The Rogue Pirate’s Bride

by Shana Galen

  “Mr. Maine, I look to you to lead the way.” Bastien indicated a side exit with a hand, and Maine started for the door. They were halfway across the room when the pasha and his entourage stepped before them.

  “Leaving so soon, Mr. Cutlass?” The pasha’s voice was soft and silky, as was the rest of him. He wore European clothing but for the white turban on his head. His small hands were bejeweled with rings on every finger. His skin was the color of café au lait, his eyes a soft, rich brown.

  He was small and soft-spoken, but as Bastien knew well, appearances could be deceiving. The man was influential, and he had the ear of the powerful Yusef Karamanli.

  Bastien made a sweeping bow. “Ah, you have caught me, my lord. Mr. Maine and I find that we are called back to the Shadow unexpectedly.”

  The pasha gave a silken smile. “But you have not had time to eat, and we have not had the opportunity to speak. Perhaps you can send your man back and join your crew later.” There were two burly men dressed in flowing robes behind the pasha, and now they crossed their arms over their massive chests, indicating that the pasha’s wishes should be obeyed.

  “I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” Bastien said, spreading his hands apologetically. “This is a matter that requires my personal attention. You understand, my lord.”

  “Please.” The pasha shook his head slightly. “We are old friends, Sébastien. You should call me Kemal.”

  Bastien smiled. He was neither friends nor enemies with Kemal Muhammed Mustafa, and he intended to keep it that way. “I shall call on you first thing in the morning, Kemal. I can promise you I’m anxious to hear all you have to say.”

  “I think you might want to hear what I have to say tonight. After all, it concerns a friend of both of ours—a friend for whom I hear you have been searching.”

  Bastien’s pulse kicked, but he kept his expression neutral. “I see. And still, I’m afraid we will have to discuss this friend tomorrow.” But a quick glance about the room—a last search for Jourdain, their mutual friend—convinced Bastien he was already too late. Miss Russell was moving toward them and would spot him any moment.

  The pasha followed his gaze, and obviously seeing an opportunity to delay Bastien further, spread a welcoming hand toward the Russells. “Admiral and Miss Russell. Allow me to introduce you to Sébastien… Cutlass.” He glanced at Bastien with a tolerant smile as he gave the false surname. “Like you, Admiral, the captain shares a love of the sea.”

  Bastien watched as the Russells’ polite smiles turned to ice at the mention of his name. His gaze caught and held Miss Russell’s, and he was fascinated by the play of a thousand emotions over her face. He spotted anger, excitement, wariness, and finally worry. The last was punctuated by one of her slim, fair hands catching her father’s sleeve and tugging him back.

  “What the hell is the meaning of this?” the admiral sputtered. “You’re dealing with thieves and rogues now, my lord?” He turned an accusing glare on the pasha, and the man feigned astonishment. But if he was surprised the navy man and the privateer didn’t get on, Bastien would cheerfully eat his boot.

  “Captain Cutlass is an old friend of mine, Admiral. I assure you he is neither a thief nor a rogue.”

  “And I can assure you, your lordship, he is both. And to those crimes I add kidnapping and piracy.”

  Bastien had hoped to avoid this drama, but since doing so now seemed impossible, he put a hand to his heart. “Oh no, sir. You wound me. I am no pirate.”

  With a roar, the admiral lunged, but his daughter danced before him. “Sir, please! Not here.”

  Bastien could feel the gazes of all in the room on their little party, but he couldn’t take his own from Raeven Russell. Was she actually protecting him? The idea made him laugh. She was probably only saving him for her own homicidal plans.

  The admiral was about to object, but before he could speak, he doubled over into a fit of coughing. His daughter bent as well, assisting the older man who fumbled with his handkerchief. But she was not so concerned she didn’t have a moment to flash emerald daggers at him with those eyes. Bastien raised a brow, indicating he was hardly responsible for an old man’s cough.

  “Miss Russell,” the pasha began, “might I offer one of my men to assist you and your father? I think a comfortable chair and a glass of brandy might help.”

