“Well, I thank you anyway.”
Not long after Patchey left the cabin, the door creaked open and a lad, presumably Jones, strode in with a tray of food. The boy averted his eyes from her the entire time, and placed the tray upon the bed nearest her hip.
“Jones, thank you. I’m positively famished.” Her stomach growled again as Jones left with a nod and no conversation.
Finding that a bit odd from a man on a pirate ship, she decided to ignore it and focus on eating as much as her body would allow. The smell of the fresh bread and meat pie settled in her nostrils. She took a tentative bite of the bread, chewed and swallowed. It was delicious.
In the end, she was only able to eat half of the meat pie, and one quarter of the bread, and already felt drained of energy. Her muscles and bones were aching terribly. The door remained closed, so with her good arm—if one could call a scratched and bruised appendage good—she pulled the blankets from her body, biting her lip at the twinge of pain that shot through her wound at any slight movement.
Her skin stayed a dull, pallid color, the green and purple marks emphasizing that fact. Shivering at the memory of Dobison attempting to rape her on several occasions, and even on the deck at the end . . . yes, she prayed that he’d died somehow that day.
A curse on her breath, she scooted her bottom across the bed and gingerly threw her legs over the edge, allowing her feet to rest on the floor. There were two chests on the opposite side of the cabin, and Anne suspected some form of clothing would be available amongst the contents. There was no way she would continue her nakedness now that she had some sense about her.
Gritting her teeth, she pushed up with her good arm, and stood still to keep the swaying at a minimum. She closed her eyes tightly, willing the dizziness to subside. A few minutes of breathing in through her nostrils and blowing out through her mouth helped dissolve the swaying of her brain.
Fisting the sheet in her hand, she held it up before her, and took a tentative step forward. One foot before the next hurt like the devil, but biting down on her lip and breathing deeply led her from the edge of the bed to the chests.
Bending to tip one open sent a jolt of crushing pain into her wound, but she let out a long string of curses and reached inside. Not caring at the moment at the mess, she tossed several articles of clothing onto the floor until she found a long, white, man’s blouse. It would have to do. Getting it up and over her head would be difficult.
Sweat beaded upon her forehead at the energy she’d spent just getting to and rifling through the chest. Leaning over to pick up her sheet in the same hand, she held the blouse was another difficult feat, but she did it and found her way back to stand beside the bed. She faced the door, deciding her best course of action. Bloody hell, she’d have to have help maneuvering the blouse above her head, and putting her arm through the sleeve.
There was nothing for it.
“Jones? Are you out there?” Her voice was stronger, but still had a scratchy, screech owl quality.
“Aye, ma’am.” His voice was unsure on the other side of the door.
“I need your assistance, if you please.”
The door opened and he gasped, his eyes wide. He clenched his eyes shut, a pink tinge creeping up his slender neck.
At any other moment, she might have laughed, but her body ached and she felt as if she might pass out on her feet. “Jones, if you could open your eyes long enough to stand before me, I could use your assistance sliding this blasted thing over my head. I cannot go about naked.”
One dark eye cracked open, one side of his face scrunched as if he’d eaten a lemon. “I don’t think he’d like me seeing you like this, ma’am.”
She gave him an encouraging smile. “Oh, come now, he’d help me if he were here. Besides, truly, he could care less.” Although Bartholomew had been her friend for a few years, and they’d most assuredly made a few flirtatious comments to one another, he would never be jealous of one of his crew seeing her in such a way. How odd for Jones to say such a thing. She motioned him with her chin. “Please. You won’t see a thing. I promise.”
He looked behind him into the open doorway with a nervous glance before shutting the door with a soft click. “If you say so.”
“Thank you, Jones.” She closed her eyes for a moment, elation at being clothed again surging through her.
He walked to stand before her, clamped his eyes closed again, and held out his hand.
Smiling, Anne dropped the sheet to the floor and placed the blouse in his hand. “If you could open the bottom of it wide, and raise it, I will slide up through the bottom.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The shirt raised up and Anne shuffled her feet forward until the shirt was above her head. “Alright, Jones, bring your arms down slowly, and I’ll put my head through the top.”
She watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallowed. The shirt came down and she found her way through the neck of the blasted thing, cursing a few times as she missed the mark.
Once her head peaked through, and his arms stopped, she saw a smile parting his lips.
“You think that’s funny, do you, Jones?”
The smile faded as quickly as it appeared. Anne chuckled. “Open your eyes, sir.”
“But, you said I wouldn’t see anything.” He was aghast.
She put her good arm through the sleeve, but knew she’d need help with the other. “I need help with my wounded arm. Now, open up. You cannot do this with your eyes closed.”
Jones took one step backward, the whites of his eyes visible as he took in the fact that she stood in a buff-colored blouse, naked beneath, that came only to the top of her knees. She knew the swell of her breasts were clearly visible through the fabric, but she could not be concerned with that for now.
“Now, if you’ll grab the sleeve and pull it out from my body, I’ll push my arm through.”
He blinked as if her words didn’t register right away, but then he stepped forward, grabbed the sleeve and held it straight out.
