding that had shivered through her when they’d last encountered a ship.

  “What flag is she flying?” Brendan called.

  “Can’t see that, Cap’n—hey, wait.” The lookout leaned forward. “There’s a pennant, looks like it’s from the mainmast. House flag, mebbe. Must be big, to see it so clear.”

  “What is it?”

  “White ground, cap’n, with a black circle and something red inside the circle. Can’t tell what.”

  White with a black circle, and a red shape inside the circle—Rebecca’s head jerked up. Mercy, it sounded like— “Captain?” she said, and Brendan turned to her. There were lines on his face she’d never noticed before. “Is it—”

  “Aye,” he said, and his voice was heavy. “Looks like one of your father’s ships.”

  Rebecca and Amelia were below, locked into quarters on Brendan’s orders. Alone, he paced the deck near the helm, quietly issuing occasional orders to the helmsman. Already his crew was preparing for battle, dragging out the heavy guns and standing near, ready to fire on his order. And, all the time, the other ship approached.

  Night was nearing, and Brendan judged that the other ship wouldn’t be close enough for the exchange to be made until the morrow. If it were the ship he awaited. Though he could now clearly see the house flag flying from its mainmast, identifying it as a ship owned by Ezra Talbot, still he felt uneasy. From the little he knew of Talbot, the man wasn’t one to part with his money easily, no matter how much his daughters meant to him. It could be a ruse: lure in the Raven with false promises of paying the ransom, and then blast them out of the water. Brendan doubted, however, that that would happen with the two girls on board. They were, he thought heavily, his main protection from imminent destruction.

  “Steady on,” he murmured to the helmsman, gaze fixed on the approaching ship. Not so distant now, and his crew was quiet, tense. “Sam.” He looked up as the big man neared him, face watchful. “Signal her.”

  Sam nodded and turned away, clapping his hands sharply twice. At once a gunnery crew on the port side went into action, loading shot into the gun and touching fire to the fuse. The gun boomed, and the shot fell harmlessly into the ocean. A few moments more, and then the house flag on the other ship was suddenly lowered. Brendan’s lips thinned. It was the signal he had specified in his ransom letter.

  “Five degrees nor’nor’east,” he muttered to the helmsman. “Sam. Ready the signal flags. When she’s closer, find out who she is.”

  Sam nodded and clambered down a hatch, emerging several moments later with tightly furled flags under his arms. Each one bore a different symbol and had its own meaning, making up a code understood by mariners everywhere. Brendan had no intention of allowing the other ship close enough for verbal exchange, not without some assurance of his safety. “Now, Sam.”

  Sam nodded and began hoisting the flags on a halyard from the mainmast. It was a long process, but finally the question was asked: the identity of the other ship, and her business. Standing by the railing, tight-lipped, Brendan peered through his spyglass, straining to see the answering message. At last it came. The Commonweal, owner Talbot, out of Georgetown, to rescue the Talbot sisters.

  Brendan nodded once, sharply. “Acknowledge, Sam, and tell them to keep their distance.”

  Acknowledged, came the reply.

  “If they do not follow instructions completely, the sisters will suffer. Do it,” he said, as Sam looked at him, and then raised his spyglass again. This time the answer was a bit slower in coming, and when it did it was terse. Acknowledged.

  Brendan grunted, and then proceeded to set the terms of the exchange. The two ships to stand off through the night. Ezra Talbot to come alone, and with the ransom. Then, and only then, would the sisters be released into his keeping.

  Acknowledged.

  He grunted again. “Eight bells tomorrow morning, Sam,” he said, and turned from the railing, having no stomach for this, though his face remained impassive. Aye, it was what he’d set out to do; what he must, for his sake and the sake of his mission, see through to the end, but he didn’t like it. He was bartering with Rebecca’s life, and the thought made him feel low, small. If he were successful, tomorrow she would be gone.

  “Maintain course,” he said to the helmsman. “Keep the distance between her and us.”

  “Aye, Cap’n.”

  “Carry on, Sam,” he said, and trudged down the companionway leading below.

  At his door he paused a moment, and then, squaring his shoulders, unlocked it. “Rebecca.”

  She looked up from her seat on the bench beneath the stern window, her face drawn. “It’s my father, isn’t it?”

  He stopped by the door, the keys jingling in his pocket, unsure how to react. He’d expected jubilation or anger, not this calm quiet. “Yes.”

  “So we’re to be ransomed?”

  “Aye. Tomorrow morning.”

  “Just like that?” She whirled off the bench, and he realized that his first impression had been wrong. She was angrier than he ever would have expected. “You’ll barter me—us—just like that?”

  “Rebecca.” He made his voice patient, gentle. “Ye knew this was going to happen.”

  “It didn’t mean anything to you, did it?” Her voice was high and tight. “These past weeks, they meant nothing—”

  “Leannan, ye know that’s not so.”

  “Don’t you call me that! I’m not your leannan, not if you can treat me so.”

 
“Do you think I have a choice?”

  “Don’t you?” she retorted.

  He did. By God, he did. He stood very still as the idea burst into his mind, so audacious and yet so right that he knew he’d been considering it for a very long time. Before he quite knew what he was doing, he strode across the room to her, gripping her shoulders. “Yes. There’s a choice, but it’s not mine.” He gazed at her intently. “Stay with me, Rebecca.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Rebecca’s breath drew in sharply. “Wh-what?”

  “Stay with me.” His voice was urgent, his grip hard. “Don’t go tomorrow.”

  “But, the ransom—”

  “The devil take the ransom! I’ll forfeit it.”

  “Oh, no.” She twisted away. “I’ll not let you do that to my sister.”

  “It’s not your sister I want to keep, leannan.”

  She spun back towards him. “You mean—”

  “I mean I’ll let her go. But you, lass.” He closed the distance between them with one quick stride, hauling her into his arms. “Don’t leave me. Stay with me. It’s not such a bad life I’m offering you,” he went on, before she could speak. “I’ve a home, you’ll lack for nothing, I promise you. Only stay with me, lass.”

  It was tempting. Oh, it was tempting. She felt the rough weave of his shirt under her fingertips and squeezed her eyes shut. To stay with him forever. Would it be forever? He’d said nothing of marriage, and without that he would be free to sail away and leave her. And then where would she be? But, oh, while it lasted it would be bliss. No one had ever made her feel as he did; no one ever would again, so alive, so vital and necessary and needed. Wasn’t she? “Brendan.” Her voice was quiet. “Will you take off the eyepatch?”

  He hesitated, and then looked away. “I’m sorry, lass. I can’t.”

  “I see.” She pulled back, drifting over to the tiny-paned window. “You really don’t trust me.”

  “Ah, leannan, it’s not that—”

  “Then what is it?” She whirled to face him. “What life do you offer me, if you hide from me?”