My Seaswept Heart Page 5

  “I see.” Anne struck a pose mirroring his. “It was my understanding you were interested in Libertia.”

  “Interested!” Jamie let out a bark of laughter. “Ye have to have more brass than the whole British navy. Whatever gave ye such an idea?”

  “Well, you listened to Uncle Richard and—”

  “I listened to your uncle out of respect.” Jamie held up his hand to keep her from interrupting. “And aye, despicable pirate though I am, I do not spit in the face of all authority.” His gaze held hers. “No matter how grievously I’ve been treated.”

  She knew he meant the drugged wine and kidnapping. Of course that’s what he meant. But when he looked at her like that, his wicked green eyes narrowed, Anne couldn’t help thinking of the things he was doing to her before he fell asleep. Anne shook her head to dispel that notion. “I naturally assumed once you saw for yourself—”

  “You were wrong, Annie.”

  His use of her name like that and the lift of his mouth beneath that dark beard was more than she could take. “You’re no better than d’Porteau.” Anne’s hands were on her hips now as she glared at him across the narrow expanse separating them.

  “I never claimed to be.” He was, of course. Jamie considered himself vastly superior to the Frenchman in just about every way that mattered. But it was obvious this overbearing woman didn’t think so, and he wasn’t about to argue the differences.

  Especially when she seemed in no mood to listen. Jamie watched as she stamped down the path and then whirled about to face him. “Then there is nothing else to say.” She glanced toward Israel who stood, his bandy legs spread, the pistol gripped in his hand. “Please take him down to the pier. He can take the sloop.” She sighed. “Might as well give it to this pirate as have d’Porteau kill someone over it.”

  “Yer letting him go, just like that?” Israel’s good eye was wide with astonishment.

  “What else can I do?”

  Jamie had never seen someone change so completely. Moments ago he would have thought nothing would ever defeat her. She was nearly throwing off sparks as she faced him. But now her features were a study in failure. He liked her better looking as if she could single-handedly overpower the British admiralty.

  “Your uncle is expecting me for tea,” Jamie heard himself say. “’Twouldn’t do to disappoint him.”

  “That’s quite all right. I shall give him your regrets.”

  “No one is giving him my regrets.” Jamie straightened till he loomed over her. “I shall speak with Mr. Cornwall myself.”

  She didn’t back away. “Very well, if you insist.”

  And he did. Jamie would be hanged for a sinner before he’d let a slip of a girl tell him what to do. It wasn’t until they were all seated on the wide veranda of her uncle’s cottage that Jamie began to wonder why he’d insisted upon taking tea.

  Her uncle was more confused than ever. Just when she wanted him to expound upon the devastation d’Porteau did to Libertia he seemed to remember none of it. It probably didn’t matter, Anne doubted MacQuaid would be likely to offer his aid regardless. She didn’t really know why she was prolonging this. Perhaps if she petitioned the governor of Grand Bahama again or—

  “Anne, are you listening?”

  “Oh yes, Uncle Richard.”

  “Then will you tell me where he is?”

  “Where who is?” Anne felt heated color tinge her cheeks and took a sip of tea.

  “Arthur. I haven’t seen him all day.”

  The bottom fell out of Anne’s stomach, though she should have expected as much. How could her uncle not remember what happened to the island? To the settlement he worked so hard to build. Not that he always seemed oblivious to the tragedy. There were times when he sat in his room pouring over his books as if he might find the answers there. “What went wrong?” he would ask. And Anne could barely stand to witness the melancholy in his eyes.

  Now she chose what she’d begun to think of as the coward’s way. Dabbing her lips slowly she shook her head. “Arthur is busy. Perhaps he can join us later.”

  But this time her fabrication didn’t calm her uncle. Instead his brow wrinkled and it was almost as if he was viewing the raid again through eyes that saw too much. He gripped Anne’s arm, his fingers pressing into the soft skin beneath her ruffled sleeve.

  “We must do something,” he screeched. “They’re burning everything. Can’t you see them, Annie? They’re killing...” Richard jumped to his feet. “God, what are they doing?”

