Mutiny of the Heart

by Jennifer Bray-Weber

“Nothing, V.”

  “Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe he feels you used him. You did, after all, dangle his freedom in front of him to force him to help you.”

  The truth stung. She’d bought him, owned him, enslaved him to do her will.

  “Maybe, just maybe, Jo, he doesn’t know how you feel about him. You going to let him get away without telling him?”

  “What does it matter now?” she muttered, defeated. “He’s gone.”

  “Bollocks,” Valeryn grunted. “The brick couldn’t have gone far. Go after him. Go now. ’Cause if you don’t, I won’t let you get away from me again.”

  She sighed. “No one knows when he left, how long he’s been gone.” She looked back to the island. “He could be anywhere by now.”

  “One glass after morning watch began.” Sam appeared out of nowhere. How the massive oak could do that, Joelle would never know.

  “Pardon?” she asked.

  “Rowed ’im to shore ’fore t’e sun came up. ’Bout five.”

  That was more than three hours ago. She couldn’t stave off the drowning disappointment. She dug her hand into her scalp and squeezed her eyes shut. She would not cry. She would not cry.

  “Cripes, Jo. Ricker really has you strung up.” Valeryn shifted his weight on his crutch, shaking his head. “You’re thinkin’ like a woman, not the cunning, intrepid captain you’ve worked so hard to become. Think, love. Think.”

  When had Valeryn become so wise? He knew what she should do and he was forcing her to make the calls.

  She took a moment to focus, to think like a captain. A pirate captain. A pirate captain planning a siege. Yeesss.

  “Sam.”

  “Aye, Capt’n.”

  “Did Ricker say anything to you? Say where he was heading?”

  “Nay.” Saddened, he shook his head. “Not’in but his t’anks.”

  Joelle already knew this, but she could leave no stone unturned.

  “Make ready to sail, Willie.”

  “Ya just gonna leave?” Henri sputtered.

  “Little Bristol, just south of here, is the nearest large port,” she said. “He’ll be able to sail off Barbados from there.”

  “That’s my girl.” Valeryn smirked.

  Willie smiled wide and Henri, like a proud papa, smacked Sam on the arm.

  “Well?” Valeryn hollered. “What are you waiting for? Let’s get this bucket under sail.”

  That familiar excitement bubbled inside her. The hunt was on.

  She couldn’t wait to capture her quarry.

  * * *

  Ricker entered the rowdy dockside inn. The fisherman outside said this was the place Ricker was searching for, and by the looks of it, he didn’t doubt it. Lively music, jaunty drinkers, a couple of dancing girls blended in with tables of fishermen eating a meal and skippers conducting business.

  He sidled up to the bar and grabbed the keep’s attention. His stomach growled and he was mighty thirsty. But he’d fill his gut after he hitched up with a vessel to anywhere. By preference, out of the Caribbean and to England. From there, perhaps he could eventually make his way back to the New World. Make a living mapping out new territories there for a bloated English proprietor. Far away from Joelle and the tattered remains of his heart.

  First, he needed that drink.

  “Looking for work as a deckhand,” he said to the keep serving him a mug. “Know where I might find a ship heading for England?”

  The keep swept his eyes over him carefully, taking a long look. ’twas annoying, the assessment. But Ricker understood. He was a stranger without a ship in the port town. ’twas suspicious.

  The keep finally tipped his head to a door at the end of the bar. “Second door to the right.”

  He paid the man and threw back his drink. The ale was warm, hearty and delicious easing down his gullet. “Thanks, mate.”

  “Good luck to ya.” He chuckled.

  Luck? If a fellow was strong and willing, most sailing vessels would sign him up without hardly a second thought. No luck needed. Should Ricker give pause? Would the captain in the back room be a fair and just man? Or would he be cruel and hard? Not that it mattered to Ricker. No longer would he let a man—or woman—determine his life.

  He entered the darkened room lit by a single candle. The candle’s light cast a ring on a table, spilling over just beyond its edge. A man, his hat low on his brow, paused, a metal flagon halfway to his lips.

  “Pardon,” Ricker said. “The keep said you are signing men to your crew. I’d like to join.”

  The man finished his drink, but did not look up. “That so?”

  “Aye.”

  “Ya sail before?”

