The Rogue Pirate’s Bride (10 page)

“And get yourself killed.”

“Well, at least you’ll be safe. Safe and bored in your cabin.”

“Raeven…”

She pointed to the companionway. “Your books are waiting.”

He frowned, looked as though he wanted to say something, then left without another word. Raeven slammed the door behind him. She couldn’t believe he’d actually left. She couldn’t believe he wasn’t going to help her.

Or could she? She’d pushed poor Percy too far. He’d never been one for adventure, so the idea of sneaking aboard a pirate ship, infiltrating the captain’s cabin, and stealing back her sword was too much for him. He preferred to stay safe and warm on the
Regal
.

Well, she preferred that too. Except she wanted her sword back, and she wanted to know who this Jourdain was and why Cutlass wanted him dead. She wasn’t likely to accomplish any of that on the
Regal
. She wasn’t about to avenge Timothy’s death by sitting and sipping coffee in her father’s great cabin.

She put her head down on the mahogany table and let out a long sigh.

She was tired and sore from her activities last night. Even when she’d returned aboard her ship, she hadn’t been able to sleep. She’d been too excited.

Liar
, she told herself.
You couldn’t sleep because you couldn’t stop thinking of
him.

And she thought less of how she could destroy him and more about who he was. His enemy, this Jourdain, sparked her interest. He was obviously some sort of Barbary pirate, and equally obviously, Cutlass was searching for him. Wanted him badly enough to go after a dangerous man like El Santo.

Why? What had this Jourdain done to Cutlass?

Somewhere in her tossing and turning, she’d realized Jourdain interested her because he had a personal connection to Cutlass. She wanted to know more about the captain of the
Shadow
.

And as dawn was breaking, she gave up all pretense and admitted to herself she wanted to see Cutlass again. She wanted to kiss him again. She wanted… she wanted to do much more than that.

But she wouldn’t. She’d used her father’s spyglass to spot the
Shadow
. It was anchored on the other side of the harbor, nearer the open ocean. She supposed pirates often needed to make quick exits.

It was too far to swim from the
Regal
, but
she could borrow one of the
Regal
’s longboats, row closer, and swim from there. Only it would be a true test of her strength to row the boat, then swim to the
Shadow
,
then
shimmy up the anchor cable.

She flexed her arm muscles. She was strong. But as Percy had pointed out, she was not as strong as a man, and her plans would exhaust even the most robust sailor. It was then she’d asked Percy to help, and then he’d balked.

She raised her head now and rested it on her wrists. She’d only wanted him to row the longboat…

She sat straighter. She was not going to give up just because Percy wouldn’t help. Her father’s men were loyal to her. She just had to convince one of them to assist.

But after six hours of trying—her father hadn’t really expected her to stay in his cabin, had he?—she was more than discouraged. None of her father’s men was willing to help her off the ship. She hadn’t even mentioned rowing to the
Shadow
, and still they refused. Apparently, after the incident in Brest, her father had threatened flogging or court-martial to any man who assisted her.

The best offer she’d received was from the ship’s bosun, Dickey Pickering. “Show me yer tits, and I’ll help you right enough.”

“Help me and then I’ll show you,” she’d countered.

But he’d shaken his head. “I require payment in advance.” He’d winked lasciviously, and she’d had to struggle not to vomit. Instead, she’d turned her back and returned to her cabin.

At midnight, she’d gone on deck, taken out the pilfered spyglass, and found the
Shadow
. It boasted few lights, and she wondered what the pirate crew was about. Were they drinking and wenching? Were they sleeping, as most of the crew of the
Regal
was?

She felt someone beside her before she saw him. “Do you still want to go?”

Raeven blinked at Percy. Like she, he was dressed in black trousers and a black shirt. “What are you doing…?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t want to think about it. But I figure you have a better chance of survival if I help. And you don’t even have to show me your…” He indicated her bound breasts.

“Oh, Percy! I
knew
you’d help!” She gave him a quick hug, but he pushed her away.

“This is the last time I help you, Raeven. Everything I’ve done, I’ve done for Tim. But even he would have me draw the line somewhere. And he would have punched Pickering for what he said to you.”

Raeven laughed. Men had said far worse, but it was sweet of Percy to be so protective of her.

“Agreed. This is the last time I ask for your help, and Timothy would have punched Pickering. Now here’s my plan—”

He raised a hand. “No, here’s
my
plan. I already bribed a couple of the boys to lower a longboat over the side.”