  Without thinking Jamie pushed out of his chair. His arm circled the old man’s shoulders by the time Anne pressed a tumbler of dark liquid to his lips.

  “Drink, Uncle Richard,” she coaxed. “Yes, that’s it. Everything will be all right.” Her eyes flashed to Jamie’s. “I promise.”

  “But they took my boy. They took Arthur.”

  “He’ll come back. You’ll see. Just a little more,” she said, tilting the glass higher. “There now.” Anne wiped his mouth, then turned toward Israel, not surprised to see him right behind her.

  “’Pears to me ’tis time for a rest, wouldn’t ye say, Master Richard?” As Jamie stepped aside the wiry ex-pirate slid his shoulder under Richard’s and led him toward the door. Anne rushed to open it and through the wedge Jamie saw a bedstead and chest. As soon as Anne, Israel, and Richard, who by this time could barely walk on his own, were through the opening the door shut and Jamie fell back into his chair. His hands were sweating and he took a gulp of tea wishing it were something stronger.

  Richard Cornwall was mad.

  There was little doubt of that. Jamie took another drink and tried not to let those memories of his mother slide into place. But he wasn’t able to block them out. He was five when she left so there were few things he remembered clearly. Except the screaming. And the mad look in her eyes. Jamie blinked and lurched to his feet when Anne reentered the room.

  She pressed a finger to her lips, then led the way outside. Jamie filled his lungs with fragrant moist air.

  “Now do you understand why d’Porteau must be found?” Anne said when they’d walked a short distance from the cottage.

  “I understand that your uncle would be better off in Bedlam.”

  “Don’t say that!” Anne turned on him with a vengeance, her fists pounding against the hard muscles of his chest.

  At first too shocked to do anything Jamie let her anger run its course, only pulling her against him when her blows became no more than ineffectual thumps. She rested in his embrace only a moment before pulling away and quickly scrubbing at her tear-streaked face.

  “He isn’t crazed. Not really,” she insisted. “Until the Frenchman came there were only certain times when his mind failed....” Her voice trailed off, was stronger when she continued. “He was fine until the pirate came. Just fine. And he’ll be that way again if I can only find Arthur. And if we no longer have to worry about that...” Anne turned away abruptly.

  When she looked back at him her expression was composed. The late-afternoon sun caught the coppery highlights in her brown hair. “You’ve seen what d’Porteau did. You dislike him yourself. Why can’t you and your crew go after him?”

  “Because I’m not some damn crusader. And whatever gave you the impression I am is beyond me.”

  “It was Israel.” Anne wiped her hands down the panels of her skirt.

  “Israel?” Jamie laughed. “He has no reason to think me other than a scoundrel such as himself.”

  “Perhaps, but he feels otherwise.” Her head cocked to the side. “Do you recall the last time you saw him?”

  “Aye. He was standing knee-deep in the surf, arms flailing, howling his head off. And blasting me to the devil, I may add.”

  Anne couldn’t help smiling. She could just imagine Israel doing such. “Well, blast you though he may have apparently Israel thinks you have a compassionate nature.”

  Compassionate nature? What the hell was the chit rambling on about? He was a pirate, for God’s
sake! “I’ve a notion your uncle isn’t the only one on this island going mad. I’m beginning to think you all are.” Ignoring the flash of anger that crossed her face, Jamie turned and strode down the path toward the dock. This entire incident was like a crazy dream, a nightmare that he was escaping. As far as he knew Israel was still with the crazed uncle. But the way he felt now, he didn’t care.

  If there was anyone on the wharf foolish enough to attempt to stop him from taking the sloop, he’d rue the day he crossed Jamie MacQuaid.

  “Stop. Oh, will you stop!”

  Jamie wheeled on her when she grabbed his arm. Feet planted wide in the sandy soil, arms on hips he faced her. She should be intimidated. Few men could face Jamie when he allowed his demons free reign and not cower. But she faced him square. He was certain the breathless quality in her voice was a result of chasing him, not fear. He was beginning to think he was right. Everyone on the island was insane.

