My Seaswept Heart (14 page)

His smile was slow in coming. “I don’t think
that would be a good idea, Mistress Cornwall.”

It was Anne’s turn to cross her arms and lift
her brows. “And why not?”

“I doubt anyone would believe ye.” His eyes
hardened as they traveled from her disheveled hair to the tip of
her salt-encrusted shoes. “Though I’ve been known to take my
pleasure where I may, ’tis doubtful anyone would credit I’ve sunk
this low.”

Anne couldn’t stop the color that rose to
brighten her cheeks. She told herself it bloomed of anger, but knew
it to be more than that. Her jaw tightened. “We shall see what they
believe.”

He cocked his head. “Is this to be a battle
of will, then? Yours against mine?”

“If it must.” Anne let out her breath, then
reached around him for the latch. His hand firmly pressed to hers
made her stop.

They stood close and Anne could feel the heat
from his body, feel his anger as he tried to control it. Finally,
unable to help herself, she looked up. His expression was not at
all what she expected. She couldn’t put a name to what she saw in
his eyes, but it frightened her nearly as much as his rage.

“Don’t ye know what they would do to ye?
They’re pirates, for God’s sake.”

“As are you.”

“Aye, and lucky ye are to be standing rather
than flat on your back with your...” He hesitated. “Breeches about
your ankles.”

“But I thought you said they wouldn’t believe
you’d sunk so I—”

“The hell with what I said.” Jamie slammed
his palm against the door. She was the most exasperating woman he’d
ever encountered. And it irked the hell out of him that she was
also the smartest. And the one he couldn’t stop thinking of burying
himself in. “You can’t tell them you’re a woman. I wouldn’t be able
to stop them.” He cupped her shoulders. “Do you understand what I’m
saying to you, Annie? I couldn’t stop them.”

All she could do was nod.

“Now.” Jamie let out his breath, then leaned
over to scoop up the knitted cap. “I want ye to be putting this
back on, and keeping it on. Until we reach New Providence ye’re to
stay in my cabin. Talk to no one. See no one.”

He pulled the hat down over her head, tucking
curls underneath as he went. When he finished Jamie used his thumbs
to tilt her face up toward his. She was disguised just as before,
hair covered, skin blackened, and he wondered again how he could
have mistaken her for a boy.

Without realizing what he was going to do,
Jamie bent forward. Her lips were as soft as before, and after the
initial shock, as receptive. He kissed her until they were both
breathless, then forced himself to back away. Then he opened the
door, grabbed up the lantern and pulled her into the
passageway.

Joe was the only one in his cabin when they
returned, and he was deep into a drugged sleep. Anne checked on him
while the captain brushed an assortment of clothing and books from
the top of a sea chest, then lifted the lid. He pulled out a
blanket and handed it to Anne.

“I suggest ye get some sleep,” was all he
said before retrieving his pistol from his desk and leaving. As she
slumped down on the side of the bunk Anne heard the key twist in
the lock.

“I’m not going back to Libertia,” she
whispered. Not until d’Porteau is defeated.”

~ ~ ~

It was a blessing Jamie didn’t hear her
defiance, for he was boiling with rage. More furious than he could
remember being in years. What in the hell was he to do now?

His step quickened as he headed toward the
ladder. With jerky motions he attacked the rungs, his head, then
shoulders bursting through the open hatch. The first deep breath of
salt air seemed to sting his lungs, open and clear his mind.

But still the question persisted. What should
he do?

Agreeing to hunt down d’Porteau was a
mistake. That much was evident to him. It was an error in
judgment... one he’d known from the start. One made more of lust
than reason no matter how much he might protest to Keena and
Deacon. Jamie strode across the deck, zigzagging to pick his way
through the snoring bodies littering his way. He hadn’t realized
how crowded the
Lost Cause
was. Something else to take care
of, he mused, not at all pleased by the prospect.

He wondered for a moment if he could blame
this particular dilemma on Anne Cornwall, deciding with a grimace
he couldn’t. But near everything else... near everything else.

