The Pirate Captain (100 page)

Nathan braced his forehead against Cate's, his voice hoarse with yearning. “Mother of Heaven, I’ve waited a long time to do that, since the day we pulled you from the water.”

“But why…? Why so long?” she gasped, breathless.

His mouth moved wordlessly. Ultimately, he shrugged. “I was a damned cod-livered coward. God curse me sorry bones, I was afraid you’d laugh, afraid you’d leave.”

“I’d never—”

Nathan choked a mirthless laugh. His body still hard against her, the walnut eyes were but inches from hers. “Aye, but you almost did. The only thing what kept me from locking you up was the fear you’d jump the moment you were free.”

He touched his lips to where Cat's neck and shoulder met, and she shivered. “Just there,” he breathed. “I’ve wanted to put me mouth just there and taste you.”

And so, he did, a warm path from shoulder to neck, lingering at the tender skin underneath her jaw. He sucked gently on her earlobe, and flicked it with his tongue, her breath coming shorter yet. She slid a hand into the opening of his shirt and felt his skin ripple at her touch.

Nathan's body against hers strained with need and they tore furtively at each other’s clothes. His hand found its way under Cate's skirt to her bare leg. The heat of his palm followed the curve of her thigh and cupped her bottom. His knee insinuated itself between hers and he lifted her higher. Her feet no longer touching the ground, she hooked a leg around his hip. His fingers to search deeper, and she made a small, almost animal sound when he found the slipperiness between her legs.

He broke off with a ragged gasp and braced his head on the trunk. “It’s not right. You don’t deserve me coming at you like a rutting boar.”

“It doesn’t—”

Nathan turned his head enough to peer at Cate from the corner of his eye, and his voice softened. “Not here. Not this way. I want a bed, a place where I can serve you properly and not have to worry about Harte looking over me shoulder.”

He lowered

Cate to the ground and, with considerably effort, withdrew his hand. He tipped her face up and kissed her again, eloquent with tenderness. The bristle of his mustache brushed her lips as a final parting.

“Properly,” he whispered. A reminder to himself, a vow to her. He smiled, one of devilment and charm.

Cate kissed the hollow of his throat. His skin was damp with exertion, his pulse racing against her lips. He bent to kiss her again, but stopped short. Arm curling protectively around her shoulders, his gaze averted skyward.

“What is it?” she asked, looking up.

Nathan's jaw twisted sideways as he scanned the diamond-glittered velvet. “I don’t know. Just a feeling. Best we push off.”

“Is there something wrong?” She stooped to retrieve the boxes from the ground.

“Don’t know for sure and not desirin’ to see.”

Nathan took the boxes and put his arm around her. The small gesture was suddenly so natural, and yet so intimate. He took several steps, and then stopped. Screwing his face, he shifted his weight and plucked delicately at the front of his breeches.

“The lads are in a bit of disarray.”

###

The remainder of the walk was lost to Cate. It was entirely possible she had floated the rest of the way, for she didn’t recall her feet touching the ground. She was buoyant on a flood of emotions: joy, disbelief, elation. They tumbled past, too quick and too many to name. Besides, to do so only threatened to dampen them. With the heat of his hand still on her thigh, she played the scene over again and again in her head. If she could etch every detail to memory, then she could prove to herself that it hadn’t been a dream.

How? Why? When? What? But then…?

Questions bobbed to the surface like apples in a barrel, and yet none could she seize upon with enough surety to respond.

Nathan moved next to her as if nothing was different. His face was too obscured by the night, and therefore of no guidance as to what he might have been thinking.

…from the first…

A part of her was furious with him for waiting so long, and yet she flogged herself with the regret of having been so blind.

He must have felt her looking, for there was the ivory and gold flash of a smile, and she was sure he winked.

Pryce waited at the longboat, Maori and Chin resting on the oars. He gave them a long, significant look, seeming to know what had transpired. There was no disapproval, however. If anything, Cate thought she caught a glimmer of relief on the stern countenance.

“’Pears there be foul weather a-brewin,’” the First Mate said, casting an eye skyward.

“Aching bunions saying tomorrow next, eh?” Nathan said as he handed Cate to a thwart. A blur of brilliant blue soaring toward the ship caught his eye. “It would appear Beatrice knows it, as well.”

