My Seaswept Heart Page 10

  “Why did you do it, Anne? Why did ye dress like that and come aboard?” When she didn’t answer, he tilted his head. “Didn’t think ye could trust me?”

  “Trust had nothing to do with it.” Anne shifted. She shouldn’t, of course, but he made her feel guilty for doing what she did. For heaven’s sake he was a pirate. It wasn’t as if he followed rules. Why should he act disappointed that she hadn’t.

  She lifted her chin. “I wanted to be there when you caught d’Porteau.”

  “You wanted...” He started to repeat her contention, and began laughing instead. “Are ye mad?” He pushed to his feet. “Hell, of course ye are. Look at ye.” He advanced until he loomed over her. “You’re filthy. I should think a gentlewoman would have more pride than to cover herself with—” His finger skimmed her cheek. “What is this anyway?”

  “Grease and tar.”

  He wiped a black smear down the front of her coat. “I don’t imagine this will do much for your complexion.”

  Anne knocked his hand away when it lingered near her breast. “I’m not concerned about my skin.”

  “Nay, I don’t imagine ye are.” Jamie let air out through his mouth. Now that he took a good look at her he couldn’t imagine how he hadn’t recognized her the moment he saw her. Forget that her face was darkened with grime and her hair covered. Those eyes alone should have given her away. And the way she moved.

  Jamie looked away before he did something he might regret. Even dressed as she was she excited him. The sooner he was rid of her the better.

  “Well, ye shan’t be getting your wish.” He leaned back, crossing his arms. “I’ll not have a woman on board, nor will I expose ye to danger during a sea battle. Under full sail we should reach New Providence in a few days. From there ye can get passage to Libertia.”

  “But I thought we were going to San Palma?”

  “We were. But we shall lose over a sennight delivering ye somewhere safe.”

  “I do not wish to be safe.”

  “That much Mistress Cornwall is evident.”

  “And I refuse to be put ashore.”

  “Ye refuse?” Jamie’s voice boomed. “Ye refuse. Who do ye think ye are to refuse me anything?”

  She wouldn’t be intimidated. She wouldn’t. “I’m the person who hired you. The person who will pay you to find d’Porteau.”

  “I’m a pirate. Not a hireling.”

  “Nonetheless, I did hire you.” The expression on his face kept her from continuing that argument. She reached out toward him. “I see no harm in letting me stay aboard.”

  “Obviously. However, I do.”

  “What?” Anne grabbed his arm when he turned away. “I’ve been on the Lost Cause nearly a sennight and I’ve come to no harm.”

  “Are you forgetting yesterday morning? Stymie?”

  Anne was silent a moment. Then, “You must do something about him.”

  His eyes wide, Jamie could only stare at her.

  “Well you must. After what he did to Joe, he deserves to be punished. It’s impossible not to agree.” Anne hesitated. “Why are you shaking your head... and laughing?”

  Leaning back against the door, Jamie effectively put space between them. “’Tis ye, Mistress Cornwall, and your penchant for giving orders. Even dressed as ye are.” He lifted a warning finger when she tried to interrupt. “Caught on my ship, ye still insist upon telling others what they should do.”

  Anne lifted her chin. “You intend to let him get away with what he did to that poor boy?”

  “Nay!” Jamie pushed off the wall and stalked toward her. “I intend to do what I must. But if memory serves ’twas not Stymie’s transgressions we were discussing, but yours.” He continued before she had a chance to speak. “Until we make New Providence ye shall remain in my cabin, is that understood?” He didn’t wait for her acknowledgment, but turned toward the door. Her quiet words stopped him from lifting the latch.

  “I shall tell them I’m a woman.”

  ‘What?” His eyes sliced through her as he looked around.

  Despite the fierce expression on his face, Anne swallowed and forced herself to continue. “I know a bit about pirate behavior.”

  “As well you should, after living as one for nearly a sennight.”

  “I knew before. Israel told me.”

  “Ah, Israel. As poor as an excuse for a sailor, let alone a pirate as I ever saw. I suppose he put ye up to this... this masquerade?”

  “Israel knows nothing about it.”

