“What’ll become of the lad when we hit really rough sea—that’s what I’d like to know,” Hawkins grumbled.
“He’ll be all right once his stomach adjusts. That will be all, Mr. Hawkins.”
The older man turned away but he gave Bronwyn a malevolent look before stomping off to do as he was ordered. She’d made herself an enemy aboard the Black and would have to watch Mr. Hawkins closely from now on. The Dauntless was only two days away. She could control one bad-tempered sailor for two days.
Bronwyn turned back to the boy. She helped him from the side and wiped his mouth with the edge of her gown while he sobbed he apologies in French.
“Velvet is too warm in any case,” she told him consolingly. “You’ve done me a favor, Louis. I shall have something practical to wear at last.”
Louis did not understand a word of it. Jon Stag astonished her by crouching down before the boy and taking his narrow shoulders in his strong sun-browned hands. He spoke to him quietly in French and the boy’s face lit up as he answered the captain’s questions.
When he was finished, he straightened and addressed Bronwyn.
“He is seven years old. He was caught stealing bread for his mama and pressed into service. His mother is a prostitute from what Louis describes of her occupation. He’ll be all right if he focuses on the horizon when the dizzy spells come. I experienced the same trouble when I went to sea. The second mate will keep an eye on him. He can stay on deck, working the rigging until he gets his sea legs.”
Bronwyn protested. “Seven years old! The child must be returned to his mother. He needs rest and care—not more work!”
Jon Stag’s brows pulled together in a question. “The Black is his home now and we are his brothers. He’ll do better to have an occupation and earn his share of the takings. His mother doesn’t want another mouth to feed.”
He instructed the boy in French to find the second mate and Louis darted off.
Bronwyn stared at Jon Stag in shock and fury. How could he be compassionate one minute and so utterly callous the next? “What do you know about a mother’s heart and what that poor woman is suffering right now? There is more to life than piracy and profit, Captain Stag. And children need their mothers.”
Tears sprang to her eyes, alarmingly fast and unstoppable. It had been years since she had cried for anyone or anything—now was decidedly not the time! Not when a show of strength was needed.
Her heart would not obey.
Chapter Twelve
BRONWYN HUNG over the side of the ship and wept, her salt tears dropping into the salt ocean.
Her heart was breaking for her lost childhood, for her mother and father, and for all the orphans in all the world.
And whether she liked to admit it or not, Bronwyn was grieving for her lost virginity, a thing belonging only to her that she would never get back. And the worst of it was that she had given her treasure—her one and only thing of value—to a high seas privateer who held it in cheap regard!
JON LISTENED to her weeping, feeling helpless to do anything about it. He wanted to take her in his arms and explain that children needed loving mothers, but his was not and it was likely that Louis’s mother was not. Not all women were meant to be mothers but Nature made them so. Why not take those children to be cared for by men?
He wanted her to be sensible about the whole thing.
Her shoulders were shaking now. The weeping had become a crying jag. Jon made a mighty effort to control his impatience. Like most men, he could not abide a woman in tears.
“You are crying over nothing,” he said in a harder tone than he intended. “Look, the boy is well where he is—look, do you see? He is content to untangle the rigging. Stop crying. You have not seen much of the world. It comes as a shock to you to learn that people in poverty would rather lose a son to the sea than watch him starve in the streets. I don’t blame Louis’s mother; she was given no choice. It is men like your father, the rich, privileged aristocrats that I condemn. They have everything and will part with nothing. Their greed will be their undoing. Every man and boy aboard this ship stands to profit from every blackguard who ever oppressed them on land, and by heaven, they will seize the chance when it comes!”
Jon pulled away from her, overcome with emotion that he channeled into rage. Memories he’d buried nine years ago rose to the surface and with them, the attendant agony to be lived all over again. Perhaps Bill Hawkins was right about this one—Bronwyn Gage was a Jonah—a jinx. Not to the Black—when had they ever sailed in such perfect weather?—but to him. Her mere presence was dragging up hidden wounds and exposing them to the light. The mistake was in thinking he could fuck her without consequence. That she would be in his power and not the other way around.
