by Paula Quinn
Sam chuckled, watching him. “A bit overdone, aye?”
Alex shook his head. “Do ya ferget who those two are or where they come from? She shot an arrow straight through me favorite hat and tore it from me head.” She beguiled him with a set of huge blue eyes and a mouth made for kissing. And hell, but he’d kissed her. He couldn’t remember a more passionate response from any woman in a long time. When she’d slapped him a moment later, her strike snapped like a whip across his flesh… Hell, he could have taken her right there. She was temptation incarnate. If she had come for his map, she would likely get it if he continued kissing her. She was the most dangerous kind of woman: the kind to whom a man would eventually give anything… even his treasure.
Sam quirked his mouth to one side and gave Alex a knowing look. “Is that why she’s in the hold and not in yar bed?”
He clenched his teeth at the thought of her in his bed, beneath him and astride him, thoughts that plagued him since the first night he saw her in the fog. “Aye. I don’t want her tryin’ to kill me whilst I—”
The cabin door flew open and Jack Hanson, Alex’s hulking master gunner, towered in the frame, interrupting their talk. “The prisoners ’ave escaped.”
Alex and Samuel rushed to the door. “What the hell do ya mean they’ve escaped?” Sam demanded.
Alex stormed past them both and stepped out onto the quarterdeck. The news didn’t shock him. He should have expected it. It angered him that he’d allowed Caitrina Grant’s beauty… her full, ripe mouth… to dull his wits. Even now, the memory of her in his arms, fearless but submissive, softened his resolve. He reined it back in. She’d lied to him. She’d wanted more than to simply see his ship. What did she want? He looked over his shoulder at his cabin door. “Jack,” he called out. “Ya and two others guard me cabin. Sam, relieve the helm.”
“Three of us fer a boy and a woman?” Jack asked him.
“They’re resourceful,” Alex told him. “Don’t underestimate them. Remember their clan survived a three-hundred-year proscription.”
Jack gaped at him like he’d just sprouted a second head. “A three-’undred-year what, Cap’n?”
Alex turned toward the bow while the winds picked up and snatched his hair from his shoulders. Where were they? Did they jump overboard? He stepped onto the main deck and barked orders to his mates, who were waiting there for instruction. “Don’t kill them. Bring them to me when ya find them.”
“Aye, aye, Cap’n.”
He watched them head off to their work then pondered his unwanted guests. Where would they have gone? He returned to the aft and the galley at the far end. He doubted they’d jumped. They didn’t strike him as imbeciles. They hadn’t escaped the hold just to hide again. How the hell did they escape the hold? He shook his head and smiled just a little, impressed with their competence. They had to be hungry.
He moved, ears alerted to sounds coming from the darkness. He made his way along the narrow hall to the galley and was promptly struck on the head from behind. He didn’t go down but it was only due to his excellent sense of balance. He saw stars… and a host of other odd things swimming about his head. He shook them away and ducked just in time to avoid another blow. Coming back up, he turned and sent his blackest glare at his attacker, caught in the light of the porthole. He didn’t waste time talking but pulled his pistol free and aimed it at her. “Turn around and head fer the stairs, Miss Grant, and while ye’re doin’ it, tell me where Mr. MacGregor is.”
He cocked the lock when she didn’t move. She obeyed.
“My cousin is right behind ye.”
Alex hoped she was bluffing but the tip of a blade in his back proved she was very serious. His grin was dagger sharp. He remained very still. These two were trained fairly well in the art of craftiness. “How did ya escape yar chains and the hold?”
“A hair clip.” She quirked a corner of her mouth, enjoying her confession.
“Where do ya plan on goin’ after this? Ya will both be killed the instant ya step on deck.”
“Not if it means yer life with ours, Captain,” said MacGregor behind him. “We just want off this ship. We want nothing from ye but a lifeboat.”
Alex laughed. “We’re at sea, pup. Ya’ll last until the first giant swell and then ya’ll both drown.”
