Pirate In My Arms

by Danelle Harmon

  Someone had hung a lantern at the stern and now its reflection, broken by waves and the swirling wake, reached across the dark ocean before melting into the night. Maria stared for a long time at that reflection. Like the path of her life, God only knew where it led.

  Finally, she raised her chin. Resolve. Sam had taught her about that, and taught her well. She would leave tonight while she had the opportunity, while she had the resolve, and while the absence of a moon would work in her favor. Blinking back the tears, she turned and walked quietly across the cabin, pulled out a chair, and reached for the pen and ink at his desk.

  * * *

  A lantern in the shrouds cast eerie shadows over Nefarious’s decks and made the bewhiskered men sitting around the mast look like a legion of unkempt, grinning demons.

  Their captain had pushed them especially hard today, ordering the decks painted red to mask the blood of battle, moving another gun into his cabin, and chopping down the deckhouses to lessen the chance of flying splinters should they end up in a sea-fight. That wood had been donated to the galley fire, where the cook had managed to turn out a fish chowder that was actually edible; now, the crew sat slurping it noisily and enjoying their nightly ritual—storytelling.

  Each wild tale was more exaggerated, more fantastic, than the one preceding it. But out of respect for Maria, who seemed awfully quiet tonight as she sat stroking Gunner’s ears, the men did their best to water down their language.

  Maria had good reason to be solemn. She laughed at their tales, but it sounded hollow to her own ears and she was thankful for the darkness that cloaked her misery. Her hand moved rhythmically over Gunner’s fur, but there was no comfort to be found even there. She looked up, and her pain only intensified as her gaze fell upon the shadowed features of the man leaning against a gun some distance away.

  Sam.

  The night breeze tousled his hair and rippled his sleeves. A bottle dangled from his fingers, and lantern light flickered against the Spanish coin that hung from around his neck. There was something different about him, and it took her a moment to realize, finally, what it was.

  He had cut his hair and shaved off his beard.

  For me?

  The realization pierced her heart and amplified her guilt. And while he chuckled at the wild stories, a person would have to be blind—or as drunk as his crew—to think that his mind was here among his raucous, pipe-smoking group of young rowdies. Was he thinking of the two ships he’d hoped to find at Monhegan? Was he planning a way to recruit enough pirates to rescue his men from the Boston gaol? Or was he reliving the tragedy of Whydah all over again?

  Don’t think about him.

  Her hand tightened on Gunner’s collar.

  Don’t think about him! Don’t even look at him! She shut her eyes and sucked in a bracing breath. Don’t, don’t, DON’T. It’ll only make leaving him all the harder.

  She tried to immerse herself in the storytelling. Stripes had the stand now, describing the mermaid he’d once seen off the coast of Saba for what must be the twentieth time this week. Ludicrous to begin with, the tale got better with each telling. Except now, the mermaid seemed to have changed a bit; she no longer had hair as black as jet, but long, golden tresses, and eyes mirroring the Caribbean that had been her playground.

  From the shadows, Maria heard Sam swear beneath his breath.

  Her courage for the upcoming escape attempt flagged. She accepted a mug of wine from Nat Paige, her hands shaking.

  “Aw, Stripes, really,” Johnnie was protesting. He glanced at his captain for approval. “You don’t really expect me to believe such a tale, do you?”

  “What d’ ye mean? She really did ’ave golden hair and a necklace o’ seaweed, ivory skin an’ breasts as bare as a newborn’s bottom—”

  At the rail, Sam straightened up.

  “Cap’n, where ye goin’? I was just gittin’ t’ the part when I was gonna dive off the railin’ t’ go after ’er!”

  Several men guffawed. Sam finished his own bottle and tossed it over the rail. “Sorry, lad, but I’ve some notes to make in the log. Do carry on with your tale.” And as Stripes stared at him in surprise, he added dryly, “Just be sure ye tell them how she left ye there to drown and we had to toss a grapple over the side to fish you out.”

  Laughter followed as he went aft and was swallowed up by the shadows, and he didn’t know that a pair of haunted turquoise eyes followed him.

