A Pirate's Possession (32 page)

Every hand stilled, every pair of eyes latched on to Nate. He looked at his crew, shook his head slightly. “He's weak, but he's with us.”

Claire pressed a hand to her heart, then bowed her head as tears filled her eyes. Vincent was alive. She'd cling to that, cling to any scrap of hope she could.

It surprised her when Nate strode directly to her.

“Vincent wants to speak with you.”

Claire saw nothing in his eyes but weariness and worry, yet she couldn't help wondering if Nate held her as accountable for Vincent's wound as she held herself. He'd been hurt over the treasure and she'd been on enough ships to know that the weight of the treasure was slowing them down and could keep them from reaching a doctor in time.

“Thank you,” she said when he held the hatch open for her.

His gaze lingered on her and she couldn't help herself. He was hurting and she hated to see the haunting look in his eyes. She took his free hand and squeezed it.

“It's a good sign he's talking, isn't it?”

Nate shook his head, sighing heavily. “I hope so. But I don't know.”

He didn't acknowledge her touch and she dropped her hand. More guilt settled over her, pressing even harder on her already tired shoulders.

Nate waited until she'd stepped down then gently closed the hatch over her head.

It surprised her how bright the cabin was. Perhaps because the circumstances were so dire she'd expected it to be dim and gloomy. Instead, sun and its reflection off the sea beamed into the window and spread both its heat and its cheer into the room.

“Don't stay long,” Blake said as he moved from the table that filled a corner. “He's tiring easily.”

“I won't,” she promised.

He took a chair with him as he stepped forward and placed it close to the bed for her. “Sit before you do yourself any more damage.”

The look he gave her didn't brook arguing and she eased herself onto it. She managed to hold the hiss of pain until he'd left.

“Are you in much pain?”

Claire swallowed hard, pushing the agony aside as Vincent's face turned toward her.

“Only a little.”

His grin was weak, but for Claire it was the brightest smile she'd ever seen, and she gazed at it hungrily, committing it to memory.

“You're a terrible liar,” he said.

Because his hand was near her knee, she grabbed it, trying not to squeeze it too hard as feelings overwhelmed her. “Can I do anything for you? Do you need anything?”

He sighed. “There's so much I wanted to do.”

Tears pricked at her eyes and she blinked furiously to clear them.

“You'll have the time.”

“We both know different.” He closed his eyes and rested a moment. “You need to help Nate.”

“What can I do?”

“Blake has Alicia.” He smiled again. “She's something, our Alicia. But Nate has nobody. He'll need you.”

“Please.” Claire brought Vincent's hand to her cheek. “I heard Blake say we'll reach Santo Domingo before night-fall. Don't give up.”

“A doctor can't help me now.”

Claire squeezed her eyes shut. Her chest ached with the denial she wanted to scream from her lungs until it changed the truth.

“I'm sorry.”

“For what, my dear?”

“It should be me, lying there. You wouldn't be hurt if it wasn't for me and the map, if I hadn't come into your life.”

“I'm not sorry for that.”

Claire couldn't stop the tears now.

“Don't cry.”

“I know we haven't known each other long, but I've come ...” She turned her head and wiped her cheeks. “You're a friend, Vincent, and look what I brought upon you.”

“You made me smile, you gave me friendship.” He sighed. “I wish I could have met a special woman the way Blake and Nate have.”

“Rest,” she whispered. She ignored the pain in her ribs when she leaned forward and pressed a hand to his cheek. He looked small and frail in the bed, yet the whiskers beneath her palm proved it wasn't a little boy lying there, no matter how much he looked like one.

“Take care of Nate. The big lubber needs someone to watch over him.”

The affection in his fading voice was clear and strong even if the words themselves weren't much above a whisper. Because she cherished Vincent, she didn't lie to him. She simply didn't answer.

Instead she waited until he'd slipped back into sleep, then pressed a kiss to his forehead and left the cabin. Nate's gaze followed her from the hatch to her bed, but she ignored it. She needed to be alone, to grieve alone.

She'd just buried what was left of her father. She knew, as Vincent did, that she was about to lose a friend. There wasn't room in her heart for any more pain, and thinking of Nate would only add more.

Yet despite her best efforts, Vincent's words rode through her mind, even though they were wrong. Nate didn't need anybody. He'd made a life without her, had attained wealth, and though she hated it, had become one of the most notorious pirates. If anybody could manage fine on their own, it was Nate.

Though it was midday, she crawled beneath the lifeboat. The sun was bright behind her closed eyelids, but nothing was bright inside her heart.

 

 

It had never been such a relief to see land. The trees of Santo Domingo rose from the ground like the darkest of emeralds. And to Nate's mind, they were even more priceless. They'd made good time. The sun was just now kissing the horizon.

“Hold on,” he murmured as he turned the wheel toward port. “Just hold on a little longer.”

He shouted orders and his crew snapped to. Sails were trimmed, ropes were coiled. The longboat was readied. Nate took the
Revenge
in as close as he could, cursing under his breath when the ship wouldn't glide fast enough.

“Drop the anchor!” he shouted. He didn't wait for the order to be obeyed. He knew without question it would, as everyone's first thought was of Vincent.

He threw open the hatch, all but flew down the stairs. “We're here.”

Blake turned from the bed; his eyes shone.

“He's gone.”

Twenty-four

Claire had never felt so superfluous. Nate was carrying Vincent to his house, with Blake walking close at his side. Though no words were spoken, the bond of friendship was strong as steel and didn't leave room for Claire. He hadn't even looked back to see if she was following.

