In the Arms of a Pirate (A Sam Steele Romance Book 2) (6 page)

Aidan turned his back to the waves and examined the house. Above the vine-covered rock wall, he saw the same six windows he’d seen from the ship. Six bedrooms at the back, five at the front.

“What the devil does he need eleven rooms upstairs for?” Aidan muttered, though he imagined Sarah’s rooms took up at least three of those windows. The question remained, which three and who occupied the others?

“How many people live in there?” Lucky asked as he floated past Aidan. Jacques, he noticed, was also bobbing within hearing distance.

“Let’s hope he simply built the house to match his arrogance and most of the rooms are empty.”

Chunk surfaced next to Aidan, sent water flinging in every direction when he shook it from his hair. “How many guards?”

“Three so far. The gate,” he gestured with his head, “isn’t as elaborate as out front. Because it’s only the width of a normal doorway, it’s harder to see inside the yard.”

“With those vines coming down, it would be easy enough to climb over the wall.”

It wasn’t getting inside that troubled Aidan, but getting out again. With Sarah, as he had no intention of leaving without her. “I’m sure Roche has thought of that, which means likely more guards inside. He wouldn’t go to the trouble to make such a fortress and then leave it accessible. My guess is he has enough men within those walls to ensure Sarah remains inside while intruders remain out.”

“Until tonight,” Chunk said before once again slipping beneath the water’s surface.

“Until tonight,” Aidan agreed. Then, just as he was about to follow Chunk’s lead and dip beneath the waves, movement beyond the gate caught his eye. “It’s Sarah,” he whispered. She was in and out of his line of vision before he could do more than blink but it had to be her. No maid he’d ever seen strolled the garden in the middle of the afternoon wearing a stylish hat and a gown the color of the sky.

He thought of her living such a pampered life while his early years had been spent in hell, thanks to her father.

“Enjoy your day while you can, princess,” he muttered.

*

It wasn’t working!
Sarah tried not to panic as she wove to the window where, after a cautious glance over her shoulder to ensure Sophia wasn’t looking, she poured her wine into the potted plant she’d brought up to her room weeks ago. It was the fifth such glass of wine she’d poured on the delicate purple flowers and though Sophia’s words were becoming slurred, the maid remained awake and alert.

If Sophia didn’t fall asleep soon, Sarah would have to run down to the cellar for more wine. She never would have believed she would need five bottles of wine!

With her empty glass in hand, Sarah spun from the window then feigned unsteadiness.

“Oh my.” She giggled. “This does indeed make your head soft as a lamb. Let’s have more.” She filled Sophia’s near-empty glass then her own. Sarah sat on the bed next to her maid and waited until Sophia took a large mouthful before she rose her own glass and took the tiniest of sips. It tasted vile and she forced herself not to grimace as the flavor soured in her mouth. Truly she had no idea why people enjoyed it.

“Tell me again, how you feel when you’re with Jacob,” Sarah coaxed.

“Ah, miss, it’s the very fact that it’s forbidden that makes it all the more passionate and wonderful.” Excitement danced in her eyes as she took another gulp. “Stolen kisses in the dark are the best kind. And the touching”—she sighed and drank more—“it’s thrilling in the gardens, his hands on my flesh, our moans swallowed by the night.”

Because she’d already heard this earlier, before their second bottle of wine, Sarah was more prepared for the clutch in her belly as she envisioned herself locked in a passionate kiss in the fragrant shadows of the garden. But if simply hearing about such scandalous activities made her heart race, her breasts feel fuller and a strange pulse beat between her legs, what must the real embrace feel like?

Her glass empty, her maid flung herself on Sarah’s bed. “I love the feel of Jacob’s hands on me,” Sophia said as she trailed her own fingers over the swell of her bosom. “And when he lowers my gown and takes my breast in his mouth—”

“His mouth!” Sarah’s hand jerked and wine spilled over the bodice of her gown. Though there was nobody else in the room she whispered, “His mouth?”

Pushing up on her elbows, Sophia smiled. “Feel that trail of wine slipping between your breasts?”

“Yes,” Sarah answered, already wiping it away with her hand.

“Imagine a man’s mouth licking it away instead.” Then, as Sarah’s hand stilled over her cleavage, Sophia flopped onto her back and laughed. She was still cackling when, frowning, Sarah turned to the mirror.

Her eyes were wide and her face flushed with embarrassment as her hand hovered over her décolletage. Did such things actually happen? Her thoughts churned and scandalous images filled her mind as Sarah finished wiping away the trickle of wine. Well, she’d wanted to know.

She blew out a breath. She certainly did now.

Realizing the room was suddenly quiet, Sarah looked over her shoulder. Her belly clutched for a whole other reason. Sophia’s eyes were closed. One hand held her empty wine glass over her belly while the other hung limp over the side of the bed. With her lower lip caught between her teeth, Sarah crept to the bed.

Her maid’s mouth was open. Her chest rose and fell in a steady, quiet rhythm that spoke of sleep. Testing, Sarah eased the glass from Sophia’s softly curled fingers.

“Sophia?” she whispered. No response. “Sophia.” She tried again, this time with a little nudge.

Sophia sighed, turned her head to the side and remained asleep.

Sarah bowed her head. Thank God. Then, looking down at her maid she thought, this was it. It was now or never. Wiping her palms on her skirt and hoping the little wine she’d consumed stayed in her stomach, Sarah blew out a breath and set to work.