She blinked. “You did?”

“They’re waiting now.” He took her arm and ushered her across the deck, keeping to the shadows as much as possible. “Once in the water, I’ll row you within swimming distance of the
Shadow
. If you make it aboard, I’ll wait one hour for you.” They were on the port side now, and Raeven saw the boys standing beside the deck rail. Once she and Percy were away, they’d haul the rigging back on board and secure it. “After one hour, I row back and tell your father Cutlass has kidnapped you. I don’t have to tell you what will happen then.”

“You’ll be flogged and court-martialed for helping me.”

He shook his head. “That will be later—after your father blows the
Shadow
out of the water.”

“I’m not going to allow anything to happen to you, Percy,” Raeven assured him. “I’ll be on and off in less than an hour. And then I promise the next time we go ashore, I’ll buy you an expensive dinner with two—no three—bottles of the best wine.”

He gave her a wan smile. “I know you will.”

***

Two hours later, Raeven stood on the deck of the
Shadow
, cold and dripping. She wished she could towel off so she didn’t leave a trail of water in her wake, but most likely all but the watch were asleep. And the watch would not be looking for wet footprints on the deck.

She’d climbed up the anchor cable in the bow of the ship, and now she made her way through the shadows toward the stern, where Cutlass’s cabin was located. The
Shadow
was a much smaller vessel than the
Regal
, which meant she’d reach the stern faster. It also meant she had fewer places to hide. But by the time she reached the mizzenmast, she thought she was doing rather well.

Until the bearded corsair stepped in front of her. “Who the hell are you?” he asked in French.

She glanced at his hand and saw the glint of steel. Her heart hitched, and her fingers itched to wrap around her own dagger. “I’m not feeling well,” she answered, lowering her voice and keeping her head ducked. She wore a cap and hoped that, in addition to concealing her long hair, it put her face in shadow. “I needed some air.”

“You must have needed a swim. I saw you climb up the anchor cable.”

She reached for her dagger, but he was too quick. He caught her arm, twisted it behind her back, and marched her forward. “I’m taking you to the captain. He can decide whether we hang you or throw you over the side with a rock tied to your feet. And that’s after we sink that boat you rowed in on.”

Devil take it! The man had seen everything. She had to think of a way to warn Percy he was in danger. But the corsair was dragging her down a ladderway, his grip rough and punishing. She didn’t think Cutlass was going to be amused she’d sneaked aboard his ship. She didn’t know him well enough to guess what he’d do—take her prisoner? Send her back to her father? Kiss her?

She shook her head to clear it. Why did she always circle back to kissing him?

She had to think of Percy now. Cutlass would be even less forgiving of the
Regal
’s purser.

So she would have to be certain he never knew about him. In a deliberate move, she tripped and allowed her cap to fall from her head. Her hair was secured on her head, but she shook it free and raised her head to give her captor what she hoped was a feminine look of fear.

“What the…?”

He was distracted long enough for her to stomp on his foot. When he bent over, she kneed him in the groin. He went down on his knees, and she pushed him on his face, shoving her knee in the back of his neck. She had a length of rope secured to her belt in case she needed it, and she used it to quickly tie his hands. She shoved a handkerchief she found in his pocket into his mouth.

The man was too large for her to drag out of the companionway, even if she knew where to hide him. Even now, someone might be coming to investigate the noise of their struggle. So she took his dagger and ran along the companionway. At the first ladderway, she started up, intending to go directly overboard, swim back to Percy, and return to the
Regal
. But she heard voices above and turned back.

For three racing heartbeats, she stood undecided, and then she knew what she would have to do. She knew how she could get her sword and return to Percy safely.

“Fire in the galley!” she screamed. “All hands on deck! Fire in the galley.” She shoved her cap back on her head and continued to call her warning as she ran for the stern and the great cabin. Men were swarming up from the lower decks now, and she had to shove through them. They’d picked up her cry of distress and paid her no heed as they raced for the bow and the burning galley. If they wondered why one of their own raced for the stern, they didn’t stop to question him.

A few moments later, the deck was empty and she recognized the great cabin’s door. It would no doubt be empty. A fire on board was no trifling matter, and Cutlass would have gone personally to oversee the efforts to extinguish the galley fire. Still, she only had a moment before the crew realized there was no fire, found the bound corsair—if they hadn’t already—and started putting the pieces together.

