A Pirate's Possession (13 page)

“At least this way we don't have to worry about leading it to the island.”

“I suppose so,” Nate agreed.

“You all set for tomorrow?” Vincent asked.

“Yeah,” Nate answered, coming to his feet.

Vincent leaned against the beam. “For someone who's going to be alone with his woman for days, shouldn't you look happier?”

“She's not my woman,” Nate scowled.

“But she was once.”

“We were at the same orphanage, that's all.”

Vincent sighed, placing a hand on his hip. “For whatever reason you seem determined to lie to me, let me just say this. I know you cared for Claire just as I'm sure she felt the same way. Otherwise neither one of you would have been so quick to jump down the other's throat. Besides that, the air crackles when you're in a room together.”

“Jesus,” Nate grumbled. Vincent had spent far too much time with his sisters growing up.

“I mean it. You aren't seeing it because you don't want to accept that's the way it is. But I see it. Just as I see the reason for the house you've been building. When were you planning on telling me you were through being Steele?”

Nate sighed. “After the treasure was found.”

He didn't miss the shadow of hurt that crossed Vincent's face.

“You think I didn't realize from the beginning why you were building the house? A man whose life is at sea doesn't need a fancy house.”

“It's not that fancy. Why didn't you say anything?”

“What should I have said?” Vincent raised his palms. “If you want to give up your life at sea, that's your business. You can't possibly tell me you were waiting for my blessing.”

Nate scoffed. “Not likely.”

Vincent grinned. “Just as I thought. Besides, this will save me the trouble of killing you for it.”

“Not that you could, but what is it you think you could kill me for?”

“For the chance to be Sam Steele.”

“Jesus.” Nate shook his head. “Why in hell would you want to do that? Samantha's safe. Steele can die now.”

Vincent went pale. “Die? Not bloody likely! Maybe you've been waiting for the right time to live in a fancy house, but I've been waiting just as long for a time to make a name for myself.”

Nate had to sit down.

“You want to be Steele? Why? You thought
I
was mad when I took the title.”

Vincent grinned. “I did. And you were. But it's not as dangerous as I thought it would be, and between this and Blake's ship, I figure I can handle anything that comes at me.”

“You could,” Nate agreed. “Of that I'm certain.”

“Thank you,” Vincent said. He bowed his head a moment. “I want this for me, Nate. I'm tired of being Vincent the dwarf, or Vincent the second in command. I'm the youngest of seven children and I've always felt like I came last.”

“If I ever made you feel that way—”

“
You
didn't.” Vincent met his gaze, shook his head. “You never did, but others have. And now if you don't want to be Steele, then I have the chance to be the leader instead of the follower.” He sighed. “If that makes any sort of sense.”

Nate rose, walked to his friend, and put a hand on his shoulder. He wasn't great with words but they pushed against his chest now and needed to be said.

“I can't think of a finer man to pass the title to than you. I'd planned on giving the ship back to Luke, which would have made Aidan angry after only joining us, but if you want it, then I say when we're done with the treasure, the
Revenge
is yours.”

Nine

Nate finally gave up pretending. He threw the blankets aside and reached into the darkness for the clothes he'd tossed on the floor when he'd retired. Used to such a thing, Nate found them easily and dressed in the dark. Only after he'd slipped his feet into his boots did he light the candles. His cabin fluttered to life.

Unlike Blake, who'd kept an immaculate cabin, Nate wasn't so regimented. He kept his ship clean and in perfect working order. Planks were washed, sails were repaired as needed. And the galley was kept neat and tidy. The holds were precisely organized, and the barrels kept firmly tied to keep the load from shifting.

But his cabin, since he really didn't do much there other than sleep and chart his voyages, was very different. The table that occupied a solid third of the space, that held the plate of half-burnt flickering candles, was always in disarray. At the moment, other than the cluster of candles, it held enough dirty dishes that the cook would soon be screaming for them, ink, and a fancy metal anchor that held both parchment and the map in place.

Blake's wife, Alicia, had made the anchor after their first child had been born and Nate had agreed to be the boy's godfather. He picked it up, wrapped his long fingers around the steel, and in his mind saw the day he'd never forget. He'd come to Port Royal expecting to visit with his friends before the birth of their first child. They'd been eating breakfast when Blake had been called on to make a day trip at sea to deliver some goods. Nate and Vincent had urged him to go, ensuring Alicia wouldn't be left alone. Blake had left and hell if it wasn't three hours later that Alicia had doubled over in cramps.

Nate had sent Vincent for the midwife Alicia had been seeing, but by the time they'd returned, Nate had been bathed in sweat and Alicia was fine and holding her son. It was something Nate never wanted to repeat. He'd been lucky to remain standing as it was.

Smiling at the memory of how his legs had trembled, of how his heart had stumbled when the infant had slipped into his waiting hands, Nate set the anchor down. An anchor. Alicia had said he'd been one for her that day.

He'd once thought he'd been one for Claire as well, when she'd given up hope of her father ever coming for her. At least Nate liked to believe he had been. He'd sure done everything he could to prove it. And still it hadn't been enough. She hadn't trusted, hadn't believed in him enough to wait.

“Blake's damn lucky,” he mumbled as he shrugged into his coat.

Someone was watching her.

Claire awoke with a start, her heart galloping. She reached into her boot for the knife as she bolted upright. She was promptly stopped when her head hit something hard.

“Ow!”

