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

by Michelle Beattie

  “Take as much time as you need, you haven’t slept much.”

  “I’m not going to sleep. Miss Santiago,” he said, ensuring he didn’t say Sarah’s name aloud again, “is helping Slim with the meal. I’ll be taking this one to my cabin and teaching him some manners.”

  Aidan slipped his finger through the hook and lifted the cage off its perch. He felt as much as heard Lucky and Chunk’s snickering behind him as he made his way down the stairs, the cage in one hand and his battered pride in the other.

  *

  In the end, Aidan slept. Not before seriously considering letting the blasted parrot loose, however, as he’d stubbornly refused to say anything but ‘naked’ when Aidan said Sarah’s name. With nothing to show for the time spent but gritty eyes and a dull headache and thinking they’d both needed a break, Aidan had folded his hands onto the table and laid his head down.

  His dreams shifted and drifted like clouds in the sky, changing from one form to another seamlessly. They began with Carracks where, even in Aidan’s dreams, the bird refused to listen. They slid into him and Sarah, alone on deck where she looked at him as she had earlier, eyes wide, lips moist and parted, as she awaited his kiss while Chunk and Lucky leaned against the gunwale whistling and hollering. Then everything darkened and Aidan was in the bloody streets of Tortuga, his plan of slipping in and out unnoticed lay ravaged and dead all around him. His breath lumbered through his lungs, his legs were heavy anchors he struggled to keep moving. Like it had been at Nate’s when Roche attacked, he grieved over the good men lying among the dead and bleeding.

  Weaponless—where the bloody hell had his bow and pistols gone—Aidan suddenly came face to face with Roche. Around them the trees were naught but towering branches of flames. Smoke burned his eyes and throat, snarled as it snapped closer and closer. Aidan’s legs refused to move and he knew he was going to die. Roche laughed, the sound as ominous as the crackling flames. He had a pistol in each hand and madness glowed in his eyes as he strode closer.

  When he stopped, Aidan’s horror knew no bounds. Roche aimed one pistol at his chest but he swung his other arm wide and suddenly there was Sarah, trails of tears leaving clean streaks in a soot-covered face while her father’s pistol pointed at her heart. She pleaded and begged but Roche simply cackled at his daughter’s distress. If Aidan could have moved, he’d have ripped Roche’s throat out with his bare hands.

  Then, with Roche’s laugh and Sarah’s scream ringing in Aidan’s ear, Roche pulled the trigger.

  Aidan jolted. He was on his feet before he came fully awake and realized he remained in his cabin. It was only a nightmare. He bent over, breath heaving as though he’d just tried swimming his way to Tortuga. He rubbed a fist over his heart but the gesture did little to calm the pounding beneath it. He concentrated on taking deep, slow breaths until the sound echoing off the cabin walls didn’t resemble a dull knife trying to cut through parchment.

  His throat was dry as sand and, despite it only being a dream, he somehow tasted smoke. Just as he continued to hear the blast of the pistol and feel the horror of the blood spreading. Aidan grabbed the bottle from the cupboard, unsettled but not surprised at the tremor in his hand.

  “To hell with a cup,” he muttered and tipped the bottle to his lips.

  He drank deep, one gulp after another until finally he couldn’t taste the smoke any longer. Somehow, the rest didn’t seem as real after that. He set the bottle into the sunbeam that poured through the porthole onto the table next to Carracks’ cage. Then, using his forearm he wiped the sweat from his brow and upper lip.

  He hadn’t had such a vivid nightmare in a long while and he certainly hadn’t missed it.

  What he was beginning to miss, however, was fresh air and open space. Even with Carracks for company, the walls were beginning to close in on Aidan. And nothing settled him more than standing at the wheel.

  “But you can stay here,” Aidan pointed to the bird, “until you learn some manners.” Carracks nudged Aidan’s hand as he filled his water dish but the moment the bird saw that was all he was going to get, the nudge turned to a nip.

  Aidan yanked his hand away. “Damn it, that hurt!”

  Squawk. “That hurt. That hurt.”

  “You don’t know the meaning of pain,” Aidan muttered. “But keep it up and you will.” He wiped the dribble of blood on his trousers and made his way up the ladder.