  “Most of my life.”

  “Had several jack-tars wanting me employ. Already got me a crew. Why should I take another?” He questioned him with trenchant brass.

  “I’m good with the sheets.” He pressed further. “And I read maps.”

  The mariner was silent, as if rolling that over in his mind. Ricker took that moment to survey the shadows reaching into the corners behind the table. Barrels, empty glass jugs, shelves of smaller jars. Rum. The barrels were of aging rum. Ricker wet his suddenly parched lips.

  “Ya haven’t asked where I’m sailin’.”

  “Does not matter. If the voyage be leaving soon and be long, all the better.”

  “Ya be in a rush, are ya? Ya on the run?”

  “Nay. Just wanting to work.”

  “Ya don’t know about yer earnin’s yet.”

  “Equal share with the crew is all I expect.”

  The man lifted his head, and still Ricker could not see his face fully. He wanted to see the fellow’s eyes, gauge the kind of man he was.

  “Weren’t happy with yer last captain?”

  “My services were no longer required.”

  The man met his eyes, then. Pale, inquisitive. He slid a paper and inkwell across the table toward Ricker. “Very well.”

  Ricker picked up the quill, dabbing it into the ink.

  “Before ya sign, ya should know something about me.”

  Ricker had worked under the best and worst of captains. Nothing this fellow could say would make him change his mind. He began to sign his name.

  “I ain’t the captain.” He tossed a crumpled, folded paper onto the desk.

  Ricker stopped in mid-signature. What nonsense was going on? He reached for the paper and unfolded it. Suddenly, his wits scrambled as he stared at one of his failed drawings of Joelle. He gnashed his teeth, bracing himself for what could not be. Anything but that.

  “How did you get this?” Ricker followed the man’s line of vision behind him.

  Joelle stepped out of the shadows like an apparition. A gorgeous, fiery apparition. Her emerald eyes caught the flicker of candlelight, her lips were neither smiling nor frowning, yet inviting just the same. She hadn’t bothered with tying back her red hair. The tresses cascaded over her shoulders to her chest, lending her a wild appearance. Her white tunic hid her bosom perched upon a brown, well-worn corset, accentuating the curve of her hips—which he must admit, were nicely adorned with a cutlass and pistol.

  “Hello, Sloan.” His name on her lips was like cane syrup, candied and thick.

  For a brief moment, he was happy to see her. His erratic heartbeat thudded against his ribs. Then anger crowded out the happiness. How did she know he would be there? Was this a trick?

  Joelle handed the man a couple of coins. The man nodded and took his leave.

  “What is the meaning of this?” he spat. “Why are you here?”

  “For you.”

  “I don’t belong to you anymore.”

  She moved to the wall and lit a sconce, filling the room with more light. “I am aware of that.” When she turned, her eyes mirrored his ire. “But that does not permit you to act like a coward.”

  “Coward? What the—”

  “Leaving the way you did. You’re a despicable charlatan.”

  “You accuse me o
f exploiting you? Is that what you are doing? Ho, ho! You are the hypocrite, Joelle.”

  “I never once led you to believe anything but truths. You knew what I wanted.” She jabbed her finger at him. “What I was willing to give, what my limits were. I told you as much.”

  “So you did. And I am the fool.” He wadded the drawing and tossed it to the floor.

  “I did not say that, Sloan.”

  “You did not have to. You did a magnificent job making me out to be one. Must be easy for someone like you. Beautiful, wily, merciless.”

  Her fists balled. Good. He wanted her riled up. Made it easier to spit out his anger.

  “Right. I used you to get what I wanted. We’ve established that.” Her teeth were clenched so tight, Ricker thought they might shatter. “What about you? You tempted me to weaken me. You intended to overthrow me, my ship, my crew, my cunny. One way or other. Is that not true? Do you deny it?”

  He sneered. Truths, ugly and septic. “No,” he growled. “I do not deny it.”

  “Then why the devil are you so angry with me?” The lines in her frown lost their edge, her tone not quite as hard. “You were so affectionate, passionate...possessive. You made me feel different, like there was something more, something extraordinary between us.” Joelle motioned her open palm to the picture on the floor, but curled her fingers back into a tight fist. She closed her eyes, her jaw twitched. Her eyes popped open. “Then you left. Was any of it real?”

