Rogue Pirates Bride

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Rogue Pirates Bride Page 20

by Shana Galen


  could return and attack any time. But he also knew La

  Sirena had been damaged in their skirmish. Jourdain

  would be supervising repairs and making attack plans

  tonight, just as Bastien was—should be.

  “Merde.” He set Raeven aside and sat.

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  Sleepily, she pushed her hair out of her eyes.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Jourdain will come for us in the morning. I need

  to call my officers, make a plan.”

  She nodded, the sleepiness leaving her face, and her

  swollen, rosy lips thinning. He wished he could erase

  her serious expression, replace it with the satisfied look

  she’d worn moments before. “I know I’m not one of

  your officers. I’m an outsider, and on top of all that,

  I’m a woman. But I’m good with strategy. My father

  always consults me.” She pulled up the bedclothes and

  tucked them under her arms. “And he always wins.”

  Bastien stood and pulled on his breeches. “I have

  no doubt of your abilities, but I think it’s better if you

  wait here. You should get some rest.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You’re not going to rest. And

  even if I wanted rest, how could I? If this ship goes

  down, I drown along with the rest of the crew. If

  the ship is taken, you face death, but I’ll find death a

  merciful release.”

  She was right. If Jourdain took the Shadow, she

  would be fair game for all the men. The captain might

  claim her first, but when he’d had his fill, the rest of

  the men would all have a turn.

  He shrugged his shirt over his head, his wounded

  shoulder stiff and protesting. “My men won’t accept—”

  She jumped to her feet, pulling the bedclothes

  around her. “Your men are—as you told me before—

  fiercely loyal to you. If you listen to me, they will.”

  He bent to pull on a boot.

  “You know you have a traitor on board.”

  He stilled, his hands frozen on the soft leather, his

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  foot half in and half out. “I don’t know what you’re

  talking about.” He shoved in his foot and looked

  about the cabin for the other boot.

  “Yes, you do. Someone alerted Jourdain to your

  position. He didn’t fire randomly in that fog bank. He

  knew you were there.”

  He saw the other boot and scooped it up. “Perhaps

  he was simply lucky.”

  “That’s possible,” she acknowledged. “And I might

  even entertain the idea if he hadn’t attacked. He didn’t

  have time or enough visibility to identify your ship.

  If he didn’t know it was you, he would have been

  firing on a ship unknown and unseen. That’s foolish,

  especially with the number of British and American

  men-of-war patrolling these waters. He might stand

  a chance against your sloop but not against a man-of-

  war. No.” She shook her head, her hair falling about

  her shoulders. “He knew it was you. He was sitting in

  the fog bank waiting for the Shadow.”

  She was right. He’d thought the same thing as soon

  as Jourdain attacked. The Barbary pirate shouldn’t

  have even expected him to be following, much less

  been lying in wait. He glanced at her, and she stared

  at him for a long moment.

  “But I’m not saying anything you don’t already

  know, am I?”

  “No.” But she’d forced him to acknowledge his

  suspicions. He would have been happier thinking his

  crew completely loyal.

  He would have been happy, but he would also be

  dead. The traitor had to be found and dealt with. But

  how to hook a traitor?

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  He glanced at Raeven again. She narrowed her

  eyes. “Don’t tell me you think I’m the traitor.”

  He didn’t, but he decided to play out the idea.

  “You have more motive than anyone else aboard this

  ship. You and your Mr. Williams.”

  “But neither of us had any idea you were going

  after Jourdain. How could we?”

  “You managed to get aboard my ship. You managed

  to incapacitate my guard. You managed to make it to

  my cabin and put a dagger to my throat. I think you

  could manage to find out our plans.”

  She pulled the bedclothes tighter, hugged herself.

  “Is that what you think I did?”

  He went to the mirror, pulled back his hair, and

  secured it with a thong.

  “Very well, tell me this. If I knew you were going

  after Jourdain, and I had somehow alerted him so he

  might surprise and destroy you, why did I sneak on

  board? Why did I warn you about the attack when we

  were on deck?”

  He watched her in the mirror. She paced when she

  spoke. Back and forth, back and forth, dragging the

  sheet with her. She really should have been a barrister.

  “Why did I help with the cannons? Wouldn’t it

  have been better for me to…?”

  “Enough.” He turned. She was so damn logical.

  “You’re not the informant. But I don’t know who is.

  Until I do, it suits my purposes to allow the suspicion

  to fall on you.”

  “You think others will assume there’s a traitor.”

