Her Pirate to Love: A Sam Steele Romance (11 page)

She sounded like an angel.

When he’d stepped below, the pureness of her voice had captured him even before he’d stepped into the galley. He’d been captivated, transported to the place the lyrics described. He’d felt a rush of pride for having thought to bring her and Paddy together. Until he’d seen her tears. His pride had vanished like a wave, obliterating footprints in the sand, and he’d been furious at himself for having caused her pain.

Somehow, she’d known and had hurried to reassure him.

It shouldn’t have affected him the way it did. Yet the moment her fingers touched him, he’d felt something he hadn’t felt since losing Catherine. Longing. Longing, not sexual desire. If it was coupling he was after, any port could offer him relief.

It went deeper than the pleasures of the flesh. With Catherine, he’d had both lover and a friend. While he’d had lovers since her death, he hadn’t had a friend, someone he could talk to about anything and everything, someone who truly cared about what he had on his mind, someone who cared about him. The women who sold him their bodies didn’t know him, didn’t want to. They only wanted his money.

But having Grace touch him, seeing the understanding, the need to reassure him in her eyes, he’d realized something.

He wasn’t nearly as content being Steele as he’d led himself and everyone else to believe.

*

Nightfall came much
earlier in the Caribbean than it did in Ireland but early sunsets weren’t the only difference. In Ireland, once dusk set in, the temperature dropped considerably and quickly. Here, in the middle of the Caribbean Sea two hours after sunset, the air had only dropped a few degrees, ensuring jackets and extra layers were not yet necessary. She had to admit it was something she appreciated about the Caribbean, the warmer evenings. Especially when she could sit and enjoy them rather than toil through them.

In the shadows of darkness, she felt less scrutinized and, therefore, freer. Rising from the chair she strode to the gunwale, leaned against it and raised her face to the sky. Had it only been days since she thought she’d never see the moon and stars again? Since she’d believed she’d never live to take another breath and her child would die without ever being born?

Sure and she didn’t believe her troubles were behind her. There were mountains yet to be scaled. She had to earn passage back to Ireland and knew it could take years to do so. She had a life as an unwed mother ahead of her, one that was certain to be looked down upon as it would be assumed she was a woman with loose morals. As her family hadn’t been the only one to lose their home, once she reached Ireland she’d need to locate her cousins, aunts, and uncles.

What would they think about her and her child? Sure and she planned on telling them the truth but would they blame her? Shun her? Or mistreat the babe for not having a father?

For Grace there was no question of loving the babe. It was innocent in how it had come to be and, after years of feeling alone, she relished the idea of having family again. Besides, it wasn’t as though she were a stranger to hard work. It wouldn’t be easy, to be sure, but she didn’t see it any different than what a widow would have to endure. And while she was no Virgin Mary, she too trusted that this babe had been given to her for a reason. She vowed to give it the best life she could, no matter the struggles ahead.

Considering how close Roche had come to killing her, she’d take the struggles as it meant she was alive. And better to be unwed and free than locked in a prison of marriage, having her fate dictated by a man. Again.

Yet she could be grateful for Steele as she wouldn’t be enjoying the moist air on her cheeks, wouldn’t be feeling her heart beating sure and steady beneath her breast, if ’twasn’t for him. Nor would she have been shown compassion these last two days. ’Twas a sign, to be sure, of just how miserable her life had been of late, if all it took was a wee bit of compassion to have her eyes burning.

Hearing footsteps behind her, Grace sniffed back the sentimentality. While she couldn’t explain why, she didn’t want Steele to see her as weak. She smiled as she turned and another inexplicable emotion assailed her. Disappointment.

“Here you are, lass, a nice warm cup o’ tea.”

Hoping her smile hadn’t wavered too much, Grace took the mug from Paddy. “Thank you.”

He grimaced. “Ah, wish I could take all the credit but truth be told I brought the cup for Steele, ’twas him who suggested you might prefer it.”

Apparently it was a night for feelings as yet another, delight, bloomed within her. She was now doubly glad for the shadows as they hid the warmth heating her cheeks. Peering over Paddy’s shoulder, she looked to Steele. His focus remained dead ahead, which didn’t surprise her. She’d noticed when he did nice things, he didn’t look for gratitude. He simply went about his business.

She turned her attention back to Paddy. “Well, I’m thankful for the tea, no matter who thought of it.”

Paddy settled in beside her, forearms braced on the gunwale, and for long minutes as she drank her tea they were content to hear the waves brushing the hull and to watch the ripples dance in the moonlight. It wasn’t long, however, before Paddy began to hum and the hum turned to a song.

The tune was haunting, a sad one that spoke of love and loss. It shouldn’t have made her smile but it did, because for a minute, listening to it, she wasn’t standing on the deck of a pirate ship. She was sitting before the peat fire, watching her da and mother sing, and feeling, despite the constant threat of being discovered in the small little cottage, safe and secure.

Sure and there’d been times in the night they’d had to hide or risk being found, but, somehow, she’d always believed they’d remain undiscovered. And they had, eventually returning to the cottage and their beds where her mother would kiss her brow and her da would tease her about not running away with any faerie prince before morning.

Seeing it her mind, feeling it in her heart, she lifted her voice and added the words to Paddy’s melody. Both their eyes were bright when the last note floated down from the balmy air.

“Paddy, why did you leave?”

“Ireland, you be meaning? Well, ’twasn’t as though I was given the choice. I was part of the Irish Catholic Confederation and was in Drogheda when Cromwell invaded. We killed as many of those English Parliamentary bastards as we could, but they were both relentless and heartless. I was in the eastern part of town and for a time we held them off, but they came back harder.”

He looked out to sea and Grace knew he wasn’t seeing the dark ocean, he was once again seeing his fallen countrymen.

