My Lady Pirate (5 page)

have the Sight, the Irish gift to predict the future, to read meaning into Signs and Events, to . . .

to . . . sometimes even communicate with the Dead. At least I
think
they’re dead; I’ve never met these people before and they come to me in dreams and such. . . .”

“I see.”

“Do you?” She leaned back and stared up at him, then frowned as belatedly, she realized she was in his arms. “I doubt that you do, pirate,” she said sharply, and let her gaze rake him from chin to chest as though she could, just by that imperious look, command him to release Her Royal Person. “Suffice it to say that I have Visions, and the strong ones render me helpless, where I see the most
vivid
things.”

He would’ve given his precious jackboots in wager that two minutes ago she hadn’t seen a

damned thing.

“And what causes these . . . visions?” he asked, with the fond grin of a man who finds

himself thoroughly entranced by a woman. His gaze roved over the enchanting view of upthrust breasts beneath her gaping shirt and he had a sudden urge to explore them with his hands, his mouth, his tongue. . .

She caught the gaping fabric and yanked it up to the base of her throat. “A touch. A written word. A particular object. Spiced food and going to bed on a full stomach.”

“And . . . what did this, er,
vision
that you’ve just had tell you, hmm?”

“Stop leering, you vile pig.”

“What did it tell you?” he persisted.

She released her collar and stared hard at him, as though daring him to insult her by looking down Her Royal Shirt once more. “That
you
are my Gallant Knight, whether I want you to be or not, and that makes no sense at all because in the Spell I asked for something entirely different!”

Gray’s lashes lowered once more, and he made no pretense of looking anywhere but where

his manly appetites led him. She did not move, though her breathing grew heavy, and her body tensed with wariness. His hand came up, touched the closure of her shirt, and pulled the fabric there together, as though he was a chivalrous gentleman intent on preserving her modesty—when in fact his strategic mind was plotting the defeat of her haughty defenses, and his sole intent was merely to get his hand on her skin. Under the guise of closing her shirt, he now had only to let his fingers stray innocently to the base of her throat, her collarbone, and then, of course, to the dark valley between those lovely breasts. . .

He wondered just how far he’d get before she’d come to her senses and put a violent stop to his intentions. “And what, Majesty,
did
you ask for?”

“A noble and gallant sea officer. . . An honorable warrior.” Her mouth tightened. “A
hero
.”

“Well then, allow me to pretend,” he murmured, his fingers inches from those tempting

breasts.

“But you’re a
pirate!”

“And a good one, too,” he added, grinning wolfishly and letting his fingertips slide beneath her shirt. He leaned forward, kissed her brow, felt the flames beginning to lick at his groin.

Control, Gray,
he thought,
don’t rush her. . .

Too late. Knocking aside his hand, she lunged to her feet. “Not so good after all,” she said, glaring at him. “My affections are one thing you won't be stealing.”

“A pity, that. A kiss then, Majesty, for your Gallant Knight?” he asked, looking up at her through his lashes in the manner that had devastated many a heart before hers. “Surely, you can grant me that. Or will such an act put you in irons once again?”

She stepped backward, her eyes flashing, frightened, one fist bunching the fabric at her

throat into a knot of strangulation. “Damn you, try it and I’ll topple your mainmast and shove it up your—”

“Madam,” he interrupted, allowing his eyes to widen with feigned affront, “although I am a sailor, I
must
take offense at your harsh language! Surely a lady of
royal blood
does not demean her person by indulging in such . . .
coarseness. “

Her face turned a brilliant scarlet beneath the hard tan. Her mouth opened, shut, went hard with indignation. She glared down at him, her hands fisted at her sides. “I am
queen
here,” she said, recovering. “This is
my
island and I’ll conduct my speech in the manner I damn well wish!”

“Aye, I’m sure you will,” he returned, offhandedly. “But as this is
my
prison cell, I’ll thank you to talk like a lady while you’re a guest here”—he flashed another roguish smile—”though I beg of you, not to
behave
like one.”

“Guest! This is
my
island, and as such this prison is
mine!”

“Very well, then. If it is yours, perhaps you should like to inhabit it? With me, of course.”

