Renegade (26 page)

Jeff sat up, scowling now. “Why would I want—”

“Jeff! Bunk, now!” Ironto’s remaining eye cut furiously between Jeff and Mac, and the young man’s face cleared as he finally understood.

“Ahhh,” he said, standing. “Below, yes.” He nodded awkwardly to Becks, who had a hand in front of her mouth, trying not to laugh. “I apparently am needed below. In my bunk. Which is below. Goodnight.”

Becks made a sound that might have been “Goodnight,” were she not trying so hard to contain her giggles, and Ironto stomped down the ladder after his protégé. And Mac was left alone with the woman of his dreams, anchored on a calm night under clear skies, with the stars blazing all around, and his ship strong beneath them.

It was pretty much the best thing he could’ve ever imagined.

Almost
.

He left her with a wicked grin to pop down the main hatch and returned a minute later with a bundle of material that he proceeded to stretch between the rigging and the main mast. It wasn’t elegant, and he wasn’t sure he’d trust it to sleep in it longer than a night, but he stepped back to admire it anyhow.

She’d come up behind him. “What is that?”

He smiled and turned to her, lowering his voice and his chin to stare into her eyes. “A hammock.”

She sucked in a gasp of breath, and he knew she was thinking about his promise of that morning. “Do you really…?” Yeah, she was flustered all right, judging from the way she couldn’t decide if she wanted to look at him or the hammock. “Is it safe?”

Slowly, he pulled her against him, loving the shiver that he felt go down her spine when he pressed his hips to hers. “I’ll be holding you, honey.”

“Oh.” When her lips made that shape, he wanted to do all sorts of things to her.

He told her so. “You know, Becks.” He stroked her check with the back of one finger. “You make me… want…” He trailed off, not even sure if he could explain all the things she made him want.

“Want what?” If possible, she pulled herself even closer.

He took a deep breath. “I want to do all sorts of things to you.
With you
. Because of you.”

There wasn’t another woman in the world that he could imagine standing barefoot on his ship under starlit skies, being this comfortable. She didn’t blush or pretend like she didn’t understand what he meant, and he loved that about her. Instead, she grinned up at him. “Like what?”

“God, Becks,” he half-groaned. “You’re going to kill me with your adventures. Your curiosity.”

“I like learning. And I think you’re a fine teacher.” The way she moved her hips made him swallow another groan. “So tell me what sorts of things you want to do with me.”

She thought she was seducing
him
? He grinned wickedly. Two could play at that game. So he lifted her chin with one finger, stared down into those wide-open and courageous eyes, and told her.

“I want to make love to you here, on the deck of the
Polaris
. I want to know, every time I walk on board, what we did here, right here. And I want to remember it and smile, thinking of the noises you made when I was deep inside you.” She’d quit breathing, and his smile grew at the way her pulse beat frantically at the base of her throat. He drew his finger down the column of her neck, resting it against that flutter, until he felt her swallow and finally inhale. Her eyes were wide and fascinated, but he was far from done.

Carefully, he unfastened the top two buttons of her shirt with the same slow advance, and she made no move to stop him. Then, he trailed his palm across to her collar, tugging her shirt open to reveal that delicious spot where her neck met her shoulder. She made a sexy little noise and tilted her head in the opposite direction, giving him greater access to that special spot.

Even he knew that his grin was predatory. “I’m going to wait until you’re good and hot, and then I’m going to lift you up to sit sideways in that hammock.” He dropped a kiss to her neck and then another and felt her shiver. “I’m going to lean you back until you’re supported by each side of it and make you reach out and hold on.” He carefully peeled her hands away from his sides, forcing her to let go of him and spread her arms wider. She let him be in control, and he liked the way that made his blood pound. “While you’re holding on, dangling up there, I’m going to slowly spread your thighs…” He pushed one foot between both of hers, and nudged her legs apart, pressing against the warmth he wanted to bury himself in. “And ease into you.”

Becks’ eyes were shut now, and he liked to think it was that she was just overwhelmed with the image he was painting. Lord knew that
he
was; Mac was moments away from making a fool of himself in his pants. “And then, I’m going to stand there… and swing you.” Her eyes popped open, but he could tell she didn’t understand. “Back and forth… back and forth…” Slowly her wide-eyed expression turned towards him, dazed from desire. “You’re going to ride my cock, back and forth—” She sucked in a breath and her gaze cleared as she suddenly understood, grasping the mechanics of the situation. “Until you throw your head back and scream at the stars.”

