Her Pirate to Love: A Sam Steele Romance

by Michelle Beattie

  “Here ye are, Cap’n. And I’ve added a wee bit o’ sugar to the tea for the lass.”

  Tray in hand, Steele took the stairs up to the deck. A passing crewman by the name of Isaac threw open the hatch for his cabin and Steele took the ladder down. He’d considered the possibility she could be asleep, or perhaps even just waking. He hadn’t expected to find her sitting on the bed, bare feet on the floor, trying to pull one of his shirts over her gown.

  He jerked to a halt. “What are you doing?”

  She’d managed to get the garment over her head and one arm through a sleeve, the other empty sleeve hung like a dead limb off her shoulder. “I’m tired of looking like a harlot. I wanted something more to cover meself with.”

  Steele jerked his chin toward the red stain marring the fabric of the dress his shirt had yet to cover. “You should have waited for help.”

  “’Tis yesterday’s blood.”

  She poked her fingers through the dress’s large tear and skimmed them over the soiled bandage, then turned them to him. There was no blood on her skin, indicating the stain on the bandage was old. However it wouldn’t stay that way if she kept wriggling. And a bleeding mother couldn’t be good for the babe she carried.

  “Yesterday’s blood or not, it’s clear by the look on your face moving about is causing you pain.” He set the tray down on the table. “I’ll help you with the rest.”

  He said the words and took a step toward her before the reality of those words truly sunk in. He hadn’t helped a woman dress or undress since Catherine. Without any instruction from him, his gaze fell to Grace’s breasts. She was right; the dress wasn’t decent. The bodice had been ripped and it swept low. Any lower and there’d be nothing left to imagine. He hadn’t noticed yesterday, he’d been too concerned with first getting her help and then later with the news of her child.

  He had no such distractions now.

  His imagination soared. Cale loved breasts. Size, shape, it mattered little, but he’d always hungered for the feel of them in his hands, the tight nipples rolling over his tongue. His blood began to warm and swirl.

  What kind of bastard did that make him? She was hurt, with child, and he was salivating as though she was dessert. And while he had no intention of indulging, Grace didn’t deserve his lecherous thoughts. Without another word, and with his focus firmly on the task and not her exposed skin, he helped her don the rest of his shirt. He turned away while she fastened the strings. When he trusted enough time had passed, he looked again. His shirt was too large on her but it kept her better covered. Only a hint of cleavage showed where the garment hung loose.

  Yet the image of her lush bosom was seared into his memory.

  She’d propped herself in his berth, the light blanket came to rest over her breasts. Her color was better and she no longer appeared in pain. The bruise on her cheek was blooming but he was happy to see the angry red mark on her neck was fading. And her voice no longer sounded as raw as it had yesterday. Thankful she was on the mend, Steele lifted the tray from the table, set it onto her lap. Her eyes remained fixed on the food.

  “Is it not to your liking? Paddy’s boxty is legendary on this ship.”

  “’Tisn’t the food.” She grasped the fork, clutched it in her hand.

  “If you need anything, you’ve only to ask.”

  She nodded but it was a moment before she spoke. When she finally did he had to ask her to repeat herself as she’d spoken so softly he hadn’t heard a word.

  “I—” She swallowed. “I used the chamber pot.”

  Steele blew out a relieved breath. Was that all? “I’ll have it emptied, and as that’s its intended use, I see no need for apologies.”

  She slowly looked him in the eye. “You aren’t angry?”

  “Why would I be?” It took a moment or two but eventually he saw her grip on the fork ease. When he considered what she must have endured on Roche’s ship to fear telling him she had done something as natural as seeing to her body’s needs…

  Steele swallowed his anger. The last thing Grace needed was to think he was cross with her. “You are not a prisoner or a hostage, and I won’t be angry at you for doing what everyone else is free to do. If you feel able and it won’t further injure you, you are welcome to come and go as you please.”

  “Oh. No. I prefer to stay here.”

