The Noble Pirates (25 page)

I slipped from the bed and crept lightly to where Howel lay on his side, his back to me, the blanket tossed across his legs, a pillow tucked beneath his head. As I slowly sank down to lie beside him, I watched his body move with his breathing, and for a moment believed him to be asleep. I gently rested my hand on his arm and tried to peer into his face.

Then he turned, rolling on his back to look at me, his face washed in silver by the moonlight. He was wide awake, returning my gaze intently. I felt giddy with nerves, but determined nonetheless. I leaned forward to kiss him, but suddenly found myself flipped on my back, Howel over me, smiling boyishly. “Aha,” he said softly. “You think you can ambush a pirate?” Before I had a chance to answer, his lips were on mine. Finally.
Finally.
How long had I waited for this moment? How many times had I fantasized about it, sleeping on hard decks of rocking ships amidst terrifying men? Soft kisses became urgent, purposeful. I ran my fingers through his hair as he slid his lips down my throat, his hands working their way up my shift…

He raised his head abruptly, his hands on my thighs, a puzzled look on his face. He lifted the hem of my shift to look at my legs. “Sabrina, what have you done to yourself?”

I squirmed under his disapproving gaze, moving my legs together self-consciously. “I shaved my legs,” I said defensively.

“With what?” he asked. “A cutlass?”

“No,” I snapped. “I used a straight razor. I’m just not used to… In 2011, the razors are so much more… user-friendly.”

He chuckled. “Why did you shave the hair from your legs, for God’s sake?”

I shrugged, embarrassed. “In 2011… men find leg hair on women to be… unattractive.”

He raised his eyebrows, amused. “Is that how it be? How peculiar.”

I giggled. “They actually prefer their women to be hairless – except for their heads.”

“How now?” Howel laughed. “Even
there
?” He swept the area of my crotch with his hand, over my shift. Oh, my God. I felt dizzy with desire for him.

“Some men, yes,” I said weakly.

“Hmm,” he said, returning to caressing my neck with his mouth, one hand on my thigh, the other pressing me to him. “Seems like… the men of 2011 prefer babes in their beds… not real women… I, for one, like hair on me women… Don’t cut your legs like that, Sabrina…”

Yessir, I thought, my mind in a fog of happiness.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

  My eyes fluttered open, and I watched, my vision still hazy with sleep, as a naked Howel Davis picked up his clothes from the floor, his hair in tangles about his face. God, but he was well-made. So many men I’d known in my time who went to the gym every day, relentlessly, yet never achieved a body like his. Something to be said for spending most your life as a sailor – and a pirate – in the days when life aboard a ship was difficult, dangerous.

  In spite of his chiseled form, it would have taken a bit of cosmetic tweaking to make him the twenty-first century ideal: He was hairy, with plenty of thick dark hair on his legs and chest, as well as in between; he had a serious farmer’s tan, as his forearms, neck and face were burnt brown while the rest of his skin was several shades lighter; it had been a while since his last real bath, and his scent was a rich stew of sweat and environment (luckily, I liked his personal odor enough that it didn’t bother me – quite on the contrary, it drove me crazy). Not that I was one to talk – despite my compulsive scrubbing, I too was constantly sweating and immersed in a swirl of seawater and filth. The smells of the eighteenth century became intrinsic to everyday life, something I simply didn’t notice anymore (unless they were particularly offensive).

I thought back in amusement on how much preparation had gone into seducing Jake, all the bikini waxes, face masks, eyebrow-plucking, blow-drying, toenail-painting… And here I was now, a good twenty-four hours since my last sponge bath with a
semi-clean
rag, being told by a man that he preferred I not shave my legs.

Ha!

Miraculously I hadn’t been infested with lice or fleas yet. I didn’t know for sure if Howel had them, and basically tried not to think about it. Just like I tried not to wonder whether I was at risk for sexually transmitted diseases, or, for that matter, pregnancy…

I shuddered.