He gazed at the girl who kept her eyes fixed on the horizon. Jon had seen her on deck when he came from meeting with his officers and he was drawn to her. There was no choice in the matter—Jon was pulled to join her just as surely as the compass pulls north. And now, here he was examining his life and wishing he was a better man!
He reached out and touched her hair where it fell against her neck and rubbed its silky softness between his fingers. Its color under the sun shone with copper and chestnut, the hues of the earth. Jon was mated to the sea, blue and gray, wind and white billowing sail. They were too different to be content together. It was well that she was married, Jon thought.
“I want to see you again tonight. In my quarters. It is not a request.”
She lifted her swollen, tear-stained eyes to his. “Is that all you have to say to me?”
“What else would you have me say?”
She turned from him in disgust. “You are not a stupid man. Don’t talk as though you are.”
Jon’s face pulled to a grimace. He’d forgotten her sharp tongue. Goddamn it, he had every reason to dislike Lady Gage and none whatsoever to pursue her as he was doing. Except that his soul would not leave him alone until he was with her again. The craving was like a scratching animal driving him mad. It will soon burn itself out. Give it time.
“My apologies,” he said through gritted teeth. “Obviously, you are in distress over what has happened between us. Forgive me if I do not take your remorse with the gravity you think it deserves. It has been many years since I have bedded a lady of society. I am out of practice with offering consolation.”
“Compassion does not require practice. One either has it or one does not,” she said shortly and walked away leaving him alone on the deck.
§
JON’S SPIRITS climbed as the day drew to a close. There could be no explanation for his good cheer that day with his men and the vigor he gave to his work, other than the prospect of seeing Bronwyn that night.
The Dauntless was in his sights as he examined the charts, and her store of gold was on his mind—but the evening with Bronwyn lay ahead, shimmering like moonlight on a dark ocean. The rock of his solitary existence had been rolled away and light was pouring in.
And other thoughts of a similar poetical nature, he thought with a wry grin as he rolled up the charts to make way for the evening meal.
“You are in a rare state,” observed Billy Hawkins. “It is that lass that’s got you twisting every which way.”
He shrugged and smiled broadly. “I admire her, ‘tis true, Billy. She is a vision and I like to look at her as any young man would. What harm can come of it?”
“If you don’t know then you have truly lost your bearings. While she’s got you staring into her pretty eyes and fixing her hair, you ought to be readying the Black for battle. You’re not seeing the forest for the trees.”
“And once again, you are speaking in riddles. What is it now? Spit it out, Bill.”
“Have you had a look at her ladyship’s hands while you were gawping at her like a dog in heat? Take a good look at ‘em and tell me if those are the hands of a pampered young lady. And another thing that’s odd about her. She doesn’t speak French. I thought all the nobility educated the
ir daughters in French, music and other useless skills.”
“You still do not believe she is Lady Gage.”
“I do not, but I’ve come around to see that it doesn’t matter what I believe as long as Treacher believes it. However, if she’s a spy and leading us into a trap, it’s my neck too.”
“What would you have me do, Hawkins? Abandon the plan now and we abandon all chance of capturing the prize. We have the element of surprise on our side. Even Lady Bronwyn does not have it in her power to get word to the Dauntless of our intentions. She believes we are making the rendezvous to bring her aboard and that is all.”
Half-truth and half-lie; the lie made Jon uncomfortable.
“She suspects though. Oh, aye, she suspects well enough. Mark my words; she’ll try to winkle it out of you. One way or another, this so-called lady will learn the truth and when she does, she’ll have us.”
Jon pounded the table. “Enough! Goddamn it, Hawkins, you never know when to stop!”
“And you never know when to start!” The old man spit with rage. “When are you going to interrogate her? When are you going to show her who is commander of this vessel? When are you going to toss her in the hold and lock her up as you would any hostage?”