She cleared her throat, but when she opened her mouth, no sound came out. Mac kissed her shoulder again, unfastening another few buttons and itching to feel her skin under his palms. “And then, I’m going to pull you off that hammock, down to the deck of my boat, and I’m going to ride
you
until I’ve got splinters in my knees, or you come again. Whichever happens first.”

He’d tried to shock her, to be deliberately crude to confuse her. He knew that she wanted to learn, and he had every intention of teaching her
all
the ways it could be between a man and a woman. But as always, he underestimated her adventurousness. Her free spirit.

It was his turn to suck in a breath when she pressed herself against his cock, and gave a seductive little wiggle. Then she drew her arms up and in, pulling his hands with them, and wrapped them around his neck. She smiled a bit when she stretched up and kissed him lightly on the chin, and then at the corner of his lips.

“I think,” she murmured against his skin, “that you are the best teacher a girl could have when it comes to wickedness.” He had every intention of spending the rest of their lives showing how to be wicked, but he couldn’t tell her that now. Not when she thought that they only had a few more days together, if that. “And I think that I’d very much like for you to pull down my bloomers and put me up on that hammock and do all the things you just threatened to do.”

He couldn’t help it; he threw his head back and laughed to the empty stays and the full sky. He laughed, holding her, knowing that she was his and would
be
his, and that she was perfect for him.

She had a renegade spirit to match his own and would bring him to his knees. And he’d go willingly, because she was worth it. She was everything he never knew he needed.

And then she tugged him down for a kiss, and he forgot about everything but that hammock and the gentle sway of the tide and the taste of honey and salt air on her skin.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Baird’s Cove certainly was… ugly. And brown. It was almost a let-down, after the last two days. Becks had woken that morning—sleeping in a hammock had been far more uncomfortable than making love in a hammock!—excited to see Charleston and the commotion of the wharves. She’d hurried below to change into one of her nicest dresses, a pretty green frock complete with a bustle, and even managed not to blush when Ironto sent her a smile and a “Good morning.” Surely the man had heard them the night before—Mac’s shouts had been enough to wake Ft. Sumter, had it still been manned—but he’d only offered her some biscuits and weak tea for breakfast.

Long before she was finished, the men had the
Polaris
under way again, and she’d enjoyed watching their skill in avoiding collision with all of the water traffic in the Charleston Harbor. They anchored again up the Cooper River and waited for a berth to be cleared and arranged. Then she’d sat at the bow and watched raptly as Mac and Jeff rowed the ship to the wharf and tied off. She’d even managed to stay out of the way when ten black men came on board to unload the barrels of rum and stack them onto a cart.

Mac paid the men and then offered her a chance to see his warehouse which she jumped to accept. It had been a small space, but she could tell that he was proud of it. Becks had been more fascinated by the activity all around them, and Mac patiently answered her endless questions. Seeing all of the sophistication and excitement around them, Becks had been glad that he’d decided to wear his suit, and she’d worn such a stylish dress. Of course, she
had
tripped over the train twice… and gotten the ridiculous bustle stuck in a door and had to wait for Mac to untangle her. But otherwise, she’d felt very elegant.

But now, she was wondering if it had been worth the bother. Surely nothing about Baird’s Cove was anything like the stylishness and sophistication of Charleston. They’d finished their business at the wharves and then—with another flurry of excitement—set sail for Mac’s childhood home. She’d been so eager to see Baird’s Cove, but was now almost disappointed in its blandness.

There’d been other estates dotting the Ashley River as they headed up from Charleston, and all were impressive. But Mac’s home was huge. Imposing. And brown. Where was the grass? Where were the bushes and the azaleas she’d seen in front of the other plantation homes? Even the wisteria hanging from the pines on the uncultivated land? Where, for goodness’ sakes, were the trees? The land around Baird’s Cove stretched out seemingly forever around the old house, flat, barren, brown… and ugly.

But of course she didn’t mention her opinion to Mac. They’d entered the little inlet that gave the estate its name and anchored near enough to the landing to all row over without any trouble. There’d been a man standing on the landing when they pulled into the cove, but once they began to anchor, he’d turned and run towards the house. He was the only soul they’d seen, and it seemed to lend to the oppressively ugly atmosphere.

