My Seaswept Heart (3 page)

As it was Israel convinced Anne that Captain
James MacQuaid was more fallen angel than devil, and she’d believed
him... until now.

The captain leaned forward till she could
smell his musky scent. “’Tis your time you’re wasting.”

“It’s mine to waste.”

“Aye, but mine is not.” He lifted his tankard
in dismissal, seeming surprised to find her still standing on the
opposite side of the table when he lowered it. “Be gone with ye
now, wench. I’m sorry for your troubles but they’re not mine.”

“But if you’d only listen.” Hope gave way to
despair. “He came to our island and stole and killed.” Anne
swallowed, unable to say what else he’d done. “He took my cousin
and he swore he’d be back. He swore it on my uncle’s blood.” Anne
realized her voice had risen and several of the tavern’s
disreputable patrons were watching her. She forced herself to calm
down.

He stared at her a moment and again she
thought, hoped, she saw a flicker of sympathy. When he spoke his
voice was firm. “I suggest you leave your island.”

“We cannot. Our homes are there. And Libertia
means everything to my uncle.”

“Then ’tis a matter of taking your chances
with the Frenchman.”

Finding no satisfaction in the captain’s
words, Anne turned to the blackamoor, then the man called Deacon.
Neither met her eye. The captain was bolder, but his expression was
one of annoyance. A more feeble-hearted female might have
retreated, but Anne had been through too much, feared too much, for
such tactics.

“If you would only listen to me—”

“I’ve heard enough.”

“You’ve heard nothing!” Anne’s nostrils
flared in anger. “I’d thought you might care a bit because of what
you named your ship,” she said in disgust.

“The
Lost Cause
?” His brow arched.
“’Tis a name meant to remind me of that basest of all human
frailties. ’Tis not that I champion lost causes. I loathe them, and
the fools who perpetuate them.”

There was nothing to do but leave. Anne
turned on her heel, but his voice stopped her before she could take
a step.

“Mistress Cornwall.” His grin was sly when
she faced him. “Perhaps we shall meet again, and I can show you
there is more than one way for a captain to be good.”

His laughter followed her as she made her way
through the loud throng of drunken sailors. Even smelling as foul
as it did, the outside air was a relief after the smoke-filled
inside. Anne took a deep breath, gasping when someone grabbed at
her.

“Israel, my heavens, you gave me a fright.”
Anne clasped her fingers to the base of her throat, annoyed to see
that her hand shook.

“No more than you gave me. Do ye know how
long you were in there?”

“Not exactly.” Anne took Israel’s arm, and
pulled him away from the tavern door.”

“I was just about to come in after ye.”

“It would have done no good.”

“Ye found him then.”

“I did.”

“And, will he go after d’Porteau?”

“Not at the present, no.” Anne brushed aside
a wisp of brown hair the trade winds blew into her face. “He wasn’t
very willing to listen.”

Israel settled onto an overturned barrel.
“Well, I suppose that be it then.”

“What? Oh, I’m not ready to give up on him
yet.”

“But ye said.” Israel paused and shook his
head. “Ye don’t know Captain MacQuaid. He’s a stubborn one. If he
won’t listen—”

“Then he’ll simply have to see for himself.”
Anne rushed on before her friend could argue. “He’ll like my uncle,
I’m sure of it. And once he sees Libertia himself, understands what
Uncle Richard is trying to do... Don’t you see, it’s the only
way.”

“I ain’t sayin’ he wouldn’t be impressed. But
if he don’t want to go, there ain’t no way we can force him. It
ain’t as if ye can kidnap him.”

Anne slowly lifted her head. “But, Israel,
that’s exactly what we’re going to do.”

~ ~ ~

“He’s the devil’s curse.”

“That he is, Deacon. That he is.” Jamie
called out to the barmaid to refill his tankard.

“The girl doesn’t stand a chance against
him.”

Jamie scowled at his chief gunner. The black
man didn’t appear intimidated. “She is not our problem, Keena.” He
leaned back against the wall. “Besides, she’s a comely enough lass.
The Frenchman likes beautiful women.”

“She will lose her beauty quickly.”

“Hell and damnation, Keena, what ’twould you
have me do? If her island is in danger, she damn well better get
off the island.” Jamie folded his arms across an impressive chest.
“What was the likes of her doing here anyway?”

