Her Pirate to Love: A Sam Steele Romance (8 page)

Roche’s breath was hot and sticky as the blood trailing into Fitch’s collar. “Describe this man.”

“Tall. Broad shoulders. Black hair and a thick, black beard.” The knife twisted in more. “What? Stop! I’m not lying!” Pain had his vision wavering and his knees trembling.

“Thank you, you’ve proved most helpful,” Roche sneered when Fitch sagged with relief.
Did he really think he wouldn’t be punished for belittling his captain?
With a quick thrust, he buried his blade in Fitch’s neck. He held on through the gurgling Fitch made and the attempt to grasp and remove the knife. It wasn’t long, however, before Fitch crumpled.

*

Bending down with
him, Roche yanked the blade out, wiped the bloody edge on the man’s shirt. Roche tucked the knife back into his boot before rising. He could make out the water through the bushes and woody trunks of the palms trees. Moonlight danced on the waves but he wasn’t thinking of the water. He was thinking of who was out there, riding those waves, believing she’d outsmarted him.

He had another child. Ever since he’d lost his beloved Evangeline—the very night she’d blessed him with a daughter—he’d not gotten another woman pregnant. Initially, he hadn’t cared. The whores he bedded paled dreadfully in comparison to his wife and any offspring created with them would be inferior to the treasure that was Sarah. Yet as more and more wenches remained barren, his worry increased and he began to question his manliness.

He couldn’t be infertile. He’d fathered Sarah. But the doubts haunted him, tormented him until he became obsessed with proving his fertility. And now that he had, he wasn’t going to let the child go. Grace wasn’t anywhere near the woman Evangeline had been but at least she’d been a virgin when he’d bedded her. She was pure and the child, under his direction, would be every bit the prize Sarah was. And hell if thinking he may get a son out of it didn’t fire his blood.

Stepping over Fitch’s body, Roche headed for the harbor.

W
hen she’d been
facing death she never could have imagined where she’d be a day later, on another pirate vessel. Enjoying herself. Carracks was proving to be a quick student and it was delightful to hear her words spoken through the beak of the brightly colored bird.

“Say, ‘Ireland is me home.’”

Squawk.
“Ireland is me home. Ireland is me home.”

Her cheeks were sore from smiling when Grace leaned back against her pillow.

“You are a clever bird.”

Squawk.
“Clever Bird. Clever bird.”

The hatch inched open. Grace tensed, but didn’t reach for the knife. She’d had no trouble on Steele’s ship thus far and had no reason to believe she would now. Still, she’d been through too much to completely let her guard down. Wearily, she watched the boots take one step down, then two. She didn’t recognize them as either Steele’s, Aidan’s or Jacques’.

Carracks realized something was wrong at the same time she did.

Squawk.
“Man in cabin. Man in cabin.”

Grace’s instinct was to scream at the stranger and the hooded look in his dark gaze. But Steele had promised her safety on his vessel and Aidan had reassured her. Yet neither of them had looked at her the way this man was. The way Roche used to. Reassurances be damned, she wasn’t a fool.

She set Carracks onto the empty chair Aidan had left then lifted the sheet to her chin. Holding the sheet with one hand she slid the other underneath her pillow. The knife slipped into her palm.

“Who are you?”

“The captain sent me. He said I was to make sure you weren’t running a fever.”

Grace wasn’t daft. Aidan already knew the answer and the only reason this man wanted to check for a fever was to get close to her. And he had yet to identify himself.

“As I’ve already told Aidan, I am fine. There’s no reason for you to be here.”

“Oh…” He leered as he stalked forward. “But I think there is.”

*

“I’ve come from
the galley. The men are starting to talk,” Aidan said.

Steele grunted a response, his eyes on the mast as he gave the rope another pull. With the winds light and the midday meal being served, he’d left Smoky at the helm and taken the opportunity to stroll the nearly barren deck and adjust the sails. It wasn’t because he didn’t trust his men to keep the lines firm, but standing at the helm was irritating him. It gave him too much time to think.

“They’re considering Grace’s presence on board a little too much.”

Steele cut him a look. “Considering?”

“It’s been weeks at sea, Captain, and we’ve never had a woman aboard before. Their desires are starting to rule their heads.”

Envisioning his crew sitting around the table engaged in bawdy talk about Grace sent anger coursing through his veins.

“You bloody well better have ordered them to turn their thoughts to other matters than Grace.”

“I did, yes. But the whispers resumed as I climbed the stairs.”

“I’ll deal with them,” he promised.

“I wouldn’t waste time, Captain. There are thoughts of sneaking into your cabin when you are otherwise occupied. And while Isaac denied it, he appeared to be considering doing exactly that last night.”

“What?” The sheer audacity of such an action distracted him and caused him to loosen his grip. The rope burned across his palm as the weight of the falling sail yanked the line upward. Steele cursed. He planted his feet and tightened his hold as Aidan leapt forward to help. When the thick rope was taut, he secured the line.

“I’ll deal with this now. You can relieve Smoky but tell him to stay on deck. I’ll get the rest and set them all straight.”

“Aye.”

Aidan followed him past the lifeboat, across the patch in the deck and over to the main hatch. Steele watched Aidan climb onto the quarterdeck and relieve Smoky of his task. As always, a sense of belonging seemed to encompass Aidan as he took the helm. Watching the boy’s proud stance behind the wheel had an unsettling effect on Steele. While Aidan slipped into the role with the ease in which a king takes the throne, as though he knew where he belonged, when Steele took the wheel it was as though he were wearing another man’s clothing. The fit wasn’t quite right.