And despite all these horrible things, I wanted him, couldn’t stop longing for him.

As Howel began to pull his shirt on, I protested, “Noooooo,” smiling, my face half-hidden beneath the blanket.

He turned and smiled back at me. “You’re awake,” he said. He leaned over me and kissed me, and I wrapped my arms around his neck, trying to pull him down on me.

“Again,” I whispered coyly against his mouth.

He chuckled, rumbling against me. “Sabrina, I have to… We must… Official business, you know…” I was distracting him with my kisses, my nibbles, my touch. He groaned and said, “Oh, sod it! We’re newlyweds, aren’t we? The governor will understand, I’m sure…”

Afterward, as we lay together, I asked him, “Why did that take so long?”

His face was blissful, relaxed. He blinked. “Bleed me! I’ve never heard a woman complain of that before. Do women in 2011 like it to be quick?”

I let out a laugh. “No, that’s not what I meant. I meant, why did it take so long for anything to happen between us? Why were you holding out on me?”

“Ah.” He smiled, a bit wistfully. “I had me reasons.”

“Tell me. I need to know,” I insisted.

Howel became thoughtful, gazing up at the ceiling. “I’ve wanted you, Sabrina, since I first realized you was a lass, aboard the
Cadogan
. When the
Igbo
woman talked about Sabrina the Charmed Woman, I realized that you weren’t just another pretty lass to have me way with.” He hesitated. “I know you had something to do with me release from the gaol. They might’ve charged and convicted me of piracy in any case, were it not for you. And when I was released, there you were, waiting for me. You have a magic about you, Sabrina. Something that drew me in, beyond mere attraction. Then, at the Black Dog, you told me you were from the future, said you were determined to change me fate. Something in the way you said it…”

He rubbed his face and exhaled slowly. “I had already decided what me course of action was. I decided to go on the account while locked up in the hold of the
Cadogan,
and here you were, reading me thoughts, your face so open and trusting, so full of faith in me, a man who’d already decided to turn pirate. It was… too much for me.”

I listened attentively, gently stroking the hair that trailed down from his navel. “And so you left me.”

Howel looked at me gravely, capturing my wandering hand with his. “Aye. I had to do what was in me heart, and though I wanted you, magical woman from the future, you held me in too high regard. You believed in me, when I had lost all belief in meself. And when you followed me, I thought I couldn’t go through with it. I had to put you away from me, if not in the physical sense, then in me mind.”

“And now?” I laughed uneasily. “Did I just wear you down?”

He stroked my cheek with his callused sailor’s hands. “I was going to be a pirate. You were going to try and stop me. And I was tired of denying this… magic.” He smiled that familiar roguish smile of his. “This ploy… having you pose as me wife. It was to get you in me bed as much as it was to fool the Portuguese.”

I smiled broadly. “You didn’t have to go through all that trouble, you know. You could have had me that night after your first capture. I wouldn’t have resisted one bit.” Hell, if I was being completely honest with myself, he could have had me way back on the
Cadogan
, before the mutiny. I wasn’t sure how such an admission would go over with Howel’s 1719 sensibilities, though.

He lifted an eyebrow playfully. “Is that so? And are the women of 2011 all such brazen hussies?”

I rolled on top of him and smacked his arm, laughing. “Life in 2011 is really quite boring compared to all of this. And the women are no more brazen than your Meg.”

He laughed at this. “So the women of 2011 are no more brazen than a whore of 1719? Damn me! I’m living in the wrong era, apparently.”

We began to kiss again, and Howel mumbled, “Woman, you will spend me… I am useless to do anything but your bidding…”

And that was just the way I wanted it, thank you very much.

At some point in the late morning, Walter Kennedy and Thomas Anstis came looking for their captain, knocking on the door and calling for “Captain Reed.” When Howel answered the door in a state of disarray, his clothes only partially on, and a crooked smiled on his face, the two men grinned.

“‘Twas about time,” Walter grumbled, winking at me playfully. “Good day, Will… er… Madam.”

