His Pirate (Second Chance Book 2)

by Stephanie Lake

  Since France expanded its occupation into Portugal, it was no longer safe to fly a British flag. It was best to off-load, reload, and sail before officials could inspect papers.

  Portugal was sunny and full of life. All the buildings were white with terra-cotta roofs, and a distant sandstone castle sat on a hill surrounded by those unusual umbrella-shaped trees.

  Lydia had wished to explore Lisbon, but Casablanca seemed to make up for her disappointment.

  The city radiated an exotic allure. He found himself impatient to disembark, explore, and take it all in.

  One hour later they shared an open, rattling wagon with the no-nonsense First Mate Dunn and six armed seamen. The first mate was a small man with unruly mud-brown hair, but he held himself with the arrogance of someone who knew how to survive. Rhain was convinced that Lydia would be safe on this outing, given their escorts.

  The small city was flat and sandy and frenzied from one end to the other. Unlike London, there didn’t seem to be any quiet streets.

  Lydia purchased lush silks, and he bought sweet, fragrant spices, envisioning their cook in Dominica making sweets and exquisite dishes of exemplary taste.

  The streets were crowded. Most city inhabitants wore loose voluminous dress, very unlike the dock laborers, who worked in very little clothing.

  He tried in vain to avoid staring at one young man loitering in a doorway. His lean, supple chest was bare. His long, straight, black hair reminded him of their captain. The mahogany skin did not.

  The youth held his gaze and sauntered to the wagon, then walked briskly beside them, stroking Rhain’s hand, uttering incomprehensible words. However, the black eyes promised something Rhain understood and knew quite well.

  Lydia jerked back and gasped as the seamen jeered and encouraged the boy, one being so bold as to squeeze the lad’s arse.

  Rhain knew if he were alone, he would be very tempted to accept this invitation; instead, he shook his head, tossed the whore a coin, and urged the driver forward.

  Oddly, as they rumbled through the city, the youth’s attentions spurred immodest fantasies of one pirate captain instead of the young Casablancan prostitute.

  That night, enjoying a light meal of spicy meat and fruit pie, Rhain watched Lydia unfold, refold, and repack her new silk. One piece of silk caught his attention. It was a shimmery dark emerald. Lydia held it against her body and danced in place. “Won’t this make a lovely ball gown, Rhain?”

  He nodded. His sister was always lovely to him, but that extraordinary color and the lay of the fabric made her look like a queen.

  “You will break many hearts if you have that cloth sewn into a gown.”

  She laughed, held the silk up to his chest, and assessed him, her head tilting to one side, then the other. “You know… If we made this into a waistcoat, it would drive your pirate to distraction.”

  “Lydia! I’ve asked you not to discuss—”

  “Oh, come now, you have seen how he looks at you.”

  Actually he hadn’t, but it was a sure bet he would dream about green silk and desirable pirates this night.

  “You are mad, sir.” Dunn’s tone was possibly more irritated than Alastair had heard in a long time.

  “It’s the dry season; no reason to stop at the Canaries, anyway.”

  “But it will be two weeks more before we can reprovision.”

  “If we don’t stop, we will gain time.”

  “It will make a difference of two days at the most.”

  Alastair sighed. He did not like taking such a long stretch knowing there would be no place to stop for fresh water.

  “What if we hit the doldrums? What then?”

  He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Dunn. Do you remember what happened the last time we stopped for water during the dry season?”

  Dunn turned his back and crossed his arms.

  “Yes, I see you do remember. We were almost stoned for trying to extract water from a damn mud hole. I do not plan to repeat that experience.”

  “It was five years ago. Our first year sailing together.” Dunn relaxed and looked at Alastair once more.

  “Yes, it was. Now, if you look here on the map”—he pointed to a route they had never tried before and continued—“you can see there is a third route marked. It goes straight down, without stopping at the Canaries. It is more direct, so it might save us a week if we don’t stop at those blasted dry islands.”

  “It is riskier because we are already several days from our last stop.”

