My Seaswept Heart

by Christine Dorsey

  Anne’s voice was little more than a whisper. “I don’t know.” She lifted her lashes, staring up at him, her eyes serious. “But you don’t understand. I have to be there when you find his ship.”

  “Why, Annie? Why is it so important to ye?” When she didn’t answer, he continued. “I told ye I’d search for him, and I will.”

  She couldn’t tell him the jewels promised him were in d’Porteau’s possession, not her own. No more than she could explain the guilt she felt over her cousin’s kidnapping. All she could do was slowly shake her head.

  “’Tis not as bad as all that, Annie, girl. Once home on Libertia ye can take a good soak, then sit in the shade and wait for me to bring ye d’Porteau’s head.” Jamie grinned when her gaze flashed to meet his. “’Tis but a manner of speech. I’ve no intention of severing his head for ye. But I will bring ye proof of his demise, and your cousin, be he—”

  “Still alive?” Anne finished for him. “Of course, I’ve considered the possibility that d’Porteau killed him. And what that would do to Uncle Richard.”

  “Be that the case, and I’m not thinking ’tis, your uncle needs ye all the more safe and sound with him.”

  Anne smiled sadly. “I suppose you’re right.”

  “Of course I am.” Jamie was trying to be understanding, but it was difficult with her firm little body pressed against his. He wondered if she realized the effect she had on him. He supposed he should let her go. She seemed over her temper.

  But Jamie was having a difficult time getting his arms to obey his mind’s commands. Even his hands seemed to have a will of their own as they began rubbing the small of her back.

  “What are you doing?” Anne tried to fight the heat flooding through her.

  “What?”

  “That.” Wriggling away from his hands only plastered her more tightly to his hard chest and even harder lower body. “Stop it.” Anne’s upper arms were trapped in his embrace, but she could bend them at the elbows. She touched his hips to push him away and realized she wasn’t.

  His skin, through the nanskin breeches was hot and erotic. Her fingers flexed.

  “Annie. Look at me, Annie.”

  She couldn’t seem to stop herself from lifting her face. He was smiling but it wasn’t the devilish grin she was accustomed to. This smile was warm and seductive.

  He lifted his hand to cup her cheek, using his thumb to wipe away a streak of dirt. “Ye can’t hide your beauty from me, Annie. Not even with tar and oil.”

  As he slowly lowered his head Anne realized she was no longer his captive. Nothing but the slight pressure of his fingers caressing her face held her to him.

  Chapter Eight

  But there was more than one way to conquer. And the pirate, Jamie MacQuaid, ravisher of the Caribbean, was an expert in such matters.

  His prismed eyes, so reminiscent of the sea itself, beguiled, seemed to suck you deep into their vortex. They summoned, challenged you to resist. And if you failed they promised all manner of erotic delights awaited.

  Anne was no match for him.

  Innocence rarely was.

  Her heart pounded, a rhythmic beat that escalated as his head lowered toward hers. His scent was wild and free. His touch gentle. A most seductive tangle.

  Anne’s lips opened in welcome, greeting his in the age-old voice of surrender. Yet from defeat came sweet victory. Anne relished the firm mastery of his mouth. The conquering expertise of his tongue. Her head fell back and her arms reached up, encircling his strong neck, digging her fingers into the savage curls.

  And all the while her body throbbed. Pressed to his, the heat first seeped, then exploded inside her till she writhed against him. The fasteners on her shirt lost their fragile hold.

  When his hands cupped her bottom lifting her against his hardness, Anne knew instinctively ’twas what she needed to assuage the ache deep within her. She clutched at his shoulders, her fingers still tangled in the raw silk of his hair. She whimpered when his lips left hers. Cried out when that magical mouth clamped over her breast. Fire shot through her and she arched back to give him greater access.

  Her nipples peaked painfully, their only relief coming with the carnal massage of his tongue. He nibbled. He suckled. And Anne thought she might lose her mind, if she didn’t burn to a cinder first.