The knowledge that a young man of twenty knew his place in the world, while Steele felt like a torn sail flapping in the wind, was irritating. But, then again, he thought as he went down into the galley, by Aidan’s age he’d been married and had a son, a son who’d be Aidan’s age had he lived.

At his arrival all discussion stopped. The scraping sound of spoons against bowls was the only noise Steel heard save the pounding of the blood in his ears. He knew bloody well what they’d been discussing and he wasn’t having it.

“Everyone on deck.” He turned and didn’t wait to see if they’d follow. He knew they would. There were consequences to not obeying their captain. He didn’t have to dole them out often but he’d done so often enough for the crew to know it wasn’t wise to cross him. Outside the galley he turned a corner, leaned over the railing and bellowed a similar order down the stairs to those working below. Then, satisfied he was about to put an end to his men’s lustful thoughts, Steele headed for the stairs.

He nearly swallowed his heart when Grace screamed.

The terror in her voice launched him upward and onto the deck. Aidan was leaping from the quarterdeck when Steele skidded to the hatch, hand reaching for the handle before he’d come to a complete stop. He flew through the opening and couldn’t have hit more than two rungs on the ladder going down.

His feet hit the decking as another yell pierced the air. Steele stopped for no longer than a heartbeat to take in the scene. Grace was on her knees in the corner of the berth while one of his men—Isaac—loomed over her. Fury blinded Steele to everything but Grace’s pallor and the terror pinching her face. Dammit, he’d promised her safety on his ship. Not bothering with his pistol or the blades he carried, Steele leapt. Coming up behind Isaac, he banded an arm around the man’s throat and yanked Isaac against his chest.

Isaac jerked, tried to turn as his hands grasped Steele’s forearm. With thoughts of what could have befallen Grace if she hadn’t screamed, if he hadn’t heard her, Steele flexed harder. She could have been raped again. Or badly hurt. What if she’d tried running and Isaac had thrown her to the ground? The child could have died.

“I didn’t…I never…she…” Isaac gurgled between wheezes.

Steele didn’t let up. No doubt Isaac wouldn’t have shown Grace any mercy, why should he be any different?

“Stop. Stop, you’re killing him!” Grace begged.

Two facts penetrated through Steele’s rage. First, the last scream he’d heard hadn’t come from Grace and second the knife she held in her hand gleamed red with blood. He was fairly certain it wasn’t her blood.

There were four hands on his forearm now, Aidan’s two and Isaac’s. Steele slowly relaxed his grip, though only enough for Isaac to breathe, breathe but not get away.

“You can let go, Aidan. Isaac won’t be dying today.”

Aidan lowered his hands, but it didn’t go unnoticed that he kept close to Steele.

With his heart beating hard against his chest, Steele turned his attention to Grace. He heard the rawness in his voice when he asked, “Did he hurt you?”

“Hurt her? She’s the one who cut me!” Isaac hollered.

Steele vised his grip around Isaac’s throat, surprised at the hatred demanding he not stop until Isaac’s last breath had been taken.

He growled low in his crewman’s ear. “Keep your mouth shut. As it is, the gallows are too kind for what you had in mind when you came down here.”

Steele looked to Grace, needing to know he’d gotten there in time. He had no illusions if he hadn’t arrived when he had, Isaac would have only come after her harder, driven by anger. It didn’t bear thinking what could have happened after that.

“Grace, did he hurt you?”

“He wanted to, there be no doubt. But I got to him first,” she said. Then, surprisingly, she leaned forward, jutted the red-tipped blade toward Isaac. “Consider yourself lucky Steele arrived when he did, or you’d be missing a significant piece of your manhood.”

Steele felt Isaac tense beneath him. “Try and it will be the last thing you ever do.” Steele warned. Then, turning to Aidan said, “Draw your pistol. We’re taking Isaac to the brig. If he tries anything, shoot him.”

Squawk.
“Shoot him. Shoot him.”

For once, Steele agreed with the damn bird. Shoving Isaac forward, Steele let Aidan precede him. At the base of the ladder, Steele issued his last warning. “It’s the brig or a pistol shot and I prefer the shot, so tread carefully.” Then, grabbing his pistol with his left hand, he released Isaac.

“I’ll send Jacques down for you,” Steele said, casting a quick glance at Grace.

“Oh, that won’t be necess—”

“It wasn’t a request. You can expect Jacques down shortly. Go!” He ordered Isaac with a shove of his pistol to the man’s back.

On deck, he grabbed Isaac by the shoulder, clamped down hard and pressed his pistol into the man’s side. His crew, who’d no doubt heard Grace’s scream and witnessed their captain’s dash to his cabin, had gathered along the gunwale. He addressed them now.

“Let this be a warning to the lot of you. There’s to be no more talk of Grace, no more thinking of her, and the next bloody bastard I find in my cabin who hasn’t been authorized to be there will not be given the brig as a choice. Am I understood?”

He glared around at his men, narrowed his eyes at those who weren’t fast enough to answer.

“Now get back to work unless you want to join Isaac below.” With a nod to Aidan, the three of them shuffled down the main hatch. Aidan had the brig open when Steele pushed Isaac inside. Since his blood was still raging and his temper had yet to subside, Steele followed him in.

Isaac had barely turned before Steele’s fist plowed into his face. Isaac’s howl no doubt made it up to the main deck. “That was for Grace.”

Isaac spat, glared through slitted eyes as he wiped the blood from his nose. It was a good match to the red dripping from the slash Grace had left across Isaac’s cheek.