Rogues Like It Hot

by Tamara Gill

  “Sometimes, there ain’t sech a choice and fate has other plans.”

  The cryptic comment brought a frown to her mouth. What did that mean?

  Instead of attempting to puzzle it out, she watched as the hangman, a big, hulking man, rough and uncouth compared to the pirate’s inherent charisma, moved into position and gestured to the men holding the criminal. They jockeyed him until he stood over the trapdoor.

  The pirate broke the connection with her and glanced first at his booted feet then up at the noose as the hangman lowered it over his head before fitting the loop around his neck. The shirt he wore stretched over his broad shoulders and hung open at the throat to reveal a sprinkling of wiry blond hair and tanned skin that gleamed with sweat. The rope slid beneath the loose collar to scrape his skin. A defiant smile spread over the pirate’s face.

  The larger-than-life presence of him coupled with his unexplainable allure and physical form and her tight stays had her breathing coming in shallow gasps. A rush of heat infused her cheeks. In her mind’s eye, she caught a glimpse of the music teacher in the nude. Her gaze homed in on the front of the pirate’s trousers. What would his unmentionable area look like? Would his member rival the pale one of the effeminate music master, or would it be bigger, manlier?

  She shook her head and swallowed to alleviate her dry throat. He didn’t deserve her lustful curiosity or approval. He was evil and a murderer. She wanted him dead.

  Again, her elbow was jostled.

  “‘e’s a looker, ain’t ‘e miss? Cap’n knows ‘is way around a woman’s body, true.”

  “Ain’t that a fact?” Another deeper, and no less smarmy, voice said from her other side.

  The first man gave a bark of laughter. “Not’n gets a lady more filled with desire than seein’ a real pirate. Seems they all fantasize about the masters of the seas and bein’ takin’ by ‘em jest the same.”

  “What I feel for him is not desire.” Why am I talking to either of these men? Yet warmth ebbed over her skin. Her gaze slid down the pirate’s torso, past the ragged red sash around his waist, to his tight-fitting breeches tucked into dusty boots. She frowned, as much from the flutters filling her stomach at seeing the faint outline of his manly parts as from the recognition of the excellence of his clothes. What quality fit and expensive Hessian boots for a pirate to own. Of course, he’d likely stolen them.

  She tamped her response, angry that her body betrayed her so badly. He deserved to have the clothes and boots stripped from his dead body for all the crimes he’d committed. She closed her fingers around the dagger’s hilt. Almost time.

  On the platform, the Spanish general read out what she assumed was a list of charges in his heavy, lyrical language. He paused as the British counterpart translated the charges: treachery, thievery, murder, treason, and a host of others.

  John Westerbrooke—pirate—and a captain no less. Sarah bit her lip. An alias no doubt. She narrowed her eyes. Titled or not, he’d swing the same as any man. Once he was finally dead, she could begin to put the pieces of her life back together, such as they were. Perhaps she’d sail to a far-flung country. That thought garnered another snort. And do what? I’ve never been anywhere outside America, never had an adventure of my own. She shook her head. It didn’t matter. Even if she did manage to travel, she had no survival skills. Hadn’t her father told her time and again she needed someone to look after her? Her stomach pitched. While her future would be bleak, there’d be small comfort in the fact the pirate wouldn’t have one.

  As the list of charges concluded, the British general asked, “Do you agree with these accusations?”

  One of the pirate’s full eyebrows inched toward his hairline. “I disagree inasmuch as I had no choice with the bulk of them, but on a gentleman’s grounds, I would say yes, I am guilty.”

  A collective gasp rose from the crowd.

  A strained smile lifted the pirate’s lip. “However, these crimes do not fall squarely on my shoulders as a pirate never acts alone.”

  Several nods and verbal affirmations circulated through the gathering.

  The hangman touched the pirate’s shoulder. “Captain Westerbrooke, would you like the courtesy of a hood?”

  The pirate glared at each man on the platform. “I refuse to assuage your consciences. If you wish to put me to death by hanging, then you can watch the proceedings in all their gruesome color and detail. May God have mercy on your souls.”

