by Vivienne Cox
“You think he’ll try to follow?”
“Perhaps…”
“You burned his treasure.”
“And stole you. He won’t rest easy. But he won’t find us yet, so we’re safe enough for a while.”
Thomas stretched, arching up as his muscles cramped, pain fading as he relaxed. Rotating his shoulders he gauged the improvement, for there was some indeed. The same with his wrists. “I want to be ready, when we do meet again.”
“Revenge?”
“It shouldn’t be that simple, but it is.”
“Unless I kill him first.” Alexander placed his book on the bedside, and slipped down, curling onto his side. He was frowning. “I should’ve done it then, in that damned house.”
“There was no time. And you’ve done enough. You saved me, Alexander. I owe you greatly.”
“Hush!” A finger stopped his lips. Alexander’s face was tight, the skin thin over his cheekbones as he stared, intent, his eyes stormy. “You owe me nothing.”
“Just my life, Alexander.” Thomas smiled, the words easy, the meaning utterly true. “Not just because of what happened. Or maybe it was through that, that I came to feel all the rest.”
“The rest?”
“The wanting to be here…”
“In my bed, with me?”
It was a deliberate question, and Thomas gave it a deliberate answer. “Yes.”
Alexander shivered, a groan sounding deep in his throat. “When you are mended, Jamie, oh, when you are mended…”
There was such promise in the roughened voice, such passion. Thomas looked at him, and almost gasped aloud, the heat in the dark stare was close to scorching. “Alexander…”
“I want you, James. Feel.” And gently he took Thomas’s hand and placed it to his groin. There was heat there too, and hardness. Thomas did gasp then, as his own body surged in response.
“Yes, Alexander…” The distance was closed, and Alexander was leaning over him, the kiss so light, so gentle as to almost not be there. Greedy, Thomas followed it, lifting his head to chase the lips that were already being taken away. “Please?”
“Oh, gods, Jamie, you’re not well yet, I am a fool, and cruel as well.”
“Alexander, stop.” With a hand on one taut arm, Thomas stilled the almost fleeing body. “I want… I want you to: See?” And he pushed the sheets back, baring his body, showing his own cock, uncurling thickly at his groin, not hard as such but hopeful. “I would, but…”
“Be still.”
“I can’t…”
“Don’t move, don’t do anything.” And kneeling he bent, his face skimming down the skin of Thomas’s chest and stomach, a kiss here, a lick there, all so gentle.
“But…”
And then there were no words. Thomas gasped in wonder as his cock was taken into Cruise’s mouth, as he was sucked and licked and teased, and around it all the soft scratchiness of his beard was deliriously sensuous. Despite his injuries, the moment was so arousing that he was hard, his length taken unbelievably deep into Alexander’s eager, wanton mouth, held there and cradled, mouthed and swallowed. It hurt when he came, but the sharp pain in his balls was nothing to the pleasure, to the delight that shook him deeply, that left him panting, eyes unfocused as the small shocks left his muscles twitching.
A face loomed over him, and blinking he focussed at last. Alexander. Smiling. Thomas reached up and slowly ran a thumb over his reddened lips. Determined, he tried to sit up.
“No.”
“No?” Thomas narrowed his eyes. “Fair’s fair, Alexander.”
“And fair it was. See?” And he knelt back to show the front of his breeches, where the pale material was darkened wetly. He shrugged wryly, smiling like a boy. “I’m not usually so intemperate, but…”
Thomas blinked. “You came?”
“Aye. Like an angel.”
“I didn’t touch you though.” The words were slurred. He was so tired, so content.
“You didn’t have to, Jamie. I’ve been ready since you kissed me in the church tower.”
“Sweet heaven…”
Alexander was laughing softly as he shifted and came to lie back at Thomas’s side. “Go back to sleep.”
“Aye…” And held again, safe again, he did.
