Her Pirate to Love: A Sam Steele Romance (12 page)

Alone in his cabin, having washed her face with the water he had sent, she took off her stockings and petticoats and turned down her bed. It struck her then just how much she’d come to trust him. She didn’t doubt for one moment he was exactly where he said he’d be, standing on the hatch, likely with his arms crossed over his chest. She never would have believed she’d feel safe in another man’s company after Roche, especially this soon and especially with another pirate, but with every gesture, every word, Steele proved he wasn’t the devil Roche was.

She’d thanked him sure enough for his kind gestures such as bringing her tea and keeping her safe, but compared to the peace of mind he’d given her, it seemed so little. She wished she could do something nice for him in turn.

Her pride balked at the thought and suddenly she was arguing with herself.

“A nice gesture to show me appreciation does not mean I’m after a husband. ’Tis simply what it is, a token of thanks. It sure as blazes isn’t an invitation.”

Then, having come up with the only thing she could think of with what she had at hand, Grace set about surprising Steele.

*

Steele wasn’t a
stranger to sleepless nights. He’d had more than his share since he’d lost Catherine and Caden so not sleeping wasn’t bothering him. It was the reason.

In the past, it had been thoughts of his wife and son, of his own culpability and regret, which had warred within him, kept him awake with haunting images. What had really happened? Who had done it and where were the bodies? Over time, the nightmares had lessened and they now only haunted him on birthdays, his and Catherine’s anniversary, or after any day where he’d spent too much time thinking about them.

He dug through the open collar of his shirt and wrapped his hand around the simple pendant hanging from the thin leather rope he wore around his neck. He’d made the charm for Catherine when he’d realized she was the woman for him. With a silly grin on his face, he’d worked on the small angel, carving for days, and his heart had trembled in his chest when he’d given it to her, proclaiming her to be his angel.

She’d smiled through her tears and he’d had an awful moment when he’d been sure she’d tell him she didn’t feel the same way. But she had. He’d kissed her long and deep before tying the string around her neck. They were married within months. And she’d never taken off the necklace. Ever.

When he’d come home after weeks away searching for an elusive treasure, he’d known immediately something awful had happened. The door to the house was gaping open. Every window was broken and the inside was ravaged. He’d screamed for Catherine, ran inside. Tables, chairs, dishes, clothes, everything was all on the floor.

Catherine and Caden had been nowhere to be found. But, there, amid the debris of what used to be his home, amid the smears and pools of blood, he’d found the necklace. He’d dropped to his knees; a keening wail had ripped from his lips as he’d realized he’d lost everything that ever mattered.

For days and months, hell, even years, he’d all but been buried alive by his guilt. Truly, it was a wonder he wasn’t dead by the sheer enormity and weight of it all. It had taken Blake Merritt and Nate Carter to push him into the present. When they’d found him and told him of his dying brother Vincent’s final wish; that Cale take over the role of Sam Steele in his stead, he’d been shocked. And though he’d fought—the idea and the men who’d presented it—he’d come around. Vincent’s wish had humbled him. Humbled and shamed him, because despite how callously he’d tossed his brother’s very existence aside, Vincent had still thought enough of Cale to ask the favor. Vincent may have been a dwarf, but his request had left his brother feeling like the smaller man.

Much as he didn’t care for pirating, he’d taken the role of Steele. He couldn’t do anything to make amends for what had happened to Catherine and Caden, not without a clue as to who took them, but he could step into the role his brother had coveted.

He’d plundered, pillaged, and made a fortune, all in his late brother’s name. He’d led through victories, storms, and illnesses. He’d fought, bled, and cursed until he dragged his battered body to bed, only to start again the next day. Initially, his living as Steele might have been selfless. Indeed he’d convinced himself he was doing it for Vincent. But truth be told, he’d since come to do it for himself.

Pirating kept him busy, and allowed him to be someone else. As long as he was Steele, he didn’t have to be Cale. He could be as cold and hard as his namesake. It had been enough. For many years it was all he’d needed.

Until he’d found Grace.

Now, though the only sound he heard was her even breathing, he could hear her sweet voice singing. With his eyes closed, he saw her face shine with joy as she sang of home. She’d touched him, not only with her singing but her compassion. While he’d been guarding the hatch, she’d prepared him a pallet of blankets and jackets on the floor. He’d have been fine with any garment balled into a pillow and, while he could admit this was far more comfortable, it wasn’t the comfort he appreciated most. It was the gesture, the thought.

Granted, Nate’s wife always fussed over Steele when they made port, but somehow it was different. Claire’s fussing didn’t have the effect Grace’s had. In the berth, he heard Grace roll over. He pictured her in his bed, warm and soft and so damn close he could smell her.

It wasn’t right but his body reacted anyway. Desire simmered through his blood until he was hard and hot with it. Damn it, she was pregnant, he shouldn’t be having such thoughts. He had no intention of getting married again, not after failing so dismally the first time. Besides, Grace wanted to go home to Ireland, and his life, such as it was, was in the Caribbean. Yet no matter how much his head spoke, his body wasn’t listening.

He flung an arm over his eyes. Four days suddenly felt like an eternity.

