In the Arms of a Pirate (A Sam Steele Romance Book 2)

by Michelle Beattie

  “We’ll be careful, Cap’n. She won’t be the first ship we take in such a manner.”

  Despite the sting it caused his split lip, Aidan smiled. “And if I have my way, it won’t be the last either.”

  Chapter Six

  “Is it true, Simmons, what these men are saying? Is my father a pirate?”

  The butler raked a scathing glare over the large man named Chunk before resuming his tidying. Apparently, being held hostage wasn’t enough to deter Simmons from his duties. Nor was it enough to stop Sarah from learning the truth.

  “Simmons?”

  He sighed as he fussed with the candlesticks over the hearth. “Pay these heathens no mind, Miss Sarah. By their own admission, they are nothing but a sorry lot of miscreant pirates.”

  “I’m not speaking of them; I’m speaking of my father. Is he what they say he is?”

  He patted her on the head, smiled thinly, and continued with his work.

  Sarah narrowed her eyes. This was exactly the reason she’d been plotting to escape. Her opinion was never considered, her wants never given more attention than that of a nattering mosquito buzzing about one’s ears. She’d taken such treatment for years but, hostage or not, she wasn’t going to tolerate being ignored or placated any longer.

  She grabbed his arm. “Simmons, you will answer me.”

  He looked down his pointy nose at her. “I have, miss.”

  “No, you have not, as well you know. I realize for years I’ve let you, the entire staff, and my father treat me as though I was nothing more than a fragile flower needing careful tending but I assure you those days are gone. I will not be silent and I will not be ignored.”

  “And I have my orders,” he answered stiffly.

  Sarah’s mouth gaped open. “He’s ordered you not to tell me the truth?” Knowing she’d learn no more from Simmons she turned to the gardener; he’d always been kinder to her. “Henry?”

  Henry twisted his hat between his large, working-man hands. “I’m not at liberty to say, miss. It’s a condition of my employment.”

  A cold, uneasy feeling crept up Sarah’s spine. “Is your position the only thing you stand to lose if you disobey my father?”

  Henry’s eyes darted to Simmons’. The butler didn’t blink as he met Henry’s worried gaze but he didn’t have to. The fear was rolling off Henry in waves. And, in a moment of clarity, Sarah remembered seeing a similar expression on Sophia’s face when she’d worried Roche would learn of their wine drinking and conversation, of her tryst with Jacob. In fact, now that she looked back upon it, she remembered her father’s visits were always accompanied by nervousness from the staff. Sarah had attributed it to simply having their overseer in their midst. Of course they’d be more careful around their employer. Now she couldn’t help but wonder if the real reason wasn’t more sinister.

  “You haven’t broken any vows, Henry,” Sarah hastened to reassure. “When I speak with my father I’ll be sure to tell him the truth did not come from you.” Not that he would listen or care, apparently, as even the help had more of his trust than she did.

  Cutting her gaze from Henry to Simmons, she jeered, “You’ve both been very well trained. Your master would be proud.” Then, with anger simmering in her veins, she spun for the doorway.

  The big man lunged to his feet and his sheer bulk blocked most of the frame. “You’re not going anywhere.”

  “I need to speak with your captain.”

  He was easily twice her size and humor filled his eyes as he looked to his fellow crewman before looking down upon her. He raised a brow as if to ask how she planned to get past him. And, oh, that look only fueled her temper more. She’d had more than enough of being looked down upon to last a lifetime.

  She fisted her hands on her hips, jutted her chin and commanded, “Get out of my way, you lumbering brute.”

  His barrel of a chest shook with laughter. “And if I don’t?”

  “I’d like the answer to that as well,” Aidan said from behind Chunk’s back.

  Grinning, Chunk moved aside and resumed his seat on the sofa next to a man named Jacques.

  “I’m curious to know how you planned on getting around Chunk.” Aidan wasn’t grinning, but humor danced in his eyes and again she caught herself affected by his handsomeness. However, it wasn’t his good looks she was after.

