His Pirate Seductress (Love on the High Seas Book 3)

by Tamara Hughes

  Her only thought was to call him back, but apparently she did have some pride left. “Where will you go?” she asked instead. “Your ship has been overrun. You have no hope of escape.”

  He tugged on a pair of black breeches. “I know this ship from bow to stern. I’ll find a way to release my men and get the upper hand.”

  His confidence knew no bounds. Could he really accomplish so much all on his own? And if he did, what of her son and mother? The fear came at last with a chill and a shiver. “I need the cross.”

  Thomas’s look was one of disdain before he pulled a shirt over his head.

  “Please. My son and mother are being held for ransom. I need the Ruby Cross to free them. There’s no other way.” Her heart ached with the need to make him listen, and yet, her pleas fell on deaf ears. Thomas didn’t so much as acknowledge her as he finished dressing, then retrieved her sword and dagger from beside the bed, tucking them into his belt.

  He reached over and slipped his fingers into the pocket of her breeches. His watch. He withdrew the timepiece and tucked it into his own pocket.

  “Please,” she said once more, “help me save my son.”

  Thomas arched a brow and picked up the cravat she’d used to blindfold him. “Why would I believe you? And after being imprisoned in this cabin, why should I care?”

  “But—”

  He stuffed the cravat into her mouth, silencing her, and crossed to the door. After peering out, he spared one look back and left the cabin, shutting the door behind him.

  A vision of Jonas, her sweet boy, flashed inside her head—his hair as dark as her own and his lean face smudged with dirt as he tried to make her laugh with his silly expressions. He’d never failed to cheer her no matter the cause of her worry. Dear Jonas…and her mother, a woman dedicated to her family, but too weak to do much more than sit and stitch.

  Thomas would be recaptured. He had to be. And when he was, she would find a way to save the two people who mattered most in her life.

  …

  Finally outside that wretched cabin, Thomas took in a deep breath of fresh air, savoring his freedom for a long minute and letting the November breeze cool his blood. His attempt at retribution had failed miserably. Aye, Catherine had writhed beneath him, her passion stoked to a blaze, but he, too, had felt the burn. In those moments, he’d wanted to release her from her bonds and sate them both as he would a cherished lover. Not exactly what he’d had in mind for the woman who’d held him captive these last two days. In fact, as he’d worked to pull his hand from the rope, he’d thought of how he would cut off her clothes as she’d done to him. But when the opportunity arose, he hadn’t been able to do the deed. All he could think of was how defenseless she’d be—naked and bound—for whatever man found her first. Like Barnet.

  No matter what Catherine believed, Barnet’s feelings for her ran deep. And considering how eager the man had been to flay him alive for the attention she’d bestowed on him, she’d best be wary. Not that he should care one whit.

  Thomas glanced up at the lookout, where the lone guard stood watch. The moon’s hazy glow outlined the pirate’s movements. Thomas stayed in the shadows and moved toward the door to the galley, the easiest and likely most deserted path to the hold. Looking for his men in the bowels of the ship was probably a fool’s errand. No doubt, the pirate ship would be better equipped than this one to keep prisoners. But when he’d been captured, Catherine had ordered her crew to take his men to the hold of this ship, although the reasoning behind her command made little sense.

  He had a couple of hours before the majority of the pirates would be awake and about. Why not verify his suspicions? Besides, walking the decks… Hell, walking at all, was heaven.

  If his men were indeed being detained below, he could free them by attacking the guards, then he and his crew could take back their ship. He paused in the galley and snatched up a loaf of bread, biting into it with zeal. While he could tolerate the hunger pangs, he’d need his strength. Likewise, he found a bucket of water and drank his fill.

  Aye, they were still outnumbered at least two to one, but the pirates had split their crew between the two vessels. With a surprise attack, he and his men might be able to defeat the pirates here before fighting the rest.

  Food in his stomach and an eagerness in his step, he ventured down into the belly of the ship, his hands riding the weapons in his belt and his memory guiding him in the darkness. They wouldn’t have weapons, but his men could make do. Many of the tools aboard would serve just as well as a dagger or sword. Marlinespikes, normally used for rope work, were in great abundance.