  Clearly she didn’t. The tone in her voice was dubious.

  “Sailors are a superstitious lot. More likely, they’ll

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  consider the incident bad luck. They might chalk it up

  to having a woman on board.”

  He gathered maps and charts from his desk. “Some

  will, yes. But my officers aren’t so foolish. If the idea

  hasn’t occurred to them already, it will soon.”

  “And you plan to name me? I might as well jump ship

  now. It’s better than being forced to walk the plank!”

  “Don’t jump quite yet. When the suggestion arises,

  I won’t name you, but I won’t discount you either.

  Unless there’s a mutiny, you’re safe under my protec-

  tion. For a little while.”

  “And while I’m the prime suspect, the true traitor

  thinks he’s safe.”

  “It might be enough to cause him to make a mistake.”

  “And if he doesn’t?”

  He looked up at her tone.

  “Jourdain is coming back for you,” she said. “You

  don’t have time to wait.”

  He grinned, crossed to her, and took her pointed

  chin between two fingers. “Let me worry about that.

  You—if you’re so good at strategy—study the copies of

  charts I’ve left. Figure out where the hell he’s hiding.”

  She nodded, and he went to the door, opened

  it, stepped into the companionway. But he turned

  right back around, surprising her as she leaned over

  his desk. “And Rae
ven, I’ll be back. Don’t bother

  getting dressed.”

  She did bother to dress. She wasn’t some courtesan,

  paid to lounge about in her dressing robe.

  Not that she had a dressing robe. She didn’t have

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  Shana Galen

  much of anything, so she raided Bastien’s trunks once

  again and donned a black shirt, black breeches, and

  cinched all in place with a large belt. She wished she

  could find boots that fit better because the ones she’d

  borrowed were too large, but she found a pair of

  woman’s slippers among the gowns. They were still

  too big for her, but she didn’t think she’d trip over

  them as much.

  She fully expected a guard at the cabin door, but

  the companionway was clear. Most of the crew were

  using the last of the dying daylight to finish repairs to

  the Shadow. At night she imagined Bastien—Cutlass—

  would order all portholes covered, all lights extin-

  guished. If Jourdain was out there, Bastien wouldn’t

  take any chances the Barbary pirate might spot him.

  She could imagine the conversations in the wardroom

  at present. The men were probably drinking and

  smoking and tossing out idea after idea. She could

  picture Bastien smoking his own cigar, listening

  patiently, and making his own plans.

  Was the traitor in the wardroom even now, or was

  he one of the mates? Would he try to help Jourdain

  again soon or bide his time? It would be easy to “acci-

  dentally” leave a porthole uncovered, shine a light on

  the deck during the watch…

  She missed the safety and security of her father’s

  ship. In truth, there were many times she’d been in as

  much danger on the Regal as she was here, but for some

  reason, she felt more exposed on the Shadow. Perhaps

  because she didn’t know the crew here, didn’t know

  the ship’s capabilities yet, didn’t trust the captain.

  But that wasn’t quite true. She did trust Bastien.

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  She’d seen his skills and leadership abilities. She knew

  he’d protect her. He’d done so in Gibraltar to his own

  detriment. He was more of a gentleman than he prob-

  ably wanted to be.

  She did trust him with her body. But not with

  her heart.

  And she was afraid their lovemaking had touched

  something in her heart. Something different than

  Timothy had touched.

  She stood in the companionway and shook her head.

  Why should she allow Bastien to touch anything inside

  her? Why couldn’t she be like a man—give her body

  and nothing else? She knew Bastien wasn’t standing

  about, thinking about how she’d touched his heart.

  The thought made her smile ruefully. And wonder

  what Bastien was thinking. She didn’t know him well

  enough to guess.

  But she knew who did.

  A few minutes later, she made her way along

  the companionway until she reached the infirmary.

  She couldn’t have said how she knew which it was.

  Perhaps she could smell the blood or laudanum.

  The door was open, and she peeked inside. Mr.

  Leveque sat at a table, folding strips of white cloth.

  The men in his care, there were two, slept on cots.

  One had a bandage around his head, the other around

  his arm and leg. She wasn’t certain of their injuries and

  didn’t want the details. Even the idea of blood made

  her stomach protest.

  “Can I help you, mademoiselle?”

  Happily, she turned her eyes back to Leveque. “I

  hope I’m not interrupting, doctor.”

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  “Not at all. And you mustn’t call me doctor. As I

  told you before, Monsieur le Marquis gave me this

  position, but I have no qualifications.”

