Cutlass

by T. M. Franklin

  “Slip,” she murmured under her breath.

  She swung her sword along an intersecting arc, not trying to block his, but instead using her sword to change the angle of his blow. The two weapons rang out, metal gliding against metal as Jonathan’s cutlass dipped to her side.

  “Slide.”

  In a fluid motion, Sarina twirled around, her sword flashing.

  “Spin.”

  Then the flat of her sword tapped against his temple.

  “Smack.”

  Another spin, and the hilt touched his nose.

  “Smack.”

  And Sarina grabbed his shoulders, her knee coming up to nudge him between the legs.

  “Smack,” she said, smiling proudly as she looked up at him.

  Jonathan grinned back. “Well done.” It took a moment for him to recognize the strange warmth that filled him at her glowing expression.

  Pride.

  And something . . . else.

  Her fingers flexed on his shoulders, her smile falling as a flush of pink climbed her cheeks. Jonathan realized she had yet to move, her knee still lodged between his legs, her body pressed up against him tantalizingly. Without realizing it, his own hands had drifted to her waist, and he swallowed thickly as they slid around to hold her closer. Both swords clattered to the floor, forgotten.

  “Jonathan?” Her hesitant whisper seemed a mixture of confusion and wonder. Her eyes widened as he leaned down, so close her breath teased his tongue as his lips parted.

  It was too much temptation, really. There was no way he could resist.

  He closed the distance between them, taking her mouth without another moment of hesitation, and a shocked sound escaped her, the vibration sending a surge of heat through Jonathan’s body. He pressed against her, one hand sliding up to hold her head in place. His fingers weaved through her hair, a few pins falling to the ground as it came loose in his grip, silken tresses falling over his wrist in a delicious tangle.

  Sarina softened in his arms, fitting into the curve of his embrace with a quiet sigh. Teasing her mouth open, he dipped his tongue between her lips, shocked when she sucked it lightly, her fingers clutching his neck as if to hold him in place.

  Like he was going anywhere.

  He tightened his grip, lifting her so her toes barely brushed the ground, and turned his attention to her neck, burying his nose in her concentrated scent. He kissed the soft skin below her ear, his tongue darting out to taste her, eliciting a delicious shiver. Her head fell back as he slipped his tongue under the chain she always wore, following its trail down to where it disappeared beneath her bodice. She gasped as he teasingly licked into the cleft between her breasts, then nipped his way back up to the hollow of her throat.

  “Jonathan . . .” A moan. A plea. A promise.

  “Jonathan?” He stiffened at the more distant sound of a voice calling his name. A voice other than Sarina’s.

  He stepped back abruptly, loosening his grip on Sarina, but not releasing her. She swayed slightly, eyes wide and dazed.

  “What . . .” she asked, steadying herself on his arms.

  “Someone’s coming.”

  She blinked twice, then seemed to grasp what he’d said. She started, hand flying to her throat . . . her disheveled hair. She swept it back, twisting it quickly as she searched the floor for her missing pins.

  “Jonathan?” the voice called out again, closer now. At any moment, the barn door would fly open. Jonathan retrieved his coat and slipped it on quickly, buttoning it in an effort to hide the very obvious evidence of what they’d been doing. He adjusted himself, wincing slightly, and bent to pick up the swords.

  “Mbbffmmm,” Sarina mumbled through the pins in her mouth. At his confused glance, she removed the pins, sticking them quickly into her newly-formed bun, then straightening her skirts. “Who is it?” she whispered, taking her sword from him.

  “Grace,” he hissed back, raising the cutlass. “Come on, now. As you were.”

  Sarina raised her sword, swinging it with both hands and taking Jonathan a little by surprise when it clanged against his with more force than he expected. He stepped back, bracing himself, just as the barn door swung open and Grace Eaton stuck her head through the door.

  “There you are!” she exclaimed, squinting as she entered the dim interior. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here to greet you. Ellen Waltham went into labor and the midwife was dealing with another birth.” She crossed to Jonathan, popping up on her toes to kiss his cheek.

