In a Pirate's Arms

by Kruger, Mary

  Amelia had sidled over to Rebecca and was clutching her arm. “Who is he?” she whispered.

  “I’ve no idea.” Rebecca was surprised at how calm she sounded. It was him. His image had haunted her dreams last night. Yet memory, clear though she’d thought it, paled next to the reality of the man. His long black cloak accentuated the breadth of his shoulders and rode over his bent elbows, framing him in darkness and throwing his shape into stark relief. He wore a loose shirt of white linen, open at the throat, disclosing a strong, corded neck and a chest liberally sprinkled with dark hair. Close-fitting black breeches were tucked into well-worn boots, while his hair, tousled from the wind, glinted blue-black in the sun. His strong, even teeth gleamed as he talked with Captain Smithers, and the lean planes of his face were shadowed with beard. His eye, however, was bright and alert, turquoise that rivaled the sea behind her. He was all lean, dangerous male, vital and virile and alive, and she knew somehow that he was as aware of her as she was of him.

  “He’s rather frightening, isn’t he? That dreadful eyepatch. But dashing, too. I wonder who he is. Oh!” Amelia’s face lit up. “I wonder if he’s a pirate.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Rebecca snapped. “He’s an ordinary sailor, like Captain Smithers.” Ordinary. Hah. There was nothing the least ordinary about him.

  Amelia pulled away. “I want to meet him.”

  “Melia,” Rebecca protested, and her father, who stood nearby, turned, in time to see Amelia reach the two men. “Oh, mercy.”

  “What is she doing?” Ezra demanded.

  “I tried to stop her, Father, but—”

  “I’ve no patience with your excuses! You’re supposed to look after your sister. Good gad, girl, must you always be as flighty as your mother was?”

  Rebecca hunched into her pelisse. “I’m sorry, Father.”

  “Well, go and get her! Good God, I am having serious doubts about your accompanying her to England.”

  Then let me come home, Father! she thought, though she knew better than to say so aloud. She had tried, oh, she had tried, reasoning first, and then begging, but nothing worked. Father was determined that Amelia would not travel to England alone, even if he didn’t always consider her a suitable companion, with her soiled past. Of course, she knew that Amelia needed a companion; of course she thought it should be herself, since she stood almost as a mother to Amelia. What hurt was that she herself was expected to stay there, in exile.

  Amelia was chattering animatedly as Rebecca drew level with her. Captain Smithers looked harassed, but Captain Fitzpatrick was smiling down at Amelia. As well he might, Rebecca thought. There was no one lovelier than her sister in Georgetown, with her cornflower blue eyes and her cornsilk curls. That she was sweet and genuinely friendly only added to her appeal. But did he have to look at her in quite such a way? she thought, and was immediately appalled. Never before had it bothered her when a man admired Amelia. It must be because this man was hardly presentable.

  “Amelia.” She touched her sister on the sleeve. “Father would like you to go to him, please.”

  “Oh, Becky!” Amelia turned to her, her curls dancing. “Captain Fitzpatrick tells me I will like England ever so much.”

  “Does he? How nice.” She kept her eyes down, afraid to meet his again, afraid of the power of his gaze. “Come, Amelia. Father wants you.”

  “And who is this charming young lady, sir?” she heard Captain Fitzpatrick say as she turned, and she stiffened. Charming! She knew she was no beauty, certainly when compared to Amelia, but he needn’t mock her. “Please introduce us.”

  “Miss Talbot?” Captain Smithers looked at her, and she gave in.

  “By all means,” she said.

  “Miss Talbot?” Brendan was studying her, his head tilted to the side. That devastating smile was on his face, a dimple creasing his cheek. She hadn’t noticed that before. It made him look younger, almost boyish, and yet it enhanced his masculinity, rather than detracting from it. In spite of herself, she felt the beginnings of an answering smile on her lips. “Ah. You are sisters, then.”

  “Miss Talbot, Captain Fitzpatrick,” Captain Smithers mumbled.

  “And a pleasure it is to meet you,” Brendan said, bowing.

  Well. At least the man had manners. “You, too, sir,” she said, and saw the glint in his eyes brighten.

  “Ye travel to England, too, Miss Talbot?”

  “Harumph. She does,” Captain Smithers interrupted. “Ladies, we should be getting to sea.”

  “Yes,” Rebecca said, as if Smithers hadn’t spoken. “I believe my sister told you she is betrothed?”