I stood, fully dressed, my hair still down. I could not look the two grinning pirates in the face for the life of me. I felt my cheeks flaming. “Good day, gentlemen.”

Walter turned his attention back to Howel. “The governor is getting a good chuckle from your… er… inability to leave your bedchamber, Cap’n.”

Howel scratched his head. “Aye, I’ll wager he is, the lecherous old scoundrel.” He looked at me slyly. “He has an eye for Sabrina.” He scooped his stockings from the floor and said, “Tell him I’m on me way…”

“Nay, Cap’n,” Walter said, smiling. “He wanted us to ask you to dine with him in the evening, but to enjoy your pretty little wife and take your leisure.” Walter’s eyes were bright with excitement. “He wants the men of the
Buck
to come ashore and enjoy the city. A real fop, he is, a real dandy!”

Howel rubbed chin. “Is that so? Then maybe we’ll tarry a while here in São Nicolau, what think you, Wife?” He looked at me and smiled.

He would hear no objections from me. If lounging about, making love to Howel Davis, and taking advantage of Governor Agostinho’s generosity were what was on the agenda, then
hell yes
, we should tarry! Tarry away.

And tarry away we did – for a few weeks, in fact. Governor Agostinho lavished Howel and his crew with everything they could want, mainly wine, women, and good food. The crew of the
Buck
was welcome into the town, and the merchants happily traded their goods for the French cargo Howel had, unbeknownst to them, plundered in the Caribbean. Perhaps a few of the savvy among them wondered at Captain Charles Reed’s true identity – he and his men were quite the band of revelers – but said nothing, for the cargo he bore was valuable to them, and they paid in gold and silver.

While Howel conducted business in Ribeira Brava, I mingled with the Portuguese noblewomen who lived, either as relatives or wives of relatives, in the governor’s villa. Or, more appropriately, I
tried
to mingle. I had absolutely nothing to say to them, and they even less to me, especially considering the language barrier. The only pretty one among them, Fabia, was clearly a queen bee, and had made her disdain for me – and interest in Howel – very clear. I must have seemed awkward in their midst, as they embroidered together and practiced their music. I often hid in our room, practicing cuts and parries with a cutlass. I may not have been able to sing a song, play a pianoforte, or paint a bouquet of flowers, but I was going to adeptly sink several feet of steel into the vitals of the next unlucky bastard who tried to kill me. If my brain was going to rot in “leisure activities,” they were, come hell or high water, going to be activities of my choosing.

My brain was not at rest, either: I spent much of my time alone thinking about the future. I remembered Ruth’s words:
You can go back … one who got here like you, he know how … he … black pirate . . .
I had yet to see an African pirate, or an African who was not a slave. All I had to do was wait and keep my eyes peeled, since he would come to me. Despite finally having the long-awaited knowledge that Howel wanted me, my joy was shrouded in a mist of anxiety. Eleven months from the moment he became a pirate, Howel Davis was supposed to die “like a game cock.” June of 1719, and it was now February. It was as though an hourglass followed me, the sand trickling steadily, ominously through the narrow glass tunnel. I knew I would die trying to keep Howel from meeting the fate
Rovers of the Sea
had described.

There was another issue nagging me, chipping away at my happiness – what would I do if the opportunity to return to 2011 arose before Howel’s predicted death? Deep down inside, I knew I had already decided I would stay. The best-case scenario would be if I could get Howel to come back to the future with me, but I had a feeling trying to convince him of this course of action would be a lost cause. I didn’t know what sort of catastrophic events I would wreak on the future by bringing a pirate back with me, but that was a chance I was willing to take.

I wanted to go back to my time, there was no doubt. I could not see myself dying in the eighteenth century. I had to see Sophie and Jake again.

But I could not leave Howel Davis.

I rued the day when my biggest decision was whether to go to the office on a Saturday or attend Sophie’s soccer game instead. Had I really chosen mind-numbing, thankless work to the happy smiles of my child?