The Pirate Captain (113 page)

“She needs a man.”

Nathan looked up to scowl. “And you’re volunteering for the task? Mind, I shan’t be about to pick up the pieces, if she won’t.”

Nathan rose and walked to the rail with the levity of a man heading for the gallows. Leaning heavily there, he gazed at the
Morganse
on her moorings. Standing at the rail, Thomas covertly studied Nathan and wondered whatever happened to the gentle, gregarious, nautical genius he had known years ago, whose sole desires were a ship and someone to love.

“Just keep her safe,” Nathan said quietly. “Silver and gold does not all treasure make.”

Thomas closed his eyes and murmured a silent
deo graci
. Nathan had just surrendered. “I know that well.”

“Have a care,” Nathan warned, his smile growing wistful. “She can be a handful; keep you guessing, she will. Sometimes, ’tis bloody impossible to know what she desires.”

“Perhaps it’s a matter of someone telling her.”

Nathan chuckled mirthlessly. “She is going to tear you a new ass.”

“That bad?”

“Oh, yes, that bad,” Nathan said heartily. “You’ve seen naught but the ripple over the reef.”

Nathan sobered, his jaw twisted sideways in thought. “Take care of her. She likes coffee the very first thing of a morning, with milk, if you’ve a goat. The wise man will have it waiting before her eyes open. And with a little cinnamon, if you have it; she really likes that.”

Nathan paused, pensively tracing his finger along the rail. “She likes air; keep the windows open. And scones; she likes scones,” he said, looking up with a faint smile. “With bits of lemon or orange peel.”

“No rum,” Nathan continued, with a grimace. “She hates it; a good whiskey or port, but no rum. Make a place for her, on the fo’c’stle; she loves it up there. She’ll spend hours sitting there while you’re under sail,” he said, inclining his head toward the bow.

He regarded at Thomas and frowned. “And for God’s sake, don’t let anything get dirty. She hates dirt; the least sight sends her into a cleaning frenzy. And you’ll have to start washing that shirt more…and yourself. She the bathingest person you’ll ever meet, and expects the same of everyone near. Shave closer, too; she’ll like that.”

“Did you ever wash for her?”

Elbows braced on the rail, Nathan hung his head between his arms. “No, never did.”

“Listen for her,” Nathan said quietly, as he stared sightlessly across the water. His throat moved as he swallowed. “She cries, at night…for
him
. It’s enough to tear your heart out. She won’t remember come morning, but you’ll need to be there for her.”

Thomas found his throat had suddenly gone so tight he could barely squeeze out, “I’ll try to remember.”

Nathan’s smile grew distant. “Wait until you kiss her. She’s like a hot coal; she comes alive in your arms…” he murmured, checking himself. He cleared his throat and looked away. “Sorry.”

Surrender. Thomas knew its cost on blood-slickened decks, but never this. He had seen Nathan in his lowest, knocking on death’s door and hoping it would open. Beaten, flogged, stabbed, shot, starved, fever-wracked, scurvy-riddled, half-frozen, and half-dead from heat and thirst: none had been like this.

Thomas shifted again, telling himself this wasn’t betrayal. This was picking up the pieces. If anything, he was doing them both a favor, a grand favor…

Then why the hell doesn’t it feel that way?

Nathan nodded a vague appreciation. “What’s your course to be?”

Thomas narrowed his eyes as he considered. This was the painful part; he’d sailed an ocean in hopes of resuming a lost friendship. “I had thought we could sail in consort for a bit. All things considered, I suppose that might not be the best idea now.”

“Not bloody likely,” Nathan said, with restrained vehemence.

“Probably north,” Thomas said finally, looking in that direction. “Might try along the coast off the Colonies. Heard there’s some good prospects along there; lots of heavy merchants and authorities willing to look the other way, for a small price, of course.”

Nathan nodded interestedly. “She might fancy that. She’s from the Colonies, you know; she’s kin of some sort or another there. It might be a chance for her to see home, finally.”

Nathan leaned closer. “She’s with child,” he said, as if he was divulging the great secret of the ages.

Nathan pressed his fingers to his lips while glancing over his shoulder, oblivious to Thomas’ gape. “’Twould be ill-advised to speak of it. She’s a mite crank on the subject. You know how they are,” he added, with a conspiratorial wink.

