The Pirate Captain (112 page)

She shrieked and jerked at being tapped on the shoulder. Looking up, she found Thomas standing over to her, proffering a glass.

“Drink it,” he said, with the tone of a person accustomed to being obeyed. “It’s the port you fancied so much the other night. Maybe it will allow you a little ease.”

He stretched across the table to grab the bottle and plunked it emphatically in front of her. “Here, drink the whole damned bottle, if that’s what it’s going to take.”

Sniffing loudly, she took it. Thomas hooked a chair with his foot and dragged it over to sit knee to knee. He propped his chin in his palm and looked interestedly into her face. “How much longer can we expect this to continue?”

Eyes hot knots and face throbbing, she knew she must look a wreck. She bent her head.

“I don’t know.” Her voice squeaked to a ridiculously high pitch. “I’ve been trying to stop.”

“The crew is growing fair frayed. Sooner would be better.”

A warm flush rose up her face at the realization the entire crew had perforce, been listening.

No secrets on a ship.

A pair of lake-blue eyes, sparking with mirth, came into her view as Thomas leaned forward. “No man can possibly be worth all this.”

Cate’s chin wobbled as she attempted a smile between sniffs. She made a feeble attempt to dry the side of her face, but dropped her hand at seeing how badly it shook. A quick glance told her Thomas had seen, too.

“You wouldn’t think so, would you?” she choked.

Cate sipped from the glass. Thomas frowned, an arched sandy brow bidding her to take a larger one. Relenting, she did and shuddered. The liquor burned her throat, raw from crying, and her eyes watered worse.

Sniffing hard, she dashed at the wetness on her cheek. Rummaging in his pockets, Thomas produced a large lace-edged handkerchief and watched, sympathetic yet bemused, as she blew her nose and wiped her face.

“I’m not sure if I’m more angry or hurt,” she said. “He was a monster. I’ve never seen him like that before!”

Too upset to sit, Cate rose and commenced to pace. “I’ve seen him drunk, or on some crazed tangent, but I’ve never seen him so…livid.”

“Nathan can have a bit of a temper,” Thomas conceded. “Although, it is rare. You must have really pushed him.”

“
I
pushed him,” she huffed, whirling around. “That’s just it. I don’t know what I did. For the last couple of days, he had been growing touchier and touchier, and then he just exploded.”

Thomas pressed his palms together and watched as his fingers laced in and out among themselves. “Well, give him time; it will pass.”

“No, I don’t think so. I don’t think it’s going to be that easy. We both said some horrible things that—”

“All in the heat of anger,” he said, bearing a tolerant smile.

“It was more than that.”

Cate swallowed with some effort and touched her throat. The soreness there brought back the murderous look on Nathan’s face as he had squeezed.

“He meant it. I could see it was something he had been waiting to say for a long time, as though it had been festering for…for…forever.”

“Well, no matter.” Thomas slapped his thighs and rose. “You know where everything is. I said you’d have a place here and I meant it. You’re welcome for as long as you wish.”

So caught up in her own turmoil, she had overlooked how her arrival might have appeared. “Thomas, I’m not here to—”

He broke into a self-conscious grin. “No, no, don’t worry. Never entered my mind.”

Under its golden tan, his fair skin flushed, his ears going pink. “Well, that’s a bit of a lie. It wouldn’t be Christian of me if I didn’t say that I’d love to have you—not in the Biblical sense,” he was quick to add. “Well, aye, in that way too—but you’re too wound up in Nathan, right now. Give it time; I’ll wait.”

He ended with a quiet note of confidence, one she didn’t share.

“Thomas?”

He stopped at the door and looked back over his shoulder with an expectant lift to his brows.

“In all honesty, thank you,” Cate said.

Waving an obliging hand, he left.

###

Morning broke bright, but by Thomas’ judgment, the sun was the only thing that shone on the
Griselle
. Cate looked like hell and seemed to feel worse. No small wonder. It had been a fitful night for all aboard. The woman didn’t suffer privately.

Cate sat brooding over a cup of coffee, looking at it as if she wished it was something else. He took a drink and winced. The word had been passed for Youssef to make it so as decent people might drink it. Waste of words, by all evidence. He watched from the corner of his eye—she melted under direct eye contact—as her cup rattled against the saucer at every lift; something stronger was definitely in order.