  “By God, Dunn. We will make up time.” He thumped his hand on the table, and his quill fell from its holder. He said more quietly, “That is time we need.”

  When Dunn still did not look convinced, he said, “Damn it, Dunn, I’m willing to chance it.”

  “I will set a course as per your orders, but I want the ship’s log-book to say I am not in agreement.”

  “Agreed. Now go alter our heading before we run aground on the cursed islands.”

  Dunn left, and Alastair had time to worry that he might have made a very bad decision.

  Rhain stood on one foot, slipping his other into trousers. There was an annoyingly loud whistle before the ship tilted to one side and turned toward his right, throwing him off balance and into the wall. If not for the tiny dimensions of the room, he would have fallen to the wood-planked floor.

  There were shouts and the sound of feet pounding overhead. “What the bloody hell is going on?”

  Lydia knocked on his door as he finished pulling up and then fastening his trousers. “Rhain, what the devil is happening?”

  “Lydia, back in your room, and lock the door until I determine what the problem is.” He grabbed a shirt and opened his door. “And do stop swearing. I believe the seamen are a bad influence on you.”

  She stood there, hands on hips, feet spread apart to keep her balance like an old sailor, her curls a frizzy halo around her head. “You can’t expect me to wait down here until you come and call me forth.”

  He pointed at her door. “In! And stay there until I come for you.”

  She glared at him until the door closed and he could no longer see her expression.

  He flung on the shirt, not bothering to tie the laces. Bouncing off one wall then the other as the ship changed direction and speed, he stumbled to the stairs.

  Flinging open the topside door, he was momentarily blinded by the sun shining directly in his eyes from a cloudless morning sky. After blinking several times, he made out sailors running this way and that, pulling, yanking, and hauling things. They resembled oversize ants running back and forth to defend their hill.

  Very unusual that most of them were smiling.

  Shouts filled the air, and nobody paid him the slightest bit of attention. Not even when he tried to ask a few bare-chested men in wide-legged breeches the ship’s status. Then he found the captain standing tall and imposing at the helm, shouting orders and laughing. Amid the chaos, the captain of the ship threw his head back and roared his mirth. The pirate was completely mad.

  Rhain struggled his way to the helm, stepping around scurrying men with ropes.

  The captain looked his direction, looked away, and then snapped his attention immediately to Rhain. The humor left his face. He pointed and shouted, “Belowdeck. Now.”

  Rhain shook his head and took the last ten steps to where the captain scowled at him.

  “Belowdeck; it is not safe up here for you.”

  “What the bloody hell are you doing?” He looked behind him but saw no privateer running up their back side.

  Breckenridge pointed forward to a ship so far away, it looked like a toy on a very large pond. “We are going to seize that ship.”

  “Whatever for?”

  The devilish grin Breckenridge spared him froze his breath. No, God no. Were they going to board that ship? Would there be a fight? What of Lydia? “What will you do if you catch that boat?”

  “First of all, that is a ship, not a boat. And if we catch her,
we will board her and take no prisoners.”

  “A fight? Sir, you are a pirate. A real swashbuckling, sailor-killing pirate?” He clutched the captain’s arm, gripping with his full strength.

  Breckenridge winced.

  “You cannot do this; what of Lydia?”

  “Is safe down below where you need to be.” He shook off Rhain’s grip and pointed to a very large, bald seaman. “Take him belowdeck now.” He pointed at Rhain. “And stay there until this is done to make certain he and Miss Lydia stay put.”

  The sailor said, “Aye, sir,” and grabbed Rhain’s arm, half pulling him to the belowdeck hatchway.

  As if the morning couldn’t grow any worse, there stood Lydia, holding on to the hatchway frame, big eyes taking in every sight, a slight smile on her lips, but with eyebrows pinched.

  He pulled his arm from the sailor and said, “Down.”

  Lydia flew down the stairs and into her room.

  Rhain followed her in and locked the door.

  “What is it? What’s going on?”

  He answered while scouring the small room for a weapon, any weapon.