  He tossed open the hatch and climbed onto the deck.

  “You filthy, lying bastard!” He heard a scant moment before he was knocked flat on his back.

  His head slammed against the deck. The open hatch gouged into his shoulder blades. Something heavy trapped one of his legs while his other dangled into the opening of his cabin.

  “I’ll show you who’s a lying bastard!” Billy roared.

  The weight suddenly lifted from his leg. Aidan didn’t waste a moment. He rolled off the hatch, scrambled to his feet. The wind shoved at his hair and he shoved it right back. He had no idea what was going on but Billy was charging head first into Clarence’s stomach. Clarence grunted as they staggered back into one of the guns, lost their balance and crashed to the deck. Aidan winced when Billy’s head took the worst of it. He knew exactly how painful such a blow could be.

  What he didn’t know was what the devil was going on.

  “You two!” Chunk bellowed before Aidan could do his own hollering. Chunk leapt from the quarterdeck and the boards quivered under Aidan’s boots when the big man landed onto the deck. “Get over here!” Chunk’s size was intimidating but his voice, when angry, rivaled thunder.

  Clarence wound up and plowed his fist into Billy’s face, to the amusement of the other crewmembers, who did little to hide their grins and glee. He shoved to his feet. Billy lay stunned, blood gushing from his nose.

  “What the hell is going on?” Aidan demanded, taking his position next to Chunk.

  “I was about to find that out for myself before you got yourself knocked down. You all right?”

  Aidan rubbed the knot on his skull. It stung but his fingers at least came away dry. “Better than these two will be once we get to the bottom of this.”

  Chunk grinned. “You got that right, Cap’n.” He hollered, “Billy, you ain’t dead. Get up.”

  Well, if Aidan’s head hadn’t already been throbbing it certainly would be now. “You know, the man’s right there, I think he would have heard without you yelling.”

  “Ah, but where’s the fun in that?” Chunk answered.

  It took a few blinks and someone kicking his boots, but eventually Billy stood and, wiping his bloody nose on his sleeve, weaved over and stood next to Clarence. Billy had taken the worst of it but Clarence hadn’t come out unscathed. His split bottom lip was already well on its way to being double its normal size and a large red welt was blooming in his forehead.

  “What the hell is going on?” Aidan demanded.

  Clarence swiped his lip, smearing blood across his lip. “We was splicin’ the rope as you asked, Cap’n. Billy was workin’ the marlinspike and I was teasin’ him about how a blind, one-armed girl could do it faster and the next thing I knew, the marlinespike flew out of his hand and blasted me in the forehead.”

  “I told you it was an accident,” Billy seethed.

  “And I told you, you was lyin’,” Clarence spat.

  Fists curled at their sides. Judging by their raw knuckles, they’d already been well used. Lips drew back and breaths soughed.

  Aidan stepped between them before their tempers unleashed. “I ought to smack your heads together.” He turned to Clarence. “If Billy says it was an accident, then an accident it was.”

  “He’s never had it slip from his hand before,” Clarence accused.

  “Maybe not a marlinspike,” one of the men tossed out. “But I’d be bettin’ his other tool slipped in and out of his hand a time or two.”

  “And yours hasn’t?” someone countered.

  “I wouldn’t need me hand if Santiago’s
whelp opened her mouth wide enough.”

  The crew, including Clarence and Billy, exploded in laughter and crude gestures.

  Aidan’s blood turned to ice. Turning on his heel, he stormed below and into the galley. Dammit, he wasn’t going to put up with that kind of talk. Not about Sarah.

  It added to his already boiling temper when his gaze fell on Sarah first. What was the matter with him that he couldn’t simply think of her as Roche’s daughter? As a means to an end? Why did he have to notice the flush on her cheeks and the shy look in her eyes when she peered at him over the large pot she was standing over?

  “Cap’n what can—”

  “I need your waste bucket,” Aidan interrupted.

  “You’re needing peelings and scraps?”

  “As much as you have.”

  Slim grabbed a smelly bucket from the corner and, looking confounded, handed it to Aidan.

  “Thanks, you have any dirty dishwater?”

