My Seaswept Heart (4 page)

Neither spoke during the short walk down the
side street. All was dark when they reached the room she had let.
It was on the ground level of Widow Perkin’s house, and Anne
cautioned the captain to be quiet as they entered through the front
door. He seemed to find nothing about her request unusual and
managed to follow her to the small room without bumping into
anything.

Once inside Anne struck the flint, lighting a
candle and placed it on the table by the bed. She tried to keep her
hands steady, but it was nearly impossible as she moved under the
pirate captain’s steady gaze. She knew he watched her, could feel
the heat of his stare, but it wasn’t until she glanced up meeting
his eyes that she knew their intensity.

“I... this is it,” she said, feeling foolish
and utterly unprepared for what she must do.

“So I see.” His stare didn’t waver, even when
he folded his arms across his chest.

Anne tried a smile, then reached for the
decanter beside the candle. “Would you care for something to drink?
I’ve a fine Mader—”

“Nay, nothing.”

Disappointment and fear coursed through her
body, though Anne tried not to show either. But when he spoke she
couldn’t help her nervous jump.

“I must admit to a bit of surprise.”

“How so?” Anne stood awkwardly, wondering
what to do next. Unlike on the street outside of the tavern the
captain didn’t seem in any hurry.

“I expected...” His brow arched. “An
impassioned plea for my help.”

“Is that what you wish? For if it is I
can...” Anne’s voice trailed off as he stepped forward.

“ ’Tis not my desire.”

Anne’s heart pounded. “I thought not. You
already made your position very clear.”

“Aye.” Jamie reached out to hook her chin
with the tip of his finger, lifting her face toward his. “’Tis
still the question of why you asked me here.”

Without looking down Anne reached for the
laces of her bodice. He said nothing as she tugged on the bow with
trembling fingers. His hand covered hers as the top of her corset
yawned open. The heat of his palm warmed the curve of her
flesh.

“Why are you doing this?” His words were as
breathless as she felt.

Anne swallowed. “You find my desires
surprising? What of that woman... those women in the tavern?”

“Ye are not like them.”

“You are so certain?” Anne slowly pulled her
hand from beneath his. Now there was nothing between him and the
swell of her breast. She prepared herself to bear the repulsion,
surprised when it didn’t come. With her fingers she reached out,
touching the hot skin at the base of his neck. “Perhaps all women
are alike when it comes to you, Jamie MacQuaid.”

She expected the kiss, but not the fire that
shot through her body. It left her unaware that he’d lifted one
breast from her corset until the exquisite torture of his thumb
became near unbearable.

“Please.” Anne pushed against him with the
flat of her palm. His head lifted but his hand continued to circle
the puckered tip of her nipple until she pointed toward the glass
decanter. “I’m nearly parched. Some wine... please.”

She sank onto the bed when he reached for the
bottle. There were two glasses beside the wine and she nearly wept
with relief when he splashed amber liquid in both of them. The
first he handed to her the second he drank as greedily as she
wished to drink hers.

But she didn’t.

Before Anne could worry that he would notice
he was on the bed beside her. She shoved the still full glass onto
the table as he pushed her back onto pillow. His mouth covered her
as easily as his body. The kiss was deep and searing and before it
was over, Anne wasn’t certain which of them had been drugged.

Why was he still awake? Not only awake but
seemingly as fit... and amorous as before he gulped down the
laudanum-laced wine. If the sedative had any effect upon him, Anne
had yet to see it.

“Please, Captain...” Anne managed to turn her
mouth away from his passionate kiss.

“Please what? And don’t ye think you can call
me Jamie?” He wet the delicate underside of her jaw with the tip of
his tongue. She tasted... smelled sweeter than any woman he could
remember.

Please what indeed. Anne wriggled under his
weight, trying to think of something, anything to say. Her skin
tingled wherever he touched her. And fighting him, fighting the
temptation to stop fighting, was becoming more difficult with each
passing moment.

She jerked when his hand clasped her bared
breast. And that’s when she felt it. It was large, long, and very
hard and it pressed into her hip. “Captain... I mean Jamie.” Anne
barely recognized the breathless quality of her voice.

“Aye?” He lifted his head and looked down at
her with eyes now grown dark with passion. His thumb never paused
from its erotic arousal of her nipple.

“Your pistols,” Anne managed to get out
before she bit her bottom lip to suppress a moan. She couldn’t
believe the way he made her feel. So different from the revulsion
d’Porteau stirred.

Thoughts of that hated of all demons cooled
Anne’s blood. She pushed against the captain’s chest. “Your pistols
are hurting me. Please remove them.”

It took a moment for her request to pierce
the fog settling over his mind. Jamie shook his head at his own
stupidity and rolled to the side, planting his feet as firmly as he
could on the rocking deck.

No, floor. He wasn’t on the
Lost Cause
being tossed about by the savage winds of a hurricane, though, by
God, it felt as if he were. Jamie lurched to his feet, yanking one,
then the other of his guns from the leather strap crossing his
chest. He laid them both as carefully as he could on the bedside
table, annoyed with himself when he bumped the wine decanter. If
not for the woman... Jamie searched his brain... ah yes, Anne
Cornwall. If not for beautiful Annie’s quick movements the bottle
would have shattered to the floor.

“Perhaps you should have some more wine.”

Jamie watched as she poured the amber liquid
into his glass. The motion of shaking his head now caused a wave of
dizziness to swamp over him. “Think... I’ve drunk... too much
already.” He knew exactly what he wanted to taste and it wasn’t in
the glass.

His hand reached out to touch the extended
tip of her breast, and closed instead over something smooth and
cold. The glass. Had he asked for it? Whatever, it seemed to stand
between him and the sweet oblivion of Anne. With one jerky motion,
Jamie gulped down the drink.