  “Is she all right?” Jonathan asked, smiling down at the woman he’d come to think of as family. Despite their rather unique relationship, Jonathan had always been close to Grace. It was odd, he supposed, but he had never felt anger toward either Grace or his father about their relationship. Perhaps he’d never seen the point.

  Grace smiled. “She’s fine. She had a strong baby boy.” She turned to Sarina with a smile and slight nod. “You must be Sarina. I’m Grace Eaton, Charlotte’s mother.”

  Sarina glanced at Jonathan nervously before smiling in return. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Eaton.”

  “Please, call me Grace. No need to stand on ceremony.” She looked between them, an unreadable glint in her eye. “Charlotte sent me to find you,” she explained. “She says she’s ready.”

  “Ah, good,” Jonathan said brusquely, sheathing his sword and reaching for Sarina’s to do the same. “Where is she?”

  “In her hut. She’s been preparing all morning.”

  Jonathan nodded, turning to Sarina. “We should go.”

  She didn’t meet his eyes. “Would you mind?” She lifted her hands, and Jonathan noticed they trembled slightly. “Could I have a moment to clean up? I won’t take long.”

  Jonathan pretended not to notice Grace studying him closely. “Of course. Go ahead, and I’ll put your sword away. Meet us in front of the house.” He and Grace followed Sarina out of the barn. Sarina turned to head to the pump behind the house as they continued toward the front porch.

  “She’s a beautiful girl,” Grace said quietly.

  Jonathan hummed noncommittally, studying the hilt of Sarina’s sword.

  “You two seem to have become quite close.”

  He snorted. “It will be fortunate if we don’t kill each other before this is over.”

  “Oh, I don’t think there’s much danger of that,” Grace said, amusement coloring her tone.

  At that, he looked up, meeting her kind gaze before looking away.

  “You like her,” she said.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. She’s the most stubborn, infuriating—“

  “You like her.” Grace’s smile was smug. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

  He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. He could almost feel the imprint of Sarina’s fingers there, holding him close.

  “Perhaps. A bit,” he admitted. “Not that it matters.”

  “Of course it matters!”

  Jonathan laughed humorlessly. “Why?” he asked. “Nothing can come of it.”

  “Why ever not?” Grace asked, searching his face.

  Jonathan said nothing for a long moment, then replied, his voice a quiet rumble, “I’ve nothing to offer her.”

  “Now who’s being ridiculous?” Grace linked her arm through his, drawing him near. “My daughter isn’t the only one who sees things, Jonathan. It’s obvious Sarina feels something for you, as well.”

  “Well, she shouldn’t.” He grunted. “What kind of a life could I give her? Always on the run . . . living day to day?”

  “It doesn’t have to be that way,” Grace prodded, her voice quiet, tentative. “You could come home.”

  He laughed humorlessly. “It’s too late for that,” he said. “I’m a wanted man, Grace. It’s dangerous for me to be here now, even for this brief time. It’s dangerous for all of us.”

  They reached the house, and Jonathan tucked Sarina’s sword just inside the front door before rejoining Grace, sitting on a bench next to her as they wa
ited for Sarina.

  Grace looked over the grassy area in front of the house. “You know, Jonathan,” she said, “Charlotte is always telling me that the future is not set. Every decision we make alters our path and takes us in a new direction. It’s why she sees some things clearly, and others are muddled and vague.”

  “Yes, she’s said the same to me.”

  Grace smiled, patting his hand gently. “I find that comforting. To think that we make our own destiny. That there is always hope for the future.”

  Jonathan leaned forward, balancing his arms on his knees, gaze focused on his hands loosely clasped before him.

  “Things change,” Grace said fervently, reaching out to touch his cheek and draw his gaze. “Don’t give up hope.”

  And as he looked into Grace’s earnest face, he could almost believe it was true.