  And then it was gone. All the heat and power. She stood on wobbly knees swaying toward him, wanting what had been taken from her so suddenly. Slowly she opened her eyes, to be greeted by the insufferable grin. Though this time it didn’t seem as steady as usual. And it didn’t reach his eyes. They stared at her with a mixture of passion and disdain.

  “’Tis tempting,” he said, his voice a husky timbre.

  “Tempting?” His meaning was lost in the smoky fog of her brain. Anne looked up, her expression full of question. She was beyond tempted.

  “Aye.” His jaw tightened. “But ’tis already promised me if ye recall. And a bargain is a bargain.” He took a deep breath. “Even when made to naught but a pirate.”

  “I don’t...” She was going to say understand, but unfortunately she was beginning to. At least with the distance he’d put between them her thought processes had returned. Along with a healthy dose of embarrassment and shame. Which only intensified with his next words.

  “I appreciate how eager ye are to stay aboard.” Jamie’s gaze flicked down over her body, the rose-tipped breasts still damp from his mouth, the flush that slowly spread to pinken her neck and cheeks. “But this will not change my mind.”

  When he turned to leave Anne could do naught but stand as if her feet were rooted to the wide-planked decking. Temper flushed away all remnants of desire, all thoughts of self-reproach. She advanced on him not with punches and slaps, which he’d proved had no effect on him, but with words.

  “’Tis a bargain I shall never keep.”

  The quirk of his brow when he twisted his head to look at her spoke volumes. “We shall see, Annie. We shall see.”

  The door shut behind him. Though not slammed or even closed with excess force, the sound seemed to reverberate through her head. Slowly, for all the energy seemed to have drained from her body, Anne lifted her hands and began rebuttoning her shirt. When the first bit of moisture dampened her fingers she was perplexed. It wasn’t until she reached up, tentatively touching her cheek that she realized she was crying.

  It had been so many years since she allowed the tears to fall. Not since the sudden death of her parents when she was eleven. They had been festive, happy people, more childlike than their serious daughter ever was. Her father, the younger son of a marquis, married the love of his life, the beautiful enchantress Sophia, or so he had called her till his dying day. My beautiful enchantress.

  Anne smiled now at the memory as she scrubbed knuckles across her cheek. Her mother was beautiful, blond, and willowy with blue eyes that rivaled the summer sky and a smile that lit up her husband’s heart.

  Her father had adored his wife, buying her jewels and gowns... spending more than they could afford. Anne sobbed, wishing she could stop these foolish tears. Wondering why now, after all these years she wept for her parents.

  Or was it for herself?

  The thought made Anne stiffen. It had come unbidden and unwanted into her mind, and she tried to push it aside. Gulping in a breath she grabbed up a shirt littering the floor and wiped at her face. Never one to give in to self-absorption, she wasn’t about to begin now.

  There was too much else to worry about. Besides, as soon as d’Porteau was found and her cousin returned to Libertia everything would be as it should. Her uncle would snap out of his despondency, or at least improve, Arthur could continue... being Arthur. And she would take care of things as she always had.

  The pirate had given her a setback, but only a temporary one. She would find a way. She always did. With a determination she didn’t quite feel, Anne wiped the shirt across her face, smearing it with grime. But there were no new tears.

  Then she did
what she always did when faced with a problem. Anne began to sort and straighten.

  By the time she stood on tiptoe to check herself in the mirror, the captain’s cabin was as clean and organized as she could make it. His clean or nearly clean clothes were folded and stacked in sea chests, the dirty ones on a pile waiting for water and scrub brush. She didn’t care if he liked it or not. It was done.

  Anne twisted her face, making certain she was thoroughly covered with soot from the lantern. Her hair was covered, the brimless hat pulled low over her forehead, and she’d shrugged back into the heavy coat. She looked like the boy she pretended to be.

  And she was going on deck.

  Joe was the first to notice her when she pushed herself through the hatch. He was lounging on deck, his back to the railing, his eyes wary. The bruises on his face had faded to a purplish green, but the swelling was gone. His expression didn’t change as he watched Anne walk toward him.

  “Joe,” she said in greeting, then slid down beside him.