She reached for the door and found it locked. She’d picked the lock once before, and quickly extracted a pin from her wet, tangled hair. She remembered the lock mechanism and thought she could disable it within seconds. She inserted the pin and turned right, then left, then harder left…

The door opened, and she stumbled, all but falling inside.

She saw black boots that rose to a knee covered in black trousers. Above that were muscular thighs, slim hips, and a white shirt, untucked. The sleeves were rolled up, showing tanned, corded wrists and forearms. The linen was open at the throat, and she swallowed at the bronze skin visible in the vee. Above that was a strong chin, a slash of a mouth, and hard, cobalt eyes.

“Good evening, Miss Russell,” Cutlass said. “I’ve been expecting you.”

She looked like a wet rat. Her dark hair hung in her eyes and around her shoulders. Her black shirt was too big for her and made her look small and sunken. Somewhere in there was the voluptuous body Bastien had seen at the pasha’s ball. But kneeling before him in a puddle of water, she looked very little like the beautiful woman who’d claimed every man’s attention when she’d entered the ballroom.

Except the eyes. Those emerald eyes, now wide with surprise and shock, were the same. And even the shocked look was quickly replaced by anger. He almost laughed. What did
she
have to be angry about? The disruption of her plans, no doubt.

He reached out, offered his hand. “Please come in. You must be cold. I’ll fetch you a towel.”

She didn’t move, and he looked up when he heard footsteps in the companionway. “Mr. Ridley,” he said before his bosun could speak. “I gather there is no fire.”

“No, Cap’n. It were a ruse. You told us to expect one.”

The man must have wondered at the urchin on her knees before him, but he didn’t even glance down.

“Is the ship secure?”

“Yes, Cap’n. We found Jolivette bound and gagged, but he’s unharmed.”

Bastien glanced down at his petite cabin girl. Jolivette was easily a foot taller and a stone heavier than she. “Give him a week in the brig for allowing her to get by him.” The brig was little more than chaining the man in the hold, but it served well enough.

“Yes, Cap’n. We’re bringing her accomplice in now.”

Bastien raised his brows. “Accomplice?” He looked down at the girl, but she avoided his eyes. “Chain him in the brig, as well. I’ll speak to him in the morning.”

“Yes, Cap’n.” Ridley nodded and started away then paused. “Mr. Maine goin’ to want to give you a report.”

“Tell him I’ll send for him when I’m ready.” Bastien leaned down and hauled his cabin girl up by her wet shoulder. “Right now I want a few moments alone.”

“Yes, Cap’n.”

Bastien pulled the girl inside his cabin and closed the door. He heard her gasp immediately and didn’t have to look to know she was staring at his wall and her sword on display.

“You bastard! You had it here all along.”

He gestured to it languidly. “Go ahead and take it.”

She blinked, and without waiting for a second offer, crossed the room and snatched it off the wall. She cradled it a moment, like it was an infant, and raised her eyes to meet his. “That’s all I wanted. I didn’t harm your man or your vessel.”

He crossed to his desk where a bottle of wine and two goblets waited. “I wouldn’t have allowed you to do so.”

She bit her lip. “How did you know I was coming?”

He uncorked the wine and poured it. “There’s a towel on the bed. You’re dripping on my rug.”

She seemed confused, opened her mouth to speak, then closed it and gathered up the towel, pressing it first to her face and hair, then quickly over her body. He watched as she did so, noting the flatness of her chest. She must have bound her breasts again.

When she was through, he held out a goblet. She stared at it as though it might be poisoned. “Would you like to change first? I have an assortment of clothing in the trunk. A few gowns might fit you. But then perhaps you’d rather borrow something of mine. You seem to have a proclivity for dressing as a boy.” He gave her legs a long perusal. “Not that I mind.”

“I-I’m not going to take off my clothes.”

Since she didn’t appear likely to take it, he set her wine on the desk. “No? Then why are you here? And don’t tell me it’s simply to retrieve your sword.”

She clamped her mouth closed.

“You could have had another sword made.”

She cocked her head to the side. “Why do
you
think I’m here then?”

He shrugged, drank some wine. “Me.” He looked pointedly at the large berth.

She laughed. “Oh, really? You have a rather high opinion of yourself.”

He sat down behind the desk, lifted his glass to examine the red wine in the candlelight. “You went to a lot of trouble to see me again. Perhaps my arrogance isn’t entirely misplaced.” He gestured to the untouched glass. “Have some wine.”

