My Seaswept Heart Page 7

  “Ye had schoolin’?”

  “Some,” Anne answered truthfully. “But it weren’t for me.”

  “Yea, I know.” Joe lifted his head toward the scatter of stars overhead. “This be the life for me, too. No one ta be tellin’ ye to do this or that. Plenty ta eat.” His tone changed. “And no booted toe kickin’ at ye.”

  “Booted toe?” Anne sat up straighter, but in the light of the dripping candles stuck into the timbers, she could see the guarded expression on Joe’s face.

  He laughed again, that short gruff sound she’d learned to recognize after spending most of the day in his company. “Me old man was quick with a kick.”

  “Your father kicked you?”

  “Not more’n I could handle,” Joe said with a bravado thin enough to shatter. He stuck his chin out. “Don’t need to worry ’bout him none. Left ’em soon as I got me the chance.”

  “I’m glad.” Anne took another drink from her cracked cup. The liquid, strong as it was, did little to wash away the foul taste of Joe’s story. She knew there were evil people, of course. Willet d’Porteau and his crew. Jamie MacQuaid might fit into that mold, too, but a father? That was too frightening to imagine. Her own had been as kind and gentle as his brother, Richard. Like her guardian, Henry was a scholar, a man who read and explained and lived for his books. He had never spoken a harsh word to her let alone physically harmed her.

  “Won’t find much ’a that on the Lost Cause, though.”

  “Much of what, beatings?” Anne’s thoughts had been yanked to the painful day she learned her parents had perished at sea, so it took her a moment to realize what the boy meant.

  “Aye.” Joe drained his cup. “Cap’n Jamie don’t hold with none.”

  “’Tis good to hear.”

  Joe nodded, then twisted his head toward the sailors who sprawled near the main mast. They sang a song Anne didn’t recognize and could barely understand. But it was loud and judging from the accompaniment of snickers and guffaws, bawdy. Catching only the occasional word was enough to pinken Anne’s cheeks despite what she’d gotten used to from Israel.

  When Joe looked back at Anne he scrunched up and leaned his bony elbows on equally bony knees. “Being more experienced and all I think I should warn ye.”

  “About what?”

  “Some a’ them ain’t as kindhearted as the cap’n.”

  Kindhearted? She hardly thought that a fair description of Jamie MacQuaid, but since Joe seemed so sincere about his advice she kept her council and shifted to hear him better.

  His voice dropped to a whisper even though there was no one within hearing distance. “Stay clear ’a Stymie.”

  “Stymie?” She’d heard that name before. “What does he do?”

  Joe pulled back as if his father had caught up with him and delivered one of his kicks. “Just stay clear.” He looked at her, his eyes narrowed and Anne wondered if he could see beyond her disguise. And if he did what she would do. But he only shrugged before settling back, his head pillowed by the rope.

  “He ain’t likely to fancy ye none as dirty as ye be.”

  Dirty? Anne’s gaze skimmed over the group, none of whom appeared much cleaner than she and felt a pang of resentment. Which was quickly squelched. Heaven knew she didn’t want any of the pirates to fancy her anyway. And staying away from all of them was her plan.

  A plan that over the next few days proved difficult.

  The Lost Cause was a single-masted sloop, sharp of hull and swift of sail... and crowded. There was hardly a square rod of unused space, and the men who sailed her seemed forever falling over one another. Anne would turn around and there would be one of the pirates lounging about on the deck, feet propped on a stack of canvas. And belowdecks was worse. There was little room, no privacy and keeping her gender a secret was a problem.

  Joe was always about. For all his rough ways he was a pleasant companion, but Anne ached to yank off her cap and give her hair a good washing. But washing didn’t seem to be of prime concern to anyone on board.

  Nor was straightening or keeping the ship’s decks in order. Anne was filling the fire buckets, one of the few tasks she’d been given, when she turned to stare into the pockmarked face of the man Joe warned her about. He startled her so that she jerked, spilling briny water down the side of her breeches and splattering his.

  With a movement so quick she couldn’t avoid him the pirate grabbed her arm. “Watch what you’re about, boy, else you’ll be feelin’ the rough of me palm across your bottom.”

  The voice. Anne recognized it instantly as belonging to the man who’d grabbed her in the tavern on New Providence. It had been so dark and she was single-mindedly searching for Captain MacQuaid that she didn’t get a good look at him. But she knew him now from the distinctive timbre and sneer of his words.

  And she wondered if he would have the same epiphany of recognition. Sweat streamed down her shoulders pooling in the small of her back before soaking into her woolen pants. The jacket she wore to disguise her form only made her hotter as it seemed to attract the Caribbean sun and trap the heat against her skin.

  He leaned forward, narrowing his eyes and baring his yellow-stained teeth and Anne forced her voice as low as she could.

  “Sorry, sir,” she managed, not faking the quiver of fear in her voice.

  “Sorry, is ye?” His fingers tightened. “Well now mayhap you’d like ta feel me hand on yer backside.”