  He didn’t say a word, but Anne thought she noticed a slight shrinking away as her coat brushed against his arm. She decided to try again. “Your face is looking better. Does it still hurt?”

  He merely shrugged, an offhand motion that could mean anything.

  “What’s wrong, Joe?”

  “Where ye been, Andy?”

  Anne hoped her blush didn’t shine through the layers of dirt. “The captain had some work for me to do.” She folded up her knees, wrapping her arms about them and turning her head so she could watch his profile. “I finished cleaning up his cabin.” No response. “’Twas a real mess. Clothes everywhere and books...”

  When there was still no reaction from Joe, Anne reached out toward him. She didn’t imagine his recoil this time. Anne let her hand drop to the deck. “Joe, what’s wrong?”

  “Ain’t nothin’ wrong.” He pushed to his feet.

  “Captain MacQuaid locked Stymie in the hold because of what he did to you,” Anne offered. She cupped her hands, shading her eyes from the blinding sunlight.

  She couldn’t see his expression, but imagined it was as flat as his voice. “Won’t help,” he mumbled before ambling off.

  “What do you mean...? Joe?” Anne stood up but before she could follow her friend a hand clamped around her arm. “Well, if it isn’t Andy,” a voice hissed in her ear. “Imagine my surprise when I glanced down from the quarterdeck to see ye here.” Jamie effectively turned her toward the hatch as he spoke. “I thought ye were to stay below.”

  “I wanted some fresh air.” Anne tried digging in her heels but it was no use.

  “Well, you’ve had it.” Jamie stopped near the gaping hole that led below. “Now can ye find your way back or must I escort ye?”

  Anne jerked her arm from his grasp. “I know the way,” she said, then softened her tone. “There’s something wrong with Joe.”

  “No doubt. He was pummeled pretty bad.”

  Anne turned to face him. “I think it may be something beyond that. He won’t even talk to me.”

  “One can hardly blame him for that.”

  Anne’s lips thinned when she noticed the captain’s grin. “I’m afraid this may be my fault.”

  “You can’t be everyone’s guardian.” The words were gentle. “You’re not to blame if Joe wandered off and aggravated Stymie.”

  “But you don’t understand. Joe and I were watching him, because of what I heard about the mutiny.”

  “What you heard? I thought it was Joe who... Never mind. Get down to my cabin.”

  “But—”

  “I shall be down directly.” The captain turned and walked away, leaving Anne little else to do, but follow his orders. She had no more than settled in the chair when he entered. Anne knew he noticed the cabin, but he said nothing as he turned and locked the door.

  When he faced her again, his arms crossed over his wide, sun-burnished flesh, his expression was unreadable. “Explain yourself,” was all he said.

  Anne shrugged. “It’s simple. It was I, not Joe, who overheard Stymie and his...” she hesitated, then used the words “friends” in place of anything more appropriate. “They spoke of taking over the ship.”

  “And?” His brow quirked.

  “And what?” Anne paced toward the window, a much easier task without the litter of clothing and books on the floor.

  “Is that all they said?” The captain’s voice was tinged with annoyance.

  “They don’t like you,” Anne tossed over her shoulder, then decided it only fair she explain. “Stymie has them convinced you’re leading them on a wild-goose chase. He said the only way to stop you was to seize the weapons and eliminate you.” A shiver ran down her spine as his crystalline eyes focused on her face. The window seemed a safer place to look. But the sea outside the grimy leaden panes was so near the color of his gaze she shut her own eyes when he began to speak.

  “So, I have a possible mutiny on my hands?”

  “You didn’t know?” Anne whirled to face him. “Joe explained.”

  “He came to me with some jumbled story about hearing Stymie and some men grumbling about wanting me gone.”

  “And you didn’t believe him?”

  “There didn’t seem much to believe or not believe. Questioning him led nowhere. He stammered, couldn’t remember where he was when he heard the men speaking.” Jamie dug fingers through his wind-tossed hair. “Hell, if I concerned myself with every pirate aboard who had a gripe, ’tis all I’d do.”