“Aye, I’ve yet to see that blessed bird stray when there be a blow a-comin’. Artemis ’tis not moved the night, neither.”

Following their gazes, Cate saw only night-shadowed trees, ink sky and the bay’s glittering gunmetal surface. The
Morganse
’s silhouette laid low against the island, her masts and spars merging with the jagged treeline. Lamps doused and sails aback, she sat like a panther coiled to spring. The two mariners stood in the boat elbow to elbow, gazing up with the wisdom that came only with a lifetime at sea.

Nathan closed his eyes and lifted his face into the freshening breeze. “We’ll haul anchor at the ready.”

Pryce pursed his mouth and said as they pushed off, “’Twill be a dicey passage to make in the dark.”

“And no easier for the waiting. At the ready, Master Pryce.”

Unable to disagree, Pryce signaled the oarsmen aweigh.

Conversation as they pulled across to the
Morganse
was kept to low-voiced murmurs, voices being so readily augmented by the night-glassed water. Cate sat on the thwart next to Nathan. Pryce eyed the two of them knowingly. By some strange intuition, every hand in the boat peered at them with the same look.

Is there a damned sign on my forehead?

Feeling the weight of everyone’s stare, Cate and Nathan avoided looking at each other like two north ends of a compass. While Nathan and Pryce made low-voiced plans of what was to be done once aboard, Nathan’s hand crept under the cover of darkness and her skirt, seeking hers. As he directed Pryce on men and sails, his fingers brushed the dip and curve of her knuckles, and then curved in a two-fingered grasp over her hand as he gave Pryce a heading.

Darkness and damp-slickened steps made scaling the ship’s side a treacherous proposition, even with Nathan guiding from behind. Cate had barely managed halfway up when two stout arms reached down to lift her up over the gunwale. As she was lightly set down on deck, she was struck with an overwhelming sense.

Home.

Something longed for, now found.

Silence was the order, stealth an utmost necessity, the urgency to make weigh sharp in the air. With no more than a gesture or nod from their superiors, the men were but dark blobs against a darker deck as they moved in a silent ballet to set sail. The flat line of the topsails and jibs bellied as the filled, inching the ship into motion. The slap of bare feet, creak of rigging, and the
Morganse
’s sigh of relief to be off.

Nathan steered Cate through the scurrying crewmen to the Great Cabin. The moon was visible through the stern windows. Now no more than a glow behind the island’s curved back, the silver beams streaming through the glass barely reached the table. Nathan deposited the sewing boxes on the table. Glancing outdoors, he steered Cate backwards, out of the way of prying eyes, and kissed her there. He held her loosely, his lips barely brushing hers, intending a reserved parting. His resolve quickly dissolved and he grew more ardent. His arms tightened and his mouth became more demanding. She pressed her hips against his, offering, asking. A trunk pressed against the backs of her legs; he could take her there. There was plenty of room, and it wouldn’t take long. She was ready, moist and full, and he was already rigid against her leg. A flick of the tongue or a touch of the fingers would be all it would require.

Nathan broke away with a gasp. Bracing his forehead against the bulkhead, he closed his eyes and grimaced, as if waiting for a spasm to pass. He cut a sideways look, the corner of his eye pinched with a combination of regret and curiosity.

“Siren.” He smiled, sly and crooked. “Always believed them to be naught but fantasies, but me thinks I’ve found one.”

Groaning at the loss of what might have been, he pushed upright. He hesitated, making a visible effort to collect himself, and then bent to kiss Cate again.

“They do say duty is a heartless master,” he said into her hair. “I had plans of things much greater, but I’ve reefs to clear and a commodore to evade.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Nathan made a sarcastic noise in the back of his throat. “Bloody damned near did, twice, no three times. You’ve no idea how near I came to locking you up.”

With considerable effort, he held her away at arm’s length, and said, “Properly.” A pledge to himself, a vow to her.

“I could be a while.” Nathan winced at the prospect, and allowed Cate to see his longing. “It ’tis a wonder how a moment can pose as an eternity.”

