“How apt. And what do you call them?”
He grinned. “Eggs.”
She laughed, and Malik, picking up on the atmosphere as he so often did, chortled, his mouth full of egg.
There it was again, the stark difference between Jack and much of his crew. Perhaps in casual conversation she might draw him out about his past. Every day her determination grew to discover more about him, and every day she was met with a blank denial that he’d ever been anything but a pirate since a lad not much older than Malik.
It was clear his past was to remain a mystery.
Chapter Eleven
“We’ve been lucky with the weather, Cap’n,” observed Jack’s helmsmen.
Jack stared at the canopy of bright stars overhead. “Let’s hope it holds. With a favorable southwesterly we should reach the Azores inside of a week.”
A gust of wind whipped his hair about as he stood moodily, leaning on the poop rail beneath.
On deck, one of the Portuguese men from Cordoba’s ship who’d joined them, strummed his mandolin. A slave rescued from the hold grinned, showing his white teeth. A remarkable harmony had settled amongst the men in the last two weeks, with very few disagreements or fights. They were all eager for home.
Jack had decided to let matters stand as they were between him and Lydia, until they left the ship. She needed to mourn her brother. And she’d made it clear she wished to return home to England. He hadn’t found it easy to keep away from her, but he was aided by Malik. The child clung to Lydia’s skirts like a burr, night and day. If Jack had attempted to seduce her, he sensed she wouldn’t refuse.
But he wanted to give her time to make up her mind and not be swayed by him. He was unused to such introspection. If he wanted a woman, he took her and never had any complaints from them. His thoughts veered from letting the future take care of itself and the knowledge that he had to listen to the better part of himself that wasn’t ruled by his cock. To nurture his soul. Throughout the reckless, bloodthirsty life which had been thrust upon him, he’d held fast to certain principles. Deny them now and he’d be lost.
Earlier in the evening, he and Lydia had sat across from each other over the chess board. She played well, but when he trounced her, he was surprised to have kept his mind on the game. She was a woman of delicate sensibilities, with a passion for life brightening her eyes, and an unquenchable desire for love promised by that full-lipped mouth. But it was her compassion, honesty, and wry humor which constantly floored him.
A woman made to distract a man and lead him into temptation even by the simplest of gestures. Her narrow, elegant hand at her pale throat had toyed with the gold locket she’d always worn, while her full breasts rose above her gown in invitation, and her lush, dark hair gleamed in the candlelight as she lowered her head over the board. Chess had ceased to matter as he moved uncomfortably in his seat, his thoughts turning to sin. He was sure she was aware of his discomfort. And perhaps even took delight in teasing him as her finger toyed with the pieces.
If only Malik wasn’t always at her side! He even slept near her. Jack had considered having Bastian take him topside, but then dismissed it as crude. Seducing Lydia called for a level of finesse, something Jack hadn’t had to employ with women before. He rather liked the idea. And Malik, who revealed a thirst for knowledge, had been intent on watching the game.
Jack poured more wine into the two glasses. “Not tired, Malik?” he asked, not having entirely given up on the idea.
The child shook his head.
Lydia’s fingers brushed his as she took the glass from Jack. She smiled into his eyes. “Are you tired of the game, Jack?”
“Not a bit of it.” He fought not to grind his teeth.
There was faint amusement in those brown eyes, but did he spy frustrated desire? “I can’t wait for you to see my home,” he said meaningfully, raking his fingers through his hair.
“I am all impatience.” She moved her pawn, taking his rook.
At the emotive words, Jack frowned and forced himself to concentrate on the game. This was one thing, at least, he could win.
Jack was drawn back from his thoughts by a fish leaping from the midnight-black waters with a mighty splash. His patience might be wearing thin, but he had to admit these last weeks had not been unpleasant.
Lydia had taught him to play checkers and she read to him regularly. He was smart. He’d begun to pick up the language, and Jack’s crew were teaching him cuss words. That raised Lydia’s ire. But when she took them to task over it, they just laughed at her.