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Chapter 17
Alexander was up and about early the next day, and Thomas kept to his bed, sleeping and reading. When a midday meal was brought, he asked for water with which to wash himself, and that brought a muttered, aye. But what the ‘aye’ meant was a curiosity, as nothing was brought to him at all. Sitting on the edge of the bed he knew himself to be restless, and wondered what would be said if he went up on deck. The thought was tantalising. Fresh air, the sea, and a certain pirate captain at the helm of his own ship. What more delights could the world hold in store?
A pair of frayed breeches, along with a linen shirt, lay over a chair. He eyed them speculatively, and then stood up slowly, for even though the worst of the dizziness had left him, he didn’t trust his balance completely as yet. But his body, though stiff, seemed obedient, and dressing was not too problematic. He buttoned the shirt and left it loose over the breeches. The pirate crew were hardly likely to chastise him for being slovenly dressed. The thought made him smile wryly. From what he recalled of their conversation, they were far more likely just to disapprove of his entire being.
Well, he had executed enough of their number, and disapproved of almost their every activity, so it seemed fair.
Opening the door, he stepped through into a much larger room, one as luxurious as an admiral’s stateroom. Curious, he walked through the open doorway. Charts, bottles and various strange incunabula lay strewn across a wide oak table. All around were sconces for candles, books, fruit, more charts, all piled high, every ledge and surface littered with things, with shells and stones, with coins, crowns, gold glinting from everywhere. Alexander’s. It all had to be Alexander’s. He fingered a large lump of amber that lay next to a piece of carved tusk. A heathen god danced on one leg whist playing the flute, his eyes rubies. A necklace, its catch broken, lay tossed over an open book. Curious, he brushed the pages with his fingers, reading: At length we reach’d AEolias’s sea-girt shore…
It was enough to make him smile. It had come as no surprise that Cruise could read – his education was clear, if usually hidden under a multiplicity of disguises. That the slim volume was Homer should have been less surprising still. Who else to speak of the romance of distant places? Of travels through wild and perilous seas? Though did Cruise, too, dream of home? Thomas let his hand fall back at his side, and stared around him in realisation. There was no brick and mortar home for the pirate, for this was it. A home made from wood and tar and hemp and sailcloth. Leaving the book he slowly walked over to rest his hand on the old, pitted oak that served as a wall. The ship hummed contentedly beneath his hand. He could almost hear Alexander. Patting her conspiratorially, he headed past the great swathes of curtains that guarded the main doors and, opening them, stepped out onto the deck.
Immediately the breeze hit, he lifted his face. The air tasted sweet, the salt tang like mother’s milk.
He grinned at the sky, at the sea, and accidentally at a pirate walking past with an armful of rope.
Raising a hand in greeting – which was ignored – he walked forward, then slowly made his way up the stairs to the quarter deck, his bare feet firm on the sun-warmed wood. There, one hand on the wheel, his eyes dreamily lost in the cloud strewn horizon, was Alexander Cruise. Exactly where Thomas had thought to find him.
“James!”
Climbing the last few steps, Thomas watched Cruise hand over the wheel to a woman. She glared as Alexander walked away, frowning first at her captain and then, with decidedly more enmity, at Thomas. One of the voices that had threaded its way through his fever dreams had been a woman’s. The one who wanted to toss him overboard – without the grace of waiting for him to be dead first.
But then
Alexander was near him, and he was being embraced by careful hands. “I didn’t think ye’d be up as yet.”
They parted just enough to stand, still touching, with their hands light on each others’ forearms. Thomas watched the breeze tug at Cruise’s hair, and smiled disarmingly. “I was restless.”
“A good sign.” Alexander inspected the form in front of him intently. “You know, ye look altogether better.” He sighed happily, and Thomas could smell rum strong on his breath. “Nice clothes. Not exactly uniform, are they Jamie?”
“Not exactly, no.” Staring down at himself, seeing his own bare feet, pale and white next to Alexander’s sun-browned ones. “But I see you don’t stand on ceremony when aboard.”
“Ceremony? What’s that?”
“I begin to think it might be something very overrated.”
“Ah, careful Admiral, or ye’ll be thinking less like a Navy man and more like a scallywag.”