  “Yes.” She nodded as one of the pasha’s burly men came forward, but her attention was on Bastien. “I think you are right.”

  “Another time then, mademoiselle.” Bastien reached out, took her hand, bent, and kissed it. He moved out of the way just in time to avoid her up-thrust knuckles. He chuckled. “I see some things never change.”

  She gave him a contemptuous shake of her head. “No, they don’t.”

  “Good night, my lord. Admiral. Miss Russell.” He bowed to each, turned on his heel, and followed Maine out of the room. The side corridor he’d chosen was stark and cold, gloomy compared to the bright, colorful ballroom. Still, it bore the marks of the pasha’s wealth. Turkey rugs lined the marble floors, and gold sconces held stub candles whose dancing light illuminated various objets d’art. But he made it no farther than the first sconce before he heard the shush of slippers behind him.

  “Wait just one moment, sir!” a woman’s voice called after him.

  Miss Russell, of course. He turned and smiled. “Sir? I’ve moved up in your estimation, then.”

  “Hardly.” She stalked down the corridor, the light flickering off her gown. “I want a word with you.”

  He raised his brows. “Only a word? What, no dagger hidden in the folds of your dress? I was certain you were only out for my blood, ma belle.”

  In the shadowy corridor, he had difficulty seeing her face. Even as she moved closer, he could discern only that her expression was cloaked. “I will have your blood, pirate.” Her voice was as hard as the marble surrounding them. “But first I’d like my property back.”

  “Do I have something of yours?” he drawled.

  “My sword.” Her voice was ice, her mouth once again thin and tight.

  “Ah.” He drew out a cigar, stepped toward one of the candles, and lit it. “It’s a beautiful piece. Handcrafted?”

  Behind him Maine cleared his throat, and Bastien waved at him. “Go ahead, Mr. Maine. I shall see you back aboard shortly.”

  “Yes, Captain.” His boots clicked as he marched away.

  Bastien drew on the cigar and faced his cabin girl again. Her eyes were hard emeralds. “I noticed you didn’t send him to fetch my sword.”

  He blew out smoke. “Why would I intentionally arm you again? No, Miss Russell. I think we are all much safer when you are weaponless, though your eyes are shooting flaming arrows at me this moment. You have dangerous eyes.”

  She shook her head and scowled. “Do statements like that charm other ladies, pirate? They don’t charm me.”

  He shrugged, drew on his cigar again. In fact, statements like that did charm other ladies, but he didn’t imagine they would work on his cabin girl. In fact, he was glad that they didn’t. “I hadn’t expected to see you in Gibraltar. Your father’s ship isn’t usually assigned to these waters.”

  She smiled. “I see in my absence you’ve done your research.”

  “I like to know something about my enemies.”

  She glanced back over her shoulder, toward the ballroom. He supposed she would have to return to her father, and he actually found himself disappointed their conversation would end. “Are we still enemies?” he asked.

  “Oh, most assuredly.” She stepped closer, looked him directly in the eye. “I made you a promise, pirate, and I will keep it.”

  “For what it’s worth,” he said quietly, “I didn’t intend to kill Captain Bowers. It was an unfortunate incident.”

  She stiffened, and he saw her clench her gloved fists. “An unfortunate incident? Is that what you call assault and murder? I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, knowing you’re a pirate.”

  “Hmm.
Privateer. Would it make any difference if I told you Captain Bowers engaged my ship? I didn’t go after him.”

  He could see in her face she hadn’t considered that possibility. She opened her mouth, closed it again, and swallowed. “That’s not the report I was given.”

  “And who gave you the report? An impartial observer or one of the men from the Valor?”

  She notched her sharp chin up. “I have no reason to doubt the report I was given or the man who gave it me.”

  “And every reason to doubt me.” He tossed the butt of the cigar on the floor and dashed the last embers with the toe of his boot.

  “Of course! You’re a lying, thieving, murdering pirate. You have no sense of honor, of honesty. You—”

  “I see you haven’t done your research in our absence. You still know nothing about me.”