“What d’ye suggest then?” Miss Grant asked, her pretty voice trickling over Alex’s spine. “I dinna’ want my kin to have to fight at sea because of me, but I’m afraid if I am not returned, they will come.”
“In truth,” Alex admitted, “I don’t want to fight them either. They were true friends of me father’s. I dispatched one of me smaller boats to set course for shore and arrange to have a message delivered from me to Skye.”
His stowaways looked remarkably relieved for a moment. Then Miss Grant spoke.
“We willna’ be kept in the hold until ye deliver us somewhere safely.”
“I gathered that much,” Alex told her succinctly. “But pointin’ daggers at me is a sure way of endin’ up in one again. Or worse.”
“We don’t want to be yer enemy,” said MacGregor, withdrawing his dagger and clutching his belly.
“Wise.” Alex took a step toward the girl. She stepped back. “What is it ya want, then?”
“Not yer silly map.” The husky thread in her voice mocked him and sent a scintillating fissure down his back. “If we wanted it we could have had it all these years.”
“Oh?” he asked, stepping by her and leading the way out. “Yar uncle would have stolen from me by giving ya me map?” He smiled in front of them. “That’s interestin’ to know.”
“Nae!” she stormed after him. “That is not what I meant! Our chief is not a thief!”
He shrugged and caught Samuel’s eye when he stepped into the light. “Everyone is a thief.”
“In yer world.”
He turned to face her as they reached his men and was caught off guard, which seemed to happen to him every time he set his eyes on the beauty of her round, dimpled face. “Woman, what do ya know of me world?”
“Some of the nastiest, most traitorous men who were ever born live in yer world, Captain Kidd. Even yer own faither said so when he visited my home. Toss treasure into the pot and a few months too long at sea and those men begin to imagine yer demise.”
Aye, she was absolutely correct, pirates cared about their captains and quartermasters as long as they provided booty and muscles. No booty, no crew. But he didn’t want her to know he agreed with her about his own hands. His men respected him, and they feared him a little too. Anything less would lead to mutiny. They knew he would take their side and fight at their backs. He intended on keeping it that way. He couldn’t let her insult them.
He looked over his shoulder at his mates. “Is this true? Do any of ya plan my demise?” They all answered with a resounding, insulted nay!
“Tell me”—he turned away from the sudden panic in her ice blue eyes and looked at her cousin next—“what do ya think of me crew?”
The Highlander didn’t so much as flinch, impressing Alex, especially when he glanced longingly at the rail but managed to sound controlled when he spoke. “I dinna’ know yer crew, but I’ll tell ye this, I willna’ let any one of ye bring harm to my cousin. I’ll take the lot of ye down before ye know which way I’m coming.”
Alex cocked his brow at Kyle’s bold declaration. He liked that he saw no fear in the lad.
“We have articles on this ship, MacGregor,” Sam told him. As quartermaster he had say in all decisions aboard ship. There was little Alex could do now. “Article nine decrees that any man threatening the captain or the crew should walk the plank. Kiss yer cousin farewell.”
He drew his cutlass and poked MacGregor with it. Then so did the rest of the crew.
Someone clutched Alex’s arm. He looked down to find her there, terror widening her eyes, shaking her fingers while they clung to him. “Please, Captain, stop this. He didn’t mean—”
Sam poking her cousin
along the keel drew her gaze. Her grip tightened. Her eyes came to rest on a length of timber protruding above the water. She released him, stepped back, and had an arrow nocked in her bow before Alex knew what she was doing. She spread her legs and aimed at Sam. “Let him go.”
Alex watched her, his blood set aflame by her fearless, if not foolish actions. He reached out, quicker than she expected, and snatched the arrow from her hands. He grasped her wrist next and yanked her close. He closed his arms around her and relieved her of her quiver. “Sam,” he called out while he plucked away her bow next, not letting her go or easing his hold on her. “Let him go. Let’s not kill him fer his noble attempt at protectin’ Miss Grant.”
“But Cap’n, the articles.”