Ironto and Jeff said their goodbyes and made for one of the large outbuildings on the other side of what would be a lawn, if there was any grass. Now, Mac and Becks stood on the landing, looking towards his childhood home. She wondered what he was hoping she’d say. He hadn’t made any secret of the fact that he didn’t love this house as he’d loved the river and the forests along it. But would he be hurt if she told him her real opinion?

“Becks? You’re holding your breath.” When she turned to him, he was smiling, that adorable dimple in residence above his brow. “It’s not as bad as all that.”

“Where are the trees?” That, at least, seemed a safe subject.

“The Yankees burned some for fuel during the war...” She’d known that the invading army had occupied many of the grand estates along the major rivers around Charleston and used them to house the officers. While some had been destroyed—partially or completely—like the plantations on Edisto, others had survived relatively unscathed. It was hard to tell which of the two applied to Baird’s Cove. “…and Mama burned the rest.”

“Why not plant more?” In the other plantations she’d seen coming upriver, there was a mix of old-growth oaks and newly planted orchard trees.

“Mama was…
busy
after the war. Holt was wounded up in Virginia, and spent some months in a prison camp.” She watched his jaw tighten in anger. She slipped her hand through his and only then noticed that they’d already crossed half-way to the house.

“I’m sorry.”

His shrug looked forced. “Holt gave up, even though he was home. She had her hands full keeping him alive. And trying to keep me from doing anything stupid.
Stupider
.”

“And your younger brother?”

He snorted. “Ramsey couldn’t do any wrong, as far as Mama was concerned.” There was no little trace of bitterness there. “But I left in late ’66 anyhow, so she had one less thing to worry about.” And then, under his breath, he added, “And one less set of hands to help.”

She would’ve asked him about that, about the guilt he was obviously feeling so long after, had they not been interrupted then. The black man was old enough to have gray hair, but round enough to tell Becks that whatever his faults, Holt Baird hadn’t been starving his people.

“Massa McKee! It’s been a coon’s age since we seen you back home. You gunna stay a while?” Without waiting for an answer, the man bobbed his gray head a few times and continued. “I already told Bennett you was on your way home. Massa Holton surely waitin’ for y’all up in the drawin’ room.”

Mac’s jaw was tight when he nodded stiffly. “Thank you, Timothy. You haven’t changed a bit, have you?” Then, after the old man chuckled and patted his stomach and they’d moved past him towards the house, she heard Mac mutter, “…in at least two decades.”

He was squeezing her hand hard enough to hurt, and she could guess why. It was because Timothy had called him “Master.”
Call no man master
. The words were tattooed around his arm and were obviously a part of who he was. He didn’t call anyone else Master and didn’t want to be anyone else’s. It was part of what she admired about him.

Then they were climbing one of the double staircases up to the wide veranda and were met at the door by a stately butler. She’d never met anyone who had an actual butler, but there was no mistaking this man. He was tall and skinny, and as soon as he opened his mouth she knew he was different.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Mac.” He had an accent that was both warm and formal and sounded like one of the visiting Brits she’d met during the war. When he turned to give her a low bow, she saw the twinkle in his eye. “And to you, miss.”

She was glad she’d had the sense to wear the pretty green dress this morning; not only had it helped her fit in on the wharves at Charleston, but now she felt protected, somehow, in this imposing home. So she gave a little curtsy when Mac introduced her.

“This is Becks Middleton, Bennett. I wanted her to see Baird’s Cove.”

Bennett was smiling faintly now, and she got the impression that he approved of her. “Excellent decision, Mr. Mac. Your brother will be thrilled to meet her, of course. He often bemoans the fact that you’ve never brought home a young lady.”

Becks wanted to protest, to explain to this obviously trusted servant that she wasn’t a young lady to be brought home. Mac didn’t bring her here to meet his brother, or even show off the home he didn’t hold affection for. He just needed to see to his smuggled goods, and she was a convenient cover story.