His pursuit of the Frenchman. Hell, he was
confident the world in general, the Caribbean in particular, would
be better off without d’Porteau. But it wasn’t his place to
accomplish that feat. He wasn’t the blasted admiralty, but a
not-so-honest pirate drifting about on the sea.

At least he was until Mistress Anne came
along, with her warm-whiskey eyes and vinegar-laced tongue. Jamie
leaned against the rail, staring out through the web of ratlines.
Above him the sails sang their ode to freedom, below the wide
expanse of sea carried him where he might go. Jamie took another
deep breath.

No restraints.

No tangles or intrigues.

For someone whose only desire in life was to
avoid anything of the sort, he was twisted up pretty tight. So
tight he had to do something. Tossing Anne Cornwall over the side
wasn’t an option, no matter how attractive it might seem. Which
left him with doing something about the myriad problems she
created.

Stymie.

Giving the devil his due, Jamie knew Anne
hadn’t started the problem with Stymie. He was a low-life bully who
had caused trouble ever since joining the crew. What he did to Joe
made him sick. But—

Jamie sucked in his breath. There was no
“but.” Someone needed to do something. And that someone was him.
Still, he didn’t have to like it.

Jamie reached for the pistol he stuck in his
waistband. Lifting it out he squinted, checking the prime in the
weak light from the moon. Satisfied, he made his way back toward
the hatch.

The berth deck was packed, the smell of
unwashed bodies strong enough to overpower the stench of bilge
water and tar. Most of the lanterns burned so low, sputtering in
the melted tallow that little light spewed forth. But Jamie managed
to spot Stymie.

His hammock slung near the passageway, a
prime location if one was to be found, was separated by
uncharacteristic space from its neighbor. Even in sleep Stymie
welded enough power to have his wishes carried out.

Except in this case, it made Jamie’s task
easier.

Silently he wended his way until he stood
directly beside the sprawled man whose legs and arms flopped over
the canvas bedding like excess roping. The metal against metal
cocking of the pistol sounded loud to Jamie’s ears, but apparently
he was the only one to hear, for no one else seemed to stir. Least
of all Stymie.

It wasn’t until the cold barrel pressed into
the rolled skin of his neck that the snoring stopped and his eyes
popped open.

“What the hell...?” He snorted and tried to
turn his head, jerking to a stop when the muzzle dug deeper.
“What’s this ’bout, Cap’n?” His voice was strained.

“It’s about Joe and your fist, ye son of a
bitch.”

“I don’t know what—”

“Save it, Stymie. Now get up. And be real
careful about it.”

Stymie shifted, then slowed his movements
when the pistol gouged under his chin. “Yer makin’ a big mistake,
Cap’n.”

“Won’t be the first.”

“Aye.” The bulgy eyes narrowed. “But ’twill
be yer last.”

“What in the hell are ye doing?”

Anne jerked her head around when she heard
the captain’s bellow. She’d been so absorbed in her task she hadn’t
noticed the key turn in the lock. He stood in the doorway, hands on
hips, feet spread, looking as disheveled as his cabin had. Anne
wondered if he ever took the time to fasten his shirt or wear a
jacket. She knew he owned several fine suits of clothing. Anne
skimmed her fingers over the deep green silk waistcoat she held,
trying to imagine it buttoned up to cover the wide expanse of
sun-bronzed skin. She couldn’t.

“Ye heard me, An...” Jamie’s gaze darted to
Joe squatting on the floor beside a stack of books, then back to
Anne. “Dy,” he finished. “Andy.” Taking another step into his
cabin, Jamie slammed the door behind him with more vehemence than
sense. Damnation, the woman had him flustered, and him in his own
cabin, on his own damn ship.

“We was just straightenin’ yer cabin some,
Cap’n. Didn’t mean no harm.” It was Joe who spoke. Joe with his
face still grotesquely swollen from contact with Stymie’s fist. He
pushed to his feet, the one eye he could open, wide with fear, and
Jamie felt like a beast for yelling.

