Pirate's Redemption

by Camille Oster

  Chapter 13

  The more she drank of the rum, the better it tasted. Sarah had enjoyed the stew, but now she was only drinking. The pirate sat solemnly next to her, still eating, taking his time as opposed to her quick ingestion. She studied his features for a while and her stomach clenched as she regarded him. He wasn't ugly; he had a nice face—masculine with beautiful eyes. On some levels, he could be seen as downright handsome. It was just a shame about his winsome personality, or was it his lack of regard for her?

  Maybe if he wasn't such a believer in the superiority of society's ways, she would find him beyond interesting. For being a pirate, he was more staid than she expected. At times, he was a stickler for the rules, and other times, he broke every one—as if he couldn’t make up his mind. There was a certain inconsistency as if the etiquette he revered had seeped away from him.

  Obviously, his brusque manner would not be easily tolerated in the refined company of England's better parlors. He would have to make some adjustments when he returned, or he would soon find himself notorious.

  Turning her head back, she surveyed the tavern and the sheer enjoyment being had by others. She almost missed the tavern where she had worked, especially the few who had been very nice to her. The fun being had seemed to call her.

  How much of the rum had she had? The lights were brighter, the laughter more beckoning and she swayed with the music being played somewhere—or was that the room that swayed? She didn't mind sitting there, enjoying the surroundings. She felt calm and relaxed, as if the burdens facing her had all lifted away. And it was lovely not to incessantly think about her impending return to her family.

  In fact, she felt like enjoying herself. The last week had been fraught with constant tension as she was now faced with returning to the life she had been stolen from. She should be ecstatic to return, but now she didn't feel that way. And right this minute, all she wanted to do was enjoy the evening when there was laughter all around her. Most were having a wonderful time, although perhaps not the grim pirate beside her. Looking across the table at the people gathered in the tavern, she wondered what they were talking about, what was so amusing. She wished she could laugh, wished she could dance.

  "I'm getting some water," she said, getting up from her seat.

  He mumbled something along the lines of 'no', but she ignored him. Walking away from the table, she felt light and lovely as if she was floating over the ground. She walked toward the bar and asked for a glass of water, which the barman poured from a jug. It was cool on her lips and maybe she'd had enough rum now. It really did taste better the more you had. "I'll have another glass of rum as well," she said brightly.

  "As you wish, miss," the barkeep said, pulling a cork out of a dark bottle and pouring half a glass to hand over to her. Taking it to her lips, she tasted the sweetness, almost a little honey flavor, and then the burn. Setting the glass down, she walked back to the table where the pirate sat, looking grumpy as he always did.

  "You should probably refrain from having any more," he said. Spoilsport. That was the problem with any English gentleman, they forbade fun. Not for themselves, only for women. Women could not have fun. Where would the world be? "Whatever for?" she asked. "All is lovely."

  "It may be lovely, but there's always a price."

  "Phish. You are much too focused on the negative."

  "Perhaps because I know what will happen."

  "You sound like a nursemaid." She ignored the look he gave her and turned her gaze back to the tavern, taking in the enjoyment everyone seemed to have. A man was playing the fiddle, the jaunty tune while others were clapping in time. A girl started dancing between some of the tables. She looked like a gypsy with a red dress with small metal embellishments sewn into the skirt. The men were clapping around her, urging her to dance faster and Sarah could see her bobbing up and down, a great smile on her face. She looked like she was having the most fun ever to be had in the whole world.

  "I wish I could dance," Sarah said wistfully. She wasn't speaking to him directly; it was more to herself.

  "You can't," he said.

  "Who says?"

  "Are you about to dance in a tavern like some common hussy?"

  "Yes, I am," she stated firmly and walked over to where the girl was dancing.

  "Miss Lancaster," she heard sharply behind her, but she ignored him. The girl welcomed her and Sarah joined her in some kind of jig. There were no discernible steps, they would just prance and flail their arms. The music was played faster and Sarah sped up her tempo, jumping between her feet, turning until her skirt flared.