What in blazes?
she thought as spots blinded her vision.

“Easy, it's only me.”

As the last layers of sleep lifted, Claire's mind began to work properly and her surroundings soon became painfully obvious. She was on deck, that was Nate's voice at her elbow, and her clothes, as well as her blanket, were cold and wet. She raised her hand, felt the curve of slick wood. The lifeboat.

“What were you trying to do, have me crack my head open on the lifeboat?” she asked as she leaned on one elbow and waited for the white stars to clear from her vision.

“It's raining. You need to get out of the wet.”

Because it wasn't the first time she'd slept through rain, it didn't surprise Claire that she'd done it again. Years of sleeping in the forest, despite her crudely made shelters, had accustomed her to sleeping in such circumstances.

“I'm fine, Nate.”

“No, you're not. The wind is picking up, you'll get sick. Go dry yourself in my cabin.”

She bristled at the order. “I won't wilt in the rain, and if I get cold enough, I'll go below with the crew.”

His inhale was sharp. “How do you propose to get out of those wet clothes in front of the crew?”

Her eyes narrowed. “I have no intention of parading naked in front of your men.”

“Claire,” he sighed. “Do you really want a head full of cold when we're searching for the treasure?”

The wind picked that moment to reinforce Nate's argument. It raced across the deck and lashed her face. The sea spat; the ship careened on the waves.

“I can help here,” she said as she crawled out from the boat.

He grabbed her arm, frowned when his fingers wrapped around her wet arm. His voice rose with the wind. “There's not much to be done. I awoke some of the crew and we've already dropped canvas. All we can do now is wait it out.” His eyes held hers for long moments. “Please,” he added.

It was the “please” that did it. And perhaps the fact that she'd begun to shiver. She nodded and was rewarded with a smile that heated her from the inside. He guided her to the hatch and opened it for her. Wishing him good night, she went down into his cabin, only realizing once she was inside that he'd followed her.

“What—”

“I'm just lighting the candles, Claire.”

Soon there was the smell of smoke and a soft light bathed the room. He shoved some dirty dishes, ink, quill, and parchment into the far corner of the table before facing her.

Claire couldn't help noticing how handsome he looked with raindrops glistening in his dark hair. She began shivering for a reason that had nothing to do with the cold.

Nate pulled a shirt from his trunk. “It's not much, but it's dry.”

After a few stunned moments, Claire managed to make her voice work. “I have more clothes,” she said and held up the bag she'd been using as a pillow.

Nate gave it a dubious look and that was when Claire heard the constant tap-tap of water dripping from the bag's bottom.

“Better hang those clothes up before they mold in there.”

He set the shirt on the berth and suddenly smiled.

“Remember the time we went out to gather fruit and got caught in that storm?” His teeth flashed straight and white. “It came from nowhere. Do you remember?”

They'd only started back, their baskets full of fruit, when the sky had opened and dumped what felt like half the sea onto their shoulders. Her sodden dress had weighed her down and made the long walk back difficult. She'd slipped on wet leaves and gotten her shoes stuck in mud that had suddenly been everywhere.

Despite that, they'd had the time of their lives. They'd laughed when she'd fallen, covered in dirt, and then even harder when Nate, who'd thought himself better at keeping his balance, had slid down a hill on his backside when he'd lost his footing. When he'd challenged her from the bottom that she wasn't daring enough to follow him down, she'd promptly dropped her basket, gathered her skirts around her legs, sat herself down, and slid to his side.

“I remember you laughing like an idiot,” she said through her smile.

He leaned against a post, crossing his arms over his chest.

“It wasn't all bad, was it?”

Despite how their relationship had ended, Claire couldn't dispute his words. An orphanage could be a place of great loneliness, but owing largely to Nate's presence, it had also been a place of great joy.

“No,” she admitted, suddenly unable to meet his eye. “It wasn't.”

“Get dry and get some rest.” He gently brushed his fingers over her cheek. “I expect to arrive at Isla de Hueso late tomorrow afternoon.”

Her heart swelled along with the sea, and words failed her. She hadn't had anyone touch her with gentleness in far too long. Though he'd attempted to kiss her on the street in Nevis, it hadn't been real, not like what she'd felt just now. Unsettled by this turn of events, she said nothing, simply watched him climb the ladder and waited until the hatch closed behind him.

Claire took a deep breath, let it out slowly. Well, she wasn't cold any longer. Stepping to the bed, she looked down at his shirt and wondered if it was wise to put it on. He'd worried about her getting sick and was giving her the privacy of his cabin. They'd shared a memory that further threatened the wall Claire felt safe hiding behind, and now he wanted her to wear his clothes? She pressed a hand to her fluttering heart. If she wasn't careful, she'd find herself back where she'd been all those years ago. Falling for a man she had no business falling for.

Still she knew it wasn't wise to stay wet all night. Yes, she'd done it before, but only out of necessity, and as Nate warned, she'd usually come down sick a few days later.

Starting with her bag, she pulled out her extra clothes and hung them on the backs of the chairs that circled the table. She dumped what was left of her bag on the clean bit of table Nate had cleared for her. Lastly she peeled off her wet garments.

Not comfortable being naked, especially knowing there were men nearby and the hatch could open at any time, Claire donned the shirt first, then went about the process of hanging the clothes she'd been wearing. Soon every chair in Nate's cabin had dripping garments draped over them and Claire was left feeling very strange indeed.