The Pirate Captain (84 page)

Mouth working pensively under his mustache, Nathan leaned back on his elbows once more. “What if you find them, but you can’t have them?”

The lilt in his voice brought a stab of sympathy. Rejection: it was a torture no less than flogging, a daily ripping of the flesh. Cate had been learning to live with the agony, dealing with it on a day-to-day basis. There was an instant surge of contempt for the thoughtless monster that had inflicted such agonies on him.

“You mean, if they don’t want you?” she asked, tactfully.

Nathan looked away. “Or, they’re already taken.”

Cate winced. “That could be a problem. I didn’t say it was all roses.”

Shifting restlessly, he muttered something cross under his breath. “Seems to be more thorns than roses.”

“You have to be willing to risk the thorns.”

Nathan sat up abruptly, his bells jangling. “I’ve had enough blood drawn.” Startled by his own outburst, he forced a smile. “Perhaps I’ll fancy the daisies; easier to pick and there’s a lot more of them.”

His metaphors made her smile.

“Daisies can fade quickly,” Cate chuckled, with less humor than intended. “Keep looking, Nathan. Perhaps, one day, you’ll find your rose.”

“Thorns be damned?”

It was his turn to smile, one of those gold and white marvels crafted to charm. It worked. She felt it tug in several places.

“Thorns be damned.”

Nathan gave Cate a piece of cheese. She chewed without tasting as she regarded him anew. His forearm was covered by his sleeve, but the image tattooed there was clear in her mind: a swallow carrying a heart, pierced and bleeding. She wondered what heartbreak had been so devastating as to drive him to mark it into his body, to be worn for an eternity. Had it been self-flagellation, for having been so foolish, or a reminder, never to open himself to such anguish again?

“You have a lot of fine qualities, Nathan,” she heard herself say. “You have a lot to offer a woman.”

A series of expressions crossed Nathan's face: accusation, suspicion, and finally, grudging acceptance. He bent up his knees and hung his head between his arms, the sable braids curtaining his face. The sun crowned his head in a raven-like sheen, catching on the random hairs of copper, sienna, and brunette. His rings glinted in the sun as his fingers worked, setting the swallows on his knuckles to fluttering. Milestones of his life, thousands of miles of seas and hardship, reduced to a few dashes of ink.

“Whores aside, too many been times I have been brought to a woman’s bed but for one purpose. Once served, they had little need of me.” He straightened, raising a warning finger. “Mind you, not that it was all bad.”

“Oh, no, never!” To not smile was painful.

“They wanted Captain Nathanael Blackthorne, the pirate, the scalawag, not me.”

Toying with his rings, he looked up with a wide-eyed sincerity, which bordered on wonderment. “You’re not like that.”

“Perhaps I had the benefit of knowing you, before I met Captain Blackthorne,” Cate stammered. Was it her imagination, or had the afternoon suddenly become warm? “Captain Blackthorne is a nice sort, don’t get me wrong.”

“Scary and eccentric.” Nathan grinned, the devilment returning. “That’s what I’ve been told, at any rate.”

He drew his knife from his boot and cut another chunk of cheese, lifting an eyebrow as an offering. Distracted, she declined, and he settled back with his own morsel.

Prudence skipped about the pool’s banks, squeaking at a toad hopping under a mossy rock. The saffron-colored frock was a travelling dress—reduced skirts and sturdy cloth, its color selected to compliment the dark hair and blooming complexion—but was still not up to the rigors of a pirate ship, nor island exploration. But then, what difference would it make? It was very probable her appearance held very little relevance.

Prudence’s captivity was a sharp reminder of her own uncertain status. At one time, she had thought herself to be a hostage, and yet Nathan had assured her to the contrary. That he ducked the issued anytime she pressed regarding his intentions was puzzling. He desired her aboard; that much was clear. The “why” of it remained the question:

Friendship? A long reach there, the proof being his acrimony when she had called him that.

Protectorate? Hardly. She reminded him of someone else, someone for whom he harbored a morbid dislike.

Investment? One niggling point screamed louder than all else: he was a pirate. Deception would be his bread and butter. She strove to prepare herself for when the time came that he would either ransom or sell her.

“Prudence is about to marry a complete stranger, who has no reason, nor motivation to love her,” Cate said without realizing it.

“How do you know? Maybe he’s dying to have that special woman in his life.”

Cate twisted around to Nathan. “Do I look that silly?”