The crystal shattered onto the floor, but
Jamie didn’t notice. He propelled himself forward, falling onto the
bed on top of Anne. His mouth settled over hers, open and hungry.
His hands fumbled with her skirts and petticoat, surging higher
when he felt the soft warmth of her leg.

As his mind slowed and reality faded, his
desires burned hotter. He couldn’t get enough of her. He couldn’t
get her quickly enough. She wriggled and writhed beneath him,
inciting his already explosive passions.

He yanked at her skirts, pushing and prodding
to untangle them from her twisting legs. When his palm covered her
mound she bucked and he wasted no time slipping his finger through
the tangle of curls. She was hot and moist. Inviting beyond
reason.

Jamie could bear it no more. He didn’t know
which would explode first: his head or the swollen flesh that
throbbed against his breeches. His fingers left the scalding heat
of her body to fumble with the front flap of his breeches, but
returned when he couldn’t master the buttons. Wild with a torture
like he’d never known before Jamie jerked, dragging his mouth down
her body.

Her thigh beckoned and he tasted her sweet
flesh, devouring it as he skimmed higher toward his goal. His hands
spread her legs. His tongue blazed toward her waiting womanhood. He
burned. He desired. He...

“Stop. Oh please stop.” Anne grew hoarse from
her strangled pleas. She shoved at his shoulders, her fingers
digging into his sweat-slick skin, and only then noticed that he
had stopped.

Completely.

His burnished gold head lay cradled between
her thighs and she could feel the flutter of his breath fanning her
tight curls. But he no longer teased with his mouth or moved at all
for that matter.

“Jamie. Captain MacQuaid?” Anne’s voice was
ragged as she lifted her head. She could see nothing over the
bunched-up fabric of her gown.

She listened but there was no answer, just
the sound of soft snores.

Even when she called his name louder he
didn’t respond.

Letting out her pent-up breath Anne flopped
back onto the pillow. He had succumbed just in time. Actually, she
admitted to herself, he hadn’t passed out in time at all. She’d
been touched and kissed and... Anne pushed all that from her mind
as she rolled to the side, pulling her leg from beneath his head.
This was not the time to think of what he did. What she’d let him
do. Or the way he’d made her feel.

Her hair was down around her shoulders, her
skirts were a rumpled mess and her bodice... Anne shook her head as
she pulled the linen over her exposed breast and retied the laces.
She was finger combing her hair when she heard the first light
rapping on the windowpane. Before she could pull back the curtain
Israel was pounding.

“Cease what you’re about, Israel.” Anne
shoved the casement open. “It is not impossible to wake Mistress
Perkins.” The landlady was nearly deaf, but there was no need to
take any more chances than they must.

“Sorry, Mistress Anne, but I’s a wondering
what was takin’ ye so long.”

A good question to be sure, but one Anne
didn’t wish to answer. “Come around to the door. He’s asleep, but I
don’t know for how long.”

“Aye and the laudanum will keep him dreamin’
sweet dreams till mornin’.”

“Yes, well, let us hope so.” Considering the
difficulty with which he fell asleep, Anne wasn’t convinced. She
stared down at the captain, sprawled on her bed and wondered that
he could could seem so benign. Even with his hair disheveled and a
day’s growth of whiskers darkening his square jaw he appeared
almost innocent. Like the fallen angel Israel described.

But she was allowing foolishness to color her
thinking. James MacQuaid was a pirate. He might be useful to her...
to Libertia if he wished, but he was a pirate nonetheless.

After scooping the wooden hairpins off the
pillow she thrust them through her skirt pocket and turned to open
the door.

Israel’s eyes were knowing when they first
met hers. “’Tis sure, I am, whatever he tried to do ye took care of
it since ye didn’t call for me help. Am I right, girl?”

Anne lifted her chin. “Yes. Now how do you
propose we get him to the pier?”

There seemed only one way. Pushing and
pulling and shoving and grunting the two of them managed to take
the pirate captain out of the house and load him onto a
wheelbarrow. From there the task was easier until they reached the
dock. Then it was more hard work.

“He must weigh near fifteen stone.”

“At least.” Anne fell back onto the small
sloop’s seat and looked down at the captain sprawled on the bottom.
She didn’t think she’d ever been so tired. Out on the bay morning
was painting the horizon a pale pewter and they still had a
three-hour sail to home. Pushing to her feet Anne helped Israel
maneuver the sloop out of the harbor, picking up a quickening
breeze that snapped the sail smartly.

“Have ye thought about what you’re gonna tell
yer uncle?” Israel leaned against the tiller, his long, grizzled
hair streaming behind him like a banner.

“The truth.” Anne squinted up at the elderly
man. “He won’t accept anything less.”

He seemed to ponder that a moment, finally
showing his agreement with a curt nod. “I reckon that’s fair. But
there be truths... and then there be truths.”

Anne shook her head and chuckled. Israel had
a way of thinking that she found amusing, and often agreed with. He
wasn’t one of her uncle’s settlement, but had lived on the island
for many years prior to their coming. As a matter of fact no one
knew exactly who or what Israel was. But Anne had her theories.
Israel certainly knew a lot about sailing. And pirates.

Israel was always helping the small group of
settlers that lived on Libertia. He seemed especially fond of
Anne—said he liked her spirit, but even for her he would not reveal
his past.

Anne studied her friend for a minute. “I
think we have to convince Uncle Richard that d’Porteau’s threat is
real. And that we need to do something about it.”

“He still ain’t likely to look kindly on this
here little undertakin’ of ours.” Israel’s dark eyes rolled toward
the man who lay snoring on the bottom of the boat.

He was right, of course, but... “What else
was I to do?
I
couldn’t convince Captain MacQuaid to come to
our assistance. Uncle Richard is much more persuasive than I.”