“Appeared to me she was asking for help,”
Keena said and earned himself another dark scowl from his
captain.

“Let her set sail for England or somewhere.
She’s too much the lady for these parts.” A smile played around his
mouth. “Though she has a sharp enough tongue, I wouldn’t be
surprised if it cut the Frenchman to ribbons if they ever cross
paths again.”

Keena didn’t seem to appreciate his joke and
Deacon sat sober as you please, so Jamie was forced to laugh at the
witticism alone. That is until Polly appeared with a tray full of
ale and bodice that barely contained her straining breasts. She
deposited the tankards on the table, making certain to give each
man his just view, then settled with a squirm onto Jamie’s lap.

“Now, Polly, ’tisn’t nice to be tempting the
Deacon so,” Jamie said with a laugh.

“I only give him a peek at what he’s
missin’,” she cooed into his ear. “But ye know, don’t ye, Jamie?”
Her work-rough hand slipped between their bodies and busily stroked
the front of the captain’s breeches.

“Aye.” Jamie sucked in his breath. “Now,
Polly, all I was wanting was a bit of brew.”

“Don’t be foolin’ with me, Jamie MacQuaid. Ye
think I can’t feel you all swollen up and stiff as a mainmast?”

“And whose wouldn’t be, with the most
experienced hands on the island working their wonders.” Jamie
wrapped his fingers about her wrist, bringing those wonders to a
stop.

“I can do better with my mouth, Jamie,” she
breathed, rubbing her breasts against his hair-roughened chest. The
billowy bodice lost its hold on her flesh and one large, brown
nipple popped out. Polly glanced down, then wet her narrow lips
with her equally narrow tongue. “As you well know.”

“That I do, Polly. That I do.” He gave her
rump a squeeze as he lifted her off his lap. “Be a good lass,
though, and run along for now.”

Polly turned back toward Jamie, not bothering
to cover herself. “I’ll be ’round later, Jamie.” She brushed her
breast against Deacon as she strutted away.

“Spawn of the devil,” Deacon said, his good
eye staring straight ahead.

“She’s not so bad,” Jamie said, though at the
moment he shared his quartermaster’s distaste for the barmaid.
There was no denying the woman, despite her expertise in the French
way of making love was coarse and dirty. But then he’d never
thought too much about it till now. Till he compared her with the
woman who’d come into the Shark’s Tooth looking for him.

And he wasn’t about to tell Polly or anyone
else that the ache in his breeches was ignited not by the
experienced barmaid, but by thoughts of that slim, sharp-tongued
wench.

He was drinking too much. Familiar as he was
with the gradual blurring of his senses—and the dull ache in his
head—Jamie couldn’t think of a good reason to stop. Keena was
matching him tankard for tankard, but the damn African seemed as
sober as when they entered the tavern.

“I’ve the blood of kings running through my
veins,” he said once when Jamie questioned him about his capacity
for drink. As if that somehow accounted for his sobriety. Jamie
snorted now, remembering the conversation. Keena certainly didn’t
resemble a king when the
Lost Cause
picked him up off the
coast of Trinidad. He looked starved and bloody and nearly
drowned.

“It’s time we leave this den of
iniquity.”

Jamie peered at Deacon through red-rimmed
eyes. “What’s the hurry? The problem is you need something to
drink.” Jamie slid his own tankard across the table, spilling much
of the contents in the process. Not surprisingly Deacon pushed the
pewter mug back.

“Deacon is right, Captain. We should return
to the ship.”

“Who in the hell was in charge here?” Jamie
stared from one to the other. In the part of his mind that still
functioned, he knew his companions were right. But he didn’t feel
like leaving. Something had sabotaged the high mood he was in when
he entered the harbor at New Providence, his vessel’s hold full to
overflowing with riches. “More like someone,” he mumbled, only to
shake his head when Keena questioned what he said.

“You two go on with ye. I’ll be staying a bit
longer.”

“Captain, I don’t think—”

“And ye don’t have to now, do ye?” Jamie
spotted Polly across the crowded room. “I’ve a certain lady I can’t
go disappointing.” Jamie slapped his palms onto the tabletop. “But
you both be off. I don’t think even Mistress Polly will be wanting
to service all three of us tonight.”