“I know, old friend,” Alex told him, hoping to convince him to release her cousin. Why? Why did he risk disagreement with his partner for her? “But we’ve looked away from our laws before. And these are, after all, family of the MacGregor chief.”
Sam stared at him for a minute while the men mumbled their disappointment at not getting to toss someone overboard. “Fine.” Sam sighed and shoved MacGregor away. “But I’ll not let him take a dagger to ya.”
Alex nodded, then turned to his men. “Bring him to the mate’s quarters and remove any weapons he carries.”
“What of her?” Samuel asked upon reaching them.
“She’ll be stayin’ with me.” He turned to one of the sailors to his right. “Have Cooper bring our mornin’ meals to me cabin.”
“Captain,” Kyle warned, despite his brush with death, “if ye put yer hands on her—”
Alex held up his palm to stop Sam from hitting the Highlander. “Ya have me word, MacGregor.”
That seemed to mollify Kyle, at least while he leaned over the side of the boat and dry heaved into the ocean.
“Captain, ye have my thanks fer stopping yer brutes from tossing my cousin overboard, but I will not stay in yer cabin.” Trina tried to pull away from him. He held her securely.
“Ya’ll obey the captain and be safe from the men,” Sam told her. “Yar cousin may believe he can take us all, but he will die if he’s forced to try to protect ya again. Will ya live with his death well?”
She looked over at her sick cousin and shook her head, terrified and defeated.
Alex felt a twinge of pity for her but Sam was correct in warning her of the consequences of her actions.
“Come.” He tugged her toward his cabin and didn’t look back at Sam or anyone else before he shut the door behind them.
“I can sleep in the cargo hold tonight without the others knowing.”
“Ya’ll sleep in the bed,” he corrected her, letting her go. He leaned against the door to watch her while she turned, pale, and had a long look at the bed.
“And where will ye be sleeping?” she asked, returning her attention to him, chin raised.
He had to grin at her resolve. Her inner strength wasn’t something taught but rather it flowed through her veins from the blood of her kin. He found her damned sexy. So much more so than the whores he paid for. He thought she deserved his approval and his appreciation, but her fire tempted him to pillage her.
“I’ll be sleepin’ in my bed, as well.”
Her eyes widened to delightful proportions, but when she spoke, her voice was steady. “I’ll throw myself overboard first.”
He considered her vow and remembered that she had already escaped from his hold. “Can ya escape any lock then?” He clicked the lock on his door and took a step toward her. Perhaps it was her cousin who knew how to—
“Mostly any,” she replied, taking a step back.
He quirked his mouth and tilted his head at her. She piqued his interest. What kind of life had she led in Skye? Did she break into rooms and rob other people’s goods? Did the rest of her clan know? He wanted to learn more about her. “Yar aim with an arrow is quite remarkable.” He caught the subtlest hint of pride squaring her shoulders. She liked compliments, like any woman did. When he reached her, it took all his strength to resist the urge to hold her, kiss her mouth… “Ya know how to pick locks and board ships.” He circled her, closing his eyes while he breathed in the sweet fragrance of her hair. Her backside brushed against his groin, but it was her reaction that nearly did him in. He moved away, despite his desire to remain and feel her tremble against him. “What else can ya do that I should know about, Miss Grant?”
A sharp pinch in his abdomen made him look down. He was surprised to see not just any dagger pushed against him, but his personal dagger that she held.
“I can protect myself from wild beasts.”
He threw back his head and laughed, sincerely delighted by her untamed spirit. He moved aside, stepping out of her reach, and held out his hand for his dagger. “I’m glad to hear that,” he said with the residue of his amusement lingering in his smile. “I suppose lockin’ ya in is senseless then.”
“Aye. ’Twould be, Captain.”
“Ya’ll use caution around the men, aye?” He paused for a moment to let Cooper in with two bowls and bread in his hands. “Only use yar own blade if ya must,” he continued when they were alone again. “I’ll get ya home safely to Skye.”
