In a Pirate's Arms Page 18

  His face was inscrutable. “Not just from you, lass.”

  “But, don’t you see, I should be the one who does know! Oh, it’s hopeless.” She turned, hugging herself, blinking hard against tears. “You’ll never understand.”

  “I do understand.” His voice was gravelly as he stood beside her, his hand on her shoulder. “Rebecca, lass, I’ve reasons, but I can’t tell you. No,” he said, as she looked up at him. “I can’t say more than that.”

  “Would you, if you could?”

  “Yes,” he said, simply.

  Rebecca lowered her eyes, gnawing at her lips, and at that moment the other ship came into view, far astern. Her breath caught in her throat. “Is that—my father?”

  “Yes.”

  “If I go with you, where will I live? In the Caribbean?,” He didn’t answer, and she took that as assent. Oh, this was unfair! She wanted to be with him, but just as strong was the pull she felt towards her father, her sister. All her life she’d taken care of Amelia. She couldn’t leave her to face alone the scandal that would erupt at home. And Father... She bit her lips again. If she went with Brendan, she would never see her father again. “No,” she said, twisting away from him. “I can’t.”

  “Lass.” He held out his arms. “Don’t. Don’t do this. What can I say to change your mind?”

  You could say you love me, she thought, though even that wouldn’t be enough. He didn’t need her, not in the way Amelia did, or her father. Not in the same way she needed him. “No,” she said, and the finality of it brought tears to her eyes. “I can’t.”

  “Leannan—”

  “I can’t!” she cried, and threw herself into his arms. “I want to, but I can’t, oh, God, Brendan—”

  His hands were on her, frantic, roaming over her back, her breasts, her hips. “You’ve been hurt once, lass, I know that, but I wouldn’t leave you—”

  “I know.” She tangled his hair in her fingers and reached up to kiss him, desperate, knowing only that she needed him, now. Instantly his mouth slammed down on hers, hard, his tongue probing, taking her mouth with quick, possessive strokes, as he would take her body. She strained against him, pulling at his shirt, pressing her hips closer to his, feeling the bulge of his desire, hot and hard and surging against her. His hands were at the buttons of her gown, pulling, tearing, and she didn’t care. Nothing mattered, but him.

  With a wordless growl, he picked her up in his arms and strode across the room, dropping her onto the bed, so that her legs dangled over the side. She began to scramble backwards, but he was there, standing between her legs, bracing himself over her with one hand, while his other reached for the buttons on his breeches. “No, let me,” she said, reaching out her hand and brushing it against the taut bulge.

  “Rebecca—”

  “I want to.” Her fingers were steady as she undid the buttons, though her heart pounded and need pooled low in her stomach. His eyes were squeezed shut, the muscles in his neck standing out, corded, and when she reached in to cradle him in her hand, hot iron sheathed in velvet, he let out that wordless growl again. Before she could react he had pushed her skirts roughly up to her waist and was positioning himself between her legs, the tip of his shaft just touching her. Exquisite agony, but she wasn’t ready. Not quite yet.

  She drew back. “Take it off,” she ordered.

  He looked down at her. “What?”

  “That damned eyepatch. I’d like to do this for once knowing you’re not hiding from me.”

  “Ah, lass.” He dropped his head, bending to nuzzle her throat. “Don’t do this.”

  “Brendan—”

  “We only have now, lass. Don’t ruin it.”

  Ruin it! she thought. But before she could say anything he had grasped her hips in his hands, pulling her to him, and she, helpless against the need he awoke in her, raised herself, waiting, until at last he thrust into her.

  Fast and furious, and she met him stroke for stroke, her hips churning against him, harder, faster. Her gaze never left his, until at last the need within her became too urgent, too overwhelming. She closed her eyes and arched her head back, crying out as the climax swept over her. She was his. Oh, God help her, she was his. And that thought was all it took for her tears to start flowing.

  “Rebecca.” His voice was rough, urgent. “Lass, I’m sorry, I know I was too quick. Did I hurt you? If I did I—”

  “N-no,” she choked out, her eyes misted with tears. He was still above her, within her, and oh, dear God, she wanted him there forever. “I—don’t want to leave you.” The sobs came faster, harder. “Oh, Brendan, I don’t want to go!”

