My Lady Pirate (35 page)

“I never loved Catherine,” he said softly. “I never had any intention of keeping her or any other woman as a mistress once I met you, Maeve, because after that, all other women ceased to exist for me.”

“But you said you had a mistress on Barbados, and that was well after we met. . .”

“Yes, I did say that. And it was a lie—my desperate and panicky attempt to make you so

very angry that you'd take me back to Nelson as you'd originally planned to do. I had to think of something, and something quick . . . something that wouldn't make you suspicious.” He smiled.

“You decided to 'keep' me, remember? But I had had nothing to do with Catherine since before you and I met. She only came here to try and change my mind.” His eyes grew dark and intent, almost pleading, as he brought her hand to his lips. “Forgive me love—I could think of no other way at the time, and I didn’t know you well enough to trust you not to bring me to Villeneuve instead.”

Maeve could not hold that gaze. She looked down, and swallowed hard.

She felt him pull his hand from her grasp and came around the table. He knelt down before her, and put his fingertips beneath her chin, lifting her head so that she had no choice but to look up at him. “I love you, Maeve,” he murmured. “Nothing can change that.
I
love you,
and I would like you to be my wife.”

His wife.
The words should have thrilled her; instead they brought a bleak despair to her heart, for
his wife
was something she could never be.

“You still want to marry me?” she asked, her eyes bleak.

“Of course I still want to marry you.” He pulled the hat from her head, tossed it to the table, ran his hands along her long, silky ponytail. “Nothing has changed.”

He was right. Nothing
had
changed. She was still the Pirate Queen of the Caribbean. Pirate queens didn’t desert their ships, their crews, the lives they’d built for themselves to take a reckless gamble on a man’s love. And pirate queens didn’t marry admirals.

Not if they intended to
remain
pirate queens.

She bent her head, picking at a hangnail on her thumb while he planted a kiss against her nape. “Gray,” she said slowly, “I don’t think we
can
get married.”

“Don’t be silly, love, of course we can get married.”

“No. We can’t.”

His lips found the sensitive spot behind her ear. “And whyever not, sweeting?” he said,

cheerfully.

“Because your career as a naval officer would never survive the reality of having a wife

who’s out roving the Spanish Main.”

He looked amused and, straightening up, ruffled her hair affectionately before tugging the bright purple ribbon from her nape. Then his lips came down against hers and she moaned softly as his tongue explored the recesses of her mouth. “Ah, Maeve,” he murmured, reluctantly breaking the kiss. “Any roving you do after we are wed will take place in our marriage bed.”

“No, Gray,” she said firmly, savoring the taste of him on her lips. “I intend to remain in my present capacity as the Pirate Queen.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, dear. There is no reason for you to carry on as you are. I can give you everything you need—lovely clothes, servants, and maids; grand parties, balls, and soirees. You will entertain dignitaries, diplomats, and naval officers, take tea with members of your own fair sex instead of crossing swords with criminals, killers, and rogues. By God, never again will you have to steal just to feed yourself, fight just to defend your honor! I will take care of you, Maeve.

I will love you. As my wife you shall enjoy the life you
deserve
to have, one of grandeur, society, and status.”

“But that is not the life I want.”

He drew back, hurt. “What do you mean? Isn’t that what every woman wants?”

“It is not what
I
want. And I am not ‘every woman.’”

“Well, what
do
you want, then?” He twisted the purple ribbon in his hands, looking bewildered, confused, lost. “Ask, Maeve, and you shall have it.”

“My freedom. My ship. My life, to live as I see fit. Please understand, Gray. It’s not that I don’t love you . . . it’s that I’m scared of becoming an admiral’s wife. I won’t fit in. I have obligations—to my girls, my ship—” Her voice grew desperate. “Please say you understand.”

“As my wife, you won’t
need
a ship.”

“No. I
do
need my ship—”

“For God’s sake, Maeve, I won’t have my
wife
sailing the Caribbean as the modern-day incarnation of Anne Bonney!”

She leapt to her feet. “I thought you
liked
Anne Bonney!”