  He furrowed his brows. While his cabin was clean and orderly, it did tend to get stale. Surely fresh air would be healthier. Catherine used to love taking walks in the sunshine when she was—

  He shook the thought free. Grace would be fine within his cabin and he would see to it he delivered her safely to Santo Domingo. Still, the idea of her being alone and confined for so long didn’t sit well with him. While he preferred his own company, it wasn’t the case with most others.

  “Are you wanting something to do to pass the time?”

  He tried not to take the wariness creeping into her eyes as an insult.

  “’Twould depend on what you be thinking.”

  “Eat your breakfast, Grace. You won’t be disappointed in what I have in mind.”

  *

  Grace had no idea what to expect after Steele’s veiled comment. She thought perhaps he’d bring her a book to read, something that would occupy both her mind and her time. But when she failed to recognize the boots descending the ladder, she had a moment of racing panic. Had he simply been toying with her by treating her nicely and ensuring a portion of her guard was let down only then to profit from her in the worst way? Grace shuddered and inched further against the wall while her hand delved under the pillow. Closing her fingers around the handle of the knife, Grace braced to defend herself.

  Instead, when the man stepped fully into the cabin, unarmed with a cage in hand, shock had her asking, “You brought me a parrot?”

  He smiled, grabbed a chair, and either unaware or unaffected by the fact she was cowering, set it on the decking and took a seat. Blonde hair fell over his forehead. She would eat her gown if he were older than she was.

  “I’m Aidan, first mate on this vessel.”

  Grace released the knife, placed both her hands on her lap. It pleased her that, unlike Steele, Aidan was friendly. Combined with being comfortable and a belly food of food, Grace found herself more at ease with this stranger than she had been with his captain.

  “I’d be Grace,” she answered.

  “Pleased to meet you, Grace.” He set the cage onto his knees. “And this handsome fellow is Carracks. Can you say hello, Carracks?”

  Squawk. “Hello. Hello.”

  She moved closer. “He’s very pretty.”

  Squawk. “Pretty bird. Pretty bird.”

  Charmed, Grace laughed.

  “He is, yes, and he knows it.” Aidan passed a nut through the bars on the cage. A shiny black beak accepted it. “Steele thought you might enjoy some company and since Carracks loves to talk and be around people, he figured it was the perfect solution.”

  Grace plucked at her blankets, unsure what to make of Steele. His voice was gruff, his emotions well-masked and yet he’d been patient when she’d been afraid of him. He hadn’t yelled, hadn’t raised his fists. Instead of leaving her scared and hungry, he’d ensured she had breakfast, hadn’t batted an eye when she’d told him of the chamber pot and he’d been concerned enough about her well-being to send a parrot. Seeing Aidan doting on the bird, his friendly smile warm and inviting, she couldn’t imagine him hurting a woman either. Tension melted from Grace’s shoulders.

  “Is Steele always so accommodating to his…passengers?”

  “I wouldn’t know. You’re the first.”

  Her brows knit. She was the first? Curiosity had her asking, “Have you sailed on many ships?”

  “This is my second, why do you ask?”

  “I’ve never known a captain like him. You say he’s never taken on passengers and yet here I am. I’ve seen captains strike their crew, or worse.”

  Aidan’s mouth flattened. “Did he hurt—�
��

  “No!” She hurried to reassure. “But, he could have.” The fact that Aidan would take exception to his captain hurting her spoke deeply of his character. Maybe she truly had nothing to fear on this ship. Or at least not from Aidan and Steele.

  The tension around his mouth eased. “What he can do and what he actually does are two different things. You have nothing to fear from Steele. He makes us work hard, but there aren’t any beatings. When there’s been a conflict between him and another sailor, he simply altered his heading, made the closest port and ordered the man off the ship.”

  “He didn’t toss him overboard? Didn’t…” She thought of what had happened to poor Henry on Roche’s ship and shuddered. “He didn’t torture him?”

  Aidan’s brows arched. “What reason would he have to torture anyone?”

  “Roche abused many of his men; several with no reason other than it entertained him.”

  “You witnessed this?”

  Grace dipped her head, studied her lap. “It wasn’t a choice. If there was going to be torture, Roche ordered everyone aboard to watch. By observing the torment, it kept the rest of us in a constant state of fear. Nobody dared speak against him or defy an order.”