  “Oh, lass.” The bed shifted as he came onto it with her, withdrawing from her body, leaving her empty, drained. But then he was gathering her into his arms, his hands awkwardly patting her back. “You were right. The life I have to offer you—it’s not for you.”

  “Yes, it is,” she sobbed, perversely certain now that nothing would suit her more than a precarious existence as the Raven’s woman.

  “No,” he rumbled. “I can’t do that to you, lass. Take you away from everything you’ve ever known, from your family.” He rocked her back and forth. “It’s no kind of life for you.”

  “I’d manage.”

  “I know you would.” He planted a quick kiss on her forehead. “But you shouldn’t have to. You deserve the best. If I was free, Rebecca—”

  She reared back from him. “Dear God, you’re not married!”

  “No.” The horror in her voice made him want to smile, but, the devil take it, this was no laughing matter. “No, lass, there’s no one else. Only you.”

  “Then what holds you back?”

  He frowned. It was tempting. To tell her the truth, to see her face when she realized he wasn’t quite what he seemed—but tomorrow she would leave him. It would be safer for her if she knew nothing. “Never mind, leannan,” he said, brushing a finger across her lips. “Never mind.”

  Her eyes pooled with tears again. “It’s going to happen tomorrow, isn’t it?”

  His heart thudded heavily in his chest. “Yes.”

  “Then love me, Brendan.” She curled her hand around his neck, bringing his head down to her. “Love me.”

  And, God help him, he did.

  The morning sun rose on a peaceful scene: a square-rigged ship, yards backed to keep her in place; and a black, sleek brigantine, sails loosely furled, dancing about at the mercy of the waves, as if in impatience. From one ship to another a boat was being rowed, a solitary passenger within. Ezra Talbot was coming to collect his daughters.

  Brendan stood impassively by the helm, watching the boat approach. His crew was in readiness, training the long guns on the other ship; in the rigging and on the yardarms, pistols and knives at the ready, should there be trickery. And, in the midst of this, guarded and apparently held captive by Sam, were the Talbot sisters.

  Brendan spared only a glance for the young women. More than that, and he might just change his mind, might just give the order that would keep Rebecca with him forever. For he didn’t want to let her go. He wanted to grab her and hold her and be with her for the rest of his life, and that was stunning. Never in his life had he felt this way, about any woman. Why now, with this plain, prim girl, his captive?

  The longboat bumped into the ship’s hull, and a rope ladder was tossed overboard. Beside Rebecca Amelia let out a cry, grasping Rebecca’s arm tighter. “He’s really here!”

  “Yes,” Rebecca said, looking at the other ship, at the rail where her father would appear in a moment, even at Sam. Anywhere, but at Brendan. He appeared a most thorough-going rogue this morning, clad in black breeches and white shirt, and not by so much as a glance or a gesture had he acknowledged her presence. It was just as well. If he did, likely she’d run screaming to him, begging him to let her stay. And that, she knew, was not possible.

  A hand appeared on the railing, square, work-roughened, and a moment later Ezra Talbot drew himself up. “You, there!”
he barked at a seaman. “Give me a hand.”

  The seaman looked uncertainly from him to Brendan, who nodded, and then held out his hand warily, expecting a trap. Instead, Ezra clambered onto the deck over the rail, hampered by the large black valise he carried. He jerked back as the seaman reached for it. “Touch this and you’ll regret it,” he growled. “It belongs to me.”

  “No, sir.” Brendan’s voice was at its silkiest, and its most dangerous. “I believe it’s mine. Starkey.” He gestured towards the second mate. “Check him for weapons.”

  Ezra glared at Brendan as Starkey patted him down. “You! I have some words for you, sir.”

  Unbelievably, Brendan’s lips tucked back in what might have been a smile. “Undoubtedly. The money, sir.”

  “Not until I am assured my daughters are safe.”

  “Your daughters are there.” Brendan waved a hand negligently in the girls’ direction. “They’ve been well-treated.”

  “Huh. Am I supposed to believe that?”

  “Believe what you wish.” Brendan held out his hand. “The money, sir. When I have made certain it is all there your daughters will be returned to you.”

  Ezra’s glare grew fierce, and with a mutter, he handed over the valise. “Tyner,” Brendan said, holding out the valise. “Check this.”