Nate had left some men on board to guard the treasure, and until it was divided—which sounded awful, even in her own thoughts—she had no means of going anywhere. Not that she would until after the burial; she wouldn't leave without paying Vincent the respect he deserved. In the meantime, however, she had no money and nothing to do. A dirty set of clothes, a brush, knife, and pistol wouldn't get her very far.

And so Claire followed behind Nate, figuring maybe there would be something she could do at the house, something that would not only keep her mind busy but make things a little easier for Nate. At the least she could prepare some food for him and Blake, or see to errands that needed to be done. They, too, had enough on their minds.

All thoughts of that, however, vanished like fog in the sun when she saw the house. Her heart stumbled and so did she. It was beautiful. Made of brick with two levels of gleaming windows, it stood proud and tall in a sea of jade green grass. The door, even from as far back as she was standing, was wide gleaming wood with intricate carvings. It was all nestled amid tall stately trees that seemed to surround it lovingly.

It was everything she'd dreamed of as a little girl, and everything she yearned for as a woman. She'd shared that dream once with Nate and now here it was. He'd known, when he'd built it, that it was her dream. Why, when he'd admitted he'd never thought to ever see her again, had he built the home of her heart?

He'd told her she'd like it. Tears of hurt blurred her vision. Oh, she liked it. But he hadn't built the house for her, or for them. He'd built it for himself. He hadn't come looking for her, but now that they'd stumbled upon each other and he'd bedded her, he'd asked her to share it with him. If they hadn't been at the poker game together, he'd have gone on to live here. Without her.

Blake reached the door first and opened it for Nate. Nate went in, stepping sideways to account for Vincent. Neither Blake nor Nate bothered looking back before Blake shut the door.

Claire hung her head. Not only wasn't she needed here, she wasn't wanted. And looking up at the lovely house, then down at her worn, dirty clothing, Claire knew she also didn't belong.

Nate watched Alicia fly into Blake's arms. There was no escaping the slice of envy that cut through him. Nate hadn't seen Claire in days, not since they'd come ashore. He'd known she'd followed them to the house, but she'd never come inside. And he knew why. He hadn't explained about the house and knew it must have come as a huge shock to her. He'd planned to explain once they came ashore and she came to her senses about their future. But that was before they'd realized how badly Vincent was hurt. After that, there hadn't been room for anything but Vincent.

And though Nate missed Claire, needed her, he simply didn't have the energy to go looking for her. Everything, it seemed, took such effort. Just getting out of bed required giving himself a lecture and forcing his limbs to move when the lecture didn't work.

Even seeing Alicia, a friend he held very dear, couldn't bring a smile to his face. He wondered, as she turned her sorrow-filled blue eyes to him, if he would ever feel like smiling again.

“You look awful,” she said before wrapping her arms around him.

She didn't look like a blacksmith today with her blue cotton dress, but the arms that held him had the strength of one. He pressed a kiss to her head, wished for a moment it were Claire in his arms, and held Alicia tightly.

“I'm so sorry,” she said and he felt her chin quiver. “I wish I could have said good-bye.”

Nate couldn't speak, couldn't find a way to tell her that some of Vincent's last words were of her. Emotion so raw he thought he'd choke from it pressed against his chest. Not able to handle it, Nate stepped away.

“He was thinking of you,” Blake managed, through a voice that shook. “He said to say good-bye.”

Samantha had come in with Alicia, and while her sister went back into her husband's arms and wept, Samantha took Nate's hand and squeezed it. The woman with the golden eyes, the woman who had originated Sam Steele, looked as heartbroken as he felt.

“I know what it is to lose family. Vincent was part of ours, as are you. If I can do anything to make this easier ...”

He pulled her into his arms and held her. He'd started out alone, but because of Blake and Vincent, he'd gained family. Blake had married Alicia and by doing so gave him nieces and a nephew as well as Samantha, Luke, Aidan, and Joe. It wasn't a traditional family, but since he'd never had one of those, the one he'd found meant even more to him.

“He wanted to be Steele.”

Samantha pulled back. “He did?”

“I didn't know either, not until he told me. He knew I wanted out of it and he wanted a chance to prove something.”

“He's asked his brother to do it in his stead.”

“What?” Nate turned to Blake. “This is the first I've heard of this.”

Blake rubbed his brow. “He asked me to pen a letter, just before . . . well, I wrote the words he asked me to. He has a brother, name of Cale, and I'm to give him this letter.”

Nate straightened. “Cale? Did Vincent know where he lives?”

“Last he had heard, Cale lived in Nevis.”

Nate drew a sharp breath. Could it be the same Cale that had been at the poker game?

“I'll go there after the burial, see if I can find him. The man could easily refuse—hell, why wouldn't he?—but I promised Vincent I'd give his brother the letter.”

Nate didn't hesitate. “I'll go with you.”

Samantha shook her head. “But if you've tired of it, Steele can die now.”

“That'll be up to Cale. In the meantime, now that you're here, I'll get word to the preacher. We can have the burial this afternoon.”

“What about Claire?” Blake asked.

“Who's Claire?” Alicia asked. Despite the seriousness of the occasion, her blue eyes began to twinkle.

Alicia had been trying to find Nate a wife since she'd married Blake. He'd begun to think, on Isla de Hueso, that he'd finally marry the only woman who had ever captured his heart. But since coming back to Santo Domingo, he hadn't seen her. He scraped his hand over his stubbled cheeks; shaving was something else he hadn't bothered doing in days.