  “I know what it is to be tortured. I’m sorry you had to go through it.”

  Grace searched his face and looked at his forearms—he’d rolled his sleeves to his elbows, much like Steele did—but saw no scars.

  “I was a young lad at the time. My scars aren’t as fresh as yours.”

  “As I said, I was luckier than most.” Then, enjoying having someone she could speak to after so long without, Grace explained further. “I had an ally on board. Not at first, at first I was alone. After what Roche did to Henry, everyone was too afraid to even look at each other lest Roche repeat the brutality.”

  “Henry?”

  “The best boatswain on Roche’s ship, though it didn’t save him. One night, after too much rum had rid him of his caution, Henry made the mistake of believing Roche asleep in his cabin. He called out Roche, accused the man of being a worthless cur who thrived by keeping his crew miserable and fearful.

  “To everyone’s surprise, Roche stepped from the shadows. Despite never having slurred his captain before, Roche, with two of his closest allies, cut out Henry’s tongue. Then he had him flogged. With blood pouring from Henry’s mouth and back, Roche had him strung up on the bowsprit.”

  Aidan’s jaw ticked. Horror pulsed in his eyes. “Nobody should have to witness such a thing, especially not a woman.”

  “He didn’t allow me out of his cabin as a rule, but he always had someone fetch me when he was torturing someone. Roche used fear as leverage.”

  “I imagine it worked.”

  “It did,” Grace agreed. “Weeks later, after one particular brutal beating and once Roche had fallen into a drunken sleep, I went to the galley for water to clean off the blood. Fitch was there. He was a simple crewman, not much older than I am. He didn’t say a word but helped tend me cuts, examined me for broken bones. You could see the horror in his eyes, as I’m sure it remained in me own.

  “From that day on, if he were called upon to bring me a meal, he’d offer me words of encouragement. I think he felt as alone as I did. I didn’t delude meself into believing Fitch would ever defend me against Roche but having someone on board I could speak to, no matter how rarely or briefly, helped ease me loneliness.” She paused, remembered the young man who’d risked his life to befriend her. “I wonder if he survived Steele’s attack.”

  “It’s possible. The ship was close enough to shore and over half the crew was alive when we left them.”

  It shamed Grace this was the first thought she’d given to Fitch.

  “I’m glad you’re rid of Roche, Grace.”

  She wasn’t sure she was truly rid of him but as Steele said, even if Roche had survived, he’d have no way of knowing where they were heading.

  “As am I. He never cared if I were bored or lonely. To him I was one more thing to possess. It was nice of Steele to have you bring Carracks.”

  Aidan’s smile once again bloomed. “Well, sending you a parrot isn’t as generous a gesture as you think. Steele hates him.”

  Carracks stuck his tongue out. Grace laughed.

  Aidan stood, placed the cage onto his vacated chair and pushed both to the edge of the berth. “Carracks is very smart and loves to repeat words. If you have the energy, feel free to teach him more.”

  Grace’s eyes widened in delight. “Truly?”

  “Truly. He’s my bird and you have my permission to teach him anything you want. Now, I’ve delayed enough, no doubt Steele will be looking for me to get back to work.”

  “He won’t be angry you stayed with me so long?”

  “Even if he were, the worst he’d do is give me extra work.” Doubt must have remained in her expression because he hastened to add, “I’m not lying, Grace. Steele may be cold, but he’s not mean. Whatever you feared is in the past.”

  He passed Carracks another nut before leaving the cabin. Grace watched the bird work the treat with his beak and thick tongue and sank further into the mattress.

  Aidan was right. With Roche out of her life and unaware of the babe she carried, with her servitude over, she could concentrate on her future and that of her child’s.

  The worst was finally over.

  *

  Other than a few wall lamps, the room was little more than gyrating shadows. On the floor, against the walls and on the few scattered sofas, men and women rutted like animals. Moans and grunts echoed throughout the sex-scented room. Those sounds filled Fitch’s ears, fueled his blood as he pumped harder and finally burst into the wench lying panting beneath him.