  “Aye.” He didn’t smile, precisely, but his dimple was quite pronounced. “To a viscount, no less.”

  “Yes.” Wretched man, making her want to laugh at a time like this. “I will be staying with her.”

  “In England? Ah, but ye’ll not like it there, leannan.”

  “What does that mean?” Amelia put in.

  “‘Tis my country ye should visit. A poor land, true, but of great beauty, and poetry. Do ye like poetry, Miss Talbot?”

  “Aye—yes.” Mercy, what was the matter with her?

  “Sure, and I thought ye might. Ye’ve the soul for it.”

  “Captain Fitzpatrick—”

  “Oh, what a lovely thing to say!” Amelia exclaimed. “Oh, I do wish we could stay here longer, now that we’ve met you. Will you be coming to England, sir?”

  His face went very still. “I am sorry, lass, but no true Irishman goes willingly to England.”

  “Never?”

  “Never.” His smile included them all impartially, and Rebecca felt abandoned. “I must be off. ‘Tis time and beyond ye were gone.”

  “Aye.” Captain Smithers smiled for the first time. “Good day, Fitzpatrick.”

  “Good voyage, captain. Oh, and Miss Talbot.”

  Rebecca looked up, and was again caught by his blue, blue gaze. “Yes?”

  “Watch out for pirates,” he said, winked, and strode away, the folds of his cloak billowing about him.

  Rebecca stared after him, mesmerized by his easy grace. “Whatever did he mean by that?” Amelia asked.

  “Come, Miss Talbot, Miss Amelia.” Captain Smithers mopped at his brow with a capacious handkerchief. “Best I return you to your father, now, or there’ll be the devil to pay.”

  “But who is he, sir?” Amelia said, dancing alongside him on the quay. “And what did he mean about pirates? Sir!” She stopped, hand to her heart. “Are we likely to meet pirates?”

  “No!” Smithers spoke just a little too loudly. “There’s the gig. We can go out to the ship.”

  “Rebecca.” Ezra’s face was contorted with rage. “What did you mean, allowing Amelia to speak with that man?”

  “I’m sorry, Father,” she said, hastily. “He was polite enough.”

  “Polite! Hah! His kind don’t know how to be polite. If this is the care you take of your sister, I fear for her safety, I truly do.”

  “That’s not fair!” Rebecca protested, stung. “I watch after Amelia. You know I do.”

  “Do not speak to me in such a way, girl.”

  Rebecca’s eyes lowered. “I’m sorry, Father.”

  “But, Daddy.” Amelia took her father’s arm and smiled up at him. “He was very charming. Who is he?”

  “Ahem.” Mr. Neville stepped forward, pulling at a cravat that was already loose and wrinkled and dingy at the edges. “A most dangerous man. Do you not know?”

  “No. Who is he, sir?”

  “He is believed to be the Raven.”

  “The Raven!” Amelia exclaimed.

  “The Raven,” Rebecca said, more weakly.

  “Aye,” Captain Smithers said, his voice heavy. “The Raven. And I pray I never encounter him on the open seas. Come. Let me help you into the gig, Miss Talbot.”

  Rebecca gave her hand to him almost automatically, stepping from the stone quay into the dancing, rocking boat. The Raven! Good heavens. Even in q
uiet Georgetown his name, and his exploits, were known. What she hadn’t heard was how handsome he was, how charming and compelling. The stories instead concentrated on his daring, infamous raids at sea. For Captain Fitzpatrick, the Raven, was the most notorious pirate ever to prowl the Atlantic.

  Chapter Two

  “Oh, Becky!” Amelia whirled into the tiny stateroom aboard the Curlew. “Is this not exciting? We are finally on our way. I did think this day would never come,” she went on, sinking down onto the bunk. “But, only think! One month more and I’ll be with my dear Stephen.” She frowned, thoughtfully. “I wonder if he is as handsome as his miniature makes out?”

  Rebecca glanced up from unpacking, and felt a small spurt of sympathy for her sister. Imagine traveling across the great wide ocean, to marry a man one knew only through letters. She couldn’t do it, especially knowing that Stephen, the Viscount Blaine, so badly needed money that he would deign to marry the daughter of an American tradesman. In the miniature his eyes appeared watery and his chin, weak. Not at all like the merry blue eye and determined features of Captain Fitzpatrick. No, she wouldn’t think about him. “Do please move, Amelia, so that I may open the drawers,” she said, her voice sharper than usual, and busied herself with stowing away her belongings in the drawers built into the base of the bunk. “You do not even know the man.”