  Was any of it real? ’twas more real than anything he’d ever felt. More real than the lashes that scored his back. More real than rotting in a dank harbor cell. More bloody real than any battle. He was alive with Joelle.

  “I should ask the same of you. Come now, Joelle. This—” he wagged his finger between them, “—this was over before it ever began.”

  She stepped closer, close enough he could smell her freshly cleansed skin. “Why? Why does it have to be that way?”

  He ground his teeth. That which had been fueling his resolve rose to the surface. “Because you made your choice. I won’t be kept as your pet second to Valeryn.”

  “Valeryn?”

  “Don’t pretend to be what you are not, Joelle. Innocence does not suit you well.”

  She smirked, yet confusion knotted her brow. “’Tis a true word, I’ll grant it. But I still do not know what you are talking about. What choice?”

  “Valeryn!” Blazes, she was going to make him say it aloud. “I saw you kiss him, on the deck.”

  A light of recognition flashed across her face. Aye, she knew where they were now. With her backed into a corner. Caught.

  “You were spying on me?” Fire ignited once again in her voice.

  “You don’t deny it,” he said satisfactorily.

  “No. I don’t. But your eyes deceive you. ’tis not what it seems.”

  Did she take him for a dolt? “Oh, and my ears? Do they deceive me as well? I heard you tell him you love him. Is that not what it seems, either?”

  “Yes. I mean, no. Ugh!” She expelled a frustrated huff. “I do love him. But I feel differently about him than I do you.”

  She reached for him, but he stepped away. Ricker didn’t need her wicked distractions. He needed this conversation to be over. He needed to move on with his life.

  “No,” she spat. “You will listen to me!” She squeezed her eyes shut, as if gathering strength. Or maybe a bewitching spell. Lord above knew he was susceptible to succumbing to her.

  “Sloan.” Joelle’s reserved coolness returned in her appeal to hear her out.

  He must resist her.

  “I’ve told you before, Valeryn is a part of me. I will not try to make you understand. ’twould be useless. But I will tell you what you saw. You saw me setting things straight. You saw Valeryn letting me go.”

  “A kiss is an odd way of letting go.”

  “Shut it! Stop being a powder-brained prick and listen. I love you, Sloan. Do you hear? I love you.”

  Her words slammed into him, knocking the wind from him so he could not speak.

  Tears shimmered in her feral eyes. “I was so angry at you for leaving.” Her lips curled, her teeth bared. “So...angry. It was Valeryn who said I should find you. It was Valeryn who said I should give you a chance, not kill you, tell you my feelings.”

  Kill me?

  Her squared shoulders slumped, as if the hot air left her body. “Now that I’ve done so, what say you?”

  He’d been a horse’s arse, letting his pride rule his judgment. With all her strengths, her honesty was her best defensive weapon. She was right. He was a coward for running off. He hadn’t wanted to face her, face Valeryn, believing he had lost the bid for her heart. Had he been more of a man, he would not have hurt her. Nor put himself in undue misery.

  Saint’s blood, he had come damn close to suffering a lifetime without Joelle by his own stupidity, selfishness and arrogance. And condemning her to the same fate.

  He stepped in close and gathered her into his arms. “I say I am a fool. I’m a fool for not telling you sooner. Hell, I should’ve realized sooner. You have my heart, my soul, Joelle. I don’t know when it happened, but I love you, too. By thunder, I love you.”

  They collided into one another. She grabbed his whiskered mug and he slipped both hands under her thick waves of hair at her nape. The kiss, her lips, so hot, he might combust. His tongue glided inside her mouth, twisting, lapping with hers. She tasted warm and sweet, like freshly harvested sugar cane. Christ, he wanted to shuck her of her clothes. Take her right there in the store room. Bust open a cask, douse her body with rum, and lick her clean.

  Damn, if she weren’t faster than he. Joelle, while nipping and kissing his lips, pulled his shirt free of his breeches. The little minx slipped her hands beneath his waistband. Her palms skimmed down the flat plane above his cock. All his blood, all his good sense rushed to his hardening shaft. When her fingers wrapped around the base, he came undone.

  Ricker sucked in his breath. “I want you naked.”