  She put her hands on her hips. “Do you have my sword?”

  He thought of the object hanging in his cabin.

  “Then that makes you a thief. Did you kill Captain Bowers?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Then that makes you a murderer. Do you attack ships on the high seas, confiscate their cargo, and sell it for your own profit? Then that makes you a pirate. Do you deny all of these accusations? That makes you a liar.”

  “How old are you, Miss Russell?”

  She blinked, seemingly taken back by the question. “Why?”

  “Because your view of the world is startlingly naïve. It would be charming in a girl of eleven or twelve, but as my sources put you closer to twenty, I think we might safely call it ignorance.”

  Her jaw dropped, and he could see her reach for her side where her sword was absent.

  He nodded at her. “You see, ma belle, better if you are unarmed.” A movement at the other end of the corridor caught his attention, and he squinted to see through the shadows.

  “But I won’t be unarmed forever, and when you’re least expecting it, I’ll be there to slit your—”

  “Shh.” He grabbed her wrist and pulled her into a shadow.

  “What are you doing? Release m—”

  He clamped a hand over her mouth, effectively silencing her. For his pains, he received an elbow jab to the abdomen and a slipper thrust down hard on his foot. But as she stiffened after the impact, he decided she received the worse part of the blow. Soft slippers were not made for warfare. He wrapped his other arm around her middle to keep her arms at her sides and bent close to her ear. “I’m not kidnapping you, mademoiselle. I need you to be silent a moment.”

  She said something against his hand, which he took as a refusal because she began to writhe and struggle against him anew. The men at the far end of the corridor were drawing closer, and he had no option but to drag her into a nearby alcove. He did so, ignoring her flailing until he had her out of sight. Using his body to anchor her, he peered around the corner.

  Bon Dieu! He hadn’t been mistaken. It was Juan Victor de los Santos. Jourdain called him El Santo, The Saint. He’d been serving with Jourdain for as long as Bastien had known the man. And where he went, Jourdain could always be found. So his information had been correct! Jourdain was in Gibraltar.

  A sharp kick to his shin reminded him he had other concerns at the moment. He ducked back into the alcove. “Be still for one moment.” She kicked him again. “Merde!” With his arms covering her mouth and holding her wrists still, he had no way to contain her feet other than to press against her. She objected immediately, twisting her face back and forth and attempting to cry for help. The effect was that he quickly became intimately acquainted with her lovely breasts. She must have bound them quite tightly to pass as a lad before.

  “Stop moving,” he growled, attempting to ignore the warmth the motion of those breasts was beginning to ignite. The last thing he wanted was to be spotted by El Santo. If Jourdain knew Bastien was searching for him, and given the lengths Jourdain had gone to conceal himself, he probably did, Bastien knew the only way to find the Barbary pirate was to follow El Santo undetected.

  He risked one last glimpse around the corner and swore again. El Santo had not gone into the ball as Bastien had anticipated. Instead, he was coming this way. In a moment, he would pass Bastien and the struggling Miss Russell. Bastien looked down at the woman, and even in the darkness he could see murder in her eyes. “Je suis désolé,” he murmured, lowering his mouth to hers.

  He kissed her passionlessly, more intent on shielding their identities from El Santo and the men with him. He wanted them to see nothing more than a couple engaged in a romantic rendezvous.

  A somewhat tumultuous rendezvous, as his cabin girl was fighting him with everything she had. She was petite, but she was feisty and strong. It took all of his concentration to keep her under control. He might have had a moment to enjoy the kiss—she still tasted of cherries—but she bit his lip, and he had to suppress a bark of pain.

  He heard the men passing, heard the remark, spoken in Arabic, about the lovers, and then their boots clicked away. He drew back from his cabin girl, careful to cover her mouth again before she could protest. He peered out from the alcove again and saw El Santo turn a corner down the hall. Immediately, he released the woman and started after him.

  At least he tried. The little hellion stuck out her foot and caught his ankle. He would have sprawled across the floor if he hadn’t caught himself. He tossed her an impatient frown. “I don’t have time for your games, chérie. But if you’re good, I promise to play with you again later.”