  “But I do!” Amelia protested. “He writes such wonderful letters. I know you don’t wish to go, Becky, but I think it’s horrid of you to try to spoil things for me.”

  Rebecca’s face softened. “Dear Melia, I am sorry.” She rose and sat on the bunk, putting her arm about Amelia and drawing her head down onto her shoulder, as if she were a little girl. “You’re right, I don’t wish to go, but that’s no reason for me to be cross with you. It isn’t your fault.” She paused. “I only wish you knew the man better.”

  “Papa knows him. He wouldn’t have agreed to the betrothal if he thought it was wrong for me.”

  “I know,” Rebecca said, though privately she wondered at her father’s motives. True it was that he always had been an ardent lover of all things British; true also that, over the course of several journeys to England he had made friends there, including the viscount. Why he was so determined for Amelia to marry into the aristocracy, however, was something Rebecca couldn’t fathom. “It will all work out, I imagine.”

  “Of course it will. You’ll see.” Amelia straightened, her face brightening. “You won’t have to play maiden aunt, Becky. We’ll find someone for you to marry.”

  “I hope not,” Rebecca exclaimed. “Then I’ll have to stay there forever.”

  Amelia drew back. “But, Becky. Aren’t you staying? You are, aren’t you? Don’t tell me you’ll leave me there.”

  “Of course I’ll stay for a while. I would never leave you while you needed me. But, Melia.” She turned to face the younger girl. “Soon you’ll have a husband and a family of your own. You won’t need me.”

  “But, Papa said—”

  “Yes, I know Father intends for me to stay with you.” Her eyes darkened. “That way, I’ll be off his hands.”

  “Oh, no, Becky! I’m sure Papa will miss you terribly.”

  Would he? Rebecca wasn’t so certain, and it hurt. Oh, how it hurt. “Perhaps. I doubt, Amelia, that I’ll belong there. It’s not home.”

  “You’d really rather stay in Georgetown? Even though everyone knows about—”

  “Yes, I really would.”

  “‘Twill be all right.” Amelia slipped her arm about Rebecca’s waist. “You’ll be happy, you’ll see. And if you are not—well, you’ll just have to return to Georgetown. Yes.” She nodded. “I shall speak to Stephen about it.”

  “Thank you, Amelia,” Rebecca said, amused and touched by her sister’s sudden show of maturity, and rose. “We’ll be sailing soon. We must go say good-bye to Father.”

  “Oh, yes!” Amelia jumped up from the bunk. “Do let me straighten my bonnet, first. Pity there are no eligible males sailing with us,” she chattered, as they left the stateroom and climbed the narrow stairway that led to the deck. “Mr. Neville and Captain Smithers are much too old for you.”

  “As I am on the shelf, Amelia, that hardly matters.”

  “Don’t be silly! But I do wish there were someone for you.” Her eyes took on the soft, faraway look Rebecca had long ago learned to distrust. “Now, if we were sailing with Captain Fitzpatrick—”

  “He’s a pirate,” Rebecca snapped.

  “Yes, and how romantic that is,” Amelia snapped back. “You’re blushing, Becky. Were you thinking the same thing?”

  “There you are, Amelia,” Ezra said, smiling at Amelia as they came out on deck, saving Rebecca from answering that question. “Is all to your liking? Will you be comfortable?”

  “Oh, Papa!” Amelia hugged him around the neck. “‘Tis ever so exciting! But I do wish you were coming with us.”

  “So do I, daughter, but you know I cannot leave my business.” His face darkened. “I would take you on my own ship, if our government wasn’t so idiotic as to forbid trade with England,” he rumbled. It was much to Ezra’s annoyance that the United States had placed restrictions on trade with England, because of that country’s policy of boarding American ships. For that reason, they had come to St. Thomas, traditionally a free port, for the girls to take ship for England. “I dislike sending you alone.”

  “I’ll watch out for her, Father,” Rebecca murmured.

  “See that you do, girl,” Ezra said, and turned away, nodding to Captain Smithers. “Watch over my daughter, now.”

  “Aye, Mr. Talbot. I’ll look after both your girls.”

  “Captain,” Amelia broke in, her eyes sparkling. “Do you think we’ll have any trouble from the Raven?”

