Lock (36 page)

Later, when he pulled the blankets over their nude, sated bodies, he drifted to sleep, more torn than ever over the decisions he needed to make. He still had time. It could be weeks before they reached another port. He could make it months if he wanted to. Months of her in his cabin every night.

Months of lying to her and to himself.

You really are a pirate, Lock the White. If you were another man taking advantage of her like this, I’d have killed you long ago.

* * * * *

Nearly a week later, the Lady Fire left the dock at Gray Horse island and headed north. Sparrow stood at the rail, watching the island fade in the distance. Though she enjoyed her visit, she agreed with Lock that it wasn’t the place for them to settle. It was a small, tight-knit community ruled by men. After living in Begonia, where women were looked on as equal to or better than men, Gray Horse Island was not for her. Nor was the Archipelago where she knew male dominance would be even worse.

Lock approached, his pale eyes squinting at the sunny sky. “Looks like we’ll have good weather, at least for the next day or so.”

“Where are we headed?”

“North.”

“I can see that.”

He shrugged, folding his arms across his chest and leaning his back against the rail. He gazed into her face. “Maybe Rhahas. Not the biggest settlement in the world, but they have rare spices that trade well in the east.”

“Trade well?” Sparrow felt her brow furrow. “Voyages east could take months, years! What about us?”

“Sparrow, we often talked about me fishing or trading. Why has that changed? I can make us both happy.”

“With a stolen pirate ship? Did you intend to trade with Rhahas for their spices, or just take what you want because they have no army to speak of?”

He lifted an eyebrow, his jaw tightening. “Depends on how welcoming they are. I—”

“Cap’n!” a gruff voice called as one of the crewmen, a gray-haired, thickly built man dragged a skinny boy across the deck. The boy was one of the lowest workers and probably hadn’t served long on any ship. He struggled against his captor who pinned his arms behind his back. “Caught this boy pickin’ through the cargo. Stole a bunch of coins. Who knows what else he took before we caught him.”

Lock stared hard at the boy who swallowed, his thin throat rolling, his eyes terrified. “Didn’t take anything before, Captain. I swear it.”

“What good is your word?”

“What should I do with him?”

Lock tapped his heel against the side of the boat.

Sparrow felt the boy’s fear, and though she knew he was as much a pirate as the rest, couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. Even though Lock had no more right to that cargo than anyone else on board, to him and to the crew, it was his. She also knew there had to be some punishment for anyone who stole or else he’d lose control of the ship. Most likely the poor boy would be stuck below for the rest of the journey.

“You know what the punishment for theft is,” Lock said.

“Aye.”

“No!” the boy shrieked and struggled so hard Sparrow thought he might break his own arms to free himself. “I don’t want to die! No!”

“Die?” Sparrow stared at Lock. “You’re not really going to kill him?”

“It’s how we punish thieves.”

“I won’t go near the cargo again! I swear! Please!” The boy turned to Sparrow. “Madam—”

“What are you looking at her for?” Lock grasped the boy’s jaw roughly. “You think a woman runs this ship? Is that the general idea?”

“No!”

Lock released the boy and glared at the man holding him.

“I didn’t say nothing, Cap’n.” The older crewman’s eyes widened.

“Lock, be reasonable!” Sparrow said. “He’s just a boy.”

“A boy with slippery fingers.”

“Didn’t you ever make a mistake?”

“That was no mistake. If he’d been securing the cargo and the lid popped open and the coins jumped into his pockets, then
that
would be a mistake.”

“I guess death is a fitting sentence, then.” Sparrow held his eyes. “In Begonia, thieves are killed, too. On the rack. After they’ve nearly been whipped to death…”

Lock’s teeth ground, but she knew he understood her.

“Should we ready the plank?” the gray-haired man asked.

“No.”

“No, Cap’n?”

“I said no!” Lock growled. The crewman looked disappointed, and the boy relaxed visibly. Lock curled his lip. “Don’t look so happy. You still have to be made an example of.”

“Looks like asking Madam helped you after all,” the older man snickered.

“That’ll be two examples,” Lock said, and the crewman looked stunned.

“What are you going to do to them?” Sparrow asked.

“None of your business. Now get below.”

“But—”

“I said get below!” He grasped her arm and dragged her toward the hatch.

In the galley, Sparrow’s teeth ground as she kneaded bread. “I can’t stand another day of “The Cap’n!” He thinks he’s the king of the ocean! I can’t believe he was going to kill that boy over a few handfuls of coins!”

A shrill cry sounded from above, and Sparrow wiped her hands on her apron as she hurried topside, muttering to herself, “Now what?”

She stepped on deck in time to see the boy on his knees, clutching a blood-soaked cloth around his left hand. The older crewman who’d brought the boy to Lock stood with his arms tied to the main mast, another man behind him, whip in hand.

Sparrow approached the boy and knelt beside him. She touched his hand. “Let me see.”

He shook his head, his eyes unfocused with shock.

Ilias approached, and Sparrow asked. “What happened?”

“Lock cut off one of his fingers as punishment for theft. Could have been worse.”

“Cut off his…” Sparrow glared over her shoulder at Lock who stood, his arms folded across his chest, amidst the small crowd who’d gathered to watch the whipping.

The older man’s shirt was ripped, exposing his back, and at a nod from Lock, the whipping began.

Sparrow hurried to Lock, her fists clenched at her sides. “What are you doing? Have you gone mad?”

“Everyone knows what to expect when they act out of line. That’s how control is kept, and I thought I told you to get below?”

Sparrow winced as leather struck flesh. “I can’t believe you’ve ordered a whipping!”

“Just ten lashes.” He shrugged. “It certainly won’t kill him. As a matter of fact, Sparrow, such a light sentence is almost an insult.”