*

“Aye, you two,
get out of here!”

“You see, Jack,” Lucky slurred. “I’s told you there was someone here.” He grabbed the bars of the gate. “Mister, have you some rum to share with a couple of blokes?”

“Rum,” Jack nodded, lifting his empty bottle. “That’s what we need, sure enough.”

The guard poked his musket through the bars and into Lucky’s belly. “I said move on.”

Another guard stepped forward. “What’s the trouble, Jacob?”

“These two drunks won’t go away as I ordered.”

Jack threw an arm around Lucky’s shoulder and the two of them broke out in a loud, bawdy song about rum and women. The words made little sense and the tune was terrible but it was perfect for drunken sailors on a midnight stroll. From his perch on top of the wall—Lucky and Jack’s distraction had served its purpose—Aidan’s gaze searched through the darkened yard and gardens.

He knew there were three guards, where was the third? Surely the racket Jack and Lucky were making was loud enough to bring the other guard about. At least he hoped so because the man named Jacob sounded like he was only going to give Lucky a few more seconds before firing. While Aidan didn’t relish the idea of going in without knowing where the third guard was, he wasn’t about to lose the element of surprise either. Below him, down the wall from Jack and Lucky, Aidan heard the rest of the men he’d brought shuffle in anticipation.

“Blimey, it sounds as though someone’s wounded. Jacob, what did you do?”

There you are
. Aidan reached over his shoulder and soundlessly slid an arrow from his quiver. He had it notched before Jacob could answer. Aiming down its length, Aidan pulled back on the bowstring and opened his fingers. The arrow whistled past his cheek and, before the guard hit the ground, Chunk leapt from his place beside Aidan as his captain notched and let another fly. It, too, snapped into its target. The guard named Jacob spun but Chunk’s meaty fist caught him on the side of the head before he could call out an alarm. Jacob fell unconscious to the grass. Jack and Lucky scaled the gate and dropped into the yard.

“Let’s get them hidden,” Aidan whispered.

Grabbing ankles, they dragged the men behind some flowering shrubs. Once they were out of sight, Aidan began searching pockets for the keys. Jacob had them. Wrapping them in his fist Aidan turned to Chunk.

“Give the signal to the men.”

While Chunk saw to his task, Aidan looked up at the house. Light glowed behind the curtains of two of the upstairs windows. They would begin there. He turned as the muted footfalls signaled his men were there. Weapons in hand and others gleaming from their sashes, they formed a circle.

“Remember your positions. No one is to escape through a servant’s door or window. I’ll let you know once the house is ours.” Aidan nodded and eight men dispersed to surround the house.

Facing the rest he reminded them, “For as long as possible we do this quietly. We get the girl first, as she’ll be our leverage. I’m almost certain Roche isn’t here, but if he is, he is to be left for me. Nobody is to kill him.”

Satisfied they would follow his orders, Aidan signaled for the rest to follow. Leaning his bow against the pillar—it wouldn’t serve him inside the house—Aidan grasped the door handle. He expected it to be locked and though it didn’t surprise him when it wouldn’t open, it nonetheless annoyed him. Any delay, no matter how small, risked their presence being discovered.

Without knowing when or if more guards would be coming Aidan shot the first key into the hole. It rattled around but little else. He yanked it out, tried the second. It yielded the same results. Swallowing his irritation, Aidan pushed the third in and was rewarded when it turned and the lock clicked. Pocketing the ring of keys he eased the door open.

It was dark as a tomb, which was a relief even if he’d expected it at this late hour. Pausing to listen for any sounds other than the night creatures chirping behind him, Aidan stepped into the room. It felt cavernous, and he imagined in full light there would be marble beneath his boots and—

He spun when he heard the breathing behind him but he was too late. The blow slammed against the side of his skull, stole his breath along with what little vision he’d had. He staggered, was fairly certain he managed to warn his men but he couldn’t be certain if his mouth formed the words or if they were only screaming in his head. Bile rose like a hot fist up his throat. He choked it back even as his hands reached for something, anything, to grab onto.

“Cap’n?”

Chunk. Thank God. Aidan grabbed Chunk’s arm and dug in while the room spun and sweat—though he feared it wasn’t only sweat—dripped down his cheek from his temple.

He sucked in air and managed to wheeze, “Was there only one?”

“That we know of. The men have scattered, as instructed. Lucky and I can fetch her, Cap’n, give you a few minutes to catch your breath.”

“No, I’m coming,” he whispered.

He’d been beaten much worse and while Roche might not be around to witness this, Aidan would be damned if he’d give the villain the satisfaction of having bested him, even if only through one of his guards.

His head hurt like a thousand demons from hell were gnawing on his brain. He had to clutch Chunk’s forearm while he straightened. The room swirled then came into focus. He saw shapes now, the shadows of furniture, that of the guard lying still on the floor. The sweet smell of blood curled in his nose. Grimacing against the pain, he slid his fingers underneath the black bandana he’d tied around his head and touched his temple. It was as though someone prodded him with a branding iron. Aidan hissed at both the agony and the stickiness coating his fingers.

“Are you—”

Aidan dropped his hold, clenched his teeth against the pounding. “Lucky and I’ll get the girl. Chunk, you stay and guard the door. If anyone tries to escape…”

“I’ll change their mind.”

Aidan didn’t dare nod, but knowing things were well in hand, he turned for the stairs. Hurt or not, he wanted the house secure and Sarah Santiago as his prisoner.

*