  He reached the hold and stopped. No lanterns for the guards and deathly quiet. Warily, Thomas ventured farther. No barrels or crates. He made a thorough inspection of the entire area. Nothing at all. No sign of his men, and all of the cargo and supplies were gone. He blew out a long breath. Maybe not as he’d hoped, but just as he’d thought. Damn. Now what?

  His men were likely on the Sea Sprite, the ship they sailed behind. He could capture Barnet and order him to release all prisoners, but he didn’t relish the odds. Just him with his two hostages against a ship full of pirates. Did they care for Barnet and Catherine enough to do as he ordered? Or would they fight him, come what may? He couldn’t take that chance. Which left Catherine. He suspected Barnet would do anything for her. Better yet, she was already a prisoner.

  Thomas retraced his steps, the bread he’d eaten souring in his stomach. If he used Catherine against Barnet, he’d have to threaten to hurt her, perhaps cause her pain to prove to Barnet he was willing. Bloody hell. The idea shouldn’t trouble him after all she’d done—capturing his ship, holding him prisoner, humiliating him at every turn. He should be angry with her, glad to see her suffer, and to be the one who would administer her pain. But he wasn’t.

  He never hurt women, and Catherine… He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. Aside from bruising his pride, she hadn’t caused him any real harm. In fact, she’d gone to great lengths to ensure his safety. She’d kept Barnet from torturing him in the true sense. She’d cared for him when he’d nearly frozen to death. He huffed out a laugh. Even before then, he’d known she had a kind soul. In truth, he’d been tempted to call out to her when the cold had become too much. It had been his pride that had kept him silent. Indeed, his time as her prisoner had proven to be almost enjoyable at times, a challenging and stimulating game.

  He would spare her if he could, but sadly, he had no choice. To save his men and his ship, he would use her against Barnet. Thomas strode to his cabin and opened the door. He took several steps before the sight before him registered. Catherine stood with her back to him, and quickly spun around. Free? But how?

  A heavy click behind him gave him the answer. He glanced over his shoulder at Barnet sitting at the corner table. He had a pistol pointed at Thomas’s spine.

  “Figured you’d return soon, you dog.” Barnet rose from the table, the gleam in his eyes one of a man bent on vengeance.

  Catherine stepped forward, “Barnet, we’ve discussed this. He didn’t force himself on me.”

  Thomas studied her but detected no trace of the lie. In a sense, he had forced himself on her. He just hadn’t finished the deed.

  Barnet closed the distance between them, the barrel of his pistol nudging Thomas’s back. “I came here early this mornin’, eager to finally make you talk. But alas, Catherine still won’t let me lay a hand on you. Why is that?” Barnet demanded.

  “Enough,” Catherine scolded Barnet. Her expression turned grave, and she looked Thomas in the eye. “I will give you one more chance to tell me where I can find the Ruby Cross.”

  “Or what?”

  She lifted her chin a notch and crossed her arms over her chest. “If you don’t give me what I want, I will sink this ship and the cross with it.”

  “You won’t.” The cross meant too much to her to risk losing it forever.

  “Believe me, I will if you force my hand.”


  “Then consider it forced.” She was lying. She had to be. And he would wait for her to come to her senses. His pride would allow nothing else.

  Mere hours later, Thomas stood beside Barnet on the main deck as Catherine poured a second bottle of rum onto the planks. The damn woman.

  “This is your last chance to save your ship.” The determined set to Catherine’s jaw didn’t fool him. She won’t do it. She wants the cross as much as I do.

  It had to be true, and yet his heart pounded hard all the same. He peered out over the decks of the Argo Navis, the ship he’d captained for more than a year. Captain. He didn’t take the title lightly. He’d worked hard to get where he was. His hands strayed to the watch in his pocket, a commemoration of his achievement.

  The Sea Sprite floated some fifty yards away, all aboard save himself, Catherine, and Barnet, whose pistol had been in his hand since Thomas’s recapture.

  That same weapon pointed at him now. “If you sink my ship, you’ll never get the cross,” Thomas warned, his muscles so tense his shoulders ached.

  Uncertainty flickered over Catherine’s features like a candle’s flame disturbed by a slight breeze. It vanished just as quickly. “I’m sincerely sorry for what I’m about to do. This is a fine vessel.”