But before she could say anything—not that she would—Mac was pulling her into a dark foyer. There were lanterns lit, and the windows were letting in what little sunlight they could squeeze through the storm clouds rolling north off the sea. The darkness, rather, came from the furnishings, all heavy dark woods, some new, some scarred from use and age. There were paintings on the wall, but they too were dark, and Becks swallowed the foreboding that tried to crawl up from her stomach.

She felt his arm snake around her middle, pulling her tightly against him, and happily let him take some of her weight. Entering this house had made her feel… scared, and not because she was nervous to meet Holton Baird. No, there was power here. Power to change her life, and she didn’t like it.

And then Mac was pulling her towards one of the doors. He pushed it open to reveal a parlor and a man silhouetted against a far window, staring at the gathering storm clouds. This had to be Mac’s brother. He hadn’t turned when they’d entered, but he had the same unruly black curls, the same uncompromising stance. He was facing away from them, his hands clasped in the small of his back, dressed in the latest suit fashion.

“Hey, Holt.” When the man didn’t turn at Mac’s greeting, he tried again, louder. “Holt!”

The man turned then, and Becks couldn’t help the gasp that escaped her lips. She pressed back against Mac, and he squeezed her a little tighter.

Mac’s brother was as ravaged as his home. When he’d said that Holt had been wounded, she didn’t guess it would be so… extensive. Holton Baird was physically whole, but his face was… well, his face was a mass of scars. Where Mac was usually clean-shaven, his long hair wavy around his shoulders, Holt had obviously attempted to hide his disfigurement with a beard. It covered most of his face, and his heavy eyebrows covered even more. The part in between, though, was dreadful. Something had happened to the left side of Holt’s face; scar tissue puckered his left eye and cheek, caused the beard to grow in fits and starts on that side of his face, and continued up into his hairline. In fact, if Mac’s two attempts to get his attention told her anything, it was that Holt had lost some or all of his ear and his hearing.

Yes, he was hideous, and he knew it. Only the acceptance in his ice-blue eyes was able to penetrate her pitying horror, and she swallowed her emotions and tried to pretend she was pleased to meet him.

“It’s good to see you again, Mac. I was hoping you’d be heading home soon.” Holt’s voice was unexpectedly mellow and deep. He spoke just below normal volume, which surprised her.

“My home’s anchored out in the cove, Holt.”

Mac’s brother sighed and closed his eyes briefly, perhaps in frustration at the other’s man’s stubbornness. “I know.” He turned slightly then, giving Becks his full attention. His hands dropped to his side, and he gave a little bow. “And this must be your fiancé. I can’t tell you how pleased I am—”

Becks had almost choked when she’d heard the word
fiancé
. “What? No! How…?” She turned to Mac to see if he was flustered too, but his lips were quirked upwards, like he had a secret.

Holt smiled. Or at least, she assumed he smiled. The right side of his mouth pulled up in what would’ve been a grimace on anyone else but, she had to assume, meant he was pleased. “I assure you, Miss Middleton, that I’ve kept close tabs on my brother over these last years.” Mac muttered something under his breath, but Holt didn’t appear to have heard it. “And most of Edisto Island was agog with his courtship of the lovely and free-spirited Becks Middleton.” They thought she was free-spirited? She suspected it wasn’t meant as a compliment, but she took perverse pride in the term anyhow. “And then, when I heard that you were actually engaged, I’d hoped that Mac would bring you here, even briefly, to meet me. I’ve been after him to marry for years, you know, and take his rightful place here.”

“It’s your place, Holt. Mine’s on the
Polaris.
”

“Your place
should
be here. It’s time that I—”

“Bullshit. Father left
you
Baird’s Cove. You were raised—”

“Father died before—before—” Holt gestured at his face with a jerk, and Becks swung her frantic gaze back and forth between the two men. How were they arguing about
this
when Mac should be explaining things?

“
That
has nothing to do with the fact that Baird’s Cove is yours and will always be yours!” Mac dropped his arm from around her and took a step towards his brother. “I don’t want it, Holt. I told you that years ago. Mama wanted you to step up and be the man she knew—”

“Don’t bring Mother into this, McKee.”

“Don’t ‘McKee’ me, you coward! This is
your
place to—”

“Enough!” Becks barely recognized her own voice. When the two men turned to stare at her, she realized she was wringing her hands, dropped them to her sides, and straightened her back. She tried to calm her racing heart. “I’m sorry, Mr. Baird—”