Her Pirate to Love: A Sam Steele Romance (6 page)

Since Cale was already snoring, it was clear the captain was out until morning. “Help me get him to the quarterdeck. His cabin is occupied and he’ll be out of the way there.”

Together, they moved him up, settled him against the gunwale.

“Thanks.”

The tip of Smoky’s cigar glowed red as he inhaled. “No problem.” He exhaled a plume of smoke and left Aidan and his sleeping charge alone. Aidan stepped back to the wheel to ensure they hadn’t gone off course while he’d been dealing with Steele and noticed someone creeping toward the captain’s hatch.

“You there!”

The sailor jumped, but he was smiling when he faced Aidan. “Yes, sir?”

“Those are the captain’s quarters. You’ve no business there.”

“Aye, sir,” the man named Isaac replied. “I dropped this, and was only reaching to pick it up.” He held up his hand but in the darkness Aidan couldn’t see exactly what it was.

Knowing Isaac wasn’t on duty, Aidan answered, “Then goodnight. You’re tasks are done for the day.”

Isaac’s smile seemed to waver but he turned to the right and went through the main hatch. Aidan scanned the deck, but everything else seemed in order so he stepped back to the gunwale and looked upon his sleeping captain. Cale Hunter. Sure, the man pretended Cale no longer existed. It was clear he preferred to be Sam Steele. Yet there were moments, a few a year, when Cale couldn’t be silenced. In the time they’d sailed together, Aidan had kept track of when the captain lost himself in rum. There were four days a year altogether and today’s date didn’t coincide with any of them.

Aidan returned to the wheel as heavy steps and the smell of cigar smoke announced Smoky’s return. He took the stairs to the quarterdeck two at time then tossed Aidan a blanket. “Figured the Cap’n could use it.” Smoky rolled the cigar to the other side of his mouth. “Looks like the ghosts caught up to him again,” he said.

“Appears so.” Aidan conceded. It didn’t surprise Aidan Smoky knew of Cale’s ghosts, since, like Aidan, he’d been with Steele these last four years.

“Any idea who those ghosts might be?”

“Other than his brother? I can’t say I do.”

Smoky blew a plume of smoke over his shoulder. “It still strikes me as odd that as tall as Steele is, he had a dwarf for a brother.”

Aidan shook his head, a smile on his lips as he remembered Vincent. Vincent had been a cheery sort, always happy, always smiling. Everyone had loved him.

Smoky drew on the cigar again; it was nearly down to a stub. “Still, it doesn’t seem like enough reason.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve lost family. Most of us have. It doesn’t cause us to drink ourselves blind.” He bid Aidan goodnight and tossed what remained of his cigar into the sea. Before he even stepped off the quarterdeck he’d bitten off the end of another.

Hearing Smoky say the thoughts he himself had been having for years strengthened what Aidan had always suspected. Cale’s ghosts weren’t only about his brother.

Aidan couldn’t help but think of Samantha, and how the best thing she’d done was to confront the pirate who had murdered her family. Once she’d done so, she’d been free. Free of thoughts of revenge, free to be who she wanted. Surely if Cale could confront his own ghosts, he’d finally be rid of them as well.

Perhaps, Aidan thought as he guided the
Revenge
silently through the night, Grace’s presence would somehow force Cale to face his past.

“Either that or it’ll kill him,” he muttered.

W
ith his body
weakened by rum, the demons attacked Cale’s dreams with a vengeance. They brought images of Catherine, looking so real and alive he smelled the scent of her skin, felt the warmth of her touch. His eyes feasted on her smile, on the laughter in her voice as he enclosed her in his arms and told her he wasn’t letting her go, not ever again. He relived making love to her, reveled in the feel of her smooth skin sliding against his once more. He promised her, from the depths of his soul, he wouldn’t let her down again, he’d be the husband and father he should have always been. He vowed, as he held her face within his hands, he’d never put treasure before her and Caden again.

At the mention of his son, the scene changed. They were outside at the dock’s end. Caden had a fishing pole Cale had created and baited with a fat, twisting worm. The boy teased his mother with it until she squealed he had better not take one step closer with that foul thing if he wanted a piece of pie for dessert. His son laughed, relented, and joined his father at the dock. The sun beat down, warm on their faces, the gulls screeched overhead, the water glistened like the brightest of jewels. He had Caden on one side and Catherine on the other, her delicate hand resting on his waist. Cale had never believed he’d ever be this happy again.

Suddenly something shoved his foot. His surroundings dimmed, he rushed to grasp Catherine, shot out a hand to grab Caden, but they vanished like sand through his fingers.
Not again. Please, not again
. The shoving became more insistent and he came awake with a growl of anguish.

It was sunny. Gulls screeched as they drifted by on the breeze, but nothing else of what he’d dreamed was real. Emptiness threatened to consume him.

“Crew’s waking, Captain,” Aidan said.

It took everything Steele had to come to his feet as though his heart wasn’t in shreds. “Horizon?”

“Clear.”

“Good.” He rubbed his aching jaw. “Thanks for what you did last night.” Then, deciding he wasn’t going to say any more about it, he said, “I’ll be back once I’ve checked on the woman.”

“Paddy’s fixing breakfast, I heard him banging pots about twenty minutes ago. You can take the time to eat before coming back, I’m not tired.”

Steele looked him over. No, the cursed lad didn’t look tired. His eyes were alert and he looked as though he could work the day long while Steele felt as if he’d been dragged headfirst along a rocky shore. At least the damn bird wasn’t there to add to his misery this morning.

“Where’s the parrot?” he asked. “I don’t suppose he managed to escape his cage in the night?”

“Sorry to disappoint you. I set him at the bow.”

If he thought it would be safe for his crew to leave the bird there he would, but he didn’t want them tripping over the cage and hurting themselves. Life at sea was dangerous enough. “Get the blasted bird back onto the quarterdeck. I won’t be long,” he said and headed for the galley.

“Ye be right on time,” the small Irishman said as he flipped little browned circular cakes onto a growing stack. “We found a right treasure on board that ship yesterday, Cap’n. Potatoes, bags of them. I’m fixing up enough boxty to feed an army.”

It wasn’t the first time Paddy had made fried potato pancakes, but it had been a while. Steele had come to the galley with thoughts of getting food for the woman rather than himself since his belly was churning from last night’s rum, but he’d be a fool pass up boxty.

“And,” Paddy added flashing a wide grin, “they had sugar as well. We’ll be eatin’ us a feast this mornin’.”

Steele fixed himself a hearty plate, sat quietly as his crew came and left, slapping the cook on the back for the great food as they took their leave. There was a table in the galley which could hold six, but as breakfast wore on, Steele remained alone as his men chose to eat on deck.

He couldn’t explain why the lack of company grated since he normally ate alone, be it in the galley, on the quarterdeck, or in his cabin, yet the more men who took their leave rather than join their captain, the pricklier he became. It built within him, the irrational frustration, until it consumed him. Then, angry at own senseless feelings, he shoved aside his plate.

“Full up, are ye, Cap’n?”

Fed up was more like it. “I could use a plate for the woman. And a cup of tea for her as well.”

While Paddy prepared a tray, he whistled some lively Irish jig.
The Irish and their music
. Grace, too, had been humming when he’d found her. Yet the jaunty music seeped into Steele and took the edge off his anger. Listening to the melody eased his frustration and made him realize something. It wasn’t company he was after, or even someone to talk to, but neither could he stand being alone this morning. The music eased his loneliness yet didn’t require anything from him.

“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.”

*