“Aye, but I damn well wouldn’t marry the woman!”

“Oh, I understand, now,” she said hotly, grabbing her hat. “It’s only the fantasy, isn’t it?

Well, my gallant admiral, it’s about time you learn to distinguish the difference between reality and fantasy. I am a pirate. Understand?” She jabbed her finger into his chest.
“Pirate.
I steal, plunder, and fight as well if not better than any man! I curse and drink and toast my skin in the sun! I’d never do as an admiral’s wife, because I would embarrass you in front of those people you’d want me to impress!”

“No, Maeve, you would make me
proud,
d’you hear me, proud!”

“I am a pirate!”

“I wouldn’t care if you’re a bloody gutter rat;
I love you, dammit!”

Their breathing echoed harshly through the cabin. She snatched the purple ribbon from his hand and, turning her back on him, stuffed it down her bodice with quick, angry jabs. Outside, the sea washed around the rudder and from the sofa came the flag-captain’s soft breathing.

She stared at the wall, trying in vain to control her emotions.

“Very well, then.” His voice was flat and toneless from behind her. “I guess we can’t get married, then.”

“Aye.” She swallowed hard. “Guess not.”

“For God’s sake, Maeve!”

She spun around, eyes blazing. “Don’t ‘For God’s sake’ me, Gray! I’ve fought hard to get

where I am and now you’re asking me to give it all up. For what? Fancy balls, a life of bored leisure, and ‘Lady’ in front of my name?
Your
name? I’ll not grow fat and lazy entertaining a bunch of stuffy hussies who’ll only sneer at me and whisper about me behind their backs. I’ll not desert, nay
abandon,
those who depend upon me for leadership, their next meal, their very existence. They’re my family now, Gray, the only family I have. I cannot desert them! I learned my lesson the hard way, seven years ago, when I gave up everything I had for the sake of a man’s
love,
and I’ll never do it again!”

“Maeve!”

“Never!”

She stormed across the room, tore open the door—

And came face-to-face with el Perro Negro.

Maeve didn’t even have time for a startled scream. Her hand went for the knife at her waist even as el Perro Negro’s fist crashed into her jaw and rocked her head back on her neck. White lights exploded in her brain and she fought to maintain consciousness, knowing even as she felt herself falling, sinking, fading, that she . . . could . . . not. . .

Her eyes rolled up and with a little sigh, the Pirate Queen sagged bonelessly into el Perro Negro’s clutches. Immediately, he grabbed her hair, yanked her head back to expose her throat, and thrust the flat of his knife against the pale flesh.

He looked up—and saw Sir Graham facing him from behind the mouth of a pistol.

“Drop the gun, Admiral.”

Falconer's eyes burned with murderous fury. “Release her.
Now
.”

“I said,
drop it.
Or the
puta
dies.”

Gray never flinched, though his hand was sweating around the pistol’s grip. How the pirates had escaped he didn’t know, but all seven of them filled the doorway and there was no room for heroic measures. Beyond, he could see the faithful marine sentry, sprawled on the deck with his throat cut and gushing blood. On the deck directly above, he could hear two lieutenants, obviously unaware of what was happening, calmly discussing the weather. He looked into the desperate black eyes of el Perro Negro . . . at Maeve, hanging senseless over his arm, her exposed throat vulnerable to his knife . . . thought of Colin behind him, defenseless and now, starting to stir— “Kill her.”

“Belay, damn you!” Cursing, he lowered the pistol, tossed it to the table on a snarl of

disgust, and stood helplessly as el Perro Negro threw Maeve roughly against one of his cohorts.

Then the pirate stepped behind Gray, looped his arm around his neck, and held the knife to his throat.

“Pig-Eye! Give me the
almirante'
s pistol.”

Gray’s dark stare bored into the eyes of the pirate who held Maeve.
If you so much as
breathe on her, I’ll kill you,
he silently vowed, unflinching as el Perro Negro, the gun now in his hand, shoved it against his temple.

“One wrong move, Admiral, and I’ll splatter the Fleet’s intelligence all over these pristine decks, ye hear?”

Gray didn’t answer.

