The Pirate Lord (11 page)

“Stop calling him that. It gives him importance beyond his worth.”

He grabbed her arm. “Listen to me, Miss Willis. Don’t be fooled because the cap’n is lettin’ the women make a choice. That one’s trouble. And he’s got his eye on you. That’s why you need somebody else to court you, somebody safe, to keep him from gettin’ his hooks in you.”

A strange tremor passed through her at Petey’s words. She told herself it was fear. After all, only a witless fool would be flattered by the attentions of a merciless pirate. And besides, Petey was wrong. “He doesn’t have his eye on me. Didn’t you hear what he said this afternoon before all the pirates?”

Petey scowled. “I know what he said, but I heard the men talkin’ and they’re all layin’ odds that he’ll have you in his bed before the week is out.”

She colored. “Nonsense. You have nothing to worry about. I’d die before I let that monster put his hands on me again.”

“Again?” Petey’s fingers tightened on her arm. “What did he do to you while you were in his cabin? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

Cursing her slip of tongue, she said, “Of course not.

We had some words, that’s all. But I don’t think he likes me very much, and I despise him. So you needn’t worry. He’ll never succeed in marrying me
or
seducing me.”

At least she hoped he didn’t. She wasn’t entirely sure she could resist him if he did. That thought gave her pause. “Perhaps you’re right, Petey. Perhaps I should choose you as husband.”

“It’s for the best, miss, you’ll see. But don’t you worry, one way or the other, I’ll get you out of this mess.”

“I hope so,” she whispered. “I truly hope so.”

N
ight had just fallen when Gideon emerged from his cabin and sauntered out on deck. It was a clear, balmy night, with the sky dripping diamond stars over the ship like a king’s jewel-studded cloak. He filled his lungs with the tangy salt air. He would miss this: the quiet nights aboard the
Satyr
, the creak of timbers, the slap of waves against the seasoned oak hull. Although in the future he and his men might occasionally sail to the Cape Verde Islands for supplies, they would no longer spend long weeks at sea under the brilliant sky.

He made a quick survey of the sailors on watch, then shoved his hands into his pockets and strolled the deck. A vague dissatisfaction nipped at him, destroying the pleasure he usually took in these nights at sea.

But then, he’d felt that dissatisfaction often lately.
That’s why he’d formed his drastic plan for Atlantis, why he’d decided to give up piracy.

The sea chases, the thrill of taking gold from the noblemen he detested…none of it was enough anymore, and certainly not when he knew what would happen if he continued it. Piracy always brought its followers to an early death. There was no such thing as an old pirate.

Maybe some men didn’t care about dying young, maybe some men wanted to leave this world in a blaze of excitement, but he wasn’t one of them. He intended to live a long, full life and not end it on the gallows. Or on a ship, for that matter.

He’d given enough of his life to the sea, twenty-one years in all. He’d been only twelve when his cursed father had finally drunk himself to death, leaving his only child penniless, friendless, and alone. So when, after a year of fighting off hunger and looking for work, he’d been noticed by a sea captain who’d taken pity on him and offered him a position as cabin boy, he’d jumped at the chance.

Later, when the American government had commissioned privateers to harass the English, he’d eagerly sunk all the money he’d saved into purchasing a sloop. It had seemed as good a way as any to survive. Before long, he’d done well enough to exchange the sloop for a pinnace, and the pinnace for the
Satyr
.

Throughout those years, he’d looked for only two traits in his crewmen: that they have no wives or families, so their courage would be the fiercer because they had nothing to lose; and that they hate the British as much as he did.

His careful hiring had proved advantageous, for they’d served him well. When the war had ended, and the same American officials who’d prompted them to steal from the English now expected him and his crew to throw down their arms and make peace with them, he and his men had chosen a third path—piracy.

They’d had a good run of it, to be sure. But they’d
begun to tire of a sailor’s uncertain and lonely life, and he more than any of them. To his surprise, the gold and jewels he’d stolen from his enemy didn’t satisfy him. Even tormenting the lordlings had lost its appeal. He wanted more—a real future, not just a series of voyages and captures. He wanted to build something that was his, something good and solid. He could do that on Atlantis. They could all do that on Atlantis.

He scanned the milling crowd, noting that the men who weren’t on watch were well on their way to gaining the women’s affections. Soon he’d have to call Barnaby to bring the women below and lock them in, but just now he wanted to savor this moment. He’d accomplished his goal. He’d found women for his men. And they would all soon be working together for a common good.

So why did he feel so restless, so dissatisfied, when he should be rejoicing in his success? Why did he have this nagging fear that he’d handled the acquisition of the convict women badly?