“If that means bare feet and cool cotton in the Caribbean heat, then maybe I’m ready to be seduced.” He hesitated, the word there, between them before he’d really thought it through.
“Now, Jamie, is that an invitation?” The words were a whisper, but the bright challenge in Alexander’s painted eyes was loud and clear.
“I…”
Laughter, sweet and low, greeted his confusion. “All in good time. I’ll not tease ye yet. First of all, I think, a tour of the Siren ! What d’ye say to that?” Standing back, he bowed extravagantly. “My ship awaits your inspection, Admiral.”
“Before the rains start?”
“Aye.” They both stared up at the vividly blue sky, then across to where the clouds were gathering on the horizon. Alexander made a face at the growing storm. “I hate the bloody rainy season, and it’ll be upon us soon.”
“Better than the North Sea, though, surely?”
“Or the Channel – where you’re more likely to get rain every day than any sun at all.”
“Have you sailed past Greenland?”
“You mean up there with the ice and the snow and where the sea-monsters live in oceans the colour of four day old gruel? No, why’d I do that?”
“No idea. I went because I was ordered to. Can’t say as I enjoyed it much.”
Alexander, shivered. “Hate the cold, nasty stuff. It gets in y’r bones and rots ‘em from the inside. That’s why I love the Caribbean. Sun, endless blue seas and plenty o’ rum.”
“And plenty of plunder?” A glance pierced towards him and Thomas felt ashamed. “Sorry.”
“No worries. You’re right, there is plenty o’ plunder and all the good stuff that a scallywag loves.” But his shoulders were stiff, and some of the ease was gone from his face. “No argument there.”
There was a moment’s silence that stretched. Then Thomas took an uneven breath. “I am your guest, Alexander, and deeply in your debt. I apologise, it isn’t my place to condemn your habits, not here and now. Please, try and consider the words unsaid.”
“You’ve a sweet tongue, Admiral.”
His mouth tasted of ashes. Why was truth so important? Surely the lessons of this strange time were of the importance of the now, and not the paths that led to it. “I… I really am sorry. Your life is your own.”
“Is it?” And he stepped closer, his face smooth and calm, though the depths of his dark eyes showed the fires that were dampened within. “Jamie, my life is a feather, drifting with the wind. I am a creature of whim and desire, there is nothing in me of determination or purpose, other than those given by the moment, by the need for this or that – though mainly a ship under my feet and the sea spreading forever around me. Take what ye wants, give nothing back – that’s what we say. Us. Pirates. And everything I believe is in those words. The whole damned world is my oyster, but this is the Siren. This,” he tapped his own chest, just over his heart. “And this.” His hand spread, encompassing the universe that was the Siren .
“Alexander…”
“I am an honest man, though I lie, cheat and steal. I know I can be both honest and dishonest, do you?”
“I believe you to be honest, Captain Cruise. Honest and good.” “Then apart from my dear departed mother, ye’re probably alone.”
“You confuse me beyond measure, Alexander.” He frowned, a pain somewhere deep in his chest surrounded the thudding of his heart. “You…” He broke off, shaking his head. “Please, just forgive me.”
“Ah, Jamie, I do that.” Alexander smiled a little then. “Ye know, I worked for a living once. I sat in a tiny office and worked on drawing charts for a man who had all the warmth of your icy Northern wastes.” He turned slightly away, gripping one hand to the ship’s side, the other to a shroud that ran up towards the mast. “I sat in that dim hole for twelve hours a day and barely had enough coins in my purse to feed myself or keep a roof over my head. All I dreamed of was freedom. Of being in the places I was drawing, of coral reefs and palm-fringes beaches, of towns with foreign names and people who didn’t frown in misery every hour of the day. Even then I was odd. I talked to myself, I conversed with the stars and smiled at ghosts. Madness, they called it. Probably still do. But I got away. I’m here, and there is the sea, an ocean blue from sky to sky. And I have no office, no desk, and care not one jot if any man tells me I am wrong in the head - or in thought or deed.” He tilted his head back, and his eyes were sad. “Aye?”
“Yes,aye.”
“And what d’ye think, then Admiral?”