  No matter what, he would not let Lydia suffer at the hands of a marauding band of sailors if the other ship was unfortunately the victor.

  “Stop disordering my room; what do you want?”

  “A weapon.” He’d left his dagger in his locked trunk. If there was nothing in here, he would move Lydia to his room and dig out the small dagger he usually wore on his person.

  “Let me.” She sighed and dug into her portmanteau, pulling out a wicked-looking knife, which she handed to him, handle first.

  “Where the devil?”

  “I purchased it when you told me we were going to Dominica. Wanted to be prepared for wild animals or vile bandits.” She grinned.

  He sat down on her bunk. Was the whole world insane? His six-and-a-half-stone sister purchased a very large knife—not a dagger which would be much more useful in a fight, but a knife—and was excited about fending off wild beasts, and their captain was getting ready to start a battle in the middle of the damn Atlantic.

  Listening to the shouts and footfalls overhead, he took a deep breath and rubbed his face with one hand, the other clenching the knife.

  Lydia sat on the bunk next to him. “Are you sure it’s not safe to watch? At least until we reach the other ship?”

  He growled.

  It seemed like years as they sat in that cramped room, listening to men shouting and feet running overhead, but it was probably only an hour or two. Rhain noticed the decreased speed as a rap came on Lydia’s door.

  “Well, then, looks like it is safe to leave your berth now,” said a muffled voice through the thin wood.

  Rhain vibrated with rage.

  Lydia touched his arm. “Rhain? The knife.” She held out a hand that seemed too small to even hold the bulky thing.

  He handed it over and then went in search of the pirate captaining this damn vessel.

  Obviously, the captain had authorized tapping a cask of liquor, for the crew were all singing some bawdy sea tunes and upending tin cups.

  “Bloody damn wonderful.” Just what they needed—a drunken crew while another pirate ship lurked around after dark with a bull’s-eye trained on the Hurricane. It took him several moments to find the captain. The man sat on deck in the shade, quietly talking with First Mate Dunn. They were both smiling and, fortunately, not drinking.

  They stopped smiling as he neared.

  “A word with you, Captain.” The title was little more than a sneer as it left his tight lips.

  Breckenridge nodded and whispered something to his first mate, who stared at Rhain with barely disguised suspicion.

  ALASTAIR STEPPED ONE foot over the threshold to his cabin when he was launched against the mahogany-paneled bulkhead, and a large slab of muscle pressed him painfully against the raised wainscoting. He winced at the pain on his bruised tailbone.

  Hot, fresh breath caressed his cheek as Morgan spat out all the egregious things that ever happened in the world and how it was his opinion that they were all Captain Breckenridge’s fault. “…on top of everything, you are allowing your crew to inebriate on rum.”

  “Whew, but you have a foul tongue when your bile is up. And for the record, they are drinking grog, not rum.” Despite the interesting dialogue, he didn’t quite follow the full bombast because of the distracting bulge smashed up against his hip bone, which made his own rod swell and lengthen.

  “Additionally, how dare you jeopardize the health and safety of my sister, a woman under your protection, sir, with your attempt at piracy?” He shook Alastair’s shoulders for effect.

  Damn, but he was spectacular in his fury. Morgan’s unlaced, loose shirt showed a firm, pale chest with a nest of crisp, dark hair. Alastair couldn’t even speak, for his breath came too fast and his heart pounded.

  Morgan leaned in closer, and his lips almost brushed his cheek when he whispered in Alastair’s ear. “What do you have to say for yourself, you hypocritical arse?”

  Alastair loved being overpowered, but there were few men of his acquaintance who could do it. He leaned his head against the bulkhead and arched into the furious body holding him captive.

  Morgan must have thought it was a play to escape and leaned more weight against him.

  Alastair closed his eyes and leaned his head back. “Yes.” The word escaped his lips before his brain engaged, and the heady weight left him with the speed of a nor’easter.

  Bereft of the sensual weight, he slowly opened his eyes and tried to control his breathing.