  “Aye, Cap’n.” Tyner scuttled over and crouched over the valise, pursing his mouth in a silent whistle as he opened it. “Let me take it down to the cabin, cap’n, and count it. But it looks good, that it does.” He cackled gleefully. “Gold coins, and plenty o’ them.”

  The crew muttered in reaction, and Brendan’s gaze swept over them, sharply. His eye met Rebecca’s. For a moment only they stared at each other; for just that moment all else on the ship was forgotten, unimportant. Then he looked away. “We’ll wait for Tyner,” Brendan said. “Offer ye a drink?”

  “No,” Ezra growled. “Give me my daughters and let us get off this God-cursed ship.”

  “In a moment.” Brendan lounged back, hands in pockets. “When I am assured the money is all there.”

  “You’ll hang for this.” Ezra’s hands were balled into fists, and though he was shorter than Brendan, he seemed not in the least intimidated. “I’ll see to it.”

  “Ye may try. Yes, Tyner?” This as Tyner stuck his head through the hatch leading below.

  “Did a quick count, Cap’n,” Tyner called. “Looks like it’s all there.”

  “Of course it’s there,” Ezra snapped. “I am a man of my word, sir.”

  “And I of mine.”

  “Huh.”

  “Sam, bring our guests here,” he commanded. “Your daughters, sir.”

  “Oh, Papa!” Amelia ran across the deck, launching herself into Ezra’s arms. “Oh, Papa, I missed you so!”

  “And I you.” He held her a little away from him, scanning her face, and Brendan’s feelings towards the man softened just a bit. Whatever else he was, he did care for his daughters. “Are you hurt? Did this barbarian touch you—”

  “No, Papa! Becky took care of me.” Amelia turned, her smile radiant. “Aren’t you going to hug her, too?”

  “Took care of you, did she?” Ezra roared, startling everyone aboard and causing Rebecca to jump back, just as she was about to kiss his cheek. “If she took such care of you, why are you here?”

  Rebecca hunched her shoulders. “That’s not fair. I couldn’t help what happened.”

  “I told you to watch out for your sister, girl, not let her get in such a mess as this.”

  “But that isn’t fair, Papa!” Amelia exclaimed, clutching at his arm. “You don’t know the sacrifices she made for me! If not for me, she wouldn’t have had to stay with the Raven in his cabin—”

  “Amelia!” Rebecca said, sharply, too late. “We’ll discuss that later.”

  “She did what?” Ezra’s voice was a growl as he advanced towards Rebecca. “Is it true, girl? Did you disgrace yourself with him? Answer me!”

  Rebecca was pale. “I did what I had to, to protect Amelia.”

  “You little slut!” he roared, and raised his hand.

  Rebecca saw the blow coming and flinched, raising her arms to protect herself, a reflex action from long experience. When nothing happened, she at last glanced up, to see a strong, brown hand gripping Ezra’s upraised arm.

  “Careful there, boyo.” Brendan’s voice was deceptively soft, his hold on Ezra’s forearm deceptively easy.

  Ezra jerked back, his glare murderous, but Brendan’s grip held. Only the whitening of Brendan’s knuckles showed any strain, as the two men battled in silence, Ezra pulling back, Brendan holding on. Then, with a sudden movement, Ezra twisted away—or had Brendan released him? Rebecca never knew for certain. “I’ll have none of that on my ship.”

  “Damn you!” Ezra hissed, a sure sign of his anger, for he rarely swore. “I’ll punish my daughters as I wish.”

  “Not on my ship, you won’t.” Brendan’s voice was clipped. “And if you expect to live to tell about this day, ‘tis best ye go now, boyo. Before I lose my temper.”

  “You’ll pay for this, pirate.” Ezra’s hands were balled into ineffectual fists at his side. “If I do nothing else, I’ll make sure you pay.”

  “Ye scare me, boyo.” Brendan’s gaze flicked towards Rebecca, and then away. “Go, now, before I lose my patience.”

  “Gladly.” Ezra gave him one more long look, and then turned. “Amelia. Rebecca. Let us leave this cursed ship.”