  * * *

  Maria stared into the darkness where he’d disappeared, uncertain, apprehensive and trying to ignore the building guilt of deceit. She stroked Gunner one last time and stood up. Now that his captain had retired for the night, Johnnie was making short work of his rum, gulping it down as fast as he could fill his mug from the nearby hogshead. Maria frowned, caught his eye, and took a meaningful sip of her own watered-down wine. Looking chastised, Johnnie set down his cup and got up to escort her below.

  Stripes was disappointed at losing part of his audience. “Where ye goin’, Maria? Didn’t ye like my mermaid story?”

  “Liked it, yes. Believed it?” Maria smiled gently. “No. But I suppose we all must believe in fairy tales. Good night, everyone.”

  Their voices rose in drunken chorus.

  “G’night, Maria!”

  “See ye in the mornin’!”

  “Take care, Johnnie, that she doesn’t slip and fall on those decks! The captain’ll have yer hide!”

  “Damn the captain, I’ll have his hide!”

  She would miss them, this rough-talking, hard-drinking band of sea tars. And Sam? Oh God, she couldn’t think about him until it was all over, for to do so now would rob her of the courage she’d fought so hard to maintain. With a heavy heart, Maria took Johnnie’s hand and allowed him to lead her aft.

  He left her at the door to the cabin and without knocking, Maria quietly pushed it open.

  The cabin was in darkness. She’d thought to find Sam at work, but in the faint starlight she saw that the leather-bound log book was closed, the inkwell capped, the chair pushed up flush to the desk. It was obvious that he’d never had any intention of making notations, nor studying charts. In fact, it seemed as though he’d had no intention of doing work of any kind. Her gaze wandered the gloom and there, a tall silhouette standing by the open stern windows, she saw him.

  He was still and unmoving, his hands clasped behind his back, his gaze far out over the darkened sea. No spirit animated his tall form, and the sorrow emanating from him was so strong it was palpable. Maria swallowed the lump in her throat, for it was hard enough to contemplate leaving him when he was being a brute; it was far harder when he was so plainly suffering.

  She took a deep breath, steeling herself for what she was about to do. “Sam?”

  He started, turned, saw her as nothing more than a shadow in the doorway. “Maria, lass. Forgive me, I didn’t hear ye come in.”

  There was no anger in his voice. Nothing but emptiness, and that lack of emotion pulled at Maria’s heart. He must be feeling the loss of Whydah tonight. Worrying about his men in the Boston gaol.

  She closed the door behind her and when he still didn’t move from the window, took a hesitant step forward. Don’t do it, her mind screamed, not like this. But she forced that little voice back. She had to do it like this, had to leave him with the truth—that she loved him. Yes, in the morning he’d find her gone, but some day perhaps he’d realize it had been her final act of love. Her parting gift, so that he would never forget her.

  Her conscience, though, thought otherwise. Deceitful hussy it accused, and faltering, Maria almost retreated to leave him to his musings. But from somewhere deep inside she found the strength to continue. “You seem melancholy tonight,” she said, when he turned back to stare out over the sea. “Are you thinking about your Whydah?”

  “Aye, amongst other things.” She saw the shrug of his powerful shoulders in the darkness, but even the gloom couldn’t mask their uncharacteristic slump and the weariness that made it
seem as though he carried the weight of the world’s problems upon them. “Whydah, the lads in Boston, and Monhegan coming up empty, though I shouldn’t be surprised. No pirate in his right mind would remain in one place for long. ’Twas naught but a faint hope, anyhow.” He turned then and looked at her. “Why did ye follow me down here, Maria?”

  She couldn’t tell him that she’d come to say good-bye. She couldn’t tell him that this was the last time they’d be together. But she couldn’t lie to him either, so she told him a half-truth. “I came to apologize.”

  “For what?”

  “For all the unkind things I’ve said to you lately. For treating you so disrespectfully in front of your crew. For making a nuisance of myself, and behaving like the witch I was once accused of being. You’re right, of course. I’ve been a shrew. You can blame the fact that we’ve not…lain together since boarding this ship, on me. ’Tis all my fault, and I know it.”

  “Ye’ve cause to be angry.”

  “But even in the midst of my anger, I love you, Sam.” She swallowed tightly, hating herself for what she was about to do. “And I… I wanted to prove it to you.” She spied a half-empty bottle of Madeira on the table, and seizing it, offered it to him. “I thought we might have a glass or two together, just you and me.”