  In the middle of the room, Morgan rubbed his hands over his face, his shoulders hunched.

  What a fool thing to have taken on passengers. He knew better. But damn, from the moment he’d seen this large, strong man, he’d wanted him. He still wanted him, even though the man held more anger in him than a bucketful of hot vipers.

  He walked over and poured them both a measure of brandy. “Here.”

  Morgan took the offered glass and downed it with a wince.

  Tracing the sharp-edged crystal patterns under his fingers, he said, “You knew there were dangers when you signed on to travel this time of year. You booked the passage anyway.”

  “I did not expect my captain to go out of his way to look for trouble.” The words were low and rumbled as if each one was a profanity.

  “You and your sister were never in danger. Giving chase does wonders for the crew’s disposition. Gets everyone’s blood up so they stay sharp and pay attention.”

  “That is the most ridiculous… And what if you’d caught that other ship, what then? How could you have ensured Lydia’s safety if this boat was boarded?”

  “That would not have occurred. And by the way, this is also a ship, not a boat. A one-hundred-man brigantine, to be precise, although we don’t run at full capacity.”

  Morgan huffed and tossed one hand toward the heavens. “You perhaps have too much faith in your motley crew, my captain. For I assure you, the other boat would have a crew too, and they would be defending themselves with great passion against pirates.”

  He turned his back so Morgan couldn’t see his humor, for he fully suspected this proud boy would turn violent if his anger were mocked. He wasn’t mocking, though; actually, he liked that Morgan thought him piratical, that he thought his crew intimidating, that he called him my captain. Fact was, he really liked this prickly boy. He was a bit single-minded in his devotion to his sister perhaps, but who could fault anyone for that? Alastair barely knew his stepsisters, probably would not recognize them if he met them on the street. So he admired the siblings’ devotion to each other.

  With his misplaced humor under control, he turned to confront Morgan. “I have methods of protecting my ship, and no one, no one, has the authority to question my methods. I will tell you a secret, but it is between you…” He stalked slowly toward Morgan. “…and me. You will tell no one under threat of death. Understand?”

 
Morgan swallowed and took a couple of steps back until his thighs encountered the heavy oak table.

  THE SWITCH IN power happened so fast, Rhain had no time to wrest back control. Now he stood trapped, with the table behind him, and the captain mere inches away, his expression cold and polite. No, that wasn’t quite accurate. The expression could be called chilling.

  He’d known this man could be dangerous, but he’d also seen compassion, so he did not realize just how ruthless this pirate captain could be.

  Breckenridge moved in slowly and said in a whisper, “That was a French ship whose captain thinks little of taking what he wants from Americans and English. They attacked us last year. Stole some cargo and killed eight of my men. We chased them today to put the fear of fifty good men with swords and five new cannons into their yellow-livered souls. They will not attack us again. Of that you can be certain.”

  He swallowed. “So you never intended to catch them?”

  “I steered this ship, and she can run on the wind; the other cannot. If I’d wished to catch them, they would be paying their respects to Davy Jones as we speak. Your sister is safer currently than before my display.” With lightning-quick reflexes, Breckenridge pushed him back until he lay on the hard surface of the table. The athletic man climbed up, the table groaning with their combined weight, until he straddled Rhain’s crotch. He leaned down and brushed a light, warm kiss to his lips. And oh, God, the sensation of that light touch sang through his entire being. He no longer felt the hard table under his back, couldn’t feel the contact at their groin, only that soft kiss.

  He reached up to touch that perfect face, but Breckenridge pinned his wrists against his sides and slid sweet kisses down his cheek, over his jaw, and along his neck. He was certain he could overpower the man, but he found he lacked the desire to do so. He lifted his hips, pressing their crotches closer together.

  The captain arched up, closed his eyes, and hissed. Light streamed in through the windows and lit the captain’s face.

  Rhain took a moment to devour the beauty. Dark lashes so long it looked like the man used kohl, but he did not. A straight, thin nose and firm, dark lips. The gold ring in his ear flashed in the light. Lovely.