“Never!” he bellowed. “That’s when!” Jon’s chest heaved. He flung the map he was holding to the floor. “I’ll never lock her up or the boy. I’ve struck a bargain with her and thus far she has lived up to her end. I must live up to mine.”
“Oh I see,” hissed Bill softly in a voice laced with bitterness. “A bargain is it. Can’t you see what she’s doing? She’s already got you conspiring against your own crew!”
“It is not like that.”
“Then what is it like? What manner of bargain did you strike with the lady?”
“Nothing that would interest you. Stop plaguing me with your infernal questions!” Jon turned away. He could not hold the man’s gaze when his nerves tingled with rebellion.
Bill shook his head in disgust. “You’ve sworn an oath to your men and to me and the Black. You’d best decide where your loyalties lie before it is too late. We’ll be in sight of Dauntless the day after tomorrow. If we are not united in this enterprise, we haven’t a hope in Hades of winning the day.”
His first mate was right—everything Hawkins had said was sound and correct and was exactly what Jon would have said himself if their roles were reversed. And yet for the life of him, he could not break free of wanting Bronwyn.
“I know where my loyalties lie,” he snapped. “She amuses me for the moment. That is all. When Lady Gage has served her purpose and we have the gold, she’ll trouble you no more.”
“It is not the trouble she gives me that’s the problem. She’s bewitched you—aye she has, Jonny-boy, do not deny it. And we’ll all pay the price.”
Hawkins landed a sharp eye on Jon’s face. “I’ve been with you from the beginning, from the day you claimed the Somerset and seized her as a prize. Do you remember? I like to think I’m your friend, lad, as well as your first mate.”
“You are, damn it.” Jon rubbed his mouth in frustration. “But you nag like a fishwife. The lady is married, Hawkins. There is no question of my choosing her over the Black. She is another man’s wife.”
“You sound as if you are sorry.”
“I am tired of this blasted conversation! I take pleasure in the lady’s company and I cannot be persuaded there is any danger in it!”
“Then do as I say just this once. Ask the lady why she does not speak French. Ask her and see what she says. I wager my share of the gold that Bronwyn Gage is not who she says she is. And if she is not—it will be up to you to decide what you mean to do about it.”
Hawkins left Jon seething with anger and rebellion at the thought of never seeing her again. So much so that it made him ill and turn from his supper.
Nevertheless, Jon Stag was not fooled into thinking he had softened. His mind was as cool and calculating as ever. He was first and foremost a pirate, chasing after treasure. Bronwyn Gage was his leverage. His interest in the lady would fade as soon as she was no longer useful to him.
§
THE SOUND OF Roddy’s coughing roused her from her thoughts. Bronwyn blinked, looking around her as though seeing her surroundings for the first time. The candle was still burning. She had been dreaming about Captain Stag and forgetting the reason she was here.
“What is it?” She came to Roddy’s side. “Can you get your breath?”
Her brother was curled up in the hammock. His cough had improved, but when the fits came over him there was little she could do but hold his hand and pray. They were exceedingly lucky to get this room. There was a narrow berth for Bronwyn to sleep in, a window that opened with a latch, and a burning candle on the nightstand. It was cramped, but as long as Roddy was safe within, she had no need of anything else.
“Can we have the window open, Winnie? I can catch my breath just fine when I am on deck. Did you see how I worked today? James says I will make a fine sailor.”
“I saw and I must say I agree with him.” She smiled broadly as she unlatched the window. “You put me quite to shame with your industry.” The sea sounded in the distance and the twilight sky was beginning to reveal its stars.
“I was not sick. Not once. Is Louis better now do you think?”
“I’m sure he is much improved. Mr. Frame has taken charge of him.”
“Captain Stag said we will all feel unwell until our brains adjust to the motion of the sea. Did you know that? He is very clever. James says the captain is the finest seaman he has ever sailed under. I think I shall enjoy being a pirate aboard the Black Adder. Will you?”