He winked suggestively. “We can always engage in some
royal
encounters in the palatial comfort of yon lousy pallet . . . It grows lonely, don’t you think?”

“Shut up!” she snarled. “I don’t have to stand here and listen to your sly innuendos!”

“Sly? Forgive me. I thought I was being quite direct. Allow me to steer a more . . .
decided
course.” He rose to his feet, towering over her, and, with a mocking sweep of his arm around the dark cell, the stone floor, the filthy mat said, “Perhaps you will join me for a bout of lusty coupling upon the forgiving comfort of—”

“Silence, damn you! You make yourself very clear indeed! And now I wish you to make

something
else
very clear, because if you do not, I’ll cut out your tongue and use it to stir my drink!”

Gray threw back his head in rich peals of hearty laughter—

“Why didn’t you tell me you’re in the Royal Navy?!”

—and abruptly froze.

“I asked you a question,” she said coldly, displaying a dagger that appeared in her hand as though by divine magic.

“How did you—”

Her hand lashed out, ripping apart the lacings at his throat and tearing the shirt down and apart with one angry jerk of her hand. There, proudly tattooed into the bronzed flesh of one shoulder, was the unmistakable anchor insignia of the Royal Navy, and beneath it, the name of his ship.

“You lied to me,” she hissed with savage menace. “You told me your ship was
Triumphant.

I knew there was no such vessel in
my
waters! Your ship is
Triton,
the flagship of Admiral Falconer, the commander in chief of the West Indies Fleet!”

Gray’s heart missed a beat and, casually, he pulled the torn shirt up to cover the damning evidence. She must have discovered the tattoo while he’d lain senseless in her clutches. “So I was in the navy once,” he said offhandedly, leaning his weight on one hip and crossing his arms over his chest. “What of it? Most pirates
have
been, at one time or another.”

“And what are you up to now, eh? Admiral Falconer’s ship has only been in these seas for

two years! Which means
your
departure from the navy must’ve been a damned
recent
one!”

“What, is the navy after your hide, Majesty?”

“I’m
asking the questions here,” she snapped, thrusting the knife under his chin and holding it against his throat.
“And I want to know why you left the Royal Navy!”

“What makes you think I’ve left it?”

She shoved herself away from him. “Look at you!” she cried, pointing to his pirate clothes, his earring, the eye patch around his neck.

“Well, I was . . . He paused; he could not trust her with the truth, of course, could not disclose anything for fear of what she could do with the information. Oh, he was in dangerous waters, indeed. “I was—”

“You were
what?
’’

“I was on leave,” he finished, lamely.

She stared at him; he saw the corner of her mouth trembling, jerking, then splitting apart in a wide, raucous howl of pure laughter the likes of which old Morgan himself could never have matched for gusto and glee. “Liar!” she cried, flinging her hair over her shoulder. “Do you think to bluff me into letting you go? Ha! You’re a pirate, nothing more, nothing less. You can’t fool
me
with such a sorry claim as that!
”

“I do not bluff.”

“And I do not release my captives unless I have a damned good reason to do so, especially a deserter who might be worth something to me. That’s what you are, aren’t you? A
deserter!
Vile, dishonorable
snake.
I'm sure Admiral Falconer would pay dearly to have you back, and believe you me, I won’t think twice of collecting the highest price he’ll pay for you if only to see you swing from his flagship’s yardarm!”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

He was rewarded with the smile of a barracuda. “Oh, I just might!”

Gray, desperate, raked a hand through his hair. “Very well then, belay that. You want the truth, I’ll ram it down your pretty throat! Yes, I jumped ship, and if the navy finds me here, my life is
ruined.
“

Humor flickered in her eyes. She studied him, trying to fathom a lie. Then she raised the knife, proceeded to trim a broken fingernail, and looking up, gestured with the savage little weapon for him to continue.

“You spin a fine tale, pirate. Too bad I don’t believe you for one moment. Explain to me

why someone like you even
went
into the navy.”

“You have the Sight,” he shot back. “You tell me.”

She swung the dagger toward his throat. “I’m warning you, pirate!”

Holding her gaze, Gray reached up, grabbed her wrist, and held the knife away from his

neck. “I entered the navy because of a
lady,
” he said acidly.