  Jamie’s brow arched. “And ye expect me to believe that?”

  “I expect you to believe your crew would disapprove of you bringing a woman aboard for your own pleasure. According to Israel, it is a rule not lightly broken.”

  He stared at her long and hard. “I did not do that.”

  Their gazes locked. “But unless you allow me to stay on the Lost Cause, I shall tell them you did.”

  His smile was slow in coming. “I don’t think that would be a good idea, Mistress Cornwall.”

  It was Anne’s turn to cross her arms and lift her brows. “And why not?”

  “I doubt anyone would believe ye.” His eyes hardened as they traveled from her disheveled hair to the tip of her salt-encrusted shoes. “Though I’ve been known to take my pleasure where I may, ’tis doubtful anyone would credit I’ve sunk this low.”

  Anne couldn’t stop the color that rose to brighten her cheeks. She told herself it bloomed of anger, but knew it to be more than that. Her jaw tightened. “We shall see what they believe.”

  He cocked his head. “Is this to be a battle of will, then? Yours against mine?”

  “If it must.” Anne let out her breath, then reached around him for the latch. His hand firmly pressed to hers made her stop.

  They stood close and Anne could feel the heat from his body, feel his anger as he tried to control it. Finally, unable to help herself, she looked up. His expression was not at all what she expected. She couldn’t put a name to what she saw in his eyes, but it frightened her nearly as much as his rage.

  “Don’t ye know what they would do to ye? They’re pirates, for God’s sake.”

  “As are you.”

  “Aye, and lucky ye are to be standing rather than flat on your back with your...” He hesitated. “Breeches about your ankles.”

  “But I thought you said they wouldn’t believe you’d sunk so I—”

  “The hell with what I said.” Jamie slammed his palm against the door. She was the most exasperating woman he’d ever encountered. And it irked the hell out of him that she was also the smartest. And the one he couldn’t stop thinking of burying himself in. “You can’t tell them you’re a woman. I wouldn’t be able to stop them.” He cupped her shoulders. “Do you understand what I’m saying to you, Annie? I couldn’t stop them.”

  All she could do was nod.

  “Now.” Jamie let out his breath, then leaned over to scoop up the knitted cap. “I want ye to be putting this back on, and keeping it on. Until we reach New Providence ye’re to stay in my cabin. Talk to no one. See no one.”

  He pulled the hat down over her head, tucking curls underneath as he went. When he finished Jamie used his thumbs to tilt her face up toward his. She was disguised just as before, hair covered, skin blackened, and he wondered again how he could have mistaken her for a boy.

  Without realizing what he was going to do, Jamie bent forward. Her lips were as soft as before, and after the initial shock, as receptive. He kissed her until they were both breathless, then forced himself to back away. Then he opened the door, grabbed up the lantern and pulled her into the passageway.

  Joe was the only one in his cabin when they returned, and he was deep into a drugged sleep. Anne checked on him while the captain brushed an assortment of clothing and books from the top of a sea chest, then lifted the lid. He pulled out a blanket and handed it to Anne.

  “I suggest ye get some sleep,” was all he said before retrieving his pistol from his desk and leaving. As
she slumped down on the side of the bunk Anne heard the key twist in the lock.

  “I’m not going back to Libertia,” she whispered. Not until d’Porteau is defeated.”

  ~ ~ ~

  It was a blessing Jamie didn’t hear her defiance, for he was boiling with rage. More furious than he could remember being in years. What in the hell was he to do now?

  His step quickened as he headed toward the ladder. With jerky motions he attacked the rungs, his head, then shoulders bursting through the open hatch. The first deep breath of salt air seemed to sting his lungs, open and clear his mind.

  But still the question persisted. What should he do?

  Agreeing to hunt down d’Porteau was a mistake. That much was evident to him. It was an error in judgment... one he’d known from the start. One made more of lust than reason no matter how much he might protest to Keena and Deacon. Jamie strode across the deck, zigzagging to pick his way through the snoring bodies littering his way. He hadn’t realized how crowded the Lost Cause was. Something else to take care of, he mused, not at all pleased by the prospect.