  Sarah gasped at his daring. Put in the same position, wouldn’t she feel the same way? There was always a chance—however slim—the man wasn’t guilty. If that were true, then why was he here, since he’d all but admitted to some of the charges? There must be too much truth that balanced the lies, yet she hated the tiny niggle of compassion she felt. I cannot forget he murdered my father. Ruthlessly ignoring everything except the bite of the metal in her palm, she concentrated on the activity around the pirate.

  The hangman took a position near the lever that would release the trapdoor. The crowd strained forward, once again hushed. The other men on the gallows resumed their previous military posture; their gazes focused on the pirate. The olive-skinned priest opened his Bible and began to recite the Twenty-third Psalm in accented English. “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want…”

  Now!

  Her heart lodged in her throat, Sarah raised her hand, and with a quick flick of her wrist, she let the dagger fly. The morning sun glinted off the blade as it arced sure and steady toward the platform. Any second now I’ll have my vengeance fulfilled. The priest chose that moment to move in front of Captain Westerbrooke. While he made the mark of the cross over the pirate, her blade embedded deep into the priest’s back. He staggered. The Bible tumbled to the wood as he fell to his knees.

  Dear heavens, this wasn’t supposed to happen.

  Pandemonium erupted, robbing her of the ability to think. Their sabers drawn, the men on the platform plunged down the wooden stairs. With nowhere to hide and no open path to flee through, she attempted to shrink within the confines of her cloak. Her heart slammed against her ribcage. I killed the wrong man.

  “Well, if that don’t beat all.” The man on her right clamped a thick hand around her upper arm. “Yer as guilty as us now, and jest the bird to match the cap’n in spirit.”

  “I’m not…” Horror filled Sarah’s chest. She’d mortally wounded—most likely killed—a man of the cloth with the blade meant for the pirate’s black heart. Wouldn’t God know the truth of her intentions, or did it matter? “I’m nothing like you.”

  While Sarah struggled in the man’s grip, a lightning flash and a pop reminiscent of a cork pulled from a bottle echoed from the platform. A heavy cloud of gray smoke surrounded the pirate. The cloud stunk of sulphur. It expanded to completely cover the gallows and obscure the pirate as well as the hangman from view. Her eyes watered. The second man grabbed her other arm, and though she attempted to wrench from his grasp, his fingers tightened like an iron ring. Her burly escorts rushed her through the crowd toward the main entry.

  This cannot be happening. It wasn’t supposed to go this way!

  Finally, she looked directly at her captors and her heart sank. They wore the same style of clothing as Captain Westerbrooke, and though his were much better quality, the garments all but proclaimed them as much pirate as he. Hadn’t they’d already said as much? Why hadn’t she been more aware when they’d first arrived? Why had she let her thirst for revenge consume so much of her attention? “Unhand me this instant or I will summon the guards.”

  “I wager you won’t, miss, seein’ as how you jest murdered a priest in cold blood.”

  Fear shot into her stomach. His statement was true and only confirmed her worst assumption. Her plan had gone horribly awry. Shouts from the soldiers roared through the courtyard. A ragged cheer went up from the crowd then people moved in different directions, fleeing for the exits. Sarah twisted her head and glanced at the platform. The hangman lay on the wood near the fallen priest’s bo
dy. Had the pirate felled the hangman? For that matter, where was the criminal? No matter how long she gazed at the gallows, she saw no sign of him. The captain had vanished.

  Sarah stumbled. Where had he gone, and how had he escaped? “Wait. I cannot maintain such a fast clip.” She wrenched her arm from one of the men’s grasps.

  The burly one she’d first encountered grunted and turned toward her while still in motion. “I’ve handled worse ‘n you.” He wrapped a steel-like arm around her waist and lifted her off her feet, carrying her tucked close to his side as if she were a bag of grain.

  “How dare you! Put me down this instant. I refuse to be handled like this!”

  The man merely chuckled. “This be the least of the indignities ye’ll suffer this day, I’m thinkin’.”

  Her body trembled when it became evident she couldn’t free herself. As her options for escape dwindled, the big man jogged through the front gate, unmolested by soldiers or bystanders. Immediately, the loud din diminished. The sweet scents from lemon trees and the sharper more pungent aroma of horse manure assailed her abused nose.