“No.” His grin took on an impish nature, the bells in his mustache taking a rakish angle. “But ’tis worth the try. I sense a purpose in this line of dialogue. Pray enlighten me as to what you desire us to do?”

“I don’t know. There has to be something.”

Chewing on the inside of her mouth, she watched Prudence pluck petals from a flower.

“You need to tell her she’s pretty.”

“What!” Nathan's gravel voice pitched to a girlish shrill. His mouth hanging open sufficiently to show the bite of cheese in one corner, she was witnessing Nathanael Blackthorne stricken speechless. “I have to what?”

“You have to tell her she’s pretty. She needs to hear it; every woman does. No one has ever told her that.” It didn’t seem that tall of an order. Once past the petulance, Prudence was a very lovely girl. Surely Nathan’s standards weren’t that high.

“You tell her.”

“It won’t serve coming from me. She needs to hear it from a man.”

“Well, then…let Creswicke tell her.”

Cate slapped her palm against her forehead and groaned. “Did you actually hear what you just said?”

Nathan's shoulders jerked as he drummed his fingers on his legs. “Why do I have to do it? There’s nigh on to three hundred-odd men on that shore. Why can’t one of them do it? Get Thomas to do it.”

“Believe me, I plan to. Oh, come on Nathan.” She nudged him lightly on the shoulder again. “How many women have you told were beautiful, and didn’t really mean it?”

Cate ignored the fact that he had never made comment regarding her appearance, one way or the other.

Nathan ducked his head. Under his deep tan, his neck reddened. “Aye, well, quite a few, but I was—”

“Yes, I know the ‘but,’” she interjected tartly. “This time, it’s to be nice simply for the sake of being nice.”

Cate watched Nathan stare at the ground, his mouth working. Dipping her head lower, she caught his eyes. “Please? For me?”

It was a card never before played. It was distasteful to use their friendship against him, but there seemed little other choice.

“Oh, very well, since you put it that way,” he grumbled. “I’ll do it, sometime or another, but I shan’t like it.”

“Bear up, Nathan,” she laughed. “I know it’s a trial being a gift to the ladies, but bear up.”

The sound of the waterfalls filled the silence between them. A shriek drew their attention toward Prudence, relaxing when they saw it was only in because of a small bird flitting too closely.

“By the by,” Nathan began pensively. “What’s this I hear about you wanting a dress?”

“What are you about?”

“Princess Pain-in-the-Ass told me you were desiring dresses. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Now Cate was the one to fluster. “Because I didn’t, or don’t.”

“That’s not what she said,” Nathan countered with a vague wave. “She said you wished something newer.”

“Did she say I said that, or did she say that’s what she thinks I should have said?”

Nathan made to respond then paused, closing one eye with the effort of recalling. “Might have been the latter,” he muttered. “Don’t exactly recall, now. Bloody little wench never stops talking; chatters worse than Beatrice.”

Sensitive to his ruffled feelings, Cate turned her head until her urge to laugh was contained. She came back to a narrow look, drumming his fingers on his leg, formulating his next ploy.

“I hear—through sources that I shall not name—that you are in need of thread.”

Nathan was plump with smugness. It had been a game of wills between them, he in search of what she was in need and she reluctant to say. Needs and desires: she had long ago surrendered, nay, abandoned those. Besides, frugal practicality had always been her nature.

There was only one way he could have known: he overheard.

“No secrets on a ship, hm?” she said, narrowly.

Nathan had the good grace to be at least a bit abashed at being discovered.

“Well, yes, I could use some,” Cate finally admitted.

God, she despised this! A lifetime of attempting to assert her independence wiped away with a simple admission. She felt as if she had just been catapulted 25 years back, and now stood at her father’s knee.

“Goddamn it to buggering hell, woman,” he extorted to the sky. He yanked at a piece of fern at his foot and angrily pitched it. “Hell and death, why didn’t you say something?”

“It’s so frivolous. You have other matters far more important than thread.”

Dropping his head to his chest, he let out an exasperated growl that sounded like ripping canvas.

“I’ve sought to get you anything, everything you could want.” His hand on his knee flexed in cadence. “You insist on representing there was nothing you required. What the goddamned blooming hell good is it to be a pirate, if there’s nothing I can get you?” His eyes were bulging by the time he finished.

Cate shied like a scolded child. “I don’t know. It felt odd to ask. I already feel like an imposition. You’ve given me so much, it didn’t seem right to ask for anything more.”