“No, I don’t,” Thomas said, barely tolerant. “That would be more in the way of your expertise. Are you the—?”

“Hardly!”

“Then who…?”

Nathan slid a cutting look from the corner of his eye. “One never knows, does one?”

Thomas flinched at the barb. It was surprising how much restraint Nathan had exhibited on the matter, truth be told. Thomas had preferred to think it was all by the board, but apparently not. Contrary to all hopes, Nathan hadn’t changed one goddamned bit, to the downfall of everyone around him. The outside might have changed, but the man inside was still the same bungling mess.

Nathan straightened, shook off his mood like a great dog in the rain. “’Tis a grand friend you are for taking her off me hands,” Nathan said, considerably louder than was necessary, probably for Cate’s benefit, by Thomas’ judgment.

“At a loss, I was,” Nathan went on, “as to what the bloody hell I was to do with her. Nothing worse than a meddlesome, clinging woman on your hands.”

Skepticism was Thomas’ only reaction. The smile a bit pasted, the levity a bit forced, the gestures a bit stiff: it was another of Nathan’s poorer performances.

“Damned annoying,” Nathan went on, oblivious to Thomas’ disgust. “Blabber, blabber, blabber. Never puts a stopper in that gob. No peace. No freedom; freedom is what it ’tis, you know. Me ship, the sea, and the horizon: what more could a man desire?”

Several answers came to mind, but it was a question not intended for one.

“Then you’re done with her,” Thomas said, straightening.

It was more a statement than a question. Nathan symbolically dusted his hands and held them up in exhibition: empty.

“Very well, then.” Thomas snatched Nathan up by the front of his shirt and gave him a solid shake. “Lay hands on her again like you did yesterday, and I’ll snap you like a twig.”

Gazing up, Nathan went very still. “Go ahead,” he said dully. “Put me out o’ me misery.”

Thomas let go and regarded Nathan through a narrowed eye. “Nay, I think not. It’s more fitting that you should suffer.”

Now Thomas was the one to dust his hands. “What are you going to do?”

Nathan brightened. “Don’t rightly know. You know me: pick a spot on the chart, and I will already be there. The wind at me back and the waves at me bow…” The thought was finished with a grand swipe.

Sobering, Nathan looked off across the water toward the open sea. “Lord-on-high Creswicke will be burning the waters looking for us—me, that is—but the men will be desiring a few days at Tortuga, looking to spend his coin. After that, I dunno. Cartagena, maybe west.”

Nathan’s voice drifted off and he fell quiet. At length, he shook his head, as if closing off a private conversation and pushed away from the rail. “Very well, then. It’s been good seeing you, old friend.”

It became instantly clear a handshake wasn’t going to be enough and they embraced, slapping each other heartily on the back.

“On the next horizon?”

“On the next horizon.”

“Take care of yourself, Nathan. Oh, one more thing,” Thomas said, just as Nathan reached the entry port. He drew back his fist and punched Nathan, his head snapping back with the impact.

“Ow!” Nathan’s hand flew up to his nose. “What was that for?”

“For being such a thorough-going, bloody fucking goddamned fool!”

“Oh.” Nathan tested his nose and examined his fingers for blood. “Can’t argue that. Feeling better, are we?”

Thomas reflected as he rubbed his knuckles. “Aye, a bit.”

“Then by your leave. Always desire to be of service to me friends in a time of
their
need,” Nathan grumbled and swung over the gunwale.

“You want to take these?” Thomas held up the bundle of Cate’s clothing.

“No! Tell her they were a gift,” Nathan shouted back and disappeared down the side.

###

Cate stalked the cabin. She refused to look, but she could hear Thomas and Nathan talking on deck. She ducked anytime Nathan’s voice threatened her ears. There were inopportune glimpses of them, and she took great satisfaction at seeing Nathan looked positively wretched. Misery did indeed enjoy company and in a grand way!

A part of her wanted to go out there and do…something! Those urges were immediately quashed by the prospect of facing Nathan again. She vowed if he came in there, she would do exactly as he had said he feared: jump. A glance reaffirmed the stern gallery stood open, just in case.

Oh, and there’s that smile!
She clamped her eyes shut against the pain of how it had touche
d her heart. He had flashed it at her, like candy to a child.

And how he had sweet-talked, with all those heart-felt confessions…

Vile…underhanded…manipulative bastard!

