The Pirate's Bride

by Skendrovich, Cathy

  He expected yelling, crying. Maybe even a pulled gun or sword. Instead, she growled deep in her throat and let loose the spokes of the helm. She snatched the paper from him and ran away toward the poop deck, past the young Luis as he scrubbed the aft deck. His head bounced up at her passing.

  Before he could follow, Andre heard the sails luff and saw the wheel spin. With no guiding hand at the helm, the Jade Princess was in danger of becoming dead in the water. Leaping toward the wheel, he grabbed and turned it, filling the sails once more while shouting for his first mate. What a farce. To top it off, of course Limey approached instead of the requested Spaniard.

  “Where’s Master G?” Andre queried abruptly, not liking the self-satisfied smirk on the younger pirate’s face.

  “Taking a piss over the larboard rail. May I be of assistance, Captain?”

  Andre narrowed his eyes on the younger, taller man. Limey seemed to be gaining too much pleasure from this debacle. Curious. However, he needed to find Sophie and somehow explain himself, the paper. Curling his lip, he let go the helm, strode away while firing over his shoulder, “Take the helm and keep her steady until de Gallo returns.”

  As he followed in Sophie’s footsteps Limey called to him, “I wouldn’t go there if I were you, sir. That’s her private deck. No man follows her up there.”

  Andre halted, back straight, shoulders rigid. After several beats he pivoted, stalked back to the youth. “And why, pray tell, won’t they?”

  Limey shrugged. He seemed unsure of how much to say, which made Andre suspicious. “She went there when she needed to be alone on the Phoenix. We all learned to leave her be. It’d be best if you did, as well.”

  It rankled that the younger pirate knew more about Sophie than he, but since she was already angry, a prudent man would realize he shouldn’t fan the flames. What was done was done. Rolling his eyes, he spun away. “Do as I said, sailor. I think I need some private time meself.”

  He marched off, sparing a glance up at the poop deck. Damn it all to hell.

  ~*~

  Sophie spent a good portion of the afternoon up on the poop deck, reading and rereading the spidery writing on the annulment, whispering the words that had evaporated her short marriage. She marveled at the feeling of disappointment coursing through her from the thought that he’d been so angry he’d left her on their wedding night to procure this paper. That all this time she hadn’t really been married to him.

  She should be happy. She could walk away from him once they returned to La Nouvelle-Orléans. She could go on with her life, be independent. A pirate in her own right. So why did his possession of this paper hurt so?

  She should be angry. He hadn’t cared enough to find out why she wasn’t a virgin before he ran off and got an annulment. Then he’d kept it a secret until after he’d bedded her. A tiny pinpoint of temper flared at that thought, but guttered out just as quickly. After all, he hadn’t wanted to get married any more than she had, and when he had agreed, he’d found out he was being duped, or so he’d thought.

  She couldn’t be mad at a reaction she would have had if she’d been in his place. Besides, he’d taken the time to get an annulment instead of ignoring their nuptials and simply resuming his philandering lifestyle, wife or no wife. That spoke toward some sort of morals that she hadn’t counted on him having.

  Why was she making excuses for a man who’d slept with another man’s wife, whether he was married or not, whether he knew she was married or not? Was she going soft in the head? Had she somehow managed to fall in love with Andre? How could she love someone who used women and tossed them aside once he’d slaked his lust?

  It had to be the attraction of opposites. That, and the fact he was her first. The first to show her how it could be between a man and a woman, how pleasurable intimacy could be. It was simply curiosity.

  So why couldn’t she be attracted in that way to someone honorable, someone like...Limey? He was the type of man most women would want for themselves—decent, principled. Even noble. Oh, she imagined Limey used women for his physical needs just as much as Andre did. He was a pirate, after all.

  However, Limey kept quiet about the whole man-woman thing, whereas Andre eyeballed women, flashing his dark-lined eyes and white-toothed smile until they followed him like sheep to the shepherd. Did that make her just as silly as the other shallow women, preferring the Lothario to the faithful Romeo? It would seem so.