Most of his crew had returned to their duties, while the badly injured slowly improved under her care. Aden was back to rude, good health again. He had become one of Lydia’s devotees, which included, most surprisingly, the sour-faced pirate, Dale. There seemed little reason for Bastian to watch over her, yet he still did. But if anyone gave her cheek, it was Dale who threatened them with swift retaliation.
It rarely happened. The crew were used to her presence onboard and behaved themselves for the most part when she was around. And many were wary around Dale. He had a short fuse and wasn’t as reasonable as Bastian. A few had come off the worst over an argument with Dale. Especially at night when too much rum was imbibed. And on the darkest nights, when Dale removed his eyepatch, the man could see like a bat.
Little by little, Lydia began to enjoy herself. How odd that here on this ship she was beginning to understand herself. She seemed to be coming into her own at last. No longer forced by the strict conventions of family and society to be someone she was not, she moved freely among the rowdy band of men, some of whom she liked, some she didn’t, and a few she wouldn’t trust if she was alone with them without her watchful guardians.
It was like a small world within the curved hull of this mighty ship. Men from different countries lived side by side, ruled by a code and a set of articles all must agree upon. Every one of them knew what those articles contained, which surprised her. Particularly as some couldn’t read and write. They took their share of the spoils, divvied up fairly. She had seen it done as the ship grew closer to the Azores, where they would part company for a time.
She no longer judged them. While she could not approve of piracy, she’d come to understand that this was the only life available to them, that should they leave the ship, they would not fare so well on land. Most had tales to tell about their pasts, and some obliged her when she asked.
She had begun to keep a journal. Jack had given her a leather-bound book in which to chronicle her experiences of her time at sea.
As she sat with Pete Johns, whom she particularly liked, he talked about his former life. Pete was born in Manchester, but had always wanted this life. He had gone to sea as soon as he was old enough, joining the navy. He had grown up with the knowledge that he was a descendant of the original leader of Poseidon’s Legion buccaneers. Such men were still spoken of in hushed tones across the seas, and he was fiercely proud of the fact. Some had settled in the Azores.
“And what about your captain? How did he come to this life?” She waited, expecting Pete would refuse to tell her.
“Press-ganged into the navy as a young lad,” Pete said. “When he was grabbed off the street, Jack suffered a head injury. He has never regained his memory and knows nothing of his life before it happened.”
Her stomach tightened, and she blinked away tears. She turned her head, and with a finger, wiped the tears away, taking pains for Pete not to see them. “But why didn’t he remain in the navy?”
“Our ship was attacked by pirates and sunk. Jack and I were forced to join the pirate gang or swim home. We joined them.”
Lydia cleared her throat, recalling the crescent scar at his temple that he stroked sometimes. It was a wonder the blow hadn’t killed him. “But he had no wish to return to England to find out about his family?”
Pete shook his head. “It was obvious he came from a good family. He penned a letter to the Admiralty, but with no success. They’d not only w
iped their hands of him, they were eager to string him up. The captain of the pirate ship we found ourselves on was a bad man. He was soon disposed of, but another unpopular captain followed him. After that, Jack rose quickly to the rank of captain, and I suppose by then he’d put the past behind him.” His lieutenant and friend continued on with a note of pride. “Jack’s respected. The men are very loyal.”
“But he could go back to England and trace his family.”
“He can’t. None of us can,” Pete said. “We’d be hung.”
“But, surely the Letter of Marque…”
“The king hasn’t seen fit to supply one.” He shrugged. “It’s no skin off my nose. I’ve no desire to return to England.”
“What about Jack, though, do you think he does?”
Pete shrugged. “I can’t honestly say. Jack keeps his cards close to his chest.”
“Yes, he does. He hasn’t talked to me about his past.”