  Rina’s hands trembled as she dipped them into the water trough and splashed water on her cheeks to cool the burning there. She could still feel Jonathan’s hands on her, his lips . . . his tongue. The way heat shot through her body like a bolt of lightning.

  The shameful way she threw herself at him, begging for more.

  Pressing a damp hand against the back of her neck, she drew in a heavy breath. What was she thinking?

  The fact was, she hadn’t been thinking at all. When he touched her, all rational thought dissolved away, leaving behind only touch and taste and scent . . .

  And instinct. The instinct to draw him closer, press against him completely . . . if she could, to climb inside him and wrap herself in his warmth.

  Thank heavens Grace had come along, or Sarina had no doubt she would have stopped at nothing to have him. Like a common strumpet, she would have thrown herself at him, begging—or even demanding—that he give her what she wanted.

  And Rina could no longer deny that she wanted. She wanted . . . desperately.

  But such a liaison could only end in disaster, and lord knows her life was disaster enough already. No, giving in to these cravings would only lead to pain. Jonathan Tremayne admitted himself that he never kept a woman for long. There was no doubt he would break her heart.

  Rina straightened and patted her hair into place, regaining her poise with every deep breath. She needed to be more careful; keep her guard up around Jonathan. And for goodness sake, she needed to avoid getting close enough to touch the man.

  Yes, she could do this. She just needed to stay in control of the situation.

  Focus on her mission. Finding Kane. Finding the treasure.

  Working with Jonathan to avenge her father’s death, and then getting back to her own life—although she had no idea what exactly that would entail at that moment.

  She did know, however, that she no longer planned to try to turn Jonathan over to the Crown. Rina wasn’t precisely sure when she’d decided that, but she knew it now without a doubt. Jonathan Tremayne may have broken the law, but she knew in her heart he was a decent man—driven to his actions by pain that few could understand.

  Sarina understood.

  No, there would be no gathering evidence, no seeking Commodore Stanton when all of this was over. Instead, she and Jonathan would go their separate ways amicably.

  She didn’t want to consider why that thought left an empty feeling in her stomach.

  Rolling her shoulders, Rina walked around the side of the house to find Jonathan and Grace sitting on a bench on the front porch. The woman resembled Charlotte—or vice versa, Rina supposed—a bit slighter in stature, but with the same dark hair. Her eyes, though, were deep blue, where Charlotte’s were brown. And she was calmer, quieter than her vivacious daughter, though no less friendly, as she demonstrated by smiling when she spotted Rina approaching. Jonathan stood in turn, tall and handsome in his refined suit of clothes, and Rina looked away quickly, fighting to control the flush on her cheeks.

  “Ready?” Jonathan asked, his attention drawn by the sound of approaching hoof beats. They looked up as Lord Tremayne rode up on a black stallion, hair disheveled and breath a bit heavy from exertion.

  “Good day,” he said, climbing down from the saddle and handing the reins to a young boy. He smoothed a hand over his hair. “Lovely day, isn’t it? I apologize for missing you at breakfast. I had business to attend to in town.” He turned to Jonathan. “Max asked me to tell you he would be along shortly.” Jonathan nodded as his father smiled at Sarina. “I trust you slept well?”

  “Yes, thank you. I was quite comfortable.”

  “Good. That’s good,” he replied, a bit distracted. Sarina understood why when his gaze drifted to Grace, still sitting on the porch bench.

  “Miss Eaton. I hope you are well this morning.”

  Grace smiled. “Very well. Thank you.”

  Rina watched as they stared at each other for a long moment, feeling a bit like an intruder. Then Lord Tremayne started slightly and turned to Jonathan. “You’re off to see Charlotte, then?”

  Jonathan nodded.

  “And then I suppose you’ll be leaving us.”

  “At sundown.”

  Jonathan’s father took a deep, resigned breath. “Well, then. We’ll need to have Cook prepare a special supper before you depart.” He turned back to Grace, his face softening and the ever-present sadness in his eyes vanishing as he gazed at her. “Perhaps you could help me create a suitable menu, Miss Eaton?”