  He frowned. “Maria, just because I once gave you wine doesn’t mean ye have to indulge in it all the time.”

  “Come now, Sam. I’m a grown woman, not a child.”

  “A woman all right. Infernal females! Ye confound and confuse me, you do. One moment ye’re cursing me for piracy, the next ye’re down here apologizing and looking like ye want to be bedded. I thought ye wanted no part of me?”

  She merely shrugged and offered a sheepish smile.

  He regarded her for a long, penetrating moment, obviously sensing the fact that something wasn’t quite right. Finally he turned, searching in the darkness for a flint. The scent of burning tallow mingled with that of salt air, and a dull glow illuminated the cabin and threw long, eerie shadows across the bulkhead as the lantern flared to life. Maria took a chair. Sam poured wine into two pewter mugs, seated himself, and pushed one of them across the table to her.

  He perused her for another long moment, and it took all the courage she had to meet and hold his gaze. Could he know her thoughts? Her plans?

  “So tell me,” he asked, touching his mug to hers before lifting it to his lips. “Do ye want to be bedded?”

  She blushed and looked down. “I would like that,” she whispered.

  Silence. She looked up into his face. His freshly-shaven face.

  He noted the direction of her glance, the slight furrow between her brows, and rubbed at his chin and jawline. “Like it?”

  “Yes.” And then: “Did you shave it off for me?”

  “Everything I do is for you, lass.”

  He held her gaze for a long moment. The glow of the lantern picked out the handsome planes of his face, threw the hollows of his cheekbones into shadow, and emphasized the strength of his jaw, his chin, the bold line of his nose.

  “Thank you,” Maria said. “It suits you.”

  He smiled faintly. Answering warmth flooded Maria’s heart and for a moment she forgot that he was a notorious pirate captain who was supposedly dead. In fact, smiling and clean-shaven as he was, he looked very much like the eager young adventurer she’d fallen in love with so long ago.

  She put her mug down and reached up to touch his cheek, wanting to sear the feel of him into her memory where she could always take it out and treasure it. His eyes closed and his shoulders settled as though a great tension had finally gone out of them. He caught her hand, brought it to his mouth, and pressed her knuckles to his lips. Sensation rippled through her and she began to question her decision.

  “Ah, Maria.” Dark eyes opened and bared a troubled soul. “I don’t think I could’ve stood too many days like these past ones.”

  His breath was a warm flutter against her fingers. The resonance of his voice turned her bones to custard. “Nor I,” she said, “but please, Sam, let’s just put it behind us. I don’t want to think about it anymore.” She pulled her hand away from his lips and picked up the bottle. “Not tonight, at least. Here, have some more wine.”

  The amount she poured into his mug was generous, but he drank it down quickly. And then he took her hand once more, pressing her palm to his cheek as though he’d never let her go.

  “I’ve missed ye, lass.” And as his gaze softened Maria realized that for the first time, this strong, proud man was baring his heart to her, allowing her to see the unguarded love in his eyes.

  In that same moment, it struck her that that same love might prove to be his undoing.

  Good Lord. Why hadn’t she realized it before? Her very presence aboard Nefarious was a danger to him, a distraction, for he would need all of his wits about him to survive, to keep the ship beyond the reach of the men-of-war that prowled the coast. What he didn’t need was her around to worry about.

  Yes, that’s it, isn’t it? Deceive yourself as well as him. You’re leaving because he won’t give up piracy, not for some noble, sacrificial reason about saving his life that you’re now convincing yourself to be true.

  It was an excuse, and she knew it.

  “We’ll have to do something about getting you some proper clothes,” he was saying, studying her thoughtfully. “Those breeches ye’ve found aren’t fit for a lady. Where did ye find them?”

  “Johnnie got them for me.”

  “Well, they’re indecent.”

  “And when, Sam Bellamy, have you cared a whit about decency?”

  “Since I’ve seen ye take up bad language, drinking, and dicing all in the space of a week.” He smiled, his eyes gleaming. “I can’t allow ye to become totally corrupted, now, can I?”

