A Pirate's Wife for Me (8 page)

And she knew if she was not fit to do her part, he would eliminate her. In fact, he intended to eliminate her.

It was up to her to convince him otherwise. She had no doubt she would do so, for Kiernan's sake.

And for her own.

CHAPTER TEN

Taran marveled at the scene
in the taproom. At the long table his men, scourge of the Seven Seas, lolled about, staring at Cate as if they hadn't seen a woman for years — and after last night, he knew they'd all seen at least one each, both inside and out.

At the head of the table sat Cate, her plate pushed away, her elbow resting on the table, her chin perched on her fist. She looked at ease … until she gazed at Taran. Then her spine straightened, her shoulders squared, and her gaze cooled.

There! That was the woman who, the night before, had calmly shot him. His arm ached like hell this morning, but as Blowfish had pointed out, he would probably escape without an infection, and that was more than he deserved for being devilishly reckless. Although Blowfish had used a different adjective…

Taran would have told any man the same thing. He knew well enough that folly always extracted its price, and he wondered — what madness had caused his carelessness last night? He was a man in control of his emotions.

No. More than that. Those whirlwinds of fear and joy, happiness and grief did not influence his clear thinking. He determined a goal, he weighed the results of achieving that goal, and he either proceeded, or not. When unexpected trouble arose, he made logical, lightning-quick decisions, and they were always the right ones. He did not so lose himself in a woman's arms that he forgot good sense and forced her to shoot him. Moreover, he didn't lie to himself. If Cate hadn't shot him, he
would
have lost himself in her arms.

He could not afford such mistakes.

She must be replaced at once.

"Miss MacLean, come with me." He turned and mounted the stairs.

She followed him, the tap of her boots loud on the steps.

Behind them, in the taproom, a buzz of speculation rose.

He entered his bedchamber, the second largest in the inn. He walked to the table, cluttered with sea charts and roughly sketched maps of Cenorina, and turned to face her.

She did not enter. She was wary of entering any confined space with him, especially one with a bed.

So. She had learned her lesson, too.

She stood framed in the doorway, pulled a handkerchief out of her sleeve, and while she maintained eye contact, she meticulously wiped off her fork.

If he was reading her correctly, she was warning him she had a weapon. Not so great a weapon as her pistol, although perhaps she had that secreted on her body, too. But in skilled hands, a fork could cause considerable damage. A smile twitched his lips. Cate had always known how to wield a fork, especially when challenged by a roasted spring lamb.

She stuck the utensil in her reticule, and in a level voice that scorned him and his amusement, she said, "Tell me all, Cap'n. How did you come to your present situation?"

"Stupidity and luck, Miss MacLean. Stupidity and luck … and some planning."

"That's not an answer," she said precisely. "I want an
answer
. Last night you said you were kidnapped. By whom?"

She wanted to know what had happened to him nine years ago when he left her. He couldn't tell her all of it, of course. He didn't talk about the first five years — not to anyone. But he could give her the bones of his story. Perhaps he owed her that. "I returned to Cenorina, to my home, but someone was not pleased to see me once more."

"Sir Maddox Davies?"

"When I knew him, he was plain Mr. Maddox Davies. But I failed to realize that during my exile in Scotland, he had taken all power into his hands." What a young fool Taran had been. He had actually gone to his former tutor and ordered Davies to leave Cenorina. It ever crossed his mind his tutor could use his sword so skillfully, nor that he would dare harm someone so noble as Crown Prince Taran of Cenorina. "He had me permanently removed from the islands … by pirates."

"Those gentlemen downstairs?" Cate was making fun of him. She'd met Blowfish and Lilbit and Dove, and she'd seen only the surface. She didn't know the dangers they'd faced, the scars they carried, and how very dangerous they could be.

Right now, it suited Taran not to tell her. "Aye. Some of those men were on board."

"Why does Sir Davies hate you so much?" Doubt weighted her voice.

He smiled gently, thinking of his ex-tutor and how very much damage Davies had wrought. "I don't know that he hates me. Perhaps he does. But looking back, I would say he is an opportunist, driven by greed. My family was wealthy and influential. I stood in his way."

"But he
must
hate you! To give you to the pirates … not all boys who go to sea even on the ships of Her Majesty's Navy are treated well, and some die! Did he not know that?"

"Indeed he did. Unfortunately for Davies, I have a strong survival instinct, something that I intend to explain to him myself at some time in the not-too-far-distant future." He seated himself at the low table. "Now. We have more important matters to discuss than my past."

She clearly debated whether to ask more questions. Then she nodded.

"Now please, Miss MacLean, enter and be seated." Odd to sound refined when for years he left the trappings of civilization so far behind.

She looked him over, her green eyes cataloguing him, taking into account his resolve. Her gaze went to the bed and lingered there. "The only thing we have in common is a desire to see this mission completed successfully."

Clearly she chose her words with the intention to aggravate. Or maybe it was a natural talent. "You make me want to shut your mouth with kisses," he said.

He gave her credit. She barely flinched, then entered in that long, stalking, cat-like walk. "So I'll leave the door open, then, shall I?"

"Of course." Sibeol bustled in, holding her bag of knitting and smiling graciously. "We established that it's improper for a young lady to be behind closed doors with a young man, especially in a bedchamber."

Ah, yes. In the nick of time. His mother.

He stood.

Sibeol had been resting in her room until he'd gone to get Cate. She must have heard their voices and decided to provide him with a chaperone, when a chaperone was the last thing he wanted.

Because unfortunately, he still wanted Cate. On the Isle of Mull, she had spent three years teasing him, and he had desired her with every fiber of his flesh, every drop of his blood, every thought, every breath. Craving Cate had become a habit.