  “It angered you to be called compassionate?” she asked, her tone one of surprise and possibly a touch of amusement.

  “I’m a pirate, by God, not some crusading fop.”

  “You think I don’t know that?” Anne shot back.

  “Aye, ’tis possible ye have your doubts.” Jamie’s eyes narrowed. “Else why would you find yourself alone, and defenseless?” He watched her features soften, then the breath expand her chest as she realized their isolation. Around them wind-trimmed pines and thick undergrowth isolated the bend in the path.

  Jamie stepped closer. “Mayhaps ye think me too compassionate to take what I want? What was offered so enticingly before?”

  Without waiting for a response Jamie reached out. His fingers speared through her hair, framing her face, and sending the lacy cap and wooden pins showering to the ground. Her only protest was a muffled, “No,” as his mouth swooped down on hers.

  His lips were hard, punishing. The tongue he thrust into her mouth ignored her futile attempts to stop him. He took; he plundered. He showed her what it was like to deal with him; deal with him without the advantage of drugging potions and cocked pistols aimed at his heart.

  His kiss was relentless. His hands curved round her head, angling her mouth toward his. And he took. Took all that he could and still he wanted more. She aroused him from the first moment he set eyes on her, standing before him, scared but defiant. He wanted her then. And the ache she caused in his groin only intensified when she took him to her room. And nothing, not the drugged sleep nor the vinegar of her tongue had cooled his ardor.

  She squirmed beneath his hands, the movements only fueling his passions. By God she saw him as some golden-haired crusader she could bend and twist to her liking. He would show her differently. He would show her who would bend and twist.

  His hands forged down, tangles of dark curls trailing along as he followed the line of her neck, the rounded curves of her shoulders. She fought him, but he was larger than she, stronger. And the force of desire heated his blood.

  With one arm he yanked her against him, hard to unbearably soft. His other hand swept down the swell of her buttocks, pressing her tighter to his throbbing flesh.

  Stunned.

  From the moment he lurched toward her Anne was stunned to inaction. She didn’t expected this, had begun to think of him as less than the pirate he was. How very foolish of her. Now she couldn’t stop his onslaught. His arms were like iron bands, binding her, drawing her to him. And his hands were everywhere on her body.

  She wriggled but it did no good, tried to kick but his powerful legs seemed to surround her, tangling with her skirts and keeping her from squirming away.

  And his mouth. His lips seemed to shape hers, demanding that she move them in tempo with his. Anne tried to think what to do, but she couldn’t seem to focus. Her skin tingled and she felt an odd heavy sensation in her stomach. Her head was heavy and when his lips left hers to burn a path down her neck, she couldn’t seem to keep from swaying back, exposing more of her skin to the heat of his tongue.

  She felt drugged and euphoric.

  His golden head dipped lower, branding the rounded flesh above her bodice. He nipped, then soothed and Anne thought her knees would lose their power to hold her upright. His very breath, whispering across her moist skin entranced her. She was melting away, caught in a swirling eddy of she knew not what. Falling deeper and deeper until his words sliced through the fog.

  “This...” Jamie caught the laces of her gown between his teeth and tugged, “... ’tis what a pirate does to his women.”

  He was a pirate. No better than the one who’d come before him. Anne stiffened as memories of the other filled her mind. His foul scent, the bitter taste of blood as the press of his mouth split her lip.

  “Stop.”

  The word meant little to Jamie and wouldn’t have brought an abrupt halt to his ravaging of her breast if not for the accompanying bite of cold steel against his ribs. His hands dropped to his side and with an expression of disbelief on his face, he stepped back.

  She looked wild and wanton. Her dark hair flowed about her shoulders and the lips he found so fascinating from the start were rosy red and wet. If it weren’t for the knife poised in her hand Jamie would have lowered her to the sandy path and taken her on the spot.

  But the knife was there. And when he glanced down toward the burning on his side, he realized the crimson on the blade was his own blood. She’d sliced through his shirt and skin leaving a jagged tear that oozed and was beginning to hurt like hell.

  “Damn your eyes, woman! Look what you’ve done.”