  Spinning from the rail, she paced across the deck to the other side, looked straight up into the billowing sails, and admitted the truth to herself. No matter how close she felt to Limey, how much she might wish she could love him in the way he intimated he felt for her, she couldn’t. She couldn’t because Limey’s love felt the need to protect, to nurture and take care of her, which was the exact reason why she’d become pirate. To protect and take care of herself.

  Limey’s love would eventually stifle her, would inhibit her freedom. The thought brought tears to her eyes because if he knew that was how she felt he’d be heartbroken. He didn’t see his affection in that light, but she recognized that was how any relationship they embarked on would end up.

  She looked down at the main deck while swiping at her tears, wondered where that left her in her relationship with Andre. She honestly didn’t know. He’d carried the annulment around all this time, instead of flaunting it in her face. Why? Why had he taken the time to get to know her, to woo her, to allay her fears of the bedroom? If he’d wanted to be rid of her, why did he keep it a secret?

  She also had to ask herself—would she have refused to sleep with him had she known they weren’t husband and wife? The response to that question was even more important.

  She could find no easy answers.

  ~*~

  Once more Andre entered a darkened bedroom. He was a bit surprised Sophie hadn’t locked the door on him. He could see her huddled in their berth, most likely most likely feigning sleep.

  He sighed while divesting himself of his weapons and baldric, boots and belt. Aye, in retrospect he could admit he’d made a right mess of things today. Revealing the annulment without explanation had not been his best decision. He lay down on his back beside Sophie, content to pretend he thought she was sleeping.

  He should have explained better. Hell, he should have told her...what? That he didn’t want her to leave? That he enjoyed her company, her temper, and her wit, outside of the bedroom as well as inside it? That her sighs, her halted breaths, even her maddeningly tentative, stroking fingertips roused his passion? Her inexperience and caution fueled his desire? That he wanted to be the one to erase the rape from her conscience and replace it with memories of their own lovemaking? That he wanted to remain monogamous to his young, beautiful, wounded “wife”?

  They needed to talk. Alone, with no avenue of escape, no crew mucking around in the background. They needed to air their feelings, see where they stood after they’d done so, and decide if they should continue as a couple or turn in the annulment as fact.

  That’s when the idea hit him. He knew just how to go about gaining that private time with Sophie, giving them the solitude they required in order to hash out their feelings for each other. He smiled in the dark. It was only then, when he had a solid plan of action, that he was able to fall asleep.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Having lain awake a good portion of the night listening to her rat of a husband sleep beside her, Sophie awoke the next morning alone, groggy, and grouchy. How could he sleep the sleep of the innocent?

  After splashing water from the washbasin onto her face and tying her hair back into an untidy braid, Sophie threw on yesterday’s clothes and banged out of the cabin, ready to tie into someone, anyone. Then she stopped dead.

  Before her, in front of the bowsprit of the Jade Princess, lay an island. A beautiful, green, tropical island complete with a palm-tree-studded, white, sandy beach and gently lapping waves. Her jaw dropped. Where had it come from? They’d been out in the middle of the ocean, hadn’t
they? Andre interrupted her thoughts when he blocked her view of the oasis, flashing a smug smile before launching into speech.

  “Look what we have stumbled upon, ma coeur. Our very own Garden of Eden. Ready yourself, Madame, for we are going ashore, just the two us. We shall explore this territory and claim it own. Cook has graciously packed us a feast, and the Princess will undergo a complete overhaul while investigate surroundings. If men finish cleaning, they’ll start over, oui, Master G?"

  The Spaniard, clenching a cigar between his teeth, smirked. “Sí, Capitán, do not worry about us. We will keep as busy as you." He guffawed with a broad wink while Sophie narrowed her gaze on him, before switching to husband.

  “Why?” she asked.

  Not even trying to pretend ignorance, he pitched his voice low so no one else could hear. “It is time for explanations, without spectators, don’t you agree?”