  “Don’t go apologizin’ to the likes of him,” Barnet insisted. “Just do what you have to do.”

  Catherine nodded and extended the smoldering linstock to the pool of rum spilled on the decking. Thomas’s breath caught in his throat.

  No. She wouldn’t. He took a step toward her, and Barnet grabbed him by the shoulder, holding him back.

  Catherine touched the staff’s forked end to the rum and a blaze erupted, spreading over the liquid in a dance he couldn’t tear his gaze from. Thomas’s stomach hit the decking, then rage rushed to the fore. The flames quickly rose, consuming sail and wood. His ship would soon be lost. Dammit. Dammit. Dammit!

  He turned to Catherine, his hands itching to strangle her. “You bitch!”

  Catherine’s eyes flared wide.

  “Stay back,” Barnet ordered, his pistol aimed at Thomas’s chest.

  “As captain, I’m in charge of this ship. She’s mine to care for, and you’ve…you’ve…” Raw fury tightened his throat as he watched the crackling flames climb higher and higher.

  She tossed the linstock into the fire. “Get the cross, or it will go down with the Argo Navis.”

  “Go to hell!” The Ruby Cross would never be hers.

  Barnet grinned. “Do as she says or stay here and die.” Judging by the broad flash of teeth, Barnet hoped he’d choose the latter.

  Tempting. If nothing more than out of spite. The Ruby Cross was the key to his future, the means to garner his family’s admiration and respect.

  “Thomas,” Catherine warned. “We don’t have much time.”

  Already the fire had scorched a fair portion of the main deck and climbed halfway up the masts, the heat sweltering. He desperately wanted to stand firm, to refuse them access to their prize, but common sense prevailed. Dying would help no one. Besides, if the cross wasn’t at the bottom of the sea, he had a chance to steal it back. “Very well. Follow me.”

  He led them away from the main deck to his cabin, black smoke rising over their heads to obscure the clear morning sky. He stepped inside his quarters, and Catherine’s brow wrinkled.

  “It can’t be in here. I searched this entire room.”

  He smirked. “I can’t tell you how much I enjoyed seeing you so close to what you wanted. Oblivious the whole time.” He walked to the ornate panel at the head of the bed and pressed what would appear to be one of many round ornamental carvings. A secret compartment slid free from the elaborate front, and he retrieved the Ruby Cross from within.

  Heavy in his hand, the gold shimmered and the rubies glistened. An image of his own ship, tall and proud, clouded his vision, along with the look of pride in his father’s eyes and the envy on his brothers’ faces. The scent of smoke invaded his senses, and he coughed on the now hazy air.

  A hand snatched the cross from his clutches—Catherine, the ship-burning thief he longed to throw overboard. “Let’s go,” she said, leading the way out of the cabin, holding a corner of her shirt over her mouth. Since he’d rather not be broiled alive, Thomas followed, with Barnet the last to leave. He heard the strength of the fire long before he saw the blaze. The roar was deafening. His eyes stinging, he, too, covered his mouth.

  Once on deck, the sight that greeted him punched him in the gut. A wall of flames stretched to the topmost mast, and the smoke, thick and black, converged into a billowing cloud that blotted out the sun. They hurried toward the ladder that would take them down to the rowboat, the heat almost unbearable.

  A resounding crack brought Thomas up short, and his gaze sought the source. The mainmast. Damaged by cannon fire when they’d first fought these vermin, the thick mast crashed toward the deck…and Catherine. No! He leaped forward, grabbed her about the waist, and flung them both out of the way. They landed hard, his body protecting hers as the fiery timber smashed into the decking behind them.

  “Catherine.” He carefully rolled her to her side and brushed the hair from her face. Her eyes were closed, but she breathed.

  “Get your hands off her!” Barnet rose to his feet, his pistol still aimed in Thomas’s direction. The idiot.

  “I just saved her, for God’s sake,” Thomas grumbled, coughing against the smoke that grew thicker by the moment. “And she’s unconscious. Unless you’d like to stow your weapon, I’ll have to carry her to the boat.”