  “No but there’s the floor water Sarah was using to wash the decking. I told her I’d empty it but I forgot.” He stepped out of the galley and around a barrel, coming back with a bucket of brown water. “Will this do?”

  Aidan sneered. “It’s perfect.”

  With a bucket in each hand, Aidan marched back onto the deck. Clarence and Billy seemed to have forgotten their argument and stood arms around each other’s shoulders as they and at least half of the crew continued to crow about their tools and what they’d like to do with them. None of them seemed to notice he was back. When he heard Sarah’s name again he was ready.

  Taking hold of the scrap pail he tossed its contents on Clarence and Billy. As they gasped and the others stepped back to avoid the flying mess Aidan grabbed the dirty water and let it fly over the rest of them.

  He flung the empty bucket at their feet.

  “Let that be a lesson to the lot of you,” he said. “Sam Steele’s ship has always been one worthy of respect. I’ve sailed as part of that crew long enough to know there is no finer group of men than those on the Revenge. I may be new to being Steele, but I won’t settle for less than what he’s always had, a crew he could trust and respect, who respected and trusted in turn. A crew worthy of being under Steele’s command.”

  Aidan glared at the lot of them, aware many glared back.

  “You’ve a long way to go before you’re worthy. Now clean up this mess and get back to work and that better be the last time I hear any one of you malign Sarah.”

  If glares were daggers his back would be a bleeding mess.

  “Sorry, Cap’n,” Chunk apologized when Aidan made it back to the quarterdeck. “As they were no longer trying to kill each other, I saw no harm in letting them cackle for a few minutes.”

  “Disrespect is always dangerous, Chunk. It starts off innocently enough but spreads like an infection.”

  Chunk crossed his meaty arms over his chest. “What are you saying?”

  Aidan looked down to the main deck. The men were cleaning as they’d been asked but he saw some heads together, knew there were whispers. Just as he knew those words weren’t in his favor.

  “Just keep a weather eye open, Chunk.”

  Because he sure as hell planned to.

  Chapter Eleven

  Aidan tucked the dirk into his boot, reached for the dagger amid the armaments he’d placed on the table.

  “I thought you weren’t going to confront my father.” Fear and worry twined through her words.

  Roche, the heathen, didn’t deserve her concern.

  “I’m not,” Aidan confirmed before securing the dagger in his other boot. Then, looking over the array of steel on the table picked up a blunderbuss and shoved it into the black sash at his waist.

  “Then why are you bringing all these weapons?”

  “Going unarmed into Tortuga is likely to get you killed.” Besides, not only had he been raised by Luke, who never went anywhere without an arsenal of weapons, but he hadn’t had enough on him when Roche had attacked Nate’s. It wasn’t an error he intended to repeat.

  “But couldn’t having too many be seen as an invitation to fight?”

  “Clearly, you’ve never been to Tortuga.” He tightened his belt, tugged to ensure the scabbard held and with a whisper of blade against leather, slid in his favorite cutlass. On his opposite hip he added a few grenadoes to his pouch. After tucking in his preferred pistol, his first gift from Luke, Aidan deemed himself ready.

  Testing, he walked a small circle, crouched then stood. Blimey, why would Luke willingly carry all this weight around? But then Luke didn’t usually carry grenadoes.

  “Take me with you.”

  Aidan went still. “And have you warn your father? I think not.”

  Squawk. “Think not. Think not.”

  Finally, Carracks was on his side.

  “I give you my word I won’t.”

  He couldn’t help choking. “Really? You’ve been begging for the chance to speak with your father since the beginning and now you expect me to believe you no longer want to? That if you saw him, you wouldn’t run to him? Wouldn’t warn him and try to protect him?”

  “I wouldn’t,” she repeated.

  She tried. He’d give her credit for trying. But given her hands were wringing each other, her foot was tapping, and her eyes couldn’t stop blinking, he knew she was lying.

  “Sorry, your highness. You’re staying here.”

  Her foot stopped. Hurt clouded her eyes.

  Aidan thought he did a remarkable job of pretending it didn’t affect him.

  “I know what you’re doing,” she said.