“That I am a fool. That you deserve your freedom, and though I cannot ever say that theft is right, or that piracy is anything other than a crime, I find myself envying your freedom.”
“Then let yourself enjoy it.”
Thomas nodded. Reaching up he let his hand rest next to Cruise’s where ratline met shroud. Their skin touched, and the shock of connection was bone deep. He gasped, biting his tongue to stifle the sound, and saw Alexander’s eyes widen in equal response.
But before anything more could be said, someone was at Alexander’s side. “Cap’n?”
It took a moment for the dark eyes to turn away, then Cruise seemed to shake himself, and his hand slipped back to his side. He straightened, slim shoulders elegant under the worn cotton of his shirt as he faced his crewmember. “Aye?”
A glance at Thomas was full of curiosity. “What ye asked for, Cap’n, we found it.”
“Ah.” Alexander’s smile was sweetly secret. A finger traced over his lips. “Did ye now. An’ ye knows what to do with it?”
“Oh, aye.”
“Good and warm, eh?”
“Yes, Cap’n. We’re already at it.”
“Good man.” He laughed then, and slapped the boy on the shoulder. “Well done! Off ye goes – we’ll be along in a while.”
With one last look at them both, the boy gave a shrug, then trotted away.
“More mysteries?”
“Ones you’ll like, Admiral, believe me.”
“I’m finding more and more I like, Captain.”
“Really?” A speculative glance that almost burned, and Alexander was turning, a grin fighting on his lips. “Then let’s start with the beautiful mystery that is my Siren.”
As swiftly as it had gone, the ease was back, allied with a certain joy. With the sun heading into the clouds, they slowly walked the length of the deck while Alexander lovingly shared every detail of The Swift Siren . Slowly, working from stem to stern, he showed Thomas his ship, and with bemusement Thomas saw how the crew without seeming discipline did the work that was needed, keeping the vessel neat and trim and surprisingly clean. Below decks was just as much a surprise, and though it was full of the strangest things, and the over-brimming belongings of every man on board, there was a sort of order. All the damage from the fights she had endured – and that which must have been there from Barbossa’s tenure as captain – had all been made good. Perhaps even made better. Alexander clearly had spared no expense on his beloved.
From beak head to cable locker, from galley to p
owder room, they walked until Thomas could feel exhaustion dragging his feet and finally they came back to the stateroom. Where, in the centre of the room, the table had been pushed to one side, and the space was now filled with a tin tub. A bath, in fact. One that was half filled with steaming water.
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Chapter 18
“Alexander?”
“Your wish, wasn’t it?”
“Oh, yes…” Hot water. Thomas shivered in blissful anticipation.
“I thought you might like it.” Alexander was looking very smug. He stepped to the table and touched his fingers across the small array of goods laid out there. “And as I am a genius, I thought ye might like a shave too.”
“You are more than a genius, Alexander. I…” He stopped dead, it was all overwhelming. There was even a cake of soap. “Thank you.” He felt humbled.
“Hush. Just get yourself in the water before ye falls over.” Grimacing, Thomas sighed. “You noticed.”
“Pale you may be at the best of times, Jamie, but I’m sure you’re not usually that lovely shade o’ grey.”
Touching his own face, feeling the beard encrusting his skin, Thomas shook his head. “I’m just tired.”
“And still ill.” Alexander tugged at Thomas’s sleeve. “Shirt. Unless you’re getting in fully clothed?”
“No, no.” Thomas started on the buttons, still amazed at what Alexander had conjured. “Didn’t your men object to doing this for me, I mean, they seem to have little love for me.”
“I wonder why?” Tutting softly, Alexander leant over conspiratorially. “Ye think it might be something to do with your being a man who traps pirates for a living?”
“Possibly.” Guilt pricked at his conscience, but Thomas could not deny the charge.
Alexander was smiling wickedly, teasing without any animosity. “One who usually wouldn’t set foot on a pirate vessel for anything less than the execution of his duty?”
“That too.”
“But who ‘appens to be ‘ere now, and is sharing the captain’s bed?”