  When he was spent, he rolled off a sofa onto the floor and lay there as his sweat dried. His eyes became heavy. It would be easy to fall asleep but now that his mind wasn’t being ruled by his loins, he realized what he wanted most was a bed. He rose, pulled his trousers off the floor and fished in his pockets for a coin. After tossing the wench the money, he donned his pants and boots, and gladly stepped into the night air. Perfume from tropical flowers replaced the filthy smell of the bordello. Fitch drew a cleansing breath. The door behind him opened. The torches flanking the door to the brothel made recognizing the man easy.

  “John.”

  “Fitch.” John took a cigar out, lit it. A cloud of Cuban smoke plumed around them. “Feels good, don’t it?”

  “Which? The sex or the smoking?”

  John’s laugh rattled like a man who’d smoked for far too many years. “Both. But I meant being off Roche’s ship.”

  Fitch settled his hands on his hips, rocked back and watched the clouds waltz over the moon. Behind them the door opened again and a few more men, still fixing their clothing, strolled past them and disappeared into the night.

  “I never minded the ship,” Fitch said. “In fact I was thinking of signing on with another crew. It’s Roche I’m happy to be rid of.”

  “Amen. Don’t remember the last time I haven’t had to look over my shoulder. Have you seen him ashore?”

  “Haven’t looked, though I’ve heard talk. He’s here, somewhere, but he won’t be for long, I suspect. Word is, he’s after another ship and crew.”

  “Pity the bastards who end up under his command. Once was enough for me.”

  “Pity indeed. But at least it’s not my worry any longer,” Fitch said with another deep breath.

  It felt good to just be, to not have to look over his shoulder, to not have to be concerned with doing anything but enjoying a moonlit night. Yet a knot remained between his shoulders. Because while he was safe, he couldn’t be sure of Grace’s fate.

  The night breeze rolled off the ocean, carrying the scent of the sea. Fitch knew he’d never be content to make a life amid the palm trees and perfumed flowers, but he’d be more careful about which ship he signed on with in the future. He’d sailed on other vessels before Roche’s and knew not all captains were
as bloodthirsty as Roche.

  “What do you know of Sam Steele?” Fitch asked.

  “Why? You thinking of signing on with him?”

  “You know as well as I do Steele rarely takes on new men. I was thinking more of his temper.”

  “Well, I’ve heard he’s killed his share of pirates and Spaniards.”

  “What of his crew? Have you ever heard of him mistreating his men?”

  John eyed him carefully over the glowing tip of his cigar. After a lengthy exhale he said, “If you aren’t thinking of joining his crew, what does it matter how he treats them?”

  “Because Steele took Grace.”

  “Roche’s whore? When I saw him come up from the hold with a bloody knife I thought he’d killed her.”

  “He tried. The attack must have distracted him. And in truth, I’m not sure Grace even survived. She was bleeding when Steele carried her onto his ship.”

  “If it’s Steele you’re worried about, I’d say if he was willing to take on a wounded woman, he likely wouldn’t hurt her.”

  Fitch hoped the same thing, but it didn’t make sense. Steele wasn’t known for taking prisoners or survivors. Maybe…

  “Maybe she told him about the babe and—”

  “She was with child?” John gaped.

  Fitch didn’t see anyone coming. One moment it was only him and John and the next an arm wrapped around his throat, a blade bit into his neck and Roche’s venomous voice slithered into his ear.

  “Grace is with child? My child?” The blade pierced his skin.

  Fitch shot his gaze to where John had been a moment ago but the man was gone. All that remained was a glowing cigar on the ground and the sound of him thrashing through the jungle as he made his escape. Fear, icy sheets of it, drenched Fitch. How much had Roche overheard, he wondered? Had it been only the bits about Grace or had he also heard Fitch and John disparaging him?

  Worry for Grace vanished in his desperate desire to stay alive. “Yes,” he hurried to say before the knife went deeper. “Yes, she carries your child. She told me so herself.” Fitch whimpered as the blade turned and warm blood trickled down his neck.

  “And you’re certain you saw Steele carry her onto his ship?”