  Looking for the ulterior motive, which he always seemed to have, Sophie nonetheless felt her heartbeat triple, felt her blood begin to throb through her veins in mounting excitement. Of what? She would only find out if she accompanied her husband to the waiting land. Slowly she nodded her acquiescence.

  There was no conversation in the skiff as she and Andre crossed the shallows to the island’s beach a short time later. She watched him row in his jaunty manner, and then looked at the pile of food and blankets on the seat behind her. Were they possibly spending the night?

  “I want to go back,” she blurted, meeting his raised brow as he continued his rhythmic strokes.

  He sighed, his exertions slowing. “We have gotten off on the wrong foot, again, Madame. Therefore, I feel it is important we take this time to right our wrongs, get to understand each other." The little boat hit sand, sending Andre up and jumping into water.

  She rose also. “I have no wrongs to right, Andre Dubois! I did not get an annulment in secret. I did not get someone’s spouse so angry that they want to kill my spouse, who may not even be my spouse.”

  She stomped past him, leaving him to drag the little craft to safety all by himself. After he secured it, he chased after her, kicking up sand until he reached her side at the water’s edge. Once there he swung her about. “You are absolutely right. It’s me who must do the explaining, but I need you with me in order to listen, no? Now, do I have to hide the oars, or will you give me today to make amends?”

  Shoving fisted hands on her hips in a combative stance, she studied his earnest expression. “What is there to discuss? You got an annulment, Andre. You slept with another man’s wife.” She stamped her foot in the sand, voice rising as she became worked up again. She began ticking off her complaints upon her fingers.

  “First, I...I was violated.”

  He made a distressed jerk of his head but she plowed on with a shuddering breath. “First, I’m violated and left to face that humiliation alone. Then I’m married off to a complete stranger, who also leaves me in humiliation after finding out I’m not a virgin. My father dies, leaving me alone. And now—” Her voice broke and tears trickled out of her eyes as she gulped air. “And now I discover my husband isn’t my husband, and he slept with another man’s wife, leaving me alone again. So, what is there to talk about, Andre? I understand exactly my place in the scheme of things—alone.”

  On a breaking sob she turned and blundered into the foliage, not seeing where she was going, simply wanting to run and hide. She would not have a witness to her break down. He was the cause of most of her distress. He would not get to gloat over bringing her to her knees.

  It was too late. Barely into her headlong run, she stumbled straight into his arms. How he’d managed to get in front of her, she had no idea. His arms folded around her, chin dropping onto her head. She felt more than heard the rumble of his voice deep in his chest as he soothed, “Shh. It will be all right. I will make sure of that. You have led a rough life, ma bichette, and I have helped make it so. That stops now, Sophie. Do you hear me? That stops now."

  He held her tight against him, and she felt the butterfly softness of his lips brushing the top of her head as he rocked her in place. Her tears leaked from her eyes, and soaked into his shirt. She should have felt trapped, so closely did he hold her, but instead she felt only comfort. Comfort and safety.

  It had been far too long since anyone had given her succor, even if it came from the man who had caused a good portion of her grief. Against her better judgment, she accepted his solace, allowed her body to lean into his, wrapped her arms around his narrow waist. She continued to cry the tears she’d held in for three years, until they ran down his open collar and dampened his neck.

  He continued to hold her tight against him, murmuring French endearments into her untidy hair with an occasional touch of tender lips. His body became the anchor to which she clung, his arms the sanctuary from which she sought consolation in an angry sea of emotions. The steady beat of his heart thumped beneath her ear and she was reluctant to leave his comforting embrace. At long last she did, averting her gaze so she wouldn’t see the pity in his.

  He stopped her with one hand, crooking a finger beneath her chin and lifting it, forcing her to look him in the eyes. She was surprised not to find sympathy but affection, even admiration, in his warm gaze. “I’m sorry, Sophie. I’m sorry for my part in ruining your life. I was wrong to head off for parts unknown, wrong to sleep with another woman, and wrong to get the annulment and hide it.