Without thinking to keep his hand light,
Jamie reached for the lad’s shoulder, pulling away quickly when Joe
flinched. “’Tis all right, Joe.” Jamie took the log book he
clutched and tossed it haphazardly onto the pile at his feet. The
leather-bound volume slid off the stack to land on the decking.

Jamie thought he noted an expression of
disapproval on Anne’s dirty face, but it couldn’t have been
stronger than the one registered on his as he looked her way. But
his countenance softened as he glanced back to Joe. “If ye be
feeling up to it, a trip above deck might be just the thing.”

“Captain, I don’t think he should—”

He turned on her so quickly she nearly
dropped the waistcoat. She did clamp her mouth shut.

“I don’t recall asking your advice, Andy. Nor
will I tolerate it.” He’d frightened the boy again and for that
Jamie was sorry. “Go on with ye, Joe. Get a breath of air. But no
working or climbing the ratlines, do ye hear?”

“Aye, Cap’n.” The boy chewed at his lower
lip, hesitating with his hand on the latch. He seemed to gather his
nerve, blurting out his request before he lost it again. “Can Andy
come with me then?”

“Not at the moment. But Keena is there
waiting for ye.” Reaching around him, Jamie opened the door,
surprised when Joe still hung back.

“Ye ain’t gonna hurt him none, is ye, Cap’n?
We didn’t mean any harm.”

“I’ll not be hurting anyone, Joe. Now run
along.” This time when the lock tumbled in place it was from the
inside. Anne watched the pirate’s movements, trying to keep herself
calm. When he turned to face her it became more difficult.

“You really shouldn’t have sent him on deck.
If Stymie—”

“Stymie’s locked in the hold.”

“Oh.” Anne pressed her lips together.

“Oh?” Jamie’s brow lifted. “’Tis all ye have
to say, Mistress Anne? Just ‘oh’?”

“What do you wish me to say?” Anne folded the
waistcoat and laid it on top his sea chest.

“I wasn’t aware my wishes were ever
considered when ye spoke your mind, Annie.” Jamie strode further
into the cabin, kicking aside the pile of books on the floor. They
tumbled with a thud. “Hell, I’d say it was obvious my wishes were
never considered, period.”

She refused to back up, in part because there
was only so much space in the cramped cabin. There was nowhere to
go. So Anne did the only thing she could. Straightening her
shoulders, she faced him. “If you’re trying to frighten me—”

His sharp, mirthless laugh cut off her words.
“Frighten ye, Annie? Is that what ye think I’m trying to do? If
that were possible, I’d have done it the first time I laid eyes on
ye.” Stopping just before he was close enough to touch her, Jamie
planted his fists firmly on his hips, in case he were too tempted
to wrap his hands about her neck.

She didn’t like him standing this near. He
was so tall she had to lift her chin to look him in the eye. And
there was something intangible about him when he was close. Some
attraction that seemed to tug at her.. Anne couldn’t tell if it was
the scent of his skin or the heat that seemed to radiate from him.
Whatever, she found it disconcerting and she didn’t like it.

But he didn’t seem inclined to increase the
space between them. If anything he narrowed it, by leaning forward
on the balls of his feet. “Now explain if ye will, what in the hell
you’re doing to my cabin.”

“Straightening it.”

“Ah. So that’s what ye call it?”

His tone was infuriating. If she thought it
would do any good Anne would push against him, flatten her hands in
the burnished hair covering his chest and shove. But she was no
match for him physically. Instead she stared him straight in the
eye. “I thought you might prefer not to live like a wild boar.”
Watching his reaction to her words was almost as satisfying as
forcing him away.

His eyes narrowed until they were little more
than slits and his nostrils flared. “I do not live like an
animal.”

Anne merely shrugged,

“And ye be a fine one to talk, covered with
filth as ye are.”

“It’s part of my disguise,” Anne countered
quickly. She hated being dirty.