  She ignored the twitch of his lips and her body’s response to it. In defense, she crossed her arms over her chest. “I would have found a way but seeing as you’re here I won’t have to. I need to speak with you. Privately.”

  “Do you now?”

  “Yes and I think it’s the least you owe me.”

  “I owe you?” He guffawed. “How’s that?”

  “You’re holding me prisoner in my own home.”

  He leaned against the doorframe, crossed his booted feet. “Your highness, from everything I’ve seen, you were already a prisoner. Only difference is I’m being honest about it.”

  The truth stung but it wasn’t a shock. If he wanted to reduce her to a pile of simpering tears he’d have to do better. “A word, if you please. Sir,” she added with the same respect he’d used when calling her “your highness”. Two could play the game of calling each other ill-suited names.

  This time he did grin and, with it, his face changed. Humor sparkled like gold in his brown eyes. The laugh lines around his eyes and mouth suited him more than the sterner expression he’d worn since barging into her home. He looked younger, freer. And so handsome Sarah had to will her mind back to what she’d asked for.

  “Surely, you don’t have too many other pressing matters since my father isn’t expected until tomorrow.”

  At the mention of her father his smile withered. “Chunk, you and Jacques take these people into the kitchen and keep an eye on them. It seems I have an appointment.”

  “Aye, Cap’n.” He rose to his impressive height and pointed a thick finger. “You two, to the kitchen.”

  Henry looked relieved but Simmons adopted the same haughty expression he always wore when having to deal with Aidan and his men. “It will be my sincere pleasure to watch Mr. Santiago knock the swagger from you sorry lot,” Simmons mocked as, head held proudly, he marched from the room.

  “Is he always so friendly and agreeable?” Aidan asked, closing the doors behind Chunk.

  “The rose bushes have fewer thorns than he does,” she said.

  His hands stilled on the handle and he peered at her over his shoulder.

  “You’re surprised?” she asked.

  “Not of your description, as I’ve seen those very thorns myself, but of your tone. You don’t like him.”

  “I’ve tolerated him up until now.”

  “Ah, and that’s changed, has it?”

  While Aidan made himself comfortable on one of the other high-backed chairs in the room, Sarah was too anxious to sit.

  “He knows the truth and he refuses to tell me.” She curled her hands into fists. “He patted me on the head as though I was nothing more than a child.” She spun from the window. “I’ve a right to know the truth.”

  “You do, yes.”

  “That doesn’t mean I believe everything you are saying. But there is more than I’ve always been told.”

  He settled deeper into the brocade chair, rested a booted foot on his knee. “I have not lied to you, nor will I. However, I cannot make you believe. You will have to come to terms with the truth on your own.”

  “I’ve known my father the whole of my life and while he hasn’t always made me happy neither has he hurt me.” Other than that one slap, which had only happened once she hastened to remind herself. “I don’t know you, or anything about you.”

  “Yet you’re looking to me for answers.”

  “I’m looking to you for your version.”

  “My version?”

  She crossed her arms. “As I said, I don’t know you; therefore, I’m not simply going to take your word as truth.”

  “Yet you want to
hear it? Why, if you’re not likely to believe it?”

  Her arms fell to her sides. “I suspect some truth in what you have already said. There is fear amongst the staff toward my father. Not with Simmons, but the rest. And Henry said he couldn’t tell me anything, that it was a condition of his employment. Yet it wasn’t his position he seemed afraid of losing. And if my father were simply a merchant sailor, why would he forbid the staff from discussing it?”

  “Why indeed?”

  Feeling less agitated now that she’d spoken her doubts aloud, Sarah took her seat in her father’s chair, which angled toward the one Aidan had chosen. Her throat was dry but she had no intention of calling Simmons or anyone else to bring her some water. She had a feeling what Aidan was about to say would be much more uncomfortable, at any rate, than a parched mouth.

  “You say my father is a pirate.”

  “A well-known fact.”