  “I accept whatever decision you make regarding it. Tear it up or sign it, I leave it in your hands. Just, please, give me this day and night to show you what kind of husband I could be to you. I find I want—no, need—to have that chance.”

  Her emotions warred within her. The man could string words together better than a greedy slave auctioneer, but could he be trusted? Did she dare believe him? On the other hand, was it just her traitorous heart hoping for a happily ever after to the mess that was her life? There was really only one way to find out. Stepping back and swiping away residual tears with the crook of her arm, she stipulated, “For the day.”

  He gave a short nod. “That’s good enough for now. Come, let’s gather our supplies and look for a proper place to share the repast Cook kindly supplied.” He took her hand and led her back to the beached skiff.

  ~*~

  They found a perfect spot for their camp halfway around the diminutive Caribbean island, where the beach stretched up to the foot of the jungle and the foliage seemed slightly less dense. Andre chose it because of the small waterfall cascading from a moss-covered outcropping of rocks, swirling into a shallow pool of crystal-clear tropical water. Even Sophie sucked in a breath of surprised approval at the location.

  He made a great show of spreading the blanket upon the ground, and then waved his arm to invite her onto the covering with the lunch basket. She complied with caution, dropping into a cross-legged position with her back ramrod straight.

  Reaching into the hamper, he removed a fluffy biscuit stuffed with some sort of meat left over from supper the night before topped with only slightly wilted lettuce and tomato. He frowned at the concoction before handing it to her. “Your cook must have prepared this luncheon. From the looks of it, I may have to kidnap him. My cook is a firm believer that if it doesn’t break your teeth it’s not edible.” He was rewarded with a small smile, and took it as progress.

  He stretched out on his side upon the blanket, head supported on one bent arm. Nibbling pineapple, he studied her while she remained seated upright beside him. She acted distracted, and he dared hope it was because he lay close to her. Since she was already nervous around him, he decided to push a little and perhaps gain some insight into her past.

  Rolling to his back and waving the last bite of pineapple in his hand, he asked, “Who was it that attacked you, Sophie? How did it happen?”

  She gathered her feet under her. He popped the morsel of fruit into his mouth, and grasped her arm, holding her when she would have stood. The contact forced her to look at him.

  He en
unciated around the tasty tidbit. “No worries, ma coeur. The blackguard isn’t going to appear suddenly. Even if he did, you are now in a position slice his sorry ass half. And if you didn’t, I would. Perhaps should go after him, anyway. The idea held great merit, once he’d spoken it, but the wild shake of her head had him dropping the subject. For now. Of course she’d be afraid to face her rapist. But he wasn’t. “Please, then, humor me and tell tale so I will know little more about you."

  He patted his stomach, inviting her to rest her head upon him. Her indecision was clear upon her face. He could almost see her thoughts tumbling in her head. He held his breath. He refused to address the necessity to hear her tale, his desire to comfort her. His new-found need to find her rapist. He could save that for when he was alone.

  At last, she complied, easing down to lay her head upon his midsection. Perhaps she’d obeyed because it was easier to talk about the subject without making eye contact. He preferred to believe she needed to feel him close to her for comfort or protection. Whatever the reason, he swallowed a satisfied smile as he lay back with stacked hands beneath his head. He held his breath until she began to speak in a quiet voice.

  “I was seventeen, maybe eighteen. It was my second coming out ball. I’d spurned all my previous admirers—”

  “Why?” he interjected, while closing his eyes and visualizing a younger Sophie, a shy Sophie. God knows he saw little of that shyness around him, except in the bedroom.

  “I didn’t want to marry.”

  He raised both his brows, even though she couldn’t see him do so. “Why not?”

  She shook her head upon him as she snapped, “Because I wanted to sail my own ship and see the world, not have a slew of babies hanging on my skirts.” She calmed herself with an indrawn breath before continuing. “My father refused, of course. I was a lady, and would marry as such. Therefore, I found fault with every suitor he provided. Until Gilbert.”