  He wondered for a moment if he could blame this particular dilemma on Anne Cornwall, deciding with a grimace he couldn’t. But near everything else... near everything else.

  His pursuit of the Frenchman. Hell, he was confident the world in general, the Caribbean in particular, would be better off without d’Porteau. But it wasn’t his place to accomplish that feat. He wasn’t the blasted admiralty, but a not-so-honest pirate drifting about on the sea.

  At least he was until Mistress Anne came along, with her warm-whiskey eyes and vinegar-laced tongue. Jamie leaned against the rail, staring out through the web of ratlines. Above him the sails sang their ode to freedom, below the wide expanse of sea carried him where he might go. Jamie took another deep breath.

  No restraints.

  No tangles or intrigues.

  For someone whose only desire in life was to avoid anything of the sort, he was twisted up pretty tight. So tight he had to do something. Tossing Anne Cornwall over the side wasn’t an option, no matter how attractive it might seem. Which left him with doing something about the myriad problems she created.

  Stymie.

  Giving the devil his due, Jamie knew Anne hadn’t started the problem with Stymie. He was a low-life bully who had caused trouble ever since joining the crew. What he did to Joe made him sick. But—

  Jamie sucked in his breath. There was no “but.” Someone needed to do something. And that someone was him. Still, he didn’t have to like it.

  Jamie reached for the pistol he stuck in his waistband. Lifting it out he squinted, checking the prime in the weak light from the moon. Satisfied, he made his way back toward the hatch.

  The berth deck was packed, the smell of unwashed bodies strong enough to overpower the stench of bilge water and tar. Most of the lanterns burned so low, sputtering in the melted tallow that little light spewed forth. But Jamie managed to spot Stymie.

  His hammock slung near the passageway, a prime location if one was to be found, was separated by uncharacteristic space from its neighbor. Even in sleep Stymie welded enough power to have his wishes carried out.

  Except in this case, it made Jamie’s task easier.

  Silently he wended his way until he stood directly beside the sprawled man whose legs and arms flopped over the canvas bedding like excess roping. The metal against metal cocking of the pistol sounded loud to Jamie’s ears, but apparently he was the only one to hear, for no one else seemed to stir. Least of all Stymie.

  It wasn’t until the cold barrel pressed into the rolled skin of his neck that the snoring stopped and his eyes popped open.

  “What the hell...?” He snorted and tried to turn his head, jerking to a stop when the muzzle dug deeper. “What’s this ’bout, Cap’n?” His voice was strained.

  “It’s about Joe and your fist, ye son of a bitch.”

  “I don’t know what—”

  “Save it, Stymie. Now get up. And be real careful about it.”

  Stymie shifted, then slowed his movements when the pistol gouged under his chin. “Yer makin’ a big mistake, Cap’n.”

  “Won’t be the first.”

  “Aye.” The bulgy eyes narrowed. “But ’twill be yer last.”

  Chapter Seven

  “What in the hell are ye doing?”

  Anne jerked her head around when she heard the captain’s bellow. She’d been so absorbed in her task she hadn’t noticed the key turn in the lock. He stood in the doorway, hands on hips, feet spread, looking as disheveled as his cabin had. Anne wondered if he ever took the time to fasten his shirt or wear a jacket. She knew he owned several fine suits of clothing. Anne skimmed her fingers over the deep green silk waistcoat she held, trying to imagine it buttoned up to cover the wide expanse of sun-bronzed skin. She couldn’t.

  “Ye heard me, An...” Jamie’s gaze darted to Joe squatting on the floor beside a stack of books, then back to Anne. “Dy,” he finished. “Andy.” Taking another step into his cabin, Jamie slammed the door behind him with more vehemence than sense. Damnation, the woman had him flustered, and him in his own cabin, on his own damn ship.

  “We was just straightenin’ yer cabin some, Cap’n. Didn’t mean no harm.” It was Joe who spoke. Joe with his face still grotesquely swollen from contact with Stymie’s fist. He pushed to his feet, the one eye he could open, wide with fear, and Jamie felt like a beast for yelling.