  “I hope not, miss.” Smithers’s voice was heavy. “I’ve heard tales of those who’ve tangled with him—but you needn’t worry. We’re not carrying anything he’d value.”

  Into Rebecca’s mind flashed the image of a sun-washed street and the sharp flash of a steel blade. She had seen herself how the Raven dealt with his opponents. “Captain, if the man is a known pirate, why is he still abroad? With the British patrolling these waters, I’d think he’d have been arrested by now.”

  Smithers gave her a look from under his brow. “It’s been tried, young woman, many a time. Fast he is, in that ship of his. No one can catch him. Even ashore the fellow has the devil’s own luck.” He looked from one to the other. “Last time it was tried, a young lieutenant, name of Dee, I think it was, took several soldiers and went to a tavern where they’d heard the Raven was, waited outside for him. Plan was, when he came out, they’d grab him. Aye, and it might have worked.”

  “What happened?” Amelia asked, her voice breathless.

  “The Raven did come out, but it’s as if he knew. He had his knife ready. Powerful skilled with a knife, he is. Before the soldiers could close in he’d disarmed one and kicked the other in—well, the man was disabled. Then he let out a whoop—he’s an Irish savage, and the yells they make make your blood run cold—and all the riff-raff poured out of the tavern. Many a man ended in gaol that day. But not the Raven. Last anyone saw of him he was laying about with the best of them, and laughing. All Lieutenant Dee got for his pains was a slash on his cheek. Bears the scar today, so I hear.”

  “Was he hurt?” Rebecca said, so urgently that the others looked at her in surprise.

  “Dee? Oh, the Raven. Nay, not he. Some say they saw a black bird flying away, but ‘twas a drunken fancy, most like. No one knows where he went. Wasn’t seen in St. Thomas for a long while after that.” Smithers frowned. “Come to think of it, he disappears for months at a time, no one knows where. Only time you see him is when he’s after prey. ‘Tis why his face is not so well-known ashore. But seamen know him, aye, and take care to stay on his good side.” He stared back at the shore, and then shook himself. “But this is no talk for ladies such as yourself. Be assured you’re safe from him. You’ll get t
o England in one piece, aye, or my name’s not Bob Smithers.”

  England. It sounded like a death knell. So absorbed had Rebecca been in Captain Smithers’s story that she had forgotten, for just a moment, what lay ahead. “Father,” she said, turning.

  “I’ll be going,” Ezra said, and caught Amelia up in a hug. “You be good, daughter.” His voice was gruff. “Make a good marriage.”

  “Oh, Papa!” Amelia wailed, clinging to his neck. “I don’t want to go. Let me stay with you. Please?”

  “Now, Amelia.” Ezra stepped away, his own eyes suspiciously moist. “No crying. You’re a big girl, now.”

  Mr. Parker, the first mate, approached. “The boat is ready for you, sir, and the ladder’s been lowered.”

  “Thank you.” Ezra reached out to touch Amelia’s cheek, and then abruptly turned away, towards the railing, where the rope ladder hung.

  It was too much for Rebecca. “Daddy,” she called, her voice breaking, and took a step towards him.

  Ezra turned from the railing. Something flashed in his eyes, regret, perhaps, but then was gone, leaving his face stony. “Take care of your sister, girl,” he said, and climbed out onto the ladder.

  “Papa!” Amelia cried, starting forward. Rebecca’s arm shot out and caught her about the shoulder.

  “Hush, Melia,” she murmured.

  “But, Becky, he’s leaving—”

  “Shh.” Rebecca hugged her, staring ahead, her eyes dry. She never cried. Long ago she had learned tears did no good.

  “I don’t want to go to England,” Amelia sobbed. “I don’t, I don’t!”

  “Stop it.” Rebecca spoke sharply. “You are making a spectacle of yourself. Besides,” her voice softened, “I’m with you. I’ll take care of you.”

  Amelia sniffed, looking up at her. “I’m sorry, Becky. You’re not mad at me?”

  How, Rebecca wondered, could Amelia manage to look so pretty in the midst of a storm of tears? Her cornflower blue eyes seemed larger than ever, and her lips trembled appealingly. Not for her the red nose and blotchy cheeks that Rebecca suffered when she cried. Life, she reflected without anger, was sometimes prodigious unfair. “No, of course I’m not mad.”