He’d argued for them to leave, but as soon as
his men were gone, Jamie wished he hadn’t. Contrary to what he told
them he had no interest in visiting Polly’s smelly room
upstairs.

He had no interest in doing much of
anything.

“ ’Tis the drink,” he murmured, then glanced
up, thankful no one was near enough to hear him talking to himself.
Not that anyone would say anything. He evoked enough fear, even
among the scurvy lot inside the Shark’s Tooth to ensure his
privacy.

Damn his blood, he didn’t want privacy. Jamie
stumbled to his feet. He didn’t want to think, and he didn’t want
to wrestle Polly between the sheets. Pushing aside anyone who
crossed his path, Jamie made his way to the door.

The night air was soft, a caress after the
hours of languishing inside. Jamie took a deep breath, and pushed
his fingers back through his tangle of hair. He wasn’t sober, but
he wasn’t as drunk as he’d earlier thought, either. Certainly not
drunk enough to block out memories.

“Hell and damnation.” Jamie took an unsteady
step toward the pier, then another. Something had stirred a flood
of recollections in him... and he knew exactly what, or who it
was.

Mistress Anne Cornwall.

With her delicate features and brassy
tongue.

There was a time he would have leaped at the
opportunity to assist a gentlewoman. But that was before, when
he
was a gentleman. When his conscience burned with the
passion of righteousness.

When he was a fool.

That was what his father called him. His last
words to him. “Lost causes are for fools.”

Jamie had thought of those prophetic words
often while he sat in the squalor of his cell, awaiting the
hangman’s noose. Knowing his father would lift not a finger to help
him.

God, he could shut his eyes and be back there
again. The stench. The damp cold. The fear.

Jamie took a deep breath, leaning his back
against a palm tree. He needed to remember who he was. Where he
was. This was New Providence and he was free. And if the hangman
ever caught him it would be to pay for sins well earned.

“Where are your friends?”

Jamie jerked his head around at the sound of
the voice, as soft and gentle as the breeze off the bay. “Well now,
if it isn’t Mistress Cornwall.” He peered into the shadows to see
if she was alone. “What are you about this night? Hoping to solicit
help for your cause?”

“I’ve given up on that... for tonight.” Anne
took a step closer. He was taller than she imagined when she saw
him sitting. Over a head taller than she even while leaning against
the tree.

“Oh?” Jamie lifted a brow. “So why are you
here?”

Anne moved again till she was close enough to
touch him if she chose, to smell him. “I wished to... to... She
didn’t know how to say it but she hoped he could read her wishes in
her movements.

He did nothing. Though she could barely make
out his features in the dim light, Anne imagined his expression was
one of amusement. Seduction was not an art she practiced.
Straightening her shoulders Anne decided to force herself to
attempt some of the things she’d seen in the tavern.

But before she could his arms wrapped around
her and she was yanked against his hard, hot body. She didn’t
expect anything so overpowering, so consuming, and without
considering her plan she opened her mouth to scream. That’s when
his head lowered and he caught her in a devouring kiss.

His tongue invaded her mouth and she tasted
ale and something else, darker and more erotic than anything she’d
ever known before. He was a pirate, crude and coarse, and she
should have been repulsed by his touch, by his taste. Yet even as
Anne pushed against the hot skin of his chest, trying to separate
them, part of her wondered at the way he made her feel. The tingle
in her toes. The weakness of her knees.

“No, please.” Anne angled her mouth away from
his and tried to ignore the lips that now blazed a trail down the
side of her neck. “Please stop. Stop!” Her tone held unmistakable
panic.

Her words seemed to penetrate and he paused.
Anne could feel the ragged gusts of his breath along the length of
her jaw. Unbidden came the vision of the barmaid’s breasts where
he’d kissed them, red and wet, and Anne’s own nipples, pressed
against his naked chest seemed to swell with the memory.

And then he let her go. His arms dropped to
his side and he leaned back again against the palm. “What ’tis it
you want from me, wench?”

Anne sucked in air and tried to calm her
racing heart. “The same that you want. It’s just that there’s no
privacy here.” Anne swallowed. “I have a room on Bay Street. If we
could go there...”

Anne couldn’t even finish saying what would
happen if he accompanied her there. Everything she said sounded so
false to her ears. But somehow he believed her lies. At least he
appeared to. With a bow worthy of the finest gentleman he offered
his arm.