  Without thinking to keep his hand light, Jamie reached for the lad’s shoulder, pulling away quickly when Joe flinched. “’Tis all right, Joe.” Jamie took the log book he clutched and tossed it haphazardly onto the pile at his feet. The leather-bound volume slid off the stack to land on the decking.

  Jamie thought he noted an expression of disapproval on Anne’s dirty face, but it couldn’t have been stronger than the one registered on his as he looked her way. But his countenance softened as he glanced back to Joe. “If ye be feeling up to it, a trip above deck might be just the thing.”

  “Captain, I don’t think he should—”

  He turned on her so quickly she nearly dropped the waistcoat. She did clamp her mouth shut.

  “I don’t recall asking your advice, Andy. Nor will I tolerate it.” He’d frightened the boy again and for that Jamie was sorry. “Go on with ye, Joe. Get a breath of air. But no working or climbing the ratlines, do ye hear?”

  “Aye, Cap’n.” The boy chewed at his lower lip, hesitating with his hand on the latch. He seemed to gather his nerve, blurting out his request before he lost it again. “Can Andy come with me then?”

  “Not at the moment. But Keena is there waiting for ye.” Reaching around him, Jamie opened the door, surprised when Joe still hung back.

  “Ye ain’t gonna hurt him none, is ye, Cap’n? We didn’t mean any harm.”

  “I’ll not be hurting anyone, Joe. Now run along.” This time when the lock tumbled in place it was from the inside. Anne watched the pirate’s movements, trying to keep herself calm. When he turned to face her it became more difficult.

  “You really shouldn’t have sent him on deck. If Stymie—”

  “Stymie’s locked in the hold.”

  “Oh.” Anne pressed her lips together.

  “Oh?” Jamie’s brow lifted. “’Tis all ye have to say, Mistress Anne? Just ‘oh’?”

  “What do you wish me to say?” Anne folded the waistcoat and laid it on top his sea chest.

  “I wasn’t aware my wishes were ever considered when ye spoke your mind, Annie.” Jamie strode further into the cabin, kicking aside the pile of books on the floor. They tumbled with a thud. “Hell, I’d say it was obvious my wishes were never considered, period.”

  She refused to back up, in part because there was only so much space in the cramped cabin. There was nowhere to go. So Anne did the only thing she could. Straightening her shoulders, she faced him. “If you’re trying to frighten me—”

  His sharp, mirthless laugh cut off her words. “Frighten
ye, Annie? Is that what ye think I’m trying to do? If that were possible, I’d have done it the first time I laid eyes on ye.” Stopping just before he was close enough to touch her, Jamie planted his fists firmly on his hips, in case he were too tempted to wrap his hands about her neck.

  She didn’t like him standing this near. He was so tall she had to lift her chin to look him in the eye. And there was something intangible about him when he was close. Some attraction that seemed to tug at her.. Anne couldn’t tell if it was the scent of his skin or the heat that seemed to radiate from him. Whatever, she found it disconcerting and she didn’t like it.

  But he didn’t seem inclined to increase the space between them. If anything he narrowed it, by leaning forward on the balls of his feet. “Now explain if ye will, what in the hell you’re doing to my cabin.”

  “Straightening it.”

  “Ah. So that’s what ye call it?”

  His tone was infuriating. If she thought it would do any good Anne would push against him, flatten her hands in the burnished hair covering his chest and shove. But she was no match for him physically. Instead she stared him straight in the eye. “I thought you might prefer not to live like a wild boar.” Watching his reaction to her words was almost as satisfying as forcing him away.

  His eyes narrowed until they were little more than slits and his nostrils flared. “I do not live like an animal.”

  Anne merely shrugged,

  “And ye be a fine one to talk, covered with filth as ye are.”

  “It’s part of my disguise,” Anne countered quickly. She hated being dirty.

  “Well, it didn’t work very well.” He did move away from her now, turning and walking toward the bank of windows. Anne followed.

  “You didn’t recognize me.”

  “Once given a decent look I did.” Jamie glanced over his shoulder.

  “Decent look, indeed.” Anne tossed her head. “I brought water for your bath, poured it over your head and you still didn’t know who I was.” She knew she’d said more than she should when he slowly turned to face her, a grin spread across his face.