Pete turned to her, blue eyes wide. “Well, you’d better not tell him you heard it from me, or he’ll likely keelhaul me.”
She wasn’t sure he was joking.
Consumed with compassion for Jack, she longed to talk to him about it, but she’d have to wait until he volunteered the information. She could only hope he would.
He hadn’t made another attempt to kiss her. She wasn’t sure why, because it was obvious he wanted to. And she wanted him, too, desperately. When he wasn’t on duty, he spent the evenings with her. She’d flirted with him, and made him laugh. And at times, she sensed the air was filled with breathless expectation. She’d sat there frustrated, willing him to touch her. To take her to bed and make love to her. Even though the time when she must leave him grew ever closer. And how unwise it would be. For if he became her lover, leaving him would be even more painful.
Chapter Twelve
Lydia and Malik joined Jack at the rail as the Golden Orion sailed into the harbor at Puerto de los Dioses, an island off the Azores, sparkling beneath the noon-day sun.
“How very beautiful it is! Those whitewashed houses with bright terracotta roofs and the jewel-like waters in the bay. The sun is warm but not hot like Africa.” Excitement lifted her voice.
He smiled, pleased. “There is much natural beauty here.”
The ship anchored, and they rowed to shore.
Small houses spilled down from the surrounding hills to the water’s edge where a church stood, its wooden cross black with age, not far from the two taverns which did a roaring trade when the pirate boats came in. As they would today. Beyond the village, the hills rose, rugged rock giving way to lush and verdant hills against an azure sky.
“Is your home here?”
“No. On the other side of the island.”
Jack’s servant was waiting when the boat was beached. Their trunks were loaded onto a trap along with Oskar’s birdcage. Joncalo, a short man with a weather-beaten face, removed his hat. He greeted Jack effusively in Portuguese.
“Joncalo! Bom te ver, meu aigo!” Jack introduced Lydia and Malik.
Pete Johns waved to them as he walked away along the shore.
Lydia turned to watch him. “Where does Pete live?”
“He has a cottage over the hill.” Jack indicated the headland that rose up from the opposite side of the village.
Jack helped Lydia up beside Joncalo and he and Malik climbed into the back. Joncalo touched the horse’s back with a whip, and they proceeded at a sedate pace along a dirt road. Voices shouted from the foreshore as the crew flooded out from the ship while folk emerged from their homes to greet them.
“They are popular here?” Lydia asked.
“They have deep pockets, and some have family here.”
Bruna sashayed out of a tavern door and onto the street. She invited Jack to join her.
He politely declined.
“Someone you know?” Lydia asked casually.
“It’s a small place,” he said, glancing at her amused. He had cause to know Bruna quite well over the years. She was a fiery-tempered whore, married to the tavern owner. No sense in mentioning it, however.
Lydia turned back to view the harbor and the rocky cliffs surrounding it. The sunlight danced on the water which was azure in the shallows and indigo in the deep. He was happy to be home.
Over the first hill, the true beauty of the island was revealed. Lydia murmured in delight. Grassy meadows were covered in pink wildflowers, the shadows purple beneath the granite rocks.
A half hour later, the road descended to the water again. Below them was a stretch of golden sand lapped by the sea. Above it sat Jack’s house. A rambling building crisply whitewashed with a long line of terracotta roof with several chimneys. Chickens pecked about the soil at the back door where a goat was tethered.
The trap drove to the front of the house. A loggia ran the length of it and a worn path wound its way through the rocky scrub down to a beach enclosed at each end by granite rocks to form a small bay.
“There are caves in those cliffs. Birds nest there. I’ll take Malik to see them.”
Lydia nodded, leaning forward to view the house.
He searched her face, wanting to know what she thought of his home. It was not an English mansion, which no doubt she had grown up in. Her eyes were wide and she sighed. “Oh Jack, it’s charming.”