Sparrow glanced at the crewman, noting five bloody cuts across his back. He winced as the sixth blow fell.

“You cut off that boy’s finger!”

“It should have been his hand.” Lock’s pale eyes held hers with a coldness that made her shiver. “It should have been his life, but your plea saved it. It’s that affection I have for you, girl.”

At that moment, Sparrow would have clawed his eyes out, but she knew she couldn’t best him in a physical fight and would end up humiliated.

“This is none of your business, Sparrow. Now get back below.”

“Or what? You’ll beat me, too? Cut off my fingers?”

Several crewmen glanced at the couple while others watched the whipping.

Lock laughed humorlessly. “Just like a woman.”

She grasped his wrist, her nails biting into his flesh. She stared into his eyes, her stomach twisted with rage. “I don’t know you anymore, and I
hate
you.”

She turned and walked back to Ilias and the boy.

“Ilias, help him below. I’ll do what I can for him.” She glanced at the whipped man who was being untied from the mast. “Him, too.”

Sparrow doubted she’d ever been so furious in her life. No matter where they docked next, she was going ashore and never setting foot on the Lady Fire again.

* * * * *

“Nice night.” Lock approached Sparrow who stood, gazing at the sea. Moonlight shone on the water and the breeze felt cool.

“Yes.”

“You look beautiful.” He touched her hair, but she jerked her head away.

He let his hand drop. For over two weeks she’d given him one-word answers and hadn’t allowed him to touch her, let alone kiss her.

“Ilias made up a hell of a string of limericks tonight.”

“Yes.”

“He had you laughing.”

She started to walk away, but he grasped her hand and felt her stiffen beneath his touch. He resisted the urge to release her, feeling like an unwelcome serpent crawling up her skirt. Since that day he’d punished the men and she said she’d hated him, nothing had been the same between them. At first he thought she’d just been angry. He could understand her feelings. She wasn’t accustomed to life aboard a pirate ship. He had to keep control of the men. As it was, he knew several of them thought him lenient in his punishments. They thought Sparrow had influenced him to let the boy live, and they were right to a point. Killing the boy for stealing coins seemed harsh, especially when compared to the crimes he’d committed. Still, when he’d been as young and inexperienced as the boy, he’d been careful not to steal from his captain’s cargo. The boy didn’t matter to him—at least not as much as Sparrow. Since that day, she’d acted like she truly hated him. She looked at him like he was a demon spat up from the smokiest hell, and he couldn’t bear it.

“Sparrow, you haven’t talked to me in weeks.”

“Really?”

“By the twin goddesses, girl, can’t you make a sentence with more than one word?”

“Perhaps.”

He tugged her toward him, a hand on each shoulder. When he tried meeting her eyes, she gazed past him toward the black horizon. “Sparrow, what are you trying to do? At night you don’t even let me touch you.”

“I’m not your whore.”

He laughed humorlessly. “There you go. Four whole words. Whoever said you’re my whore?”

“You didn’t have to say it. It’s how you treat me. Like one of your slaves. Like one of your crewmen—except at night, that is.”

“I really need a cook, but if you don’t want to do it—”

“It’s not the work, and you know it! It’s you, Lock.”

“If you’re still thinking about the punishments to those crewmen, I was well within my rights.”

“You’ve changed.”

“I’m what I always said I was and you chose to ignore!”

“No. You were different. Don’t you feel it?”

He wanted to deny the truth in her words, but he couldn’t. He
was
different. When he’d been at the farm with her, he thought about being at sea, but the pirating part faded somewhat. He liked working on the farm, not that it was the life he’d choose for himself, but being with her was worth it. He had daydreams of marrying her and supporting them by fishing and trading on a ship he bought with honest money. It wasn’t the most exciting life he imagined, but it was
good
. When he’d met the Knights in Begonia, he’d even started to have the crazy vision that he could become one of
them
. That way he could earn an honest living but not lose the excitement he craved. He could study fighting, learn more about healing—maybe even teach that old witch Shea-Ann a thing or two. But who was he kidding? He wasn’t a Knight. He’d spent his entire life doing everything they abhorred. They saved lives, he took them. They gave to the poor, he stole from almost anyone. They fought for the oppressed, he fought for whatever monarch hired him as a privateer.

“Don’t you feel it?” Sparrow pressed. Her palms splayed across his chest, the most intimate touch she’d awarded him in weeks.

He covered her hands with his, holding them to his heart. “This is the only life I know, Sparrow. It’s what I do.”

“That’s an excuse, Lock. You know you can be so much more than this.”

“Can I?”

“Yes. I believe you can do anything you want. Obviously you can be a pirate, but that’s a waste of your true talents.”

“What true talents?”

“You’re intelligent, Lock. You know so much more than these men, than men like Rino. You can learn so much more. You can be a loving man. I’ve seen you help Shea-Ann when she’s healing. I watched you rebuild a village that was nearly destroyed. You can
create
, Lock. You don’t have to kill and steal.”

Lock tugged her into his arms and held her as they gazed at the sea.

When he was very young, he used to love building things out of sand. Castles. Villages. Ships. He’d pretend he was aboard his father’s vessel. His father had the finest ship in the Archipelago and he taught Lock how to run it. They visited ports in exotic places he could only imagine. Of coarse it was all fantasy. He had no idea who his father was. It could have been any of the seamen his mother entertained at the brothel.

The waves always destroyed what he built. For years he tried telling his mother about the adventures he made up, but she never listened. She ignored him when he asked who his father was. One day she said his father had returned. He awaited Lock in her room at the brothel. Excited and a bit frightened, Lock made his way to the room. He found a man sure enough, but he was in no way his father. It had been the first time Lock’s mother had sold him for profit.