He gave her a wide berth: saying nothing, making no gesture that might oblige her to speak. The mere utterance of “Good morning” had come with a wobbling chin and flooding eyes. Anything further came with uncommon effort. And so, they sat at opposite sides of the table in silence.

The moment he heard a boat hailed, he knew who it was. Cate heard Nathan’s voice and looked up in round-eyed horror. Tears welling, she began to tremble worse.

“I don’t want to see him. I don’t want to hear him,” she said with the coldness of a henchman. Her fist curled around the nearest thing to hand, an innocent coffee pot, and she tensed, ready to fling it. Thickened by crying, her voice was a ghost of its usual melodic self. “He can rot in hell for all I care.”

The corner of Thomas’ mouth curled. “Aye, well, he would probably tell you there’s a good chance o’ that already,” he said dryly.

To give Cate ease, he took up a position at the door, shoulder against the frame and arms crossed.

Nathan’s arrival was to be expected. The surprise was the hour: two bells had just run on the forenoon watch. It was early, remarkably so.

“I give you joy o’ the morning!” Nathan reeked of over-anxiousness as he bounded up over the side. It uncommon for him to show his colors so readily.

“Joy to yourself. Too quiet on the
Morganse
, so you came here to stir things up?”

Nathan’s jaunty step slowed. By some thought process known only to Nathan, clearly he had thought Thomas would be ignorant of what had transpired. Granted, Thomas didn’t know everything, but he knew enough.

Nathan hesitated then pressed forward, though a bit more heavy of foot.

“I allowed you two desired a visit,” Nathan began. “But now I’ve come to fetch her back. I know how anxious she’ll be, what with how she worries about the crew. Veritable grandmother she is. Worry. Worry. Worry. I’ve advised she was to be old before her time, if she is to continue that-a-way, but she wouldn’t…”

As Nathan chattered, he sought to pass Thomas and go inside. Thomas shifted, easily blocking his path. Nathan ducked to the other side, only to be blocked again. They jousted for several more rounds, before Nathan stood back and gave him a narrow look.

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be? I think I hear your crew calling.”

Thomas reached inside the cabin for a small bundle atop a locker and handed it over. “Here, she said you desired these back.”

Nathan looked up blankly. “Her clothes?”

Thomas grinned. “Easy, mate, I found her others. She’s not running about naked.”

Nathan marginally credited that statement.

“What scullery maid did you steal those from? Couldn’t you get her something decent?” Thomas asked severely.

“Wasn’t time…I suppose,” Nathan said, studying the bundle. He craned his head to see over Thomas’ shoulder. “I need to speak with her.”

“Tell him to go to hell!” called Cate vehemently from somewhere within.

Thomas cocked his head inside, and then back to Nathan. “You heard the lady.”

Nathan shot an accusing look. “Someone must have said something to upset her.”

Ignoring Thomas’ skeptical snort, Nathan rose on his toes to shout, “There are things what need saying.”

“You’ve said quite enough,” she cried shakily.

“You did your fair share,” Nathan flared back. He gave Thomas a tenuous smile, “Women: an awkward lot, are they not?”

It was a question not intended to be answered; every man since Adam had pondered that one. He had known Nathan through hell and high water, seen him through his best and his worst, and this was one of the worst attempts to put on his best face that Thomas had ever witnessed. Hell must have been the morning’s condition, for Nathan looked worse than Cate. True he had shaved—

Damn! Forgot that
, Thomas thought, passing a hand along his jaw.

Nathan looked as polished up as a schoolboy, or at least as much as one might. Lord knew when that hair had last seen the benefit of a brush—fruitless venture, regardless—but attempts to smooth it had been made. The smell of orange oil was sharp in the air, rancid old stuff. Freshly shaven, coat and boots brushed, and hat dusted: aye, attempts had been made to render himself presentable.

Nathan straightened and squared his shoulders in the direction of where he thought Cate to be. “Very well, then, when might we speak?”

“I don’t know!” Cate’s voice quavered dangerously. She was on the verge of tears,
again
, a bad sign for all concerned.

Nathan’s face darkened and he charged the door. Thomas extended an arm, catching him by the throat.

Thomas leaned closer, eyeing him with cold severity. “Don’t you dare start her crying again. She’s barely over the last round. The cabin can’t bear it.”