Because of that blasted Englishwoman. Sara had planted these foolish doubts in his mind. Sara, with the caramel-tinted eyes and the soft, yielding body…Sara, who could make a man lust with only a toss of her copper hair. His loins tightened, and he groaned. No woman had ever affected him quite this way before. Like any sailor, he’d had his dalliances, yet no sloe-eyed island beauty had ever sent his blood racing like this at just the thought of her.

But it didn’t matter what Sara did to his blood…or anything else, he told himself with a grimace. There was more to marriage than passion. His parents had proved that.

The last thing he wanted was to let his cock lead him to take up with some pampered daughter of an earl—even an adopted one. Her kind of woman was never satisfied with what a man could give her. Her kind of woman never gave a man a moment’s peace.

Moving to the rail, he leaned against it with his back to the sea. No, Sara Willis wasn’t for him. He’d have to look elsewhere among this crowd for a wife. With a curious distraction, he watched the dance of courtship playing itself out before him, wondering if he could indeed throw himself into it with the enthusiasm of his men. He ought to. That was what he needed—another woman, a different woman to pursue, one who more closely fitted his idea of a wife.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, then winced when his fingers touched a wadded up cloth. Sara’s cap. The one he’d taken from her. The one that had covered her glorious mass of fine, silky hair.

With an oath, he jerked it out of his pocket and tossed it into the sea. He never should have taken down her hair. He certainly shouldn’t have kissed her. His attraction to her was about as unwise as sailing directly into the wind, and kissing her had only sharpened his desire. Confound it, she was a witch to occupy his thoughts so constantly even when she wasn’t in sight!

Wasn’t in sight? He scanned the crowd uneasily. Indeed, she wasn’t in sight. Not anywhere. Where was she? At the other end of the ship? Below decks with one of his men? That brought a scowl to his face.

While he was still looking for Sara, another woman approached him, a buxom blond whose eyes skimmed his flanks like a dock official inspecting a ship. She took his hand and put it on her waist with a coy glance from heavy-lidded eyes. “Well, well, if it isn’t our good captain, the man who saved us from that wretched prison ship. You’re lookin’ for yer own woman to mate with, aren’t you? And Queenie’s just the woman for that.” Tugging his hand up to rest on one of her ample breasts, she leaned into his palm with a pouting smile. “I’ve got everythin’ a man like you could want, and more besides.”

A frown of distaste crossed his brow as he jerked his hand from her breast. “Sorry, Queenie, I’ve got other
things on my mind tonight.” It was clear what this woman had been imprisoned for, and he was in no mood to put up with such solicitations. Sara mightn’t be the woman for him, but neither was Queenie.

Unfortunately, Queenie didn’t seem to realize that. Quick as lightning, she slid her hand to cover the bulge in his breeches created by his thoughts of Sara. “Ooh, guv’nor,” she cooed, her accent thickening to a more cockney one as she rubbed him with practiced fingers, “y’re lyin’ through yer teeth. Y’re horn-mad, you are, and I know just how to soothe that sort of madness.”

He didn’t even crack a smile at what was probably an unintentional pun on his name. Instead, he shoved her hand away from his groin. “Every man on this ship is horn-mad tonight, Queenie. Go find one of them to entice. I told you, I’m not interested.”

She looked insulted. “You savin’ it for somebody else, then?” When he lifted one eyebrow, a mulish expression crossed her face. “You savin’ it for ‘milady’? ’Cause if you are, y’re wastin’ yer time. She thinks herself too good for the likes of me and you. She’ll not satisfy that burnin’ in your breeches, I warrant you that.”

The fact that she was probably right didn’t make her words sit any easier. He paused a moment to fix her with his most blistering look, the one that sent his men scurrying for cover. The blood drained from her face.

“Thank you for the warning about Miss Willis,” he said, his words dripping with sarcasm. “But I don’t take advice from whores.”

That was enough to send her flouncing off in a huff. But not enough to gain him solitude, for another woman appeared to take her place.
This could get tedious
, he thought. When he’d given the women a choice, he hadn’t thought they’d be running after him with such enthusiasm. He started to walk away, but the woman called out to him.

“Cap’n Horn, sir! I brought you your supper!” When he halted and turned toward her, she thrust a plate
loaded with food at him. “Mr. Drummond told me to bring you this.”

She wouldn’t look at him, and he suddenly realized this wasn’t a task she’d wanted to perform. He should’ve known that not all the women were of Queenie’s insolent stamp, but he was unused to having a woman do things for him, so he’d overreacted.

Relaxing, he took the plate from her. “Thanks. I must admit I’m hungry.” She seemed at a loss for words, and now that she was standing nearer, he could see the fear on her face. “What’s your name?”

“Ann Morris, sir.” Her eyes flitted from him to the other women. Clearly she wanted to be anywhere but here talking to him, and for some reason that made him determined to allay her fears.