He invited her to sit and then strode to a thick covered jar swinging from a rope. He set it free and sat in the seat near hers. He was surprised to see that she had pushed away her bowl.
“Ye mentioned delivering a message to my kin?”
“Aye,” he said and told her of it. “I explained to yar father that ya and MacGregor came aboard and fell asleep until ’twas too late to return ya. I vowed to bring ya both safely to France.”
She looked relieved and completely grateful. She even smiled, until she looked at her gruel again.
“Ya don’t like oat gruel?” He tossed a playful grin at the jar, then popped the cork. “I have the remedy.” He dipped his spoon into the jar and gathered several drops of golden honey. “I use it sparingly.” He moved to tilt his spoon over her bowl. She stopped him.
“Then, please, dinna’ waste it on me. Fer I willna’ eat those oats, sweetened or not. There are bugs in them.”
“It happens, Miss Grant.” He shrugged. “Bugs get into everything the longer ya have it. We haven’t been fully stocked since we left New York.”
She forgot her food and rested her chin in her hand like she was settling in for a good tale. “Tell me, what is New York like?”
She liked adventure, this one. He could see the light of anticipation in her eyes. Though she had tried to hide it, she wore the same breathless look in Camlochlin when he told her and Kyle about Madagascar. She yearned for it just as he did. “’Tis very proper,” he told her, liking the effect his words had on her, “or so ’twould seem until ya move about in its darkened alleys. Where I was, there are no mountain ranges, not too many wide-open spaces at all. Everyone wears too many clothes; ruffles are fine in moderation.”
Her laughter gave his heart pause. Soon, he found that he liked talking with her. He liked watching her face and the different play of emotion that danced over her features when she told him about her kin. He liked listening to her, as well, but his duties of the day called to him and he rose from his chair. He left his honey jar with her, on the table in case she changed her mind about the oats.
“I would like to hear more about Camlochlin,” he told her while he moved toward the door. “Perhaps later.”
When she nodded, he offered her a smile. “I’ll return later and show ya around the ship.”
“That would be nice, Captain,” she replied. “Thank ye.”
He severed his gaze from hers, but he didn’t want to. Then he returned his dagger to his sash and left the cabin without another word. When he reached the helm, he relieved his sailing master of the wheel and took over the course to their destination.
Hell, it was going to be a hot day, Alex thought, thankful when Sam appeared at his side and handed him his hat, still damp and sporting two new holes. “Who retrieved it?”
“Gustaaf,” his friend told him.
Alex eyed him from beneath the familiar brim after he fit his beloved hat onto his head. “Gustaaf can’t swim.” It was shocking really. Gustaaf was the only Dutchman he knew who’d never learned to swim.
“I know. He nearly drowned. He was in the infirmary until this mornin’. I didn’t know he had it ’til now.”
Six months on his ship and Gustaaf was already loyal enough to drown for him. Alex had the notion that if he was ever arrested and hanged for piracy, Sam and Gustaaf would be there to see him off. Such loyalty was rare on board a ship. Alex would see that he did not go by unnoticed. “I’ll see to his deed.”
Sam nodded. “What do ya think of our guests?”
He thought about it, about how he’d known Caitrina Grant for a day and he’d already given her his honey, an abundance of his smiles, and his time, if he kept his word and gave her the tour she wanted. What else would she get from him? “Thieves. They be thieves after me treasure, Sam.”
“What shall we do with them?”
“Sail to France and toss them overboard, then continue on our quest.”
“Aye,” his quartermaster agreed. “The sooner they’re gone, the better.”
“Aye.” Alex turned the wheel, setting course for France. No truer statement was spoken today. His reasoning had nothing to do with her kin. If they still came after him, he would handle it. No, he wanted to get rid of Caitrina Grant so badly because if he didn’t, he would end up in her arms, in her body, and probably in her heart. He didn’t want to be the one who tamed her heart and then broke it when he left her.
Since when did he care about such trivial matters as a woman’s heart? He didn’t. Caring led to heartbreak, and he would never put himself through it again.