  Carnal lust peered up from under her lashes. “Then undress me.”

  Surely he should be more considerate of her. But not today. Today she wore too many laces and layers. Being controlled, genteel and careful in undressing her would take too long. He needed to be in her now.

  He only managed to loosen her corset enough to slip her short shift out of her trousers, through the corset, and up and over her head. Thank Neptune she took over from there. ’twas quite an exercise and they’d worked up a sweat. She removed her boots and trousers whilst he shrugged out of his tunic and dropped his breeches to his ankles.

  His cock throbbed at attention for the beautiful creature perched on the table, her torso still wrapped in the corset giving prominence to creamy curves and mounds.

  “Magnificent.” Red hair, smooth skin, freckled nose and chest, pink, perfect budded nipples, russet thatch of hair between her legs. Shite, he was going to unravel.

  “Don’t make me beg.” She smiled. “Not this time.” She brought up her heels to the table’s edge.

  “No. Not this time.” He wedged himself between her legs. Grabbing her hair, he tugged back to expose the flesh of her neck. He suckled the hollow dip in her throat, delighting in the vibrations from her moans.

  Ricker reached behind her to pinch out the candle wick and move the candlestick out of the way. Joelle was going to need all the space on the tabletop.

  He grabbed her thighs and scooted her to the very edge of the table and planted her feet against his chest, forcing her to lay back. She bit her bottom lip, giving him the most sinful, anticipating grin. Ricker drew his palm over her heated folds.

  Oh, yes. Drenched. All for him.

  He rubbed his crown over her lips, soaking himself with her essence, groaning with the feel of her silky creases. No more. He could wait no more. He guided his cock inside. Joelle inhaled a long breath, inch by inch, until he buried completely within her. He waited for her to finally exhale, a smile scrolling the tips o
f her mouth. Taking her by the ankles, he held her legs out wide and pounded into her, slamming, driving, hammering.

  With nothing to hold on to, Joelle had one hand grasping a fistful of her own hair and fingernails clawing into the wood of the table with the other. Her breasts bounced with each thrust. Her brow bunched, her breathing erratic, and her eyes focused upon him. The delectable tilt of her wicked lips drew his balls tight. She was going to outlast him. Holy mother of...

  He couldn’t hold back. Ricker’s muscles seized. He bit out a growl as his cock shuddered. His thighs, even his arse, ached from the strain. He pulled out just in time, his shaft jerking and spilling. Letting go of her ankles, Ricker slapped his palms to either side of her hips to catch his breath.

  He may not be honorable by tupping her in the back of a seaside tavern, but by God, he would make sure she saw white, blinding stars too.

  Ricker knelt before her, stroking her thighs, over her knees, down her calves as he went.

  Joelle tried to scoot up. “That was—whoop!”

  He grabbed her ankles again, yanked her back down, and flung her legs over his shoulders. He pulled her off the table so her firm, porcelain buttocks rested in his hands. Eye-level with the nectar of the gods, Ricker trailed his tongue around the rim of her folds and up her honeyed slit.

  “Delicious,” he murmured.

  He delved his tongue inside, exploring, feasting. Her breathing grew louder and the sweetest, most sensual groan reached his ears as he clamped his lips around her swollen nub. He sucked and lapped with his tongue. She writhed in his face, moaned his name, dug her fingers into his scalp. Blazes, he could do this to her forever. All too soon, she arched her back and screamed a beautiful profanity-laced plea.

  Ricker gave her hardly a moment of reprieve before he cradled her into his arms and kissed her long and hard.

  “Do you still want to kill me?”

  Joelle laughed, a hearty, musical laugh.

  Being with her, being hers, he had never felt so right about anything in his life. At this moment, though she did not know it, nor likely declare it, he was her slave again. What he was about to confess, her response, ’twas his sentence. Good or bad. His life hung in the balance.

  “Woman. I’ve nothing to offer you. Nothing but my soul. If you’ll have me, I will spend each waking moment of my life trying to make you happy. If you want me to pluck every star from the sky, I will climb the heavens to do so. If you want to drain the ocean, I will empty it spoonful by spoonful. I would steal the Crown Jewels. I would start a war. I would carve my own beating heart from my chest if it moves you. I’ll do whatever you desire if you’ll be mine.”