She shook her head. “You can hardly expect me to sit here drinking wine with you while you put my friend in the brig. I want you to order your men to release him and send him back to the
Regal
.”

“No.”

“No? You owe me, Cutlass. I saved you the other night.”

Now it was his turn to laugh. “
You
saved
me
?” He stood. “You got me shot, mademoiselle
.
And my shoulder is doing much better,
merci
.”

“I didn’t ask you to challenge El Santo. You should have run away when you had the chance.”

“I know.”

“You—” She stopped, obviously not expecting him to agree. “So you would have left me to that barbarian? You really do have no sense of honor.”

“I never claimed to. Is that the reason you’re drawn to me?”

“I am
not
drawn to you. What you think of as affection is nothing more than a desire to see you dead.”

“Ah, that tired story.” He stood, brought the goblet to her. “Drink this. You’re shivering.”

“I told you, I’m not going to sip wine while my friend—”

“He’s fine. I’ll order my men to see he has a meal and dry clothes. Will that suffice?”

“No. I want to be released. You can’t hold me captive. I’m Admiral Russell’s daughter. When he finds out I’m on board he’ll—”

He put a finger over her lips. “He’s not going to find out you’re on board. He believes you’re fast asleep in your cabin, does he not?”

She didn’t have to answer. He could see the truth of it in her eyes.

“And by the time he realizes you’re gone, it will be too late.”

“What do you mean?”

He grinned, pushed the goblet into her cold hands, and went to the door. “I’m going on deck. Change into something dry while I’m gone. You’re still dripping on my carpet.”

He opened the door, stepped outside, and shut it on her curse.

***

Raeven waited exactly two minutes before she went to the door. He’d left it unlocked, and when she opened it, she saw why. He had a guard posted outside. The man was bare-chested but for a long, gold chain. In his hand he held a sharp dagger. He was in the process of cleaning his fingernails with the tip when she opened the door, but he paused to grin at her, showing two gold teeth. Before she shut the door again, she noted he also had a pistol and a cutlass at his belt.

She was definitely in trouble. Percy, too. Oh, why hadn’t she listened to him? But now wasn’t the time to bemoan her choices. Now was the time for action. She had to figure a way to get her and Percy off this ship.

She paced back and forth, formulating and dismissing half a dozen ideas. Finally, she paused. She was indeed shivering and cold in her wet clothes. She couldn’t think when she was last so cold. Or thirsty. Telling herself she was drinking only to ward off the chill, she sipped the wine.

Not surprisingly, it was good wine.

She took another sip then opened the trunk he’d indicated earlier. His clothes were neatly folded and organized, and she thought immediately of her own haphazard trunk. She could never find anything in it because she always pawed through the items and didn’t bother to restore the contents to rights.

But Cutlass’s shirts and breeches were neatly pressed and folded. She imagined the wardrobe against the wall held his coats and boots. They were probably similarly arranged. Below the neat stack of his clothing peeked something silky and feminine. She tossed his clothing onto the floor, knowing it would annoy him, and pulled out the rose-colored gown. Below it was another in a vibrant shade of blue. And below that a gown in white…

The man obviously did not lack for female companions. But did the women leave naked, or did he buy gowns with the expectation of meeting women who would need them?

She shoved the gowns back into the trunk and reached for one of his shirts. As a rule, she was more comfortable in male dress, and she did not want to draw attention to her femaleness on board the ship. But even as she lifted the fine linen, she realized her mistake. She remembered the warm way Cutlass had looked at her at the pasha’s ball. She might have more sway over him dressed in a gown than a baggy shirt.

Ten minutes later, she glanced in the large mirror secured to the far wall. The rose-colored gown was sweet and pretty with long white sleeves and a delicate trim of narrow lace at the hem. But there the sweetness ended. It was made for a woman taller and slimmer than she. The skirts dragged and the bodice was too tight. The neck was a vee and the waist so high it ended just under her breasts. She had no stays or other undergarments with her, and her breasts swelled out of the dress sensuously. She had dug through the trunk in search of a tucking piece and found none. But she had found a pair of simple white slippers that fit and slipped them on. She had been barefoot before, as boots would have slowed her swimming.