The momentum it took to get her arm up and out made the sweat pour from her brow and several colorful curses flow from her lips. To his credit, Jones grimaced with each curse, and offered to help her more. She gave him a glare and finally pushed her arm through the sleeve. Trembling by the time she accomplished her goal, she collapsed back onto the bed.
“Jones, I apologize for my language. You have saved me from pure embarrassment, and I’ll make certain Captain Roberts knows of your assistance.” She smiled through the pain and thumping of her entire body.
“You’re welcome, ma’am.” He bowed and rushed from the cabin.
She laid back on the pillow, relaxing her throbbing arms, legs, and back. Exhausted, she fell asleep within moments.
She awoke later to candle flame, the darkening sky in the window, and the coverlet covering her once again. Frowning, she hoped she hadn’t missed her opportunity to speak with Bartholomew to thank him for saving her.
With many painful movements and much cursing, Anne pulled herself to stare out the window into the darkness, wondering if her children thought of her. If Addison worried of her whereabouts.
Two days and a very cranky disposition later, Anne reached her patience limit waiting to speak to the captain. Jones feared her constant outbursts, Patchey shot her dirty looks and ordered her about. Although they’d been her only company since she’d awakened, she swore she was recovered enough to walk the deck and speak to Bartholomew. Patchey forbid her to do aught but rest. She’d thrown her cup at his head, twice, but remained in the cabin.
Why she listened to the little bugger she had no idea, but she would be damned if she’d wait any longer on Roberts to come see her. It was bloody rude.
“Jones, would you please ask Captain Roberts if he would see me now?” She’d throw
n open the cabin door with such force, the lad winced.
He swallowed, but stood to do her bidding. “I’ll check again, ma’am. He’s just been a might busy steering us away from a storm, and keep us ahead of it.”
It was a good excuse as far as excuses go, but she was tired of waiting. Even standing in only the captain’s blouse—as Patchey had announced in an offended manner when he’d spied her in it—she just might walk up to the quarterdeck and find him herself.
“Good. I’ll wait here, where I’ve been for days.” A string of curses fell from her lips as she slammed the door on Jones’ retreating back.
Pacing and muttering beneath her breath kept her blood pumping, and she rejoiced in the fact her blood still pumped. The more she was left to brood over her predicament, the crankier she became. It was a hard decision one had to make when one had to leave her children behind . . . and the man she loved with all her heart. But, her past would not allow her to live a peaceful life. Protecting them meant everything to her.
The door clicked open.
“You better tell me Captain Roberts is finally going to speak with me, Jones. Otherwise, I might take your sword from you and demand he see me, at sword point.”
Anne pivoted on one leg of her pacing circuit to see said captain—a handsome, tall, dashing, and very dangerous, Welsh pirate—flashing a wide, white-toothed grin.
“Even wounded you’re as bloody violent as a cornered hellcat.”
Chapter 29
Had her heart not already been filled with Addison, Bartholomew Roberts might have made her knees weak at one time. Devilishly handsome, he was a pirate feared upon the seas, and welcomed by the ladies. Thick, lustrous black locks were clubbed behind his neck with a bright pink ribbon today, and his usually merry dark gaze and seductive smile were firmly in place. A sculpted nose, chiseled jaw, and cheekbones made more appealing strictly from the grin he gave her.
A hellcat. Yes, she’d resembled that particular animal previously in the enigmatic captain’s presence.
Anne narrowed her eyes. “That damn Patchey confined me in this cabin for three days. You probably put him up to it just to spark my temper.”
The door remained open and she spied Jones’ wide eyes behind his captain. Presumably, no one ever spoke to the dreaded pirate, Bartholomew Roberts, in that manner.
“If I recall, Annie, you have quite a short fuse. I daresay I’d not need do much to spark it.”
His nickname for her always rankled her nerves, and damned if he didn’t use that against her.
“Three days, Bartholomew.” Her eyes shifted back to Roberts as his gaze swept her from the top of her head to her bare calves and feet. A slow flush crept into her cheeks at his perusal.
“I do believe I’m wearing that exact shirt, my dear. I must say, you place a more feminine spin upon it.”
She raised her chin, noticing with some amusement that he was indeed wearing the same buff-colored blouse. “You wear it much better than I. There were no breeches in the chests. I had to make do with your lovely blouse.”
Although, he looked far more attractive with the top untied so that curls of dark hair peeked at her from the V at the neckline. The rest of it clung to his wide, muscular shoulders, and the sleeves billowed out. He had the good luck to be wearing a pair of breeches that hugged the muscles upon his long legs, and tucked into high boots.
She’d been unable to locate any trousers of any sort in the trunks. They were full of men’s shirts and nothing else. Her arm and shoulder were feeling much better, but still twinged a bit if she moved too quickly. Changing into appropriate clothes had not been her highest priority, only resting and healing so she could get the bloody hell from the cabin.
Dark, fluffy eyebrows lifted upon his forehead, three distinct rows of wrinkles resting there in his surprise. His grin reappeared, and an appreciative gleam entered his dark eyes. “While it does not fit you, in the traditional sense, I assure you, it fits you in a different, more delectable manner.”