“Of course.”

“Aye”—he grinned—”of
course.”

“And?” she demanded, jerking her arm free.

He shrugged, smiling faintly at the distant memory. “Like all youths, I had a natural

curiosity about the female anatomy . . . in this case, the curiosity extended to Lord Rathfield’s daughter, who, I’m afraid, was as curious about my person as I was about hers. During one of our, er,
voyages of exploration
we fell afoul of her father, who took the matter to mine, and, well, here I am!”

She ignored the blitheness of his tone, the smile playing about his lips. “And how old were you?”

‘Twelve.” Again, that challenging, wolfish grin.

“A mere brat! Well this time your
falling afoul
of the wrong person is about to land you
back
in the navy! I may be a pirate, but I come from a decent and honorable family and I have no stomach for deserters. Nor do I have the stomach for men who insult me, force themselves upon me, and pretend to be something that doesn’t exist, a
Gallant Knight!’’
She spat the words with contempt. “Tomorrow, I take you back to Admiral Falconer and Lord Nelson!”

He threw back his head in laughter. “Lord Nelson? Lady, you have the wrong ocean. Lord

Nelson is in the Mediterranean, not the Indies.”

“Lord Nelson is on his way to the Caribbean, pirate, and in a day or two you’ll see the sails of his fleet as it approaches Barbados!”

Gray couldn’t have been more stunned if he’d been hit by a falling block in the heat of

battle. Nelson?
In the Caribbean?
He stared at her, feeling the blood draining from his face in a rush of sick dread that left his skin cold and damp and prickly.

“L-Lord Nelson?”

“Aye, Lord Nelson! Where the hell have
you
been, eh? Trysting with a
lady?
Bah, you
are
a waste of my time, of my words, of my spell!” She tossed her head, sending her glorious tumble of hair flying over one shoulder. “Nelson is indeed on his way to the Indies, and heading for Barbados as we speak.”

“What?”

“Aye, Barbados. Don’t tell me you haven’t heard? What England has been dreading since

the war began has finally happened—a giant fleet of French and Spanish warships under the command of the French Vice-Admiral Pierre Villeneuve escaped Lord Nelson’s blockade of

Toulon, and he’s chased them clear across the Atlantic and into
our
waters in hopes of bringing them to battle here. I don’t know much about naval strategy—I am, after all, a mere pirate—but from what
I've
heard, if enough of Napoleon’s squadrons manage to escape the British blockade of Europe’s ports, and rendezvous in some far-off place—in this case, here in the Caribbean— the French will be able to sail back across the ocean as a mighty force, crush the Royal Navy’s defenses of the Channel—and invade and conquer England.”

Gray was staring at her, thunderstruck and speechless.

“So you really
haven’t
heard, have you? Well, the news is quite fresh; I only learned of it myself just this morning.” She grinned and folded her arms, her eyes taking on a distant, dreamy look. “Oh, what I wouldn't give to meet Lord Nelson . . . pride of the Royal Navy, the hero upon whom Britain has pinned her hopes of salvation from that monster, Napoleon Bonaparte. Nelson, the bravest, most famous, most decorated sea-officer in the world . . . I wonder if he'd give his autograph to someone like me?”

“
What?
”

“Yes, pirate, he's on his way to Barbados, and he has the Mediterranean Fleet with him—

nine heavy ships-of-the-line, and three frigates. Oh, to meet Lord Nelson, who destroyed the French at the Nile—on the same day I ran away from home, mind you!—and smashed the Dutch

into submission at Copenhagen. When he catches up to Villeneuve, we’ll see a battle that the world will never forget.”

“Dear God,” Gray murmured. It was suddenly impossible to stand, and he leaned heavily

against the stone wall, trying to collect his thoughts. How could he not have known? The wind.

Damn it, the wind, blowing contrary as usual; that, and the pressing business he’d been attending to in Jamaica, as well.

The Pirate Queen narrowed her eyes. “What’s the matter, pirate?”

But Gray's mind was awhirl with the incredible news he had just heard.

“Damn you, I asked—”

“Nothing ails me!” he hurled back, and drove a shaky hand through his hair, even as cold