Jack felt inordinately pleased, like some green youth. He didn’t know who he was with this woman, and almost feared how vulnerable she made him feel. He would not fall in love with her. He would see her home to England and return to the life that had served him well. It was all he wanted. Wasn’t it?
An absence of springs in the trap made for an uncomfortable ride downhill as it slowly negotiated the rough track.
“Let’s walk.”
Jack took her hand and helped her down. Malik remained in the trap with Oskar.
He didn’t let her hand go as they walked down skirting stones and potholes. The briny smell of the sea washed over her, mingling with the aromatic scents of bushes and grasses foreign to her.
“Nothing moves fast here,” Jack said with a grin.
She imagined that would take some getting used to for a man who lived on his wits.
They reached the house. The walls were weathered and softened with the winds off the sea, settling it into the landscape. She thought it perfect.
Inside, Lydia roamed through the rooms, low-beamed ceilings, whitewashed walls, the wooden floors covered with rugs. She had not expected anything quite like this. It was comfortably furnished. The bedchambers, there were three, with swathes of colorful cloth at the windows. Good furniture, a mix of Spanish and French decorated each room, with pictures of ships on the walls, shelves of books, and a fascinating array of artefacts Jack had brought back from his travels. She stroked a finger over an exquisite statue of a naked woman fashioned in smooth cold marble. Everywhere, there was evidence of the man she was coming to know.
Malik had discovered a black cat and followed it outside on to the loggia.
“I like your house,” she said. “Why not give up your life on the sea and live here?”
“And do what, fish? It’s a good place to come for a while, to make repairs to the ship. The Golden Orion has a bad leak and is barely seaworthy. The damage caused by hitting rocks in a storm must be properly repaired. Then, it’s back to sea for me.”
“Remaining here doesn’t appeal then?”
His eyes widened. “There’s nothing to hold me here. I’d be bored after a week or two.”
“You might marry and have children.”
“One day.” Jack turned away and went to the large fireplace where logs had been laid. He picked up the tinderbox from the wooden mantel and crouched down to light a taper. Soon flames leapt up, casting a warm and inviting glow in the room as dusk drew near.
“Some wine?”
“Yes, thank you.” How different it was here to being on the ship. She still felt the ground moving oddly beneath her.
“I think I’ve sti
ll got my sea legs.”
He nodded. “It will pass shortly.”
They’d become strangely formal with each other. She felt he was waiting for something from her. Some evidence of her feelings for him, perhaps. Should she make it clear that she wanted him? Her face grew hot at the thought. She rose and went to stand before the fire, staring down into the flames.
Jack poured wine into fine silver goblets and came to hand her one.
She took it from him, gazing up into his face. “Jack…”
A small, plump dark-haired woman bustled into the room. She greeted Jack with a rush of Portuguese and hugged him as if he was her son.
Jack turned from her, but his expression had softened. “This is, Adelina. She is my cook and housekeeper,” he said, a hand on the small woman’s arm, bearing her forward. “As you’ve probably gathered, Adelina speaks no English. I’ll convey any needs you might have.”
Lydia greeted the woman with a smile. “I grew used to making myself understood in Africa,” Lydia said. Most probably few spoke English here.
Malik came in carrying the cat purring in his arms while Oskar made some comment from his cage. The lad had a way with animals.
A peaceful hour was spent as Jack spoke of the island. Pete had wanted to come here, and Jack liked it so much he made it their base. “It’s a simple house,” he said. “But comfortable. Nothing like you might find in England.”
“It’s utterly charming. There’s so much of you here.”
A smile brightened his eyes. “And that makes it charming?”
“Your books, your collection of interesting objects, the house, and the view.” She gave him a teasing smile. “Pirates are not known to be charming.”
He cocked a brow at her with a wry smile.
Adelina came in talking all the while and placed plates of food before them.
Lydia called Malik, and they sat down to eat.
“That was delicious,” Lydia said when she’d scooped up the last mouthful of fish stew.
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