  “And you’re a pirate as well?”

  “I am.”

  “Have you sailed with him?”

  “No. Nor would I. There is a code amongst most pirates. Some are more ruthless than others, to be sure, but it’s the treasure we’re after. When I could, when others I sailed with could, we were as merciful as possible. We preferred to win by cunning and outwitting our foe.”

  “But you killed as well.”

  “Never for pleasure. That is where your father differs and why most pirates sailing these waters steer clear of Roche Santiago.”

  She shook her head, denial coming quickly, but at his arched brow she drew in a breath. She’d asked for his version and she’d hear it.

  “You’re saying my father takes pleasure in taking lives?”

  “I am. More, he enjoys the suffering as well.”

  She clutched her hands in her lap. “Tell me.”

  He hesitated, surprising Sarah. He’d seemed more than eager to regale her with her father’s sins before, yet he seemed almost reluctant now. Finally, he shifted his gaze from his booted foot to her face.

  “Not many men live to speak ill of Roche. Those who sail with him wouldn’t dare and those who no longer…well, for the most part are lost to Davey Jones’ locker. There are a rare few, however, and those few speak of torture. He thrives to see fear in others and builds on it at every turn. Cat-o’-nine-tails, whips, knives, pistols. Roche isn’t one to be fussy as long as he achieves his goal.”

  “To keep his men living in fear?”

  “It keeps them toeing the line. If they’re afraid of him and the consequences, they aren’t likely to mutiny or disobey.”

  “And those who do?”

  “His punishment of choice is beheading.”

  Her hand flew to her throat. “Beheading?”

  “Those are the lucky ones.”

  Suddenly glad she hadn’t asked for water, as her stomach was nauseous, Sarah struggled to accept what he said. She wanted, needed, to reject his words outright but somehow she couldn’t.

  “If you never sailed with him, how can you so easily accuse him of these crimes?”

  “Because I know someone who did.”

  *

  Aidan caught the slight tremble in her hands but he gave her credit for wanting to hear more.

  “To know this, a man must have survived such an ordeal.”

  “Yes, she did.”

  There was no feigning the horror that filled her eyes. She might be Roche Santiago’s daughter, and he wasn’t about to trust her, but he believed her distress was real.

  And it was about to get worse.

  “She?”

  “Her name is Grace Sullivan. Truth be told, I’d heard of Roche and his atrocities long before learning of Grace’s experiences but she confirmed what we’d always heard.”

  “And you simply happened upon this woman?”

  “I don’t recall anything simple about it. We came upon a vessel and after a lengthy battle Cale—” He paused. The story of Sam Steele was complicated enough without adding in the fact that the last man to assume the identity was his father. A father who hadn’t recognized his own son. “Our captain,” he said instead, “found a wounded Grace below decks of the enemy’s ship. It wasn’t until she was safely aboard the Revenge that we learned the ship had been Roche’s and he’d gotten away.”

  “You’re going to tell me she was hurt at my father’s hand.”

  “Grace told me it was at your father’s hand, I had nothing to do with it. He’d stolen Grace off the shores of Montserrat, raped and kept her captive on board his ship. When she’d finally garnered enough courage to attempt an escape, he caught her and, as I said before, Roche doesn’t take to disobedience. He was trying to murder her when we attacked. Luckily, the cannon fire kept his knife from exacting a killing blow.”

  Sarah’s body went rigid and her eyes went round and wide. All color fled from her face. Even her knuckles were white.

  “I-I can’t—” She shook her head. “I cannot see my father doing such a thing.”

  “Well, he did and she’s witnessed him do worse. She was lucky she survived. But somehow he learned she was rescued and he came back for her. That’s why he lit the house on fire. Grace was with us, inside.”

  She pushed to her feet, hurried to the window. Aidan doubted it was to appreciate the sun’s warmth, which blazed into the room onto thick sunbeams.

  “Why would he follow? Why would he care?” She spun toward Aidan. “It makes no sense. You said he tried to kill her.”