  She tried to pry his fingers from her person. “Let me down. I can make my way home from here.” What she’d do from that point forward, she had no idea. I am a criminal now…

  “Sorry, miss. That’s not for us to decide. ‘Sides, Cap’n will reward us good fer ye. Ye’ll make the voyage interestin’ for ‘im.”

  “Interesting?” What exactly did he hint at? Sarah’s mind raced. Of all the tales she’d heard of pirates, the ones she thought often of were the stories of women succumbing to the sexual dictates of such men. Would the pirate expect her to offer her body to him, or would he take what he wanted if she didn’t? Despite the situation, a shiver raced down her spine. I refuse to consider it—any of it.

  She renewed her quest for freedom by clawing at her captor’s arm. “I’m not leaving. Do you understand me?” She lifted her head as best she could. Her hair tumbled from its pins to hang in brown tangles over her shoulders. The hood of her cloak bunched at her neck. There, on the street, waited a carriage complete with a two-horse team and a driver on the box wearing the livery of the Spanish mayor. Hope rose in her chest. Perhaps if she explained to the authorities, they would grant her leniency. She’d done her best to help the poor in the community. Surely the military would grant her pardon. I tried to ensure the pirate’s death, after all. Wouldn’t that common goal gain her sympathy?

  The men, for now there were several as more had sprung from the alleyways, headed directly to the carriage. Her mind screamed a warning. Why would the pirates run toward the authorities? Someone within threw open the door and she trembled with foreboding. Were they in league together?

  Since the rising sun backlit the carriage, she couldn’t determine who sat inside. A knot formed in her stomach as her hope died. It didn’t matter. She’d plead with whoever it was. Her captor, without a word, shoved her into the conveyance in a flurry of skirts and cloak. She lay at an awkward angle over what felt like a pair of knees with her head nearly touching the floorboards. The door slammed shut. Seconds went by, marked by the frantic beating of her heart while she attempted to get her bearings. When the carriage lurched into motion, her nose banged against a dusty boot and completely destroyed her concentration.

  “I had expected they’d ply me with food or drink, but a bit of muslin is a much more preferable offering. It’s been an age since I made merry with a warm pussy.”

  The knot in the pit of her stomach grew. She recognized that voice. Surely it couldn’t be… Sarah struggled to right herself but slid to the carriage floor, firmly ensconced between a pair of strong, male knees. Her pulse tripped through her veins in record time, and as she lifted her gaze, panic spread into her limbs. The cultured, British voice did belong to the pirate. Her eyes confirmed what her mind had suspected while the tremor in her lower belly reacted to his titillating baritone. “You stole this carriage.” As if that were the biggest crime of the moment.

  “Not quite, but thank you for thinking so highly of my skills.”

  She didn’t want to be trapped in the carriage with him, not when his proximity threatened her peace of mind. “Where is the mayor?” The drawn curtains at the window prohibited her from seeing out.

  “How should I know? I am not his public secretary.”

  “You’ll let me go this instant.” She pushed at his legs. Without a dagger, she wasn’t armed and therefore couldn’t complete her mission given this ripe opportunity. Could she strangle him with her bare hands?

  “I think not.” A trace of humor threaded through his response. “There are questions to be asked and all sort of ethics involved, you see.”

  His speech shocked her enough that she forgot to hunt for escape—or his murder. “Ethics and piracy don’t belong in the same sentence.” She rejected the urge to spit in his face. After all, she did have manners.

  “Such spirit. I appreciate that.” He planted one hand on her shoulder, applying pressure that kept her on the floor while he gripped her chin with his other hand, forcing her to stare into his face.

  As an act of defiance, she screwed her eyes shut. I won’t give him the satisfaction.

  The pirate chuckled. “Oh, you’ll be trouble.” He tightened his hold on her chin. “Look at me, damn it, or I’ll ravish you right here. I swear it.”

  She gasped and opened her eyes. “You wouldn’t.” Despite the horror of that threat, tiny streams of excitement infiltrated her being. What would it feel like to inflame a man’s interest for nothing more than being a woman?

  Perhaps the thirst for revenge all this time had addled her mind.