  “Surely you knew how Stymie feels about you? The way he defied you that morning when he grabbed me.”

  “Stymie’s a mean son of a bitch. ’Tis a fool who’d deny that. But pirates are not choirboys.”

  “How can you stand being surrounded by them?”

  “I’m no choirboy either, Annie.”

  She knew that only too well. Still, she wouldn’t put him in the same category as some... Annie shook her head. This was hardly the point. He agreed to find d’Porteau, and she needed him. Needed him in control of the Lost Cause. “I think you should toss the lot of them in the hold.”

  “So now you’ve decided to help me run me ship, have ye, Mistress Cornwall?” He spread his legs in challenge. “’Tisn’t enough that ye take over me cabin and defy me.”

  “The Lost Cause is yours to control. Just as Styme is.”

  “Stymie’s in the hold.”

  “And his friends are free, to do as they please.”

  His eyes narrowed as he strode across the room and back. He stopped near the desk, pounding the rough surface with his fist. “We are all bound to do as we chose. It is the way of freebooters. The reason we live the life we do.”

  He pivoted to face her, his body alive with raw strength. An errant sun spray fired the burnished streaks in his hair, the twinkle of gold looped in his ear. Anne’s mouth went dry. At that moment he looked every inch the wild, free pirate, savage in his intensity, passionate in his independence. Untamed. Powerful. Invincible.

  She told herself he was human, and vulnerable in ways she had yet to understand. And then he spoke again, opening a tiny window to his soul.

  “Do ye think I, any of us, could live under the yoke of oppression? Nay, we live as we choose. Do as we choose. And if there be those who disagree, they need only challenge me. There are rules.” He jerked his head around, staring at a spot on the floor near his bunk. It was empty now and he kicked at the dust motes that swirled in his wake. “If you’d seen fit to leave things where they lay, I’d have shown ye the articles we sail under.”

  “Top drawer.”

  Hands on narrow hips, he twisted to pierce her with his stare.

  “Your articles,” Anne explained. “I put them in the top drawer of your desk.” When he said nothing, only continued to glare, she rambled on, suddenly anxious to convince him she’d done him a service. “The drawers were empty and the floors so covered, you couldn’t possibly find a thing. No one could. I only—”

  “Interfered.
” His rough voice lowered. “Tried to control.”

  “No.” Even to her the denial sounded hollow. Anne sighed, trying to lessen the uneasy feeling she had that perhaps he was right. Perhaps she should have left his cabin, his life the way she found it. He wasn’t a man who needed or wanted her constraints.

  But there was more at stake than what he wanted. And perhaps he followed his bloody articles, but she’d heard the others. Heard the venom in their voices. They were not planning a vote, a free-will choice. Theirs was to be violent... deadly. And the man standing before her espousing noble ideals, worthy of John Locke himself, was their target.

  “They spoke of stealing the weapons and using them against any crew member who defies them.”

  She’d captured his attention and continued before he could speak. “I heard them clearly. These were not men willing to risk a democratic vote or even a fair challenge. They are the kind of men you say you wish to be free of.” Anne realized her voice had risen and tried to calm herself. “The kind of men who would pummel a child like Joe.”

  “Hell, Anne, I locked Stymie in the hold.”

  “But the others are just as dangerous. Don’t you see?”

  He didn’t answer and at first Anne thought he was thinking, pondering what she said. But he cocked his head, listening. The alarm sounded again and this time Anne heard it, too.

  “Sails ho!”

  The cry started high above the deck in the cross trees occupied by the lookout and spread throughout the sloop. Jamie looked about, turning full circle before facing Anne, a questioning expression on his face. He opened his mouth to ask, but before he could she sprang forward, and knelt beside the bunk.

  “I put them away.” Wood scraped against wood as she pulled the mahogany box from beneath the bed. Quicker than she could Jamie reached down and threw open the box to reveal a brace of pistols. He checked them both, then tucked them in his waistband.

  “What manner of ship do you think it is?” Anne followed him to the door, only to have him jerk around to face her.

  “Stay here.”

  “But—”