  Maria gathered her courage. “Why Sam,” she said, forcing a coyness into her voice she didn’t feel, “I do believe that you were the one to corrupt me in the first place.”

  A hunger came into his smile, predatory and compelling. “Come here, lass.”

  Maria got up and came around the table. He turned in his chair and reached for her, and Maria sat intimately on his lap. His thighs were stout and hard beneath her, his body wonderfully strong. It was sheer bliss to lay her cheek against the solid wall of his chest, heaven to nuzzle the fine, silky hairs at the base of his throat with her lips. He tasted of salt spray, wind, and the freedom of the open sea and for a moment, she forgot that he was anything but the man with whom she’d fallen in love so long ago.

  “Maria?”

  “Oh Sam, I’ve missed you so….”

  “Christ, lass. I’ve missed you too, but—” He caught his breath as her she began kissing him. “God’s blood, what the devil’s got into ye?”

  “Nothing that hasn’t always been there,” she murmured.

  He set her away from him, studied her face, and gently set her away from him so he could stand up.

  “Sam?”

  “I don’t want any interruptions, and I’m sure you don’t, either.”

  And as strode to the door to lock it, she reached into the pocket of the breeches Johnnie had given her to make her life aboard ship a bit easier, found the bit of laudanum that had been in the sea chest of Nefarious’s former surgeon, and slipped it into his drink.

  “There.” He pulled out the chair and pulled her onto his lap once more.

  “Would you like more Madeira, Sam?”

  “I would like you.”

  She snuggled up against him, laying her palm against his belly, her fingers teasing the waistband of his breeches. “And you will have me, Sam. But I’m nervous… I need the courage it will give me, and I don’t want to drink alone.”

  “Why are ye nervous? Ye know me, lass, and know me well. I’d never hurt ye.”

  “It has been a while, Sam. Of course I’m nervous.”

  She picked up his mug, pretended to take a sip, and handed it to him. Eyeing her in fond exasperat
ion, he took it, drank it down, and slid the empty mug across the table.

  “There. Are ye happy now?”

  “Love me, Sam. Love me like there’s no tomorrow.”

  He could not know that there’d be no tomorrow for them. He could not know that she was putting into play a plan he would never have thought her devious enough to implement. He could not know anything but her lips beneath his, her breasts pressing into his hand, the feel of her fingers against his chest, now drifting down to pull his shirt free of his breeches, to move suggestively over his hardening arousal until he caught his breath and groaned. He could not know anything but that—and Maria would make sure of it.

  His kiss was fierce and hungry, and he took her lips like a drowning man, skillfully managing to unbutton her shirt at the same time. He broke free to slide the soft muslin over her shoulders and found her breasts, his warm, callused hands sending pleasure tingling through her skin, simmering through her flesh, boiling through her blood. He caressed her nipples into hardened peaks, lifted one breast to his mouth to suckle it until heat pulsed through her veins, filling her senses with him and nothing but him, pushing her reasons for doing this into a far, forgotten corner of her mind that for the moment, no longer mattered.

  She drew back only long enough to loosen her braid. Mesmerized, he watched as she ran her fingers through the thick silken tresses until her hair tumbled in a spill of gold down her back.

  “Oh, damnation, but you are lovely,” he moaned, and then he was lifting her in strong arms to effortlessly carry her to the bunk. He set her down on the coverlet. She lay back against the pillow, her eyes clouded with passion, her lips parted in invitation as she reached for him. He shed his breeches and joined her, bracing his forearms on each side of her shoulders and lowering his head to kiss her once more.

  A witch, they’d called her, and the powerful pirate captain was caught in her spell, as helpless as a fly in a spider’s web. Clothes were shed, lips grazed bare flesh. Passions heightened, skin already glowing damp in the lantern light. Maria sighed as his mouth, harsher now, returned to her breasts, licking and teasing the nipples, sucking on the tender buds until she began to squirm with need. She closed her eyes lest he see the deceit in them, and turned her face into the silken spread of her hair that fanned the pillow. This would be the last time she would ever clasp him to her, taste his kisses, take him within herself. She buried her lips against the inside of his arm, moving her lips against the soft hairs there, the taste of him mingling with the saltiness of her own tears.