  Anne held the knife higher as he stepped forward. “And I’ll do a lot worse if you dare touch me again.” Her jab, though striking nothing but air, brought him to a halt.

  His stare pierced through her as he sucked in air, then he shook his head and to Anne’s surprise began to laugh. “Good God, lass, you’re a strange one.” With one hand he balled up a section of shirt, bunching the cotton to his wound, attempting to staunch the flow of blood. He twisted to watch his own progress for a moment seemingly oblivious to Anne and the knife she held.

  But when he glanced back, his gaze riveting with hers, she knew he hadn’t forgotten her presence or the shameful way she acted.

  “ ’Tis some experience I’ve had in pleasing wenches, Mistress Anne. And by all accounts you seemed to be enjoying yourself mightily.”

  Anne lifted her chin, and tried to steady her hand. “I wonder how many other women have fooled you such.”

  “Fooled?”

  The arch of his brow made Anne grip the bone handle tighter. She swallowed. “I have no interest in your inflated ego or anything else about you other than your ability to defeat d’Porteau.”

  His grin revealed strong white teeth. “And I think it’s a liar you are. We both have an interest in the other that has nothing to do with that scoundrel d’Porteau. Who by the by, I have no intention of fighting.”

  “Are you afraid of him?” Anne’s own brows arched in question.

  Anger shot through his body, and Jamie opened his mouth to protest any cowardice on his part. But a certain light in her eyes gave him pause. He’d seen the same expression when she tricked him into having tea with her uncle. The woman might have the eyes of an angel but her mind ran as sharp as a charlatan’s.

  Now she stood waiting for his answer looking as innocent as you please despite the love-tousled state of her clothing and hair.

  She waited for him to angrily deny any fear. To even be willing to prove his bravery by doing her bidding. Well, the wind would blow ice and snow upon this tiny island before he would let her trick him again.

  “Afraid?” Jamie asked as if pondering the meaning of the word. “Well, I suppose it’s a foolish man who doesn’t fear the possibility of death.” Her crestfallen expression made him grin. “But it’s a man with no sense at all who risks death with no thought of reward. And,” he added, lifting his blood-smeared hand when she started to speak, “’tis not rewards of the spirit that interest me.�
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  “You are a rogue.”

  Jamie bowed despite the pain in his wound. “Captain Jamie MacQuaid, rogue, pirate, and blackguard, at your service... but not literally, of course.” Jamie gently pulled the sodden shirt from his side, scowling when he saw again the damage she did. Luckily the blade only pierced his skin. He didn’t think there was any harm done to his innards. But he wasn’t a man who enjoyed pain and he imagined Anne Cornwall would be remembered for some time as the woman who caused him considerable.

  Jamie turned, his boot heel digging into the sand, then glanced over his shoulder. “I assume ye aren’t one to stab a man in the back?”

  “No matter how despicable I find him?” He could almost believe she might if given the chance, but she shook her head. “You’re no good to me dead.”

  “I, Mistress Cornwall, shall be no good to you at all.” Deciding he’d seen the last of her Jamie started down the path, determined that nothing would stop him from quitting this island. But then she said the one thing that could.

  “I shall give you my jewels to capture d’Porteau for me.”

  Jamie stopped in his tracks, tossing a look over his shoulder that made her retreat a step. “Ye have jewels?”

  “Yes. A ruby brooch, and pearls. Also a diamond necklace and matching ear bobs.” She raised her chin. “They were my mother’s.”

  Turning abruptly Jamie retraced his steps. “What is to stop me from simply taking them from you? That’s what pirates do, you know.”

  “Do you think I haven’t thought of that?” Her arm was tiring from holding out the knife, and Anne decided it afforded her precious little protection if he chose to disarm her. Carefully, as Israel had taught her she re-sheathed the knife, fitting it through the slit in her skirt. When she looked up the pirate watched her, an amused expression on his face.

  “They are hidden,” Anne said, for she wished to return his attention to the matter at hand. “Where you shall never find them.”

  “I see.” Jamie stood a moment, arms akimbo looking first at her, then at the surrounding jungle.