  “Aye.”

  “Then why follow her? Why not just wash his hands of her?”

  Afraid she might swoon when he told her, Aidan moved to stand in a slab of sunlight next to Sarah. “For two reasons. The first of which is pride. Nobody beats Roche; he won’t tolerate it. She dared to survive and that was unacceptable.”

  Sarah wet her lips, a swipe of pink on pink that grabbed Aidan’s attention like a fist around the throat. It wasn’t until those full lips moved that he realized she’d spoken.

  He shook his head to clear the slight buzzing noise. “What?”

  “You said there were two reasons he’d gone after Grace. The first being pride. What is the other?”

  “Grace is pregnant with your father’s child.”

  *

  It couldn’t be true. Sarah had been telling herself that very thing since Aidan told her about the woman named Grace and what she’d been through. Raped? With child? By her father? Sarah grimaced and pressed a hand to her stomach. The thought sickened her. But was it true? Could it be true? And did she even want to know?

  She turned yet again from the window, this time from the darkness beyond. Night had fallen hours ago, long after Aidan had left her alone to her thoughts. She hadn’t asked, but had been grateful nonetheless when he’d slipped from the room, closing the door behind him. Apparently he hadn’t been worried about her escaping, as her only method would be to break the window, something he’d be sure to hear. There was no point trying to escape through the foyer; she could hear his men talking beyond the closed door. At any rate, Sarah’s thoughts were too consumed with what he’d told her to think of anything else.

  Guided by the pale silvery moonlight, she walked past the hearth, around the back of the sofa and past the small table that held her untouched supper. The smell of cold fish was no enticement to eat, but it did remind her she’d accomplished nothing in the hours she’d spent alone save perhaps wearing a path in the wooden floor.

  If it were true what Aidan said, if Grace was carrying her father’s child, then Sarah would gain a brother or a sister. She faltered as the truth sank in. A brother or a sister. For someone who’d been raised alone, save for servants and a few miserly visits a year from her father, the idea of family was a heady one. And one Sarah latched onto with both hands and heart.

  She would be a part of this child’s life, though she had no idea how such a thing were possible. Firstly, she had to get out of this house, away from both Aidan and her father. She also had no means of travel or any idea wh
ere Grace and her child were. And how would Grace feel about her? If her father had raped Grace, tried to murder her, she would hardly welcome his daughter into her life. And who would blame her?

  Sarah stopped before the hearth, braced her hands on the mantel, and bowed her head. It was all so complicated. If Aidan’s words were true she’d lose the only family she’d ever known, everything she’d ever known. Escaping had been her plan, but she’d never seen it as finite. She’d envisioned seeing some of the world, proving to herself and father she could survive. Once he saw she was capable, he’d allow her the freedom she yearned for. Either way, she’d never imagined a life without her father in it.

  But if he were guilty of the things Aidan said, she could not, would not condone it, and she surely would never forgive him for it. And so while she stood to gain a brother or sister she could lose her father.

  Sarah pushed away from the mantel, suddenly feeling as though the room was closing in. She just needed to breathe without this pressure squeezing her chest.

  The door suddenly swung inward and Aidan, with the light of the hall behind him, leaned negligently against the doorway. Though the parlor was dim, his gaze found her easily enough. He watched her silently for a heartbeat, then two. It did little to ease the pressure in her chest or the heat, which suddenly seemed to engulf the room.

  “I don’t know about you but I could use some fresh air,” he drawled.

  *

  “Do you mean what you say or are you toying with me?”

  “I always mean what I say.” And while the idea of toying with her stirred him, he knew she hadn’t meant it in the way he was thinking.

  “Then I accept.” She hurried across the room, skirts rustling, as though if she lingered he’d change his mind.

  At the door he paused, turned. “I won’t abide any foolish attempts to escape.”

  “Why would I try? You’ve already proven you can best me if I do.”

  “As long as we understand each other.” He gestured for her to precede him.