  The pirate was approaching her quickly. He was going to stop her and she did not want to stop dancing. This was the first bit of fun she'd had since the moment she'd laid eyes on him and he wasn't going to ruin it for her.

  Stepping up on a bench, she evaded him by jumping up on the table and continuing to dance. Everyone was clapping around her, cheering her on. There was no harm in a bit of dancing.

  "Get down here," he said and she ignored him. When he reached for her, she leaped onto another table, taking the gap in between bodies so she landed on the next table, where she knocked over a jug, which spilled on the table. No one seemed to mind; they were still clapping.

  "That's it, lass," someone was saying.

  The pirate was approaching again, so she leaped to another table. Raucous laughter broke out around them as people saw the pirate chasing her and her leaping out of his reach. She couldn't stop herself laughing.

  "Wife," he said sharply. "Come down here now."

  The statement so shocked her, she stopped dancing. He called her wife? Why in the world would he do that?

  "I will take you over my knee," he warned menacingly.

  "That is hardly going to make me come down, is it?" she said. "Threatening me isn’t going to make me wish to be in your company."

  "Leave the girl alone," someone yelled.

  "Yes, what he said," she said, smiling.

  She leaped to another table, but arms snaked around her waist and pulled her down. She hadn't been fast enough; he'd caught her, swung her through the air down to the floor, where he refused to let go of her. "Don't struggle," he warned, but she wasn't going to listen, wanting him to let go of her, so she squirmed in his grip.

  And then everything changed, her senses were overloaded with sweetness, and it took her a moment to realize she was being kissed. Every thought was wiped from her mind for a moment. What in all heavens? She was too shocked to react. His warm lips to hers, sensations stole through her body. She should probably be fighting this, but something in her wanted to melt into this kiss.

  Boisterous cheering broke out across the entire room. Still too stunned to speak, she was dumbfounded as he carried her out of the tavern, trying to understand what had just happened.

  "What in the world was that for?" she asked, her lips sensitive from the ghostly pressure of the kiss. Actually, she still tasted him in her mouth. Even now, she was unable to understand what had happened and why.

  "You were inviting all sorts of trouble," he said.

  "Trouble managed by a kiss?"

  "Trouble that was best avoided by a husband."

  "You can place me down now," she said as he was still carrying her down the street in the darkness.

  He placed her down on the ground, but she felt less than stable on her feet now, particularly in the darkness of the town's streets. His firm hand at her elbow held her steady and urged her along.

  "It was just a bit of dancing. It doesn't exactly ruin the world. And around here, who is going to care that I dance a little? Believe me, there have been worse accusations to my good name."

  "It was the things you were enticing that was the problem. No doubt, someone would take you up on the offer."

  "There was no offer. It was just dancing."

  "You are willful to the point of stupidity. And you have no idea how to function in the world."

  "I know more than you expect. I lived and
worked in the tavern just like it for a few months, remember?"

  "And did you dance on the tables every night?" he said, stopping and turning to her.

  "No."

  "Well, this is a tavern you don't know, and where you are not known. Someone could've carried you off with them over their shoulder and there would be nothing anyone could do about it. Who would come to your rescue?"

  "I am fairly certain you would. Then again, you are the one carrying me off over your shoulder, as it turned out. You are the one I have to worry about. Case in point," she said, yanking her elbow out of his grip. The sudden movement made her vision waiver.

  Retaking her elbow, he snorted and kept walking at a brisk pace. She wished he would slow down—the world wasn't quite as stable as she wanted and the fast pace was making her feel queasy.

  They reached the inn and he urged her up the stairs and down the corridor until they reached their room.

  "I don't feel so well," she admitted, her stomach now clenching with dismay.

  "I'm not surprised," he muttered under his breath.

  "I didn't drink that much. Compared to what most people drink, I had hardly any."