  She nodded toward his patients. “They seem well

  enough.”

  “Eh, well. I knew something about caring for

  horses. Men are not so very different, and I have been

  on ships for many years. I have seen almost everything,

  as I imagine have you.”

  She nodded. She’d seen injuries so horrible she

  wished she could erase them from her mind. But she

  had never tried to deal with the injuries. She had

  never tried to save a man’s life. The most she had

  done was apply a tourniquet and help the injured soul

  to the infirmary.

  And she hadn’t stayed to see the doctor work.

  She thought at one point her father hoped she might

  work as a nurse. When she’d been twelve and her father

  had been captain of the HMS Titan, he’d brought her

  to the infirmary one day and offered her as an extra

  pair of hands. She’d done well for several hours: rolling

  bandages, sorting medicines, cleaning instruments. But

  later in the day, a man who’d severed his finger in

  an accident with a coil of rigging stumbled into the

  infirmary, his injured hand clutched to his breast, blood

  gushing over his shirt. She’d gone pale and—she was

  loathe to even remember this now—she’d fainted.

  It was the first and last time she’d fainted, and it

  had been the end of her glorious medical career. For

  some reason, she could draw blood in battle. Oh, her

  stomach grew queasy when she saw it, but she did not

  feel lightheaded. But when not in the throes of musket

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  fire and booming cannons, she could not even think of

  blood without her head swimming.

  “How long have you been sailing?” She eyed the

  men on the cots. They seemed still enough—unlikely

  to convulse or begin bleeding out. Gingerly, she

  stepped farther inside.

  “Thirteen years. You?”

  “Since I was four, and I’ll be twenty this month.”

  He shook his head, a reaction she had not expected.

  Most sailors were impressed by her many years at sea.

  She raised her brows. “You disapprove?”

  “You’ve known nothing else,” Mr. Leveque said.

  “It dismays me.” He set the bandages aside.

  “I love the sea,” she countered.

  “That’s what he says too.” He gestured toward the

  stern and the captain’s cabin. “But he’s known little

  else, either. Jumped on board when he was but eleven.

  It was the only way to escape the bloodshed. He could

  do anything now, and he chooses this.” The look of

  disgust on his face indicated he didn’t approve of the

  choice. “Battles, death, risking life and limb.” Leveque

  shook his head again.

  “Why do you stay?” she asked.

  “How can I leave him, mademoiselle?” He

  shrugged. “We have no one but each other.”

  “Surely you have family bac
k in France.”

  “No.” He reached for a pair of wine glasses, but she

  shook her head. He filled both anyway. “My family

  was the duc de Valère and his family. I began working

  for him as little more than a child. I don’t know where

  my parents were or who they were, but the duc took

  me in. He was a good man.”

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  “What happened to him? You said the duchesse is

  dead. What about the rest of the family?”

  “All killed in the revolution. Monsieur le Marquis had

  two brothers. One was his twin, and both were killed

  that night. We heard later his father was guillotined.”

  “I’m sorry.” And she was. The violence in France

  a few years before was unimaginable to her. Whole

  families denounced and killed. Children even. “How

  did you and… er, the marquis escape?”

  The man looked thoughtful then said, “That is a

  story for him to tell. It is very personal to him. I may

  have already said too much.”

  She nodded. She could respect the old man’s

  decision, but she knew it meant she would probably

  never know Bastien’s story. He seemed unlikely to

  reveal it to her. “Might I ask one more question? On

  another topic?”

  The doctor inclined his head. “Why are we

  pursuing Jourdain? Bastien told me it was because the

  Barbary pirate killed someone he loved.”

  “His father.”

  She frowned. “But I thought you said—”

  “Not his real father. The man who became his

  father, Vargas, the captain of El Cuchillo. That’s the ship

  that took us on, and the man who taught Monsieur le

  Marquis all he knows about ships and sailing.”

  “What happened? Or is it too personal to reveal?”

  Leveque shrugged. “The story is widely known.” He

  lifted his glass, sipped, and indicated she should drink

  also. “Do not make me drink alone, mademoiselle . ”

  Obligingly, she lifted the second glass and drank.

  The wine was good. From what she had seen on

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  board, the crew of the Shadow did not want for what

  might be considered luxuries aboard the Regal.

  “Jourdain and Vargas were not partners, but they

  often worked together for this pasha or that. I don’t

  know the politics of the region, but I know both men

  became rich.”

  Raeven frowned. It was no mystery how pirates

  made their fortunes. They ran blockades and robbed

 

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