  Because he had the uneasy feeling she did, and because he had no idea what else to do with his hands, Aidan crossed his arms over his chest. No easy feat with the amount of weapons hanging off him.

  “Do you, now?”

  She nodded. “You call me ‘your highness’ or ‘princess’ when the mood suits you, which is usually when we are speaking of my father.”

  Sarah came to her feet and stepped around the table. The cabin seemed to shrink with each step she took toward him. He was glad he hadn’t yet donned his coat as the temperature suddenly warmed in the small room.

  “You do it purposefully,” she continued when he remained silent. “To remind yourself who I am.”

  “I never forget who you are.”

  She’d stopped her excessive blinking and solidly met his gaze.

  Apparently, she wasn’t uncomfortable any more. Aidan ran a hand around his neck. He wished he could say the same.

  “I think you do,” she said. “Or at the least there are times when you are able to separate me from my father.” She moved closer, her eyes drawing him in. “When you call me Sarah, when you look at me as you are right at this moment, I know it isn’t my father you’re thinking of.”

  Aidan drew in a troubled breath; held it, let it out. No, he certainly wasn’t thinking of Roche but neither could he tell her what he was thinking. Roche’s daughter or not, in the ways of the flesh she was innocent and he’d shock her with the carnal images burning through his mind.

  Instead, he reached for the coat draped over the back of a chair and dug into one of the pockets.

  “Perhaps not,” he finally admitted as he secured the black bandana over his head. “But you’re wrong about why I call you princess and your highness. It isn’t to remind me who you are. It’s to remind myself of my goal. The only one I can let matter.”

  “To kill my father.”

  “Aye.”

  Hungrily, he watched her throat work, yearned to dip his head and taste the long column of it. When he dragged his eyes to hers he swore he saw the same hunger reflected there.

  “We’ll see,” he whispered, “if you still look at me the way you are now once this is over. Because I doubt you will.”

  She stepped back. “I don’t think my feelings will be as easy to dispense of as you wish them to be.”

  Neither, he feared, would his.

  *

&nb
sp; On deck, with the wind whispering in his ear, Aidan shrugged into his coat. He tucked the sides of the garment behind the scabbards to allow fast access to his swords, tugged the wide cuffs down to his wrists. The waning moon wasn’t as bright as it had been at Nate’s and for that he was thankful. He preferred the cover of darkness.

  Pale candlelight winked through the slats of the cabin’s hatch and brushed the toes of his black boots. He stared down, remembering, despite himself, Sarah’s wounded look when he’d told her she was to stay below in his absence, that Jacques would be ensuring her safety by guaranteeing she never left his cabin. She hadn’t screamed or wailed as she’d done when he’d locked her in the cellar at her home, but her silence was more powerful than any words. It cut deeper.

  Hell, he didn’t want to care. He didn’t want the doubt that had crept over him when she’d asked how far Jacques would go to protect her. He may not trust all his men, but he was sure of Jacques, Lucky, and Chunk and knew they’d go as far as they needed to. Why now was he wondering if that would be enough?

  Dammit, he was Steele now. He had priorities, a goal. Distractions such as these could be deadly.

  When had that stopped Sam, Nate, or Cale?

  Cursing, Aidan looked away. He was attracted to Sarah he’d admit. But Sam, Nate, and Cale had fallen in love. And once they had, they’d given up Steele. Blimey, he’d barely taken over as the infamous captain; he sure as blazes wasn’t going to give it up right away. Not after years of coveting the role. He’d trust his men to do their duty and he’d go into Tortuga to do his own.

  “Ready to go ashore, Cap’n?”

  “More than. And I’ll be trusting you to do what needs to be done here.”

  “It’ll be as you planned,” Chunk said and went through it one more time.

  His first mate had forgotten nothing but something tickled the back of Aidan’s brain. He peered into the darkness consuming the deck, the lamps had been doused and the crew was nothing but grey shadows in the moonlight. It was silent but for the creak of the ship and the splash of the waves against the hull. The mainsail had been lowered and the mast was a skeletal finger in the middle of the deck. The entire scene was eerie and foreboding. He shuddered as what felt like a dozen spiders skittered up his spine.