“’Twas a massacre. Bodies yelling, bleeding, dying all around. The noise drummed in me ears, thumped through me blood. And the smell…” He closed his eyes. “When it’s your kin’s blood soaking the earth, ’tis the most unbearable of scents.”

“But isn’t there comfort to be had knowing they died fighting for what was right?”

He shifted his haunted eyes to hers. “Lass, there be no comfort to be had knowing they are dead, no matter how they died.”

She thought of her brother, Colin, who’d also died at Drogheda and her heart squeezed. “Sometimes, Paddy, that be the only comfort, knowing they died honorably.”

“And honor is important to us Irish.”

Finally, someone who understood
. “Aye. We should fight for what’s right, what’s ours.”

“Tell me this, then. I’m here because I was knocked to the ground. When I came to, me wounds had been poorly tended and I was on a ship, headed for servitude. Whoever found me could have left me for dead, to be sure, I’m not sure why they didn’t as wounded as I was, I couldn’t have brought them much currency. But I healed and eventually I paid off the servitude and made me own life. Am I to be sorry me life was spared? Does it diminish me worth to be thankful for it?” he asked.

“No, of course not, but the decision was taken from you.” She set her empty cup on the deck. “You would have stayed, wouldn’t you? You wouldn’t be here if you’d had another choice?”

“No, I wouldn’t be here. I’d be dead and buried in Ireland.”

Grace felt the fire burning in her eyes. “
I
would have stayed, Paddy. Had I been given the choice, I’d have stayed.” And she’d have eventually been old enough to join the cause. Even as a woman, she could have done something to help.

“Tell me then, you’d rather be dead in Ireland than alive and well on this ship?” He shook his head and, saying nothing else, left her to her troubled thoughts.

Crossing her arms over her chest, Grace glared out into the night. How could Paddy not understand? It wasn’t simply a matter of being dead or alive. He was as daft about that as her parents had been. How was working twelve to fourteen hours a day in the blistering heat for a dozen years any better? At least in Ireland she’d have worked for something, something that mattered besides increasing a landowner’s purse. Frustrated, she kicked the gunwale.

“Did Paddy upset you?”

Ah, salt to the wound
. Steele stepped beside her. Well, since he’d witnessed her childish behavior she may as well explain it. “Irritated would be more accurate. He doesn’t understand, and I thought he would.”

“What doesn’t he understand?”

“He was taken from his home, his birthplace, same as I was and he doesn’t resent it, he’s simply accepted his new fate and gone on.”

“What should he have done?”

Grace smacked the damp wood with her palms. Lord, why couldn’t anybody understand? “Go back! Surely he has family there. King Charles is in power now. Catholics can once again own land. He can be in charge of his own life.”

“He is now. He’s hardly a slave; he can come and go as he pleases.”

“But if he went back, he could rebuild what was lost.”

“Is that what you think, that you can simply return and everything will be as it was?”

Sure and she wasn’t so naïve, but she’d have a home again, she’d be surrounded by her kin. Well, not all of it, she realized somberly. Her da and mother wouldn’t be there and Colin wouldn’t rise from the grave, but her aunts and uncles, cousins would be there. Somewhere. Regardless, she’d have enough, certainly more than she had here.

“Of course not,” she finally answered. “But—”

Steele sighed. “Not everything that’s been lost can be rebuilt, Grace. Sometimes, the only thing you can do is move forward.”

There was both sadness and acceptance in his words and they pulled at her. He was once again gazing into the night but he slowly shifted to look at her. He seemed so solitary right then. Looking at her quietly, his shoulders straight, his lack of expression hiding whatever he was feeling. It was almost as if there was a wall around him.

“What is it you’ve lost?”

She thought he might answer. While his gaze remained on hers, his eyes seemed to lose focus and his forehead crinkled with whatever thoughts streamed through his mind. Whatever they were, they must have been heavy for it seemed to take more effort for him to breathe. Then he blinked and his eyes once again pierced hers.

“It’s late and you should rest.”

She should have known he wasn’t going to tell her. Not only were they strangers, but Aidan told her even the crew didn’t know much about their captain. While she shouldn’t be surprised he wouldn’t confide in her when he didn’t in his own men, she couldn’t deny she was disappointed he hadn’t.

“Yes, I suppose so. Thank you for the tea. I can see meself to your cabin.”

“Wait.” He took her arm before she could pass him.

It was like a spear of heat pierced her and the warmth spread from her arm and coursed through the rest of her body. It was unexpected, especially since she hadn’t felt the same thing earlier when she’d touched him.

Yet Steele seemed to have the same reaction. He immediately lowered his hand and stepped back. “Night doesn’t change anything. The rules hold.”

“Rules?” The effect of his touch must have addled her brain.

“Someone needs to be with you, to ensure your safety.”

“Surely at night I’d be fine?”

“I’m not taking chances. Who of Jacques, Aidan, or myself would you feel better having in the cabin overnight?”

Truly she’d prefer to be alone. It was one thing to have Jacques in the cabin when she was resting but somehow it seemed more intimate at night. She pursed her lips, knowing Steele was going to insist it had to be someone. She liked Aidan, trusted him, and had become friends with him, yet for whatever reason it didn’t sit well with her to have him spend the night, no matter how innocently. That left Steele.

Her stomach did a strange flutter at the thought of sleeping in such close proximity to him and she pressed her hand over it.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.” She smiled to ease his concern and make light of her own. “And if it’s agreeable to you, I’d prefer it was you who stayed.”

He gave a sharp nod. Within minutes, he had Aidan at the helm with her while he went below and ensured nobody was lying in wait in the cabin. Only then did he come fetch her.

“I’ll give you some privacy to prepare for bed, but don’t worry, I’ll be standing on the hatch. Nobody will interrupt you.”