Bronwyn examined the trousers James had given her in exchange for her soiled dress. “Well, I certainly have the costume for it.”
Captain Stag had masterfully found the one weak spot in her defense and Bronwyn hated him for exploiting her vulnerability. But there was something else worrying her. Her thoughts had taken a strange and unwelcome turn since last night, swerving continually in Captain Stag’s direction. She found herself thinking about the privateer when she least wanted to.
Thinking about the way he had touched her … his scent ... the sound he had made when he.... Her flesh burned. She was beginning to feel something for the blackguard; something that promised great pain if she allowed it to take root.
Bronwyn shook herself back to reality. She needed air. That was her trouble. The cabin was too hot.
She tucked a blanket over her little brother’s narrow shoulders. His lids were mauve from his illness but his color had improved.
“You’ve given me your blanket, Winnie. You will be cold.”
“I have my cloak to keep me warm. Go to sleep. Sweet dreams.”
She pulled on her cloak, extinguished the candle and slipped out of the cabin.
Chapter Thirteen
THE MAIN deck was all but empty. It was the second dog watch; the crew was either at dinner or asleep in their hammocks. Bronwyn had the place to herself. The evening air was balmy. She gazed at the stars, remembering the names of the constellations as her father had taught her. Matthew Barlow had loved the sea. Her father was too well-educated to find fulfillment as a curate but he had executed his duties admirably, even unto death.
“Good evening, my lady.”
Captain Stag’s deep voice cut across the still air. Bronwyn twisted to see him standing above on the quarter deck. His hands were on the rail. The ocean breeze caught a shock of his black hair that had come loose and lifted it off his face.
Her heart began to pound and her mouth dried—the same strange reaction she’d experienced with him this afternoon. Her body came alive whenever the captain was near.
His shoulders were magnificent in the blue jacket he wore open over a loose white shirt. It was trimmed with the romantic undulating ruffles she’d read about in novels about corsairs. Open to his chest, stark white against his dark skin—she could not tear her eyes away. Jon Sta
g was bold and frightening in a way that she had not foreseen. Bronwyn knew how to best a man with wit and a willingness to kill if it came to it. She was out of her depth with a man who just had to look at her to make her tremble.
Her mind fogged as she gazed at his hands, forearms, shoulders and the severe line of his jaw. His eyes were a quiet cool grey that revealed nothing. An aquiline nose, black brows and a wide smooth forehead ... he was … beautiful.
Captain Stag was male perfection, or what Bronwyn imagined male perfection to be. When she was younger, she’d heard tales of pirates and Jon Stag was the image of those rogues she’d conjured in her imagination. Admittedly, she had fallen a little in love with the image.
The pirate in reality was much more alarming. She remembered the threat Stag had made against her person if she proved to be lying. Hawkins said the crew of the Black Adder would be given license to do with her as they willed. Captain Jon Stag was not a heroic gallant of the high seas—the stuff girlhood fantasies. He was a thorough-going devil.
“You have not forgotten our appointment tonight?”
“I have not forgotten.”
“I look forward to it.”
“There is no need to gloat in your triumph, sir. It makes you most unattractive.”
Jon Stag surprised her by throwing back his head and laughing. Bronwyn’s heart sank. He was indefatigable! “I am glad my distaste amuses you. I would have thought after our conversation this afternoon, you might have changed your mind.”
“Not at all. I enjoy your bouts of temper. Compassion may not require practice, but sex does. I’m eager to instruct such a willing pupil. I believe your husband will thank me when I return you to him.” Stag grinned and crooked an eyebrow at her.
Bronwyn clenched her fists and stifled a scream. “You blasted, insufferable man! I believed I saw a shred of decency in you this afternoon with Louis. How wrong I was. You leave me no choice. I must confess I am not married. I made up that story to put you off. Now do you see how ill-used I am at your hands? I can never marry as you have ruined me for marriage!”
The Pirate Lord: Aristocrat. Rogue. Spy. Page 8