Nathan’s hands worked at his sides with the desire to snatch Cate up and drag her back. The mood she was in, it was a sight Thomas would have given his purse to see Nathan try.

“Just allow me—” Nathan began.

“Thomas, don’t you dare!” came a seething threat from inside.

“—only for a—”

“Never!”

Cate’s virulent cry brought anyone within earshot—and a good portion of the ship it was, she having a strong set of lungs—to a halt. A deeper hush befell the decks, the hands warily circling in a wide berth.

“You can’t talk your way out of this one, Nathan.” Thomas glanced into the shadowed depths of his cabin and lowered his voice. “I tried to talk to her last night—all night. I poured enough port down her to float the
Morganse
. There’s no reasoning with her. Get her crying again, and by the devil’s horns, I’ll throw you to the sharks.”

Nathan stared into the cabin. “If I could just talk to her, make her listen.”

“Get the bloody hell away from me!” came a female shriek.

Nathan drew back as if struck at by a viper. He closed his eyes and swayed, looking fit to topple over. A strange calm befell him, and for the first time since Thomas had known him, he saw Nathan Blackthorne surrender.

“A gentleman always heeds the desires of a lady,” Thomas suggested lightly.

“Aye, well as soon as said gentleman is found we can inquire as to how he does,” Nathan said tartly.

Nathan fell quiet as he gazed into the shadows. A sadder, more dejected sight had never been seen. Haggard, drawn, dark circles under his eyes, and altogether beaten; it was a serious degeneration from when they had last met, barely a week hence.

“You look like bloody hell, man! You need a drink,” Thomas said.

Nathan’s shoulder moved disinterestedly under his coat. “I tried. It didn’t answer.”

Nathan trudged to the gangway and slumped on a step, hands dangling between his legs.

“I don’t understand. I was me usual charming self. Oh, very well,” he said at Thomas’ derisive snort. “It was a fucking nightmare. Satisfied?”

“She hasn’t stopped crying since she came up the side, except for that bit when she was throwing things. Has a bit of a temper, doesn’t she?”

“She can be a terror,” Nathan sighed, his gaze fixed the cabin door. “What did she tell you?” he asked under his breath, even though they were well out of earshot.

“Everything and nothing,” Thomas sighed. It had been a very long night. “‘Meddlesome harlot’?”

Nathan winced and frowned with the effort of recalling. “No, ’twas ‘meddlesome strumpet,’ I think.”

“She curses better than most foremast jacks,” said Thomas, duly impressed.

“Didn’t learn it from me,” Nathan said to his hands. “She came that way.”

“What the hell were you thinking? Belay that,” Thomas said with an irritated swipe. “Goddamned obvious you weren’t. She’s not Olivia, you know.”

Nathan shot him a searing look, then relented. “I know.” Heaving a long exhale, he ground his forehead into his palm. “Cate’s five times the woman Olivia ever was.”

“Then why are you treating her as if she’s half?”

Nathan twisted a grim gaze upward. “Always the friend.”

“A friend is someone who helps when you’re in trouble, and
you
, my friend, are in big trouble,” Thomas said, clapping a hand on his shoulder.

Nathan threw off his hat and buried his face in his hands. “Suffering Jesus on the cross, this isn’t going well a-tall.”

“Can’t argue with that.”

“What do I do?” Nathan asked, rubbing his face hard.

“Get her back.”

Nathan stopped to peer between his fingers. “How? You’ve always claimed to be the genius on women. What do I do?”

Making a disgusted sound, Nathan batted the air, but then assumed an essence of his familiar bravado. “’Tis for the best. Pryce can’t bear a woman on board. The crew’s grumbling…”

“Can you live knowing you let her slip away?” Thomas asked tentatively, studying his knuckles.

“I’ve lived with far more disturbing thoughts than that.” Nathan glanced sideways to see if Thomas believed him.

He didn’t.

“What if she finds someone else?” Thomas asked delicately.

Nathan wearily rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t want to even think about…” He stopped to look up. “You?”

Thomas straightened to present himself in the best light possible. “If she’ll have me.”

“Always the friend,” Nathan muttered ruefully.

“She’s too beautiful to be wasted.”

Nathan thoughtfully drew his fingers down the curve of his mustache. “And has too much to give.”