  "They're used to rum and its effects—you're not. You can tolerate very little."

  "I'm not some soppy miss who can't do anything. I can do just as well as anyone else," she stated, pointing her finger. The room was moving slightly around her, or was that her?

  "Better sleep it off," he said.

  "I don't want to sleep. I want to have fun, and I want to dance. I might even sing. They would ask me to sing every once in a while. Everyone would listen."

  He sat down on the bed, stroking his forehead.

  "I'm quite a good singer, too," she continued.

  "I'm sure it was the same thought everyone had," he said.

  She got the suspicion that he didn't believe her, and for some reason it felt important to convince him. But then she couldn't think of anything to say to support the argument. "Let's go do something," she said.

  "No, it's late and time for you to sleep it off."

  "I don't want to sleep."

  "Maybe just rest for a while, until the room stops spinning," he suggested. "Lie down for a moment and then maybe afterward we'll go out again."

  "Truly?" she asked, sitting down on the bed. Actually, the bed came up and met her, and it was surprisingly soft and welcoming. Her stomach felt a little unsettled, so perhaps it was best to take a quick moment to rest. Then they would go out and dance again.

  She heard shifting around her, then felt her shoes being taken off to drop on the floor. She would just close her eyes for a moment, just until she felt stable again.

  Chapter 14

  Sarah woke to her stomach heaving and pain pounding in her head. She couldn't remember feeling so bad and nausea in her stomach was culminating.

  "Chamber pot,” she croaked, urging her body to move before it was too late. Blindly, she scrambled over to the side of the bed, barely noticing the warm body beneath her as her hands searched for the chamber pot with increased urgency before she threw up. Her stomach clenched painfully as it got rid of the malice within. There wasn't much that came out—dark liquid until nothing more came. Her stomach still tried for long moments to expel what was no longer there, until it settled down. Willing the pain in her head to settle, she tried to focus on her surroundings, not knowing where she was or whom she was lying across.

  "Ugh," she said. "I feel dreadful." Was she sick? She had no idea. All she remembered was having supper at the tavern the previous night. Oh, and there had been dancing. It was coming back now; she'd been dancing and the pirate had chased her until he'd dragged her down off a table. And for some reason they had kissed, or she had imagined that they had?

  Opening her eyes, she looked around and it took her a moment to realize she was in the little room they had taken at the inn, and he was lying beneath her. When it had come down to it, he hadn't slept on the floor at all. But apparently, that rum she'd had, had stopped her from noticing.

  It had seemed so innocent at the time, but she didn't remember the end of the night. She couldn't remember anything beyond that kiss.

  With shaky arms, she pulled her top half up on the bed again. It wasn't wide, so she was now in an awkward position, still lying across him. Her hands tried to find grip and ended up on his shirtless chest. Looking down, she saw he still wore his breeches, and that she was still fully dressed.

  For a moment, she feared he'd taken advantage of her, but then she reasoned that was unlikely to happen. For all he was, he viewed himself as honorable. Taking advantage of a drunken girl was unlikely to be in his code of conduct. This code of conduct was something he stuck to through thick and thin, but it wasn't entirely gentlemanly—hence being in the bed, where he shouldn't be.

  No, she had been perfectly safe in his hands, which was probably why she had indulged in rum—something she had stayed well clear of in the past. She didn't know what that said, but in her gut, she'd known he'd make sure no harm came to her. That still didn't completely explain why she'd done it—more importantly, why had they kissed? She could see no reason for it, but it had happened; she remembered the feel of his lips on hers.

  "We kissed," she said, shifting herself into a less awkward position, but not exactly succeeding as she was now pressed against him.

  Her urgent expulsion had woken him and she now saw his eyes watching her. They were green—she hadn't noticed before. "Why?"

  "It was beneficial for people in the tavern—considering you were making such a display of yourself—to believe you were spoken for."

  Sarah opened her mouth as if to say something, but she couldn't fault his logic. "So you kissed me?"