A sensible man can break a habit.

Apparently, he wasn't as sensible as he had hoped.

Last night he had demonstrated that his wit and sense was not proof against Cate's siren call. He'd also proved that she still wanted him. That was a dangerous piece of knowledge.

Sibeol seated herself in the rocking chair by the window. "We can't afford to have you shoot Taran again, Miss MacLean."

"Especially since, this time, I'd aim more toward the center of his chest," Cate answered.

"This time," he said gently, "you wouldn't have time to reach for your pistol." Indeed, if not for Queen Sibeol and her relentless demands that he comport himself as the crown prince of Cenorina, he would leap at Cate, subdue her, place his mouth on the soft skin of her throat to mark her as his, and teach her to love him once more.

Apparently Cate found comfort in the click of Sibeol's knitting needles and the creak of the rocking chair, for she readily sat in the only remaining empty chair, facing the two of them, the light from the window shining on her face.

The years had left their mark on her features. She had a scar on the left side of her forehead. The plump cheeks of youth had slimmed to a starker beauty. Most of all, her eyes no longer watched him with adoration. Quite the opposite, it would seem, and if he were a good man he'd be glad she was so suspicious.

Instead, he found that insulting directness to be a challenge.

Yes, she was attractive. Too tall for a lesser man to handle, and her direct gaze discomfited lesser men, too, but he liked a woman who wasn't afraid to meet his eye. Her hair made him want to play in its fire. Her breasts, her hips … Why did his body remember her? Why did he lust after her while his mind rejected any current entanglement?

"What is it you wished to talk about, Cap'n?" She was calm, polite, distant.

Even the way she said
Cap'n
, as if she didn't know his Christian name – even that posed a challenge. He began to roll up the charts before him. "The time has come to talk seriously about the mission."

"Very good," Cate said. "That
is
why I came."

"I appreciate that." He looked down at the letter he had received this morning by courier. "Throckmorton briefed you on at least part of your responsibilities."

She recited, "I am to report to the Cap'n, which I've done. Then I'm to go to Cenorina by public transportation – there is a ferry that leaves three days hence, I believe – then to the Davies's Giraud estate as the housekeeper."

"Ah. Giraud." Taran's hands were steady as he placed the charts into his captain's case behind him … Giraud. He knew it well. In that great house, he had been born, had rocked in his cradle, had as a lad run free, learned to ride his first pony, studied the duties of royalty with his father and his mother … and had been led into the first steps of dissipation by his tutor, Maddox Davies.

Of course, Davies would choose Giraud as his main residence. Every evening, he must sit at the long, polished dinner table, preside over his guests, and gloat over his successful coup.

Hate clawed at Taran. But he would not allow hate to control him, any more than he allowed fear or love or joy to have power over him.

His mother said, "Miss MacLean, you'll be pleased to know that although the royal family made Giraud their home, it is really more of a manor house than a palace. The setting is exquisite, and when you're not busy with your duties, I do hope you have the chance to explore the estate."

Cate's gaze flicked from Sibeol to Taran. "I would like that, but I expect this masquerade to take all my attention, and when I am done, I will go on to another task."

Like hell you will.
But Taran wisely kept that thought to himself. "Cate, do you understand why England is interested in Cenorina?"

"Yes. It's located south of England, and I believe the English are concerned that as governor, Sir Davies's loyalties to Britain are not as stellar as one might have hoped. No one quite seems to know exactly what he intends, and previous attempts at intercepting his correspondence have been unsuccessful. I'm to see if I can find written evidence of his plans … whatever they are." Her brow knit. "I do remember from my studies that Cenorina is a principality, and although Mr. Throckmorton didn't say so, I surmise the English want the queen removed."

"Why?" Sibeol asked sharply.

Cate said, "For cooperating with Sir Davies, and possibly for directing him."

"That is not true! The queen would never stoop to voluntarily deal with one such as
Sir Maddox Davies."
Sibeol spoke his name like a mockery and a curse.

"I'm sorry." Cate looked discomforted and apologetic. "You're obviously loyal to the queen."

"I know the queen!" Sibeol jammed her knitting needles into the ball of yarn. "She is a person of moral, upright character, and her relationship to Davies is —"

Taran placed a warning hand on her shoulder.

Sibeol swallowed her words, and said softly, "The relationship is difficult at best."

"Of course. I'm sorry. I was told … but that doesn't matter." Cate shook her head.

Taran could only imagine what she'd been told. "The royal family has been a pawn in this game" — how it galled him to admit that! — "and they are of no concern to you. My intention is to restore them to power. For you, it is Davies who must be misled and defeated. Did Throckmorton explain how Davies came to his attention in the first place?"

Cate shook her head.

"I didn't think so." Taran paced back to the table. "In this case, Throckmorton is not pleased with his own gullibility. You probably know that Throckmorton commands a large and varied network responsible for the nation's safety through the use of … shall we say … diplomacy?"

"Espionage," Cate said.

"Well put. After the deaths of the king and crown prince of Cenorina, Davies stepped into the role of governor. No one knew that what he'd done was a coup, and of course, although England was initially interested in the shift in power, once they realized Davies was an Englishman who gave a good accounting of himself, he was forgotten." Taran grew ever more grim. "Until he brought himself to Throckmorton's attention by asking for help ridding the islands of pirates who he said were using isolated harbors for rest and recreation, and as a jumping off place to raid English coastal towns. Because there had been raids, the English sent in militia, two ships were sunk, and Davies was in Throckmorton's good graces."