  “I might.” His leer was barely discernible in the dim light. “Besides, what sort of man would I be if I did not kiss my rescuer in gratitude?”

  “Rescuer?” Sarah had no time to think or react before his lips met hers. She’d only been kissed by her late fiancé. Even then it had been chaste and modest, regardless of what she’d wanted, no matter how often she’d hinted she’d like to emulate that long ago kiss she’d witnessed at the boarding school. This embrace held no similarity to either. This kiss demanded her immediate surrender and compliance, and she had the feeling that if she didn’t give it, he’d take what he wanted regardless.

  Though curiosity ran rampant through her blood, she screwed her anger and fear to the sticking point and clamped her lips tightly together. At all costs, she would not allow the pirate access. He probed the seam of her mouth with his warm tongue and her resolve shook, ready to buckle from sheer need. She’d been alone for so long. What harm could it do to indulge in an embrace? Despite the mad quake of her stomach and the wonderful tingling in her breasts, she denied him. He was a murderous pirate. She wrenched away, breathless from her endeavors. When he didn’t move, she dragged her shaking body onto the crushed velvet-cushioned bench across from him.

  “I would caution you not to do that again, sir.” She scrubbed at her mouth with the back of one hand in a desperate attempt to rid herself of his taste. Faint traces of rum and sweat lingered on her tongue and fascinated more than they repulsed.

  This was the man who’d killer her father and her fiancé. Yet…in a morbid way, she craved another chance, another kiss for the simple reason that she wanted to experience his mastery again. She shook her head to clear her thoughts. What sort of woman was she wishing to taste him?

  Dear Lord, please help me be strong—to resist temptation until I can escape.

  To her mortification, the pirate leaned against the carriage wall, threw back his head and laughed. It was a hearty sound that boomed through the interior of the vehicle and played havoc with her insides. “Or what, you’ll try and stab me? If I recall correctly, you left your dagger in the unfortunate priest’s back.” His mirth dissolved into a chuckle. “How honored I am to share this carriage with a murderess.”

  “No.” Embarrassed heat suffused her face. “That was an accident. Had he not wanted to bless your rotten hide, that b
lade would have found its mark in your heart.” Under no circumstances would she let him manipulate her.

  A shadow of surprise flitted over his features. “Why would you want to kill me, especially when I already had the hangman’s noose about my neck? I have never seen you before in all my life, for if I had, I’d definitely remember one such as you.”

  She clasped her hands together in her lap even as flutters brushed her insides. Pirates should not be charming. With her face turned to the heavily-curtained window, she said, “My father died at your order. I can neither forgive that nor forget it.” Soon they would near the Mission of Nombre de Dios—should they follow the main road—the place where she’d passed so many hours reading to the children and quietly counseling the downtrodden. If she could somehow manage to open the carriage door and fling herself out, she could run to the Mission, perhaps hide in the Our Lady of La Leche shrine. Of course, hiding wouldn’t solve the problem that she was now as wanted as he.

  The pirate snorted. “Give me your name, so that I might have an idea of who your father was.”

  Sarah focused on him once more, this time giving him her best glare. “Sarah Covington, of the New York Covingtons. I am here in St. Augustine, the last port where my father was seen alive, in the company of a pirate—you.” She scoffed. Let him puzzle it out in his memory—if he could even recall one murder out of hundreds.

  “I beg pardon, but I have no recollection. Are you quite sure you have the correct pirate? There are a fair number of us.” With slow, easy movements, he laid an ankle on a knee and stared at her with a mixture of curiosity and low-grade annoyance, as if she wasted his time.

  More anger and hatred bubbled to the surface, overpowering anything else she might have felt for him. “Of course I’m certain.” She cocked her head to study him. A strong, almost Roman nose commanded attention in his lean face. Blond stubble clung to a sharp jaw, while his hair waved in a haphazard fashion to his shoulders. The lips she’d spied earlier curled in a cross between a smile and a sneer. “Witnesses assured me it was you.” Her gaze caressed the curve of his lips. She remembered the firm, masculine texture of them as he’d pressed his mouth to hers, the heat of his tongue as he’d probed her lips.