T
he beauty of
sailing the Caribbean waters was the Spanish Main was filled with islands of all sizes. There were rocky, tree-filled mounds and an occasional few that were hardly more than a sand bar with a lonely clump of struggling palm trees. Steele set down the looking glass, called out adjustments for the sails, and turned the wheel slightly starboard. There was just such a spit of land ahead.

It wasn’t long before he judged his position to be perfect. While his little sloop could get much closer, Steele saw no need to go any further. If Isaac wanted to live, he’d swim.

“Lower the anchor, bring in the sails.”

It was barely midmorning and already the day was a sweltering one. His hair was damp at the temples and his shirt clung to him in sticky clumps. Inside his leather boots, his feet felt as though they were being boiled. The one bright side to the heat was that as miserable as it was for him and the crew, it would be fathoms worse for Isaac.

He had Aidan fetch the prisoner, who Steele had personally clapped in irons an hour ago, while Jacques stayed in the cabin with Grace. He expected foul language and all other manner of bad behavior from Isaac and Grace didn’t need to witness it. She’d suffered enough.

“Smoky, get the plank.”

“Aye, sir.” Shoving the smoldering cigar to one side of his mouth, Smoky bent at the gunwale and released the plank they kept tied to the side. He had it in position, jutting over the greenish-blue water by the time Aidan shoved a cussing Isaac through the main hatch.

Even with his hands bound behind his back, it didn’t stop Isaac from lurching toward Steele. Eyes burning, spit gathering at the corners of his mouth, he looked like a rabid dog. “Curse you for breathing! I did what most men were thinking. Why are they not being punished?”

“Because they weren’t daft enough to act on their foolish ideas.” Steele jerked his head for Aidan to bring Isaac to the plank.

Isaac squirmed and wrenched, tossed his head, narrowly missing Aidan’s jaw. Aidan grabbed the irons and yanked them up Isaac’s back.

“Ah!” Isaac fell to his knees. “Damn you all to the depths.”

“You sealed your fate when you stole, uninvited, into my cabin and went after Grace.”

Isaac glared at Steele from under his brows. “I didn’t go after Grace, I went after a whore.”

Steele didn’t feel the deck beneath his feet as he moved but he felt, and relished, his fist connecting with Isaac’s jaw. The man’s head snapped to the side. A bloody shame it didn’t snap right off as far as Steele was concerned.

“Get him up.”

Aidan hauled Isaac back onto his feet and this time the man was quiet as he was led to the gunwale.

“Take off the irons.” He tossed the key to Aidan, then drew the pistol from his sash and aimed it at his former crewman.

Isaac’s scowl was firmly on Steele as Aidan caught the key and released the shackles. As soon as he was free, Isaac rolled his shoulders, wiped the sweat dripping from the end of his nose. “You’ll rue this day,” he vowed.

“Actually, I believe I’ll look back on it with fondness. Take off your clothes.”

Isaac looked at his captain as though he’d lost his mind. “What?”

“I didn’t mumble. Take them off.”

Panicked, he looked about the crew which had gathered. “What sick game are you playing at?”

“No game. But it seems to me you were more than ready to take them off for Grace. As punishment, you’ll be going ashore naked.”

Isaac’s face contorted in rage. “I’ll see you in hell first.”

Steele stepped before Isaac. “You can take them off or have them cut off you. Gentleman?”

At his words there was rustling and shifting as the remaining crew drew their dirks.

Isaac snarled. “The lot of you will pay for this day.”

“As it is, we’d just like to get on with it.” Steele pointed his pistol at Isaac’s head. “I won’t tell you again.”

With catcalls and whistles taunting and belittling him, which had been Steele’s intent, Isaac wrenched off his clothes.

“Go on.” Steele gestured to the plank with his weapon.

He’d never before marooned anyone, and certainly never made a naked man walk the plank, but considering what Isaac had wanted to do to Grace, Steele considered it just punishment.

At the end of the board, Isaac turned. “You’re leaving me with nothing?”

Steele looked him up and down, another means of degradation. “Well, I’m certainly not leaving you with much. Mind the sand fleas, they can get annoying.”

Then, with the crew chuckling, Steele grabbed the man’s sword and launched it overboard. “It’s more than you deserve,” he said.

Hatred poured from every one of Isaac’s pores as surely as it shot from his eyes. “This isn’t over. Whatever it takes, however long, I’ll find you and make you pay.” Then, with a final scathing glare, Isaac dove into the sea.

The sound of the splash had barely faded when Steele turned from the gunwale and headed for the quarterdeck. “Weigh anchor,” he called as he took the steps.

From his perch by the wheel he heard Carracks squawk, “Weigh anchor. Weigh anchor.”

*

On the beach,
Isaac watched the
Revenge
sail away. He sat in the shallow water, sword in hand, and smiled. Steele may have taken his clothes and attempted to take his dignity, but he’d also given Isaac more than he realized. Lifting his sword, a sword he’d fashioned himself, Isaac focused on the pommel and the piece of flint embedded into its tip.

He had means to make fire. All he needed now was a passing ship to see it.

“Then, Steele.” He smirked. “We’ll see who has the last laugh.”

*