Feeling every bit as naked as she was under the shirt, she resisted the urge to cover her breasts or grab the sheet about her. Instead, she put her hands on her hips, giving the captain an irritated look. “Do not make me skewer you with a sword, Bartholomew, for such offhanded sentiments. Now, tell me everything. What happened to Dobison and his ship?” Walking with her head held high, she sat at one of the chairs beside the table near the large windows of the cabin. Sitting down made her feel less naked. “And, where do we sail?”
His gaze rolled toward the ceiling. “Jesu, woman, you ask too many questions.” He sighed, coming to stand before her at the table. “I suppose I have time to regale you with the gory details.”
“Excellent. You can start with Dobison. What became of him? I do hope you sent him to feed the sharks.”
“You always were a bloodthirsty gal, Annie.” He chuckled, resting his hands upon the chair before him.
“He deserved it. Tell me.”
He nodded. “Aye. He’d tried to rape you, but I was able to make his neck smile, so to speak, before he was able to do so. You passed out.”
She swallowed the rise of bile in her throat at the mention of Dobison’s touch on her body. After the extreme pleasure of Addison’s touch, Dobison made her want to vomit. “A neck smile. I like the sound of that. You slit his throat. I can’t say that I am unhappy about that.”
“As I thought you might. We carried you here straight away. You were bleeding heavily, barely breathing. We thought we might lose you. The fever . . .” His eyes traced her features, an unspoken question behind his gaze.
“What?”
He straightened. “Who has been here to visit you, Annie?”
“Why do you ask?” Intrigue sparked, but her energy for sparring was thin. “Patchey, that bossy man who confined me here, has been ordering me about for days. And, Jones there,” She motioned behind him, to where Jones stood in the corridor. “Jones, to his credit, has been very helpful.” She eyed Bartholomew. “Why? Where are we going? You’re not continuing on to Port Royal . . .?”
The insinuation floated in the air like a wicked curse. Would her one-time friend in crime return her for a reward?
He seemed surprised by the question, a thunderous expression on his face. “You think I’d send you to prison?”
“Why not? I’ve a reward for my head. You’re a pirate for God’s sake, Bartholomew. I have to say, I did hope you had rescued me so that I might not spend my days in that gaol.”
Tendrils of black hair escaped his ribbon as he shook his head. “Nay, I’d not allow one of my friends to rot if I could help it.”
Relieved, she knew in her heart it was a silly thought. “Truly, I did not think you would, but one can never be too sure in our business.”
“That is very true.” His fingers gripped the back of the chair before him. “We sail to Charles Town.”
Anne swallowed a surge of hope and anticipation. She could assure Holt, Garrett, and Freddie were safe. And, Addison . . . what would she say to him?
She nodded, suddenly grateful for Bartholomew’s appearance just at the right moment. “I must thank you for saving my life, my friend.”
“About that—” There was a mischievous gleam in his eyes.
“Blackbeard’s ghost, what is it?” His face transformed into something other than the typical, fearsome pirate. She waved that aside, for now. “First, you must explain how you came to overtake the Swallow.”
He cleared his throat, “I suppose that’s as good a place to start as any.” Pulling out the chair, he flipped it around and straddled the seat. “I had just returned from the West Indies, and needed to lie low for a turn. I heard Dobison sailed to Charles Town. Since he and Barnet were instrumental in murdering my crew and sinking one of my ships, I figured I could have a talk with him.”
The grim line of his mouth was that of the terrifying pirate she’d seen many times before. One did not get on the bad side of Black Bart.
“Yes, Dobison mentioned his being with Barnet. I’d given him a nasty cut on his arm the night Jack and I were captured.”
“That same evening, prior to your capture, Barnet had given the order to forge a bloody path through any pirate or members of a pirate crew.” A vein twitched in his jaw as he ground his teeth. “During my recent visit to Tortuga, it was mentioned Dobison was headed to Charles Town. Since I had been looking for other diversions, I decided to follow him there.”
“Thank goodness for that.”
A lopsided smile smoothed out his frown. “Yes. I overheard a conversation in the Hound and the Hare regarding a runaway lass with bright, red hair, and that she’d gone off and sailed away with a man named Dobison. He reached into his pocket and tossed the ANNE BONNY WANTED poster onto the table before her. “From this, I knew right away that you had not gone peaceably.”
She frowned at the blasted poster. The fear for her loved ones rose and she fought back tears. “You would have been correct. He had awaited me in our nursery, threatening to slice up my children.” Fury replaced the fear, and she pounded her fist upon the table. “If only I could have sliced his throat instead.”
Roberts hesitated, giving her a moment to calm down.
She sighed, pushing her tempestuous feelings away. “So, you decided to follow?”
“Once I figured out of whom they were speaking, and who you had sailed away with, I knew I must help you and avenge my crew. I took on a couple new passengers, and we followed straight away.”
She nodded, smiling gratefully, “Thank you for doing so.”
My Bonny Heart (Pirate's Progeny Book 1) Page 25