“You hear me,
Almirante
?” the pirate shrieked, jabbing the mouth of the pistol against his skull.

“You’ll not get away with this,” Gray said coldly, but his unflinching stare was still locked on the pirate who had Maeve.

El Perro Negro’s laughter was high, desperate, hysterical, the stench of his unwashed body

—and the fear that reeked from his every pore—pungent and acrid. “No,
Almirante,
I
will
get away with it! For I will take you,
king of the sea,
as hostage to ensure my escape from this ship.

You think I’m
estupido,
fool enough to believe I’ll get a fair trial back in England? Baah! You English
peegs
are all vile, wretched bastards! Tie up that
puta,
Renaldo, good and tight. And hurry up, I don’t have all day!”

“Ye ain’t takin’ ’er with us,
Capitan
?”

“I don’t have time,
idiota!
I have the
almirante;
he is all the insurance we need. Now,
move!
”

###

“Maeve . . . help me.”

The voice was real . . . the accent, English . . . not Gray’s.

She opened her eyes and saw her cousin Colin lying on the deck not five feet away from her.

He was on his stomach, his bright hair falling over his sweating brow, his gentle eyes glazed, and half of the bedding trailing behind him and connecting him to the sofa. Stupidly, she thought he was supposed to be in bed and started to scold him . . . Belatedly, she realized she, too, was lying on the deck. Memories slammed into her aching head. She surged to her feet, only to lose her balance and fall, painfully, back to the deck.

“Colin, the admiral—”

“I know,” he whispered, his voice tight with agony. “I heard most of it. They have him

topside, Maeve. I—I tried to go for help . . . can’t get any farther with this leg, God knows I tried

—”

“They’ll kill him, Colin! They’ve tied me up; you’ve got to help me get loose!”

“—God knows, I tried . . . you’ve got to save him.”

“Dammit, Colin, you’re
drunk
!”

“Yes, I daresay . . . drunk . . Got to save Sir Graham.”

Desperately, she managed to get to her feet, even as she realized the deck above was deathly still and quiet.

“Colin,
help me
!”

He shook his head, and she saw a flash of sobriety in his eyes; she squatted down before

him, thrusting her bound hands directly in his face. “Colin—my knife! It’s in my belt, you’ve got to cut me loose!”

“Drunk . . . Maeve . . . might cut you . . . can’t.”

“For God’s sake, Colin, we’re talking about Gray’s life!”
Damn you Gray for getting him so
bloody soused he can’t even think straight!
“Colin—my knife.
Please
.”

She felt him pulling the wicked, deadly blade from her belt, bit her lip as he began to saw, slowly, too slowly, at her bound wrists. “For God's sake, hurry up!”

“Hold still, almost there . . . hurry, Maeve . . . they’ll kill him—”

She felt the last thread break free just as Colin sank back beneath the haze of pain and

alcohol. On a little cry, she grabbed up the knife, stumbled once, twice, and fled the cabin, leaving the flag-captain passed out on the black-and-white-checkered deck.

###

the pistol against Sir Graham’s temple and daring
Triton's
crew to try any more foolish heroics in an attempt to rescue him.

The pirate was not taking any chances. He felt the fury emanating from his hostage, the raw power in his body, the deadly rage in his stance. But the
almirante
had remained dangerously silent as they’d forced him up through the hatch and onto the quarterdeck, and that was somehow worse than anything he could’ve said, done, or threatened—for el Perro Negro had no idea what clever plan was going on behind those dark eyes, and that alone was enough to bring fear tingling up his spine.

That there
was
a plan, he had no doubt. El Perro Negro had been in the Caribbean long enough to know that Sir Graham Falconer was not a man to trifle with.

Now, standing on the deck beside him, he glanced up into the
almirante'
s swarthy face—and found those dark, cold eyes regarding him.

The
almirante
smiled, and the pirate felt sweat break out the length of his spine.
I
will kill
you,
those eyes promised.
You may depend on it.

He would too, el Perro Negro knew. The English admiral would not forgive him for his

treatment of the
puta.

Nor for the insult to his flagship’s crew.