  Barnet hesitated a heart’s beat, his glance dropping to his weapon. No doubt wondering if Thomas would throw him into the fire if given a chance. Extremely tempting.

  Waving the pistol, Barnet nodded. “Pick her up,” he choked out.

  Discreetly, Thomas retrieved the cross from where it had tumbled onto the deck. Welcome back, lovely. Then he lifted Catherine’s limp body in his arms. He headed to the ladder along the side of the ship, but Barnet stopped him with a raised hand. “I’ll go first.”

  Of course he would. Barnet disappeared over the side, and Thomas rested Catherine on the deck a moment while he slid the cross beneath his shirt and into the waist of his breeches. Lifting her once more, he stared down at Catherine’s serene face. He had the cross, and he had Catherine. If there was any way to escape, he would do it now and take her with him. She needed to be taught a lesson about angering the wrong people, and he was just the man to teach her. Unfortunately, any manner of escape eluded him, so he adjusted his hold on her, hoisting her to his shoulder. He climbed over the ship’s side and descended to the boat.

  Two of the Sea Sprite’s crewmen waited with Barnet below, ready to man the oars. Barnet’s bloody pistol following his every move, Thomas stepped into the boat and sat, depositing Catherine in his lap.

  “Set her over here,” Barnet demanded, indicating an open spot to his left.

  Somewhat reluctantly, he did as he was told. Barnet examined the bump on Catherine’s head before patting her pockets and inspecting her coat. Finding nothing, he turned on Thomas. “Where’s the Ruby Cross?”

  He looked back toward the Argo Navis. “She must have lost it in the fall.”

  “Like hell,” Barnet snarled. “Hold him,” he ordered the two crewmen, who stopped rowing to do as commanded.

  Thomas didn’t fight them as they restrained his arms. Where would he go? The ocean would only provide a temporary escape.

  Barnet stowed his weapon in his belt. He made short work of checking Thomas’s pockets, then searched his waist, quickly finding the cross.

  Thomas stifled a curse.

  “You bastard,” Barnet spat. He ripped Thomas’s shirt from his breeches and seized the antiquity. Barnet slid the Ruby Cross into his waistcoat pocket, his glare still burning bright. Before Thomas could blink, Barnet reared his arm back and landed a blow to Thomas’s ribs.

  Uttering a grunt, Thomas doubled over as pain radia
ted through his abdomen. This time he did fight for freedom from the two pirates holding him, eager to defend himself if there was more to come.

  Barnet’s pistol came back into view. “Stay still, or I’ll kill you where you sit.”

  Every muscle tense, Thomas sat motionless and waited. Would Barnet shoot no matter if he followed the command or not?

  Catherine groaned and opened her eyes. “Barnet?” When she spied the pirates holding Thomas and the look of fury on Barnet’s face, she gasped and gripped Barnet’s arm. “Don’t!”

  Barnet stared at Thomas a long minute, then glanced at Catherine and returned to his seat. “Row,” he barked out.

  His men took up the oars and set off.

  Anger blazed through Thomas’s veins as he watched the Argo Navis crumble and burn in front of his very eyes. Damn Catherine and Barnet.

  This battle may have been lost, but the war wasn’t over. Somehow, someway, he would get the cross back and make them both pay for their treachery.

  Chapter Six

  “Bring Glanville to me,” Catherine ordered one of her crewmen as she headed for her cabin aboard the Sea Sprite. She crossed the sizable quarters and sank into a chair at the table, where a feast had already been laid out. Hard to believe just months ago her husband had sat in this same chair, at this same table, in this pitiful cabin. She scanned Peter’s sparse quarters, a room filled with only the barest essentials—a bed, an old trunk, and this small table. So different than the captain’s cabin she’d been in of late, albeit those hadn’t been the quarters of a pirate.

  Her husband had never sent home the money he’d promised to make when he’d gone off to sea. And as she’d struggled to feed their son, she’d come to resent Peter, believing he lived well while they barely made ends meet. That he’d left them to escape the squalor they lived in. She’d resented him despite the many times she’d dreamed of doing the same.

  Not until she’d set sail with his crew on this voyage, did she realize how little he and his men had. Perhaps her bitterness had been misguided, and Peter’s intentions had been genuine, just ill-placed.