  “Yes, Papa.” Amelia took his arm and crossed with him to the railing, though not before turning and giving Brendan a parting glance. Not so Rebecca. Head down, she followed, awaiting her turn as Ezra helped Amelia climb onto the rope ladder. There was utter silence, and utter tension. None of the chaos she had half-expected, and certainly no joy. She’d been reunited with her father and soon would be safe home. And never had she felt so wretched.

  “Rebecca.” Brendan’s voice, stopping her as she was about to clamber over the railing onto the rope ladder. She looked up and met his gaze, cool, inscrutable. “You don’t have to go.”

  For a long, long moment she looked back at him, committing every detail to memory: his wind-ruffled hair; strong features; bright blue eye, stormy now with emotion. She remembered again the feeling of his arms around her, the strength of his body as he made her his. Oh, she remembered! And she must remember this, too, this last glimpse of him, so roguish, so handsome, and so lost to her. Memory was all she would have, for the rest of her life.

  “Go, girl,” Ezra growled, and it broke the spell. Averting her head, Rebecca stepped out, and began the long, precarious climb down the rope ladder to the waiting boat, below. Her time on the Raven was done.

  Brendan stood unmoving, fists on hips, and only someone who knew him well would have guessed at the emotions within him, the aching, spreading emptiness. Aye, and why should she stay? He’d nothing to offer her, nothing but disgrace and scandal. No wonder if she chose safety and familiarity. But to chose that vicious bastard over him— His fists tightened. Talbot would hurt her. Devil take it, why had she gone with him?

  Bring her back. Aye, he could, he’d the men and the weapons. Bring the boat back and keep her with him. But it would do him no good. She’d made her choice, and it wasn’t him. “Let go sails,” he called to Sam, and the men who stood at the ready began to pull on lines. Sail blossomed from the yardarms, from the mainmast, and the Raven, feeling the wind, danced upon the water. Brendan watched it as if from a distance. His ship’s beauty no longer had the power to move him.

  “Boat’s away, Cap’n,” a seaman called from the rail.

  “Aye, and so are we. Starb’d tack,” he said, and the yards of the foremast were braced, the fore and main booms swung over. The ship heeled as the sails caught the wind and the rigging sang, in harmony with the water rushing past their bows. And, before the longboat carrying the Talbots had covered even half the distance to the Commonweal, the Raven was speeding away. Rebecca was gone.

&nb
sp; Chapter Fifteen

  Brendan stepped off the schooner’s gangplank onto the wharf at Georgetown and stood for a moment, getting his bearings. Stretching before him was Water Street, with wharves on the Potomac side, where vessels of every kind were docked. To his left were warehouses and shops and an occasional dwelling, though this had long since ceased to be a fashionable neighborhood. This was the working part of town, the part where tobacco and grain and other goods were loaded and valued and sold. Government officials, and those who could afford it, lived on the bluffs overlooking the river. It was there that Brendan’s attention focused. Up there was the man he had come to see. Up there, also, was Rebecca.

  Brendan’s lips thinned. Just over a month had passed since she’d left the Raven, and it seemed like all eternity. Just over a month since he had been quite himself. To see him one would never associate him with the notorious pirate known as the Raven, whose latest exploits were the talk of Washington City. His expression was mild; his hair was cropped; and his coat of blue superfine was well-cut and practical. His boots had been polished to a high gleam, and as he strode along he swung his rosewood walking stick, with only a slight trace of the seaman’s rolling gait. No one gave him a second look as he passed by, and that was how he wanted it. His business was important, and secret.

  Using his walking stick for leverage, Brendan climbed the hill leading from the waterfront, until at last he stood on a street of pleasant brick houses and overarching elms. Across Rock Creek the capitol city was struggling to be born. Someday, perhaps, Washington City would fulfill the dreams of its founders, but just now it was a vista of muddy swamps and rutted roads. The few buildings, the admittedly splendid Capitol building and the President’s House, looked as if they had been dropped from above by a careless giant child. Beyond those, there were a few homes, numerous boarding houses, and some shops. It was no wonder that so many government officials chose to live in Georgetown, including the man he had come to see.

  His house was pleasant, unassuming, of the same salmon-colored brick as the sidewalk, with white trim and green shutters. As Brendan started up the stone steps, his hand on the wrought-iron railing, the door opened, making all his defenses go up. His approach had been watched.