Now this last glance in the mirror convinced her she ought to wear Cutlass’s clothing after all. One look at her and he would think she meant to seduce him. Even her hair did not help matters. It dried curly and wanton, falling in tousled waves over her shoulders. Her cheeks were red from embarrassment and the earlier exertions of the night. Indeed, she looked like a wench newly climbed from bed.

She was reaching for one of Cutlass’s shirts when the cabin door opened and he stepped inside. She whirled to face him, his shirt in front of her chest like a barrier.

He raised a brow. “Having difficulty deciding on your wardrobe?”

She shook her head. “Not at all. If you’d wait outside, I’ll be finished in a moment.”

He gave her a long perusal then reached over and plucked his shirt from her hands. “I don’t think so. You look quite presentable as it is.” He reached for the goblet of wine he’d left on the desk. “More than presentable, considering your evening activities. Mr. Williams enlightened me, you see. Don’t frown so. He wanted only to secure your release. He worries for your father’s health.”

Raeven’s stomach roiled as she thought of her poor father waking in the morning and finding her missing again. He would indeed worry, possibly becoming so anxious his health was further compromised. Oh, why hadn’t she considered the possibility of capture before?

Because, she told herself, you think you’re indestructible. But you’re not.

“I assured him both you and he would be sent back to the
Regal
before the night’s end.”

“That’s still several hours away,” she pointed out.

He grinned and lifted the goblet to his lips. “Did you poison this while I was away, or is it safe to drink the contents?” He took a long swallow, and she fisted her hands. She wished she’d thought to bring some poison. He would be writhing in agony right now, and she would be the one smiling smugly.

He set the goblet back on the desk and filled it again. He filled hers as well, crossed to the berth, sat, and began removing his boots.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

He dropped one on the floor beside the berth. “What does it look like?”

Undressing
. But she didn’t want to say it. “Why are you—er, doing that?”

He glanced up at her. “Come now, Raeven. You can stop pretending this”—he gestured to the bed—“isn’t what you came for.”

“Is that what you think? Well, you’re wrong. I came for my sword, and now that I have it, I’d like to leave.”

“Fine. But this may be your last opportunity. We’re leaving Gibraltar very soon.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, watched as his eyes followed the action, then realizing her actions pushed her breasts farther out of the dress, lowered her arms quickly. “And good riddance to you. I’d rather kill you than kiss you.”

He nodded, dropped the other boot on the floor, and putting his hands behind his head, lay flat on the berth. Raeven couldn’t help but notice it was large enough to comfortably fit two. “If that’s what you want, go ahead.”

She frowned at him. “What do you mean?”

He indicated the open collar and the bronze skin of his neck. “Go ahead. Slit my throat.”

He’d called her bluff, but she wasn’t about to admit it. Besides, she was annoyed enough with his arrogance to consider killing him. “And if I slit your throat, then what happens?”

“I’m dead, and you’ve avenged your murdered lover.”

“He was my fiancé.” And thinking about him had her reaching for her sword. The hilt felt comfortable in her hands, like an old glove.

“Even worse for me. Go ahead then. Kill me.”

She clutched the hilt tighter, thought about plunging the blade through his heart. She could do it, she thought, even as she lifted the sword. She could do it for Timothy. She took a step forward and paused. “And what happens after I kill you? Your men…”

“You didn’t worry about your welfare in Brest or the last time you were in this cabin. Why worry now?”

He was right. She didn’t care what happened to her. She’d vowed to kill Timothy’s murderer, no matter what it took. “But what about Percy—Mr. Williams? He hasn’t done anything.”

“Fair enough.” Cutlass stood, walked to the door, opened it, and signaled to the guard. “Jean, no matter what happens to me tonight, the prisoner, Mr. Williams, is to be freed. Tell Mr. Maine.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Cutlass closed the door again and walked back to the bed. She found herself admiring his easy gait, the way he managed to swagger even without boots. “How do I know he’ll do as you say? How do I know your men won’t turn on us once you’re gone?”

He gave her a hard look. “Because my men follow my orders whether I’m dead or alive. You can be assured no harm will come to your precious Mr. Williams.” He lay back on the bed, adjusted the collar of his shirt so his throat was bare once again, and motioned to her. “Let’s get this over with.” He tucked his hands behind his head, moving a little stiffly. At first she thought his hesitation was out of fear; then she remembered he’d been shot, and his shoulder most certainly still pained him. And yet, she never would have known he was in any discomfort at all from his actions. He really didn’t seem to worry she’d kill him. But she’d show him…