  “Bastard. What the hell is going on? What was that about?” She pointed to the alcove where he’d just been embracing her.

  He glanced impatiently at the corner down the corridor. “Once again I succumbed to your many charms, mademoiselle. I assure you it will not happen again.” He took her hand, kissed it. “Now I must be away.”

  He started after El Santo, but she was right behind him. Merde! But he did not want her following him, and every moment he spent with her meant El Santo was getting farther away. “Isn’t your father in some need of assistance?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Oh, so now you want to be rid of me. Is there something you don’t want me to see?”

  He stopped himself from glancing over his shoulder again, but she must have caught the movement nonetheless.

  “What are you looking for? Who are you looking for?”

  He gritted his teeth and tried to remain calm. He had to get away from her. “Why don’t I explain everything tomorrow? I shall call on you and your father in the morning. I’ll bring your sword.”

  Her eyebrows winged up. “You must want to be rid of me quite badly if you’re willing to go to all that trouble.”

  “No, but…” He could see she didn’t believe him. He might as well stop wasting time and tell the truth. “Very well. I spotted someone I have been looking for, someone I need to see very badly. Now if you’ll excuse me…” He started down the corridor, but she was right by his side. At this point, he had no choice but to continue with her beside him, else he would lose any chance of finding El Santo again.

  “Who is this man?”

  He gave her an impatient look and continued walking.

  “Oh, perhaps it’s a woman.”

  They were nearing the corner, and Bastien did not know what he would find when he rounded it. “It’s no one you need concern yourself with. I assure you.”

  “Oh, but I want to concern myself, pirate. After all, you did say I needed to do more research.”

  The smug look on her face devastated the last of his patience. He pushed her up against the wall, disappointed to see the action didn’t seem to faze her at all. “This isn’t a game, Miss Russell. This is serious. Now go back to your father and your ball.”

  “And you can continue to treat me like a child,” she said, green eyes searing him, “but you’re wasting your time, and the man you’re seeking is getting away. Now, who are we following?”

  A hundred thoughts raced through his mind; most centered on how to be rid of her, if not for g
ood, for a good long time. His hands itched to circle her neck and throttle her. She was like a plague he couldn’t seem to be rid of—one who infested him at the most inopportune times.

  Unfortunately, she was right. He was out of time. “Stay out of my way. If you can’t keep up or get into trouble, don’t look to me for assistance.”

  She sneered at him. “As though I would need your assistance, pirate.”

  He was about to release her but leaned close instead. A hint of cherries teased his senses, but he resolutely resisted inhaling more deeply. “And if you do anything to jeopardize my plans—anything at all—I’ll make sure you are very, very sorry.”

  She tilted her head coyly, and the movement of her hair stirred up the cherry scent again. “I like this side of you. The desperate, bargaining side.”

  On an oath, he released her and started after El Santo. He rounded the corner and spotted the exterior door at the far end. There were several doors throughout the corridor, undoubtedly leading to various rooms. He would have to try each, a time-consuming and potentially dangerous process, or he could go straight for the exterior door.

  “I think the exterior door,” his cabin girl said decisively. “The rooms in this hallway are used for storage and by the servants.”

  Again, she was correct. He’d seen servants coming and going from this corridor earlier in the evening. But it galled him to acknowledge she was correct. Instead, he stalked down the corridor, aware she was right on his heels. Aware, too, she had to scamper to keep up with his long strides.

  Compared to the corridor behind them, this hallway was spartan and dark. A few guttering candles sputtered in dark wall recesses, casting shadows over the bare floors and unadorned walls.

  He reached the exterior door and tried the handle. It was unlocked, and he pushed it gingerly open.

  Merde. No sign of El Santo.

  He leaned back, prepared to order Miss Russell to return to her father, carry her all the way, if necessary, when the shot exploded and he felt a hot spray of wooden splinters. Belatedly, he ducked then glanced up at the hole in the wooden door.