Weak-kneed, Cate sat heavily on the trunk and watched Nathan go out, disappearing into the darkness. She waited for her heart to steady and lucid thought to return.

I could be a while.

She took a tiny bit of skin at the back of her hand between her thumb and forefinger and pinched until she was on the verge of breaking the skin. She cautiously looked around, waiting.

Nothing had changed. The tingle of Nathan’s mouth was still on her lips, the taste of him still on her tongue. It wasn’t a dream.

The weight of guilt kept her seated, guilt for having made Nathan suffer, for making herself suffer. The mind reeled at the joys that had been missed. And yet, how could she have known? She harbored a deeper appreciation of his powers of deflection, of how thick that mask of his had been.

At last, Cate rose. Her first steps a bit unsteady, she found her way through the room’s deep shadows to the galley steps and went down to procure a ewer of hot water from Mr. Kirkland.

Once back in the sleeping quarters, she filled the basin. Prudence had used the last bit of soap, and so for a bit of fragrance, she sprinkled a pinch of dried lavender from her blood box atop the steaming surface. Bathing was a ritual performed most every night, but this time it was done with exacting care, the hot water echoing the paths Nathan’s hands had traced. She fumbled with the sponge, dropping it several times, her chest tightening until breathing was no longer a natural thing. She chided herself for being as nervous as she had been on her wedding night.

No, not Brian…not now…not ever.

She couldn’t think about him now. He was gone…and Nathan was there, so very there.

From overhead came the hurried stump of footsteps. The floor beneath her feet shifted as the
Morganse
began to move out of the bay. In the moonlessness, it would be a treacherous passage. By means of lead lines and her master at her helm, the ship felt her way through the shoals and reefs like a blind person in a narrow corridor.

When finished bathing, Cate slipped naked under the quilt, feeling as fresh as a nymph. She was seized by the fear of appearing a little too eager, and jumped up to snatch her shift from the stool. Slipping it on, she tied the bow at the front with extra precision, and then settled in bed once more.

It wasn’t long before ship leaned on a larboard tack. Cate shifted with well-practiced ease to wedge herself more comfortably. The
Morganse
was sailing hard, her urgency felt through the thrum of her rigging and rush of the water sliding past the hull. With Harte and his warships standing in at Hopetown, pursuit was a real threat. It was difficult to erase the image of the
Resolute
at the Straits, in all her 80-gun glory. Cate regretted not having fully appreciated the risk under which she had placed not only Nathan, but the
Morganse
and her people, when she had pleaded for help for Prudence. Granted, Nathan had grumbled and chaffed, but with no more ire than if she had asked him to pass the salt. There had been no remonstration, nor recrimination from anyone, but then no one had been injured…yet.

She was familiar enough now to know the difference between the clamor of sailing and that which rose from eminent danger. Pryce and Hodder’s bellows and the fainter hails from the forecastlemen and topsmen all indicated they were in the clear. Nathan’s destroyed voice couldn’t begin to equal that of the First Mate or Boatswains, but authority compensated where volume failed. The only thing now to be heard was the all-encompassing desire to put as much sea to the ship’s stern as possible.

The deck prism as her light, she lay in its ethereal greenish glow with nothing more to do than to think.

He wanted her!

The shock was as strong then as it had been on that dark road. Touching her fingers to her lips, she could still taste Nathan's kiss, and feel the press of his body against hers, urgent and needing…Yes, so very, very in need.

He wanted her…but Nathan couldn’t possibly burn for her the same way as she did for him. It would mean he had suffered the same ache and need that coiled like a serpent in her belly and constricted to the point of verging on pain. It would mean he had woken in the night panting and writhing with avidity, and then walking the decks, for nothing else would appease the cries of the flesh.

It was a wonder how two people could have lived in such parallel worlds of desire and denial. She regretted for having been so blind, for having made him suffer—for making both of them suffer, for that matter. A steadier thought pointed out it hadn’t wholly been her fault: the King of the Arcane had ruled his realm in convincing fashion.

With nothing but time, she reexamined every moment with Nathan, from the first day, when she stood dripping in the cabin, until just a few hours ago, trying to glean out the oh-so-very-subtle hints only hindsight could illuminate. So many questions were answered, and yet from each answer rose another question.