“Morris. That’s a Welsh name, isn’t it?”

Her eyes went wide. Then she nodded. “From Carmarthenshire, sir.”

He smiled. “You needn’t keep calling me ‘sir,’ you know. I’m no better than you or any of the other women.”

“Yes, sir. I-I mean, yes.”

He speared some meat on his fork and brought it to his mouth. It was tough and tasteless as usual, but he was hungry, and it was all Silas was capable of. As Ann fidgeted and shifted her stance as if preparing to dart off, he asked, “Have you eaten?”

Her head bobbed furiously up and down, making her curls jiggle. He flashed her a smile. That seemed to ease her fears some, for she stopped fidgeting. Between bites of biscuit and stew, he looked her over. She was a little thing, with fetching eyes of a color indeterminable in the lantern light and dark, curly hair cropped short about the ears, probably by the prison authorities. If it hadn’t been for her womanly figure, he might have thought her only a child.

This was the sort of woman he ought to consider as a wife. She was pretty and personable. She probably
knew how to provide those feminine comforts he’d never had in his life. Once she got past her fear of him, she’d be a sweet and pleasing companion.

A pity the only feeling she brought out in him was paternal. He sighed. “Are you and the women comfortable? Is everything below decks to your satisfaction?”

Her face brightened, making her look even more angelic. “Oh, yes, it’s all very nice. Much nicer than on the
Chastity
.”

He sopped up some gravy with his biscuit. “If you don’t mind my asking, how did you come to be on the
Chastity
?”

A sorrowful look crossed her face. She perched her small frame on a nearby box with a sigh. “I was sent to prison for stealing.”

He suppressed his urge to laugh. “Stealing? You?” Somehow he couldn’t imagine this timid little creature stealing anything.

But she nodded. “My ma was ailin’, you see, and I needed medicines for her, but I couldn’t afford to buy them. The little blunt I got from workin’ at the millinery shop weren’t even enough to keep me and Ma fed. So one day when I was passin’ the open door to a cottage and nobody was about, I went in and…and saw a silver pot and took it.”

Her eyes clouded over. “It was dreadful wrong, I know. I just thought if I could sell it, I could buy the cures for ma.” She shook her head. “But the shopkeeper I tried to sell it to…he’d seen the pot before. He knowed then that I’d took it, and he…he gave me over to the magistrate.”

Sympathy for the poor Welsh girl swelled within him. He couldn’t keep the anger out of his voice. “And the English had you transported for that? For one silver pot?”

“Yes, sir. My ma—” Her voice broke. “My ma was so ashamed of me. She wouldn’t own me, even to the day she died, because I’d ended in the gaol. And she
was right. It was wrong what I done. It was very wrong.” She turned her face away so that her profile was to him, and the lantern light flickered off her dampening cheeks.

She was crying. Poor little thing, she was crying. He laid his hand on her shoulder. “You did what you had to, Ann, and you weren’t treated fairly. You weren’t wrong. Your country was wrong. There’s something badly lacking in a country where an old woman can’t get medicine, and no one will help.”

“I think so, too.” She took a few shuddering breaths. “That’s why I don’t mind so much that you’re takin’ us off to an island. Things can be better there, if it’s done right.”

If it’s done right
. A twinge of guilt hit him. Sara didn’t think he was doing it right. Not at all. She thought he was being officious and uncaring. She thought he was taking advantage of young innocents like Ann.

Disturbed by that thought and the confusing emotions it stirred in him, he took his hand from her shoulder and stared out at the ocean. “So you don’t mind having to marry one of my men?”

She rubbed her tears away with one small fist. “Not now that Petey’s here.”

“Petey?”

He couldn’t tell for certain in the lantern light, but he thought she blushed. “Peter Hargraves. You know, the sailor you took from the
Chastity
.”

Not bothering to correct her false impression, he said, “Ah, yes.”

She scanned the deck, then pointed toward the forward house. “There he is now, with Miss Willis.”

His gaze swung instantly toward where she pointed. It was indeed the crewman from the
Chastity
, and Sara was at his side.

Gideon’s eyes narrowed. So that’s where she’d been, off talking to Hargraves. What was the man to her? And what was she plotting with him? He had no doubt she
was plotting something; Sara seemed to spend all her time thinking of ways to thwart him.

He looked down at Ann and noticed she was watching Hargraves as closely as he’d watched Sara. Gesturing toward the couple, Gideon said, “Tell me something, Ann, what do you know about Petey?”

A shy smile touched her lips. “Oh, he’s a fine man, he is. He kept watch over us on the
Chastity
.”

Gideon ate more of his meal and watched the mysterious Petey head toward the foc’sle, leaving Sara to pick her way aft. “What do you mean?”