  “It would be my pleasure,” she replied, cheeks coloring lightly.

  He started toward her, then held out a hand. “Would you like to take a turn about the property first?” he asked quietly. “As I said, it is a lovely day. It would be a shame to waste it.”

  Grace smiled prettily and laid her hand in his. He gently drew it into the crook of his elbow and led her off the porch without a glance back.

  Rina watched them walk away. “Are they always like that?” she asked Jonathan.

  “Aye,” Jonathan replied. “Like there is no one else in the world.”

  “I don’t understand,” she began. “They’re so in love. It’s obvious they belong together. It seems such a waste.” Realizing her words might offend, she turned to Jonathan wide-eyed. “Not that it’s any of my business. I’m sorry. This must be a sensitive subject for you.”

  Jonathan continued to watch his father and Grace as they neared the tree line. “Not really. You would expect so, but you would be wrong,” he said quietly. “We should go.” He started off the porch, and Rina fell into step next to him. She’d thought the subject dropped until he spoke again.

  “I knew from a very young age that my parents didn’t love each other,” he said. “They both loved me. I was fortunate in that regard. And they respected each other, I suppose you could say. But the truth is, theirs was a marriage based on money and power, not love.

  “But what my father and Grace have . . .” His voice trailed off as he thought for a moment. “Well, that is something that is rare and pure. I would never be one to deny it.” He flashed a grin at her. “Did Charlotte tell you about the first time we met?”

  Rina shook her head. They neared a path through the woods, and Jonathan held a branch out of her way. The air was cooler there, damp and mossy, and she drew her shawl closer around her shoulders as she followed behind him.

  “I was ten years old at the time,” he said. “Charlotte was about four, and I came upon her playing on the beach. She was a tiny thing with wild hair sticking out every which way. I was a bit full of myself at the time—“ Sarina snorted, and he glanced back at her wryly. “I demanded to know who she was and why she was playing on my beach. She looked up at me with these huge eyes—much too big for her face—and said she was Charlotte Eaton Tremayne, and it was her beach because her father told her so.

  “I was outraged, naturally,” he continued. “I called her a liar and went home to tell my mother. But when I mentioned the girl’s name, my mother broke. She said I was making it up and there was no such girl, and I should never speak of her again.

  “I insisted I was telling the
truth, but she would hear none of it.” He paused, turning back to her. “It was the only time my mother ever beat me.”

  Rina gaped at him, lost for words as he turned to continue down the path. “Afterward, my father found me hiding in the barn. He dried my tears and told me Charlotte was my sister. That as her elder brother, it was my duty to protect her. I was to never mention her to anyone else—especially my mother—but I was to care for her above all others. He said he counted on me to take the responsibility seriously.

  “I asked about her mother, and he told me it was Grace. She continued to work in our house, you know, although my mother would no longer allow her to live under the same roof. I learned later how she tormented Grace. She was unbelievably cruel . . .”

  He shook his head. “My father didn’t say much about Grace, but even at that young age, I could see the love in his eyes. It was something I’d never seen there for my mother.” He paused, leaning his hand on a tree and looking up toward the sky.

  “People are rarely either good or evil,” he said. “It’s easy to judge my father and Grace for what they did, to judge my mother for the times she was cruel, but there were just as many times she was kind, doting on me as only a mother can. The strain of everything took its toll on her, I suppose. Like anyone, she was imperfect. But she was still my mother, and I loved her.

  “As for my father and Grace, who can say they wouldn’t do the same for love? Charlotte and I have both encouraged them to get married, but my father won’t hear of it. He is consumed by guilt over my mother’s murder, and insists on punishing himself by keeping away from Grace.”

  He glanced at Rina. “But, as you could see, sometimes he cannot resist.”

  She nodded sadly. “What about Grace? How can she live like that?”

  He sighed. “Grace lives in faith that things will change,” he said. “She waits patiently for him to exorcise his demons, convinced that someday they will be together.”

  “You’re not certain that will happen.”