  "It seemed the most comprehensive way of communicating the sentiment."

  Trying to reposition herself to a less compromising position, she pressed on him. His skin was warm underneath her hand splayed across his chest as she considered pushing herself away. That lurching reaction she'd had the previous night returned, the one when she'd realized how attractive he was. Which meant she actually found him attractive, despite the apparent disdain he showed to her. "Do you hate me?" she asked.

  "No," he said, his eyebrows drawn together as if the question surprised him. "Why would I hate you?"

  "You act as if you do."

  "You don't know me very well."

  "You called me a harlot," she replied, blatantly feeling the hurt in the statement. "Is that what you think of me?"

  "I asked you if you wanted to dance in the tavern like a harlot."

  "Which I obviously did. Does that make me one?"

  He shifted, putting his wrist behind his head and considered her. It was grossly inappropriate them being in the bed together, particularly as his skin was the smoothest she'd ever seen. The contours of his chest were firm, the muscles of a man who was used to some level of activity. That lurching sensation returned, that desire she was so very curious about.

  Desire was a heady thing; it sat inside her chest, made her feel the air currents on her lips and the warmth deep in her belly, spreading through her body. She remembered the kiss, the pressure of his lips to hers and the way her stomach had somersaulted.

  "Perhaps I am," she said, her gaze still on his lips. She wanted to kiss him, the urge surprised her, but she wanted it. Surely this was the thoughts of a woman who had been undone by the things she'd experienced. She should not be reacting this way, but desire burned inside her body.

  Clearing his throat, he sat up abruptly. Sarah saw the muscles of his chest and back ripple as he did. He was getting out of bed and away from her to the other side of the room, while her gaze was still on the firmness of his back and the swell of taut curves below. Warmth in her belly only rose.

  She had explored desire once before when she'd first been taken, when she should have fought harder for her virtue, but hadn't. She been too curious and that curiosity was flaring inside her again. She wanted to know what it would be
like to be with him. Were these the thoughts of the harlot? Was that what she'd been warped into?

  Shame spread across her, coloring her cheeks. She was having inappropriate thoughts—about a man who didn't strictly like her.

  Walking over to the table, he grabbed his shirt, which he'd divested himself off at some point the previous night, and pulled it on. Part of her was sorry, not wanting his lovely skin hidden away. She liked looking at him.

  Drawing herself together, she sat up and dismissed the inappropriate thoughts that had snuck into her mind. This was perhaps the consequence of the things that happened to her—she’d lost her sensibilities. Before she’d been taken, before she'd been seduced, she'd never had such thoughts. But now it sat like an ache in her stomach she didn't understand, but she felt the force of that desire.

  "Perhaps I am," she repeated more quietly.

  "You're not."

  "How can I not be when there are lewd thoughts in my head?"

  "Such thoughts are natural, but cannot be acted upon," he said and sat down on the bed again, pulling on his boots. "I will get us something to eat. Please stay here; I'd rather not chase you across the island."

  A part of her imagined him chasing her and her stomach lurched again, imagining what it would be like when he caught her.

  "I didn't fight," she admitted.

  "Fight what?"

  "Fight him. I should have, but I didn't. I let him do as he wished. I didn't fight him."

  "It wouldn't have done you any good fighting."

  "Does it matter what it achieved? Isn't the point that I didn't try? I was curious and complicit when I shouldn't have been. What kind of person does that make me?"

  His eyes met hers, but she didn't see judgment in them. She saw understanding, which she hadn't expected. She had degraded herself in the worst possible way; how could he be understanding?

  "It is in our nature to want, and to be curious.” He didn't say anything more, instead looked away again. Rising, he left the room and closed the door behind him. Sarah let her head drop back on the pillow again. It sounded so easy when he said it, but that wasn't true—it was against everything she’d ever been taught. To want was weakness, the sign of a person with poor morals. The kind of person she had seemingly become. How could she possibly return to her family, when she was such a changed creature?