In one fluid move, Nathan was on his knees before her. He took her by the chin and lifted her face. Eyes gone dark as his ship intently searched hers.

“You are not an imposition.” Each word was uttered with singular emphasis. “You have as much right to be on that ship as anyone, and I’ll shoot the bastard what says different,
sabe
?”

Nathan sat back, more composed. “Now, if there is anything you ever, ever desire, you just say, agreed?” He punctuated it with a final, intimidating glare.

Chastened, her voice caught. “Agreed.”

“And the next port, by the horns o’ Satan, you’ll have enough thread to founder the flaming ship!” His shoulders shifted irritably under his shirt. “Be damned if it’ll be said I can’t provide a woman some bloody thread!”

Chapter 16: Ghosts

N
athan and his feminine entourage were still a good distance from returning to shore when they were met by wafts of smoke and the smell of roasting meat.

He stopped to inhale in blissful anticipation. “Going to be fine eats tonight.”

They broke free of the trees to see the sun announce its impending departure, the sky slashed with streaks of violet, indigo, and orange in a grand farewell. The sugar-white sand, now lilac-tinged in the lengthening shadows, was dotted with the molten glow of bonfires, and the flicker of faggots and torches.

“Bacchanal” seemed a lofty description for a beach writhing with pirates, and yet it applied. Men who lived by the credo of “freedom” made gay in that same spirit, their rollicking jubilation fertilized by an unlimited flow of bumboo, a spiced mix of water, rum, and sugar, a great favorite, by all appearances. The scene came close to resembling what Cate had imagined pirates to be: carousing on a shore, wild with drink. There is a difference between revelry and drunken brawl, a fine line but a difference, nonetheless. At that point, it was still the former, but teetered precariously toward the latter.

Once supper was finished—a great boar roasted over an open pit—the pirates gathered about the fires in small intimate groups, former mates, nationality, home port, common language, or mere fate the determining factor as to where they settled. With fiddles, fifes, concertinas, and hornpipes, along with a great number of exotic and homemade instruments, resulted in a dissonant din. The Scots
bodhrans
meeting Hindi
sitars
and African pipes was backdrop to a Babel of tongues as the men sang.

Through that roistering din, Cate gravitated toward the fire from which drifted the growl and gruff of Scots, and the even more enticing refrains of Highland music. Bodhrans—a Highland version of a stretched-skin drum—and tin whistles played Gaelic tunes that stirred her memories and pulsed in her veins. She sat against forage bags stuffed with dried grasses, the hay-like smell harkening back to hayfields and barn lofts of another life. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to be carried back. The palm trees, balmy air and rolling surf faded into the sharp resinous smell of pine trees, hunch-backed mountains, tumbling burns, and crisp air. A familiar face awaited, one that brought a smile and quickened her heart. He beckoned her to the shadows beyond the fires with an intent blue gaze and an outstretched hand.

Cate opened her eyes to find Nathan gazing down at her, seeming to know what she was thinking.

He smiled, although it seemed somewhat forced. “I wondered where you’d gotten off to.”

She flushed guiltily. She thought to explain when he folded down next to her, but decided it was better left unsaid. There was no shame in missing what she had lost, she thought defensively. But Nathan’s combination of resentment and suspicion indicated otherwise.

“Rumormongers would go rabid if someone was to be seen not drinking,” he said, handing her a tankard. A slight slur of speech suggested he had taken measures to avoid the same. “’Twould be outright seditious in many circles.”

He watched as she took a drink, nodding in affirmation when she discovered it was ale. He had to have gone to some lengths to find something other than rum for her to drink. It was appreciated, and she said as much. He demurred and waved her away, while at the same time puffing with pride.

Sitting companionably together, they watched the men dance, a scrap of cloth tied around the heads of those posing as women. In a swirl of bearded, sun-weathered faces, distorted by the rictus of wild-eyed gaiety and drink, they whirled like wraiths in and out of the fire’s shadows. Jets of sand spurted up from under their feet as they pounded the ground. Eyes feverishly bright with merriment, they pled for Cate to dance. Hesitant, she looked to Nathan, who shrugged abidingly. As she rose amid a chorus of cheers, she wondered if she would remember how, for it had been years since she had done so. As she was spun from one man to the next, exact steps proved to be of little consequence: so long as she didn’t think too much, her feet remained untangled.