With that came a surge of disgust, at a level usually reserved for the likes of Creswicke and his ilk.

Nathan’s look of relief was all too familiar, as was the dismissive wave of his hand. Swiping her from his life, she suspected, ruefully.

Once more, the voice of reason tried to make sense of it all. Cate slapped it away, for there was none. Was it because she wasn’t his precious Hattie, or because it was just her? Had jealousy raised its ugly head, or was it as simple as Nathan was done with her, as she had always known would come to pass? Like a flash of St. Elmo’s fire, the conquest made, the mystery gone. Women were his specialty, like cogs in a wheel: one in, one out; one in, one out…

Thomas’ call of “You can come out now. He’s gone, and too far away to shoot,” cut off Cate’s stream of thought. She squinted from the dim of the cabin into the glare of daylight to verify that Thomas was indeed alone.

“Are you sure?” she called back.

“Aye.”

Cate repeatedly scanned the deck as she crept out, alert for the first sign of a ruse. She wouldn’t put it past Nathan—or Thomas, for that matter. She rose on her toes to peer over the rail and saw the crown of a familiar leather hat no great way off. As she neared the rail, the longboat came into view.

Cate drew up beside Thomas, his gaze as fixed as hers on the receding craft, Nathan standing at the bow like some damned figurehead.“I always knew it would come to this,” she heard herself say.

Thomas stirred, as if from a deep thought. “What?”

“When he tired of me: sell me, pass me on. How much did you pay?”

Thomas looked down at her with an odd mix of satisfaction, pleasure, and wonder. “Not a farthing.”

Cate closed her eyes and swayed. She wasn’t even worth bartering for. Her heart was as cold and empty as the cannon next to her leg, once burning hot, but no more. She propped her head in her hand, suddenly feeling very tired, defeated and…useless.

What color was hope when it faded?

The circle was complete; she was back to where she had began just a few weeks ago, with the clothes she stood in and strangers all around. Providence had interceded once more. It was too cruel: allowing her a shred of happiness, only to jerk it away.

She was now a pirate woman. She had scorned those who had sought to bestow the title upon her in Lady Bart’s parlor. A fine fate for someone who had kept herself one man her whole life. Purity and good intentions didn’t pave the way to happiness.

First Nathan, then Thomas…and then how many more?

Homeless and penniless—she didn’t even own the clothes she stood in—her only asset now was her appearance. Age and hard use would quickly to take their toll, although just being a woman would always open certain doors. Her future was dim—starvation, squalid streets, and begging for a man’s favor and his shilling. If she was lucky, she’d catch the pox or a morbid fever, and die quickly. It was a desperate hope, for Fate seemed determined to deny her any relief.

She peered over the rail to the water below. Not too many weeks ago, she had done the same on the
Constancy.
The sea then had offered a reprieve, an escape, and the prospect of final peace.

Cate regarded Thomas from the corner of her eye. It could be worse, she thought philosophically. Thomas wasn’t without assets. With effort, she could see him as himself and not Brian—well, not quite so much. Pretending he was Brian might prove beneficial, rendering this arrangement a little more…palatable. So long as she warmed his bed, she suspected Thomas wouldn’t mind her visualizations.

She looked up to find Thomas viewing her as if she was a newly found sea creature.

“What?” she demanded, checking to see if her skirts were turned up.

He shook his head and looked away. “Nothing.”

Cate shifted away a bit. The possibility still lurked that Nathan’s hand festering had been no accident. She wondered how diabolical of a mind lay behind Thomas’ genial smile—Brian’s smile. Scheming came natural enough: he had taken her on a moonlight stroll—a ruse, by his own admission—and then tricked her aboard his ship and set up a candlelight scene befitting of a farce.

“Did you plan this?”

Cate's question was met with the same blue-eyed, child-like innocence as when she had posed it that same night.

“Now why would I do a thing like that?” Finally, his bland façade crumbled. He grinned, shaking his head. “Nay, I but allowed Nathan to be Nathan.”

“And I’m the prize?” The prospect of being a pawn in some grand scheme gave Cate an ill feeling. She felt a chill, as if a cloud had just blanketed the sun. “How long until you pass me on or leave me on some island?”

Thomas' smile tightened and he shied. “I aim to take care of you a damn sight better than he did. Look at you: dressed in near rags, a rope necklace, and I can damn near count every rib.”