  “Nay.” Wriggling was useless but Anne couldn’t help trying. His smell, his touch, everything about him was making her nauseous.

  “Spunk,” he said, his free hand latching onto her other arm. “I like that in me boys.” With one violent shake he stilled Anne’s struggles. Her neck jerked back and she stared up at him, her eyes wide. “What’s yer name, boy? I ain’t seen ye before.”

  Anne tried to swallow but her mouth felt as if it were filled with sand, and that feeling, too familiar since d’Porteau’s raid was making her stomach churn. “Andy,” she finally managed to mumble.

  “Well, Andy, is it.” Stymie licked his thick lips and his hands worked up and down Anne’s sleeves. “Looks like ye and me needs to get better—”

  “Stymie!”

  The word cracked like a whip across the windswept deck. Anne twisted her head to see the captain standing less than a rod away. His feet were spread and his arms were crossed. And his face, darkened by whiskers, was stern. Beside him, his expression one of worry, was Joe.

  It took Stymie longer to acknowledge the call, though his hands stopped their crawling. His lips spread in a sneer and he flexed his shoulders as his fingers loosened. Then slowly, he turned to face Jamie MacQuaid.

  “What ye be wantin’, Cap’n?”

  Anne didn’t think she’d ever heard the title spoken with more disdain. The two men stared at each other and Anne could almost feel the hatred ricocheting between them. She stumbled back a step, tripping over the fire bucket. It tipped over, spilling water that soaked quickly into the wide plank deck. Neither man seemed to notice.

  Jamie took his measure of Stymie, wishing he could simply leap over the barrel separating them and grind his fist into the curled lip and evil pig eyes. To have it out once and for all was what he wanted. But there were too many who sided with Stymie, too many who waited for something just like this to start a bloody brawl. And damnit, if that happened, Jamie couldn’t be sure who would end up captain.

  So he forced himself to grin. “Just wondering if ye plan to help with the mainmast. Winds picking up.”

  “Ye given me an order, Cap’n?”

  “Aye.” Jamie kept his expression pleasant though his stare didn’t waver. “As I recall ’twas issued a bit ago.”

  For what seemed minutes Stymie said nothing. The only sounds were the winds stretching the canvas taut. Then he shook his head, spilling clumped hair over his shoulder. “Well now, Cap’n, I do recall ye sayin’ something ’bout that sail.” He flexed his shoulders. “’Course that was before this boy h
ere spilt seawater all over me.” He flashed a look around at Anne. “Oughta do something ’bout that, Cap’n.”

  Jamie just nodded, which could have meant he would or simply that he heard the complaint. He wasn’t about to elaborate. Especially when Stymie ambled past him, close enough so that he could smell his foul odor. But he headed for the shrouds, swinging into them without a backward glance.

  “He isn’t going to leave it be, Cap’n.”

  “I think you’re right about that, Keena.” Jamie turned to smile at his head gunner, not surprised to see him standing slightly behind him, Deacon at his shoulder.

  “What are you planning to do about him?”

  “I haven’t a clue.” Looking back, Jamie touched Joe’s shoulder. “You did good to come to me.”

  “Aye, Cap’n.” Joe nearly beamed, then hastily grabbed up his own bucket and scurried away when Jamie motioned for him to get back to work.

  “You’re not going to hold him off forever, Cap’n.” Deacon squinted his good eye toward the sails. “You know the talk among the men same as I do.”

  “’Tis nothing but a lot of wind.”

  The eye fixed on Jamie. “If you believed that Stymie’d be nursing a cutlass wound by now instead of frolicking over the sails.”

  “His being up in the shrouds proves he isn’t ready to make his move.” Jamie fumed and headed for the hatch. They already discussed this every way but under and he knew how Deacon and Keena felt. Hell, it was the same as him. But that didn’t mean there was a thing he could do about it now.

  “Remember what I said about watching your back.”

  Jamie paused when he heard Keena, then went below.

  ~ ~ ~

  He wanted to see her.

  Anne leaned back against the bulwark and tried to calm her breathing. What in heaven’s name did Captain MacQuaid want with Andy? She settled the rope-handled bucket on the decking and tried to think it through.

  Joe had come over to her minutes before while she sat in her little wedge of space eating some god-awful concoction that one of the pirates had served up. At first she swore she couldn’t gag down a bite of the vessel’s fare, but after a few days hunger won out and she was actually wolfing it down.

  She’d stopped chewing when Joe spoke.

  “Who wants to see me?”

  “Cap’n MacQuaid. He said I should find ye and send ye down to his cabin.”

  She swallowed. “Why?”

  “Didn’t say.” Joe filched a bite of meat from her trencher. “But I wouldn’t dawdle.”

  So she’d passed her plate to Joe and crawled out of her corner. When she was near the hatch Joe yelled that she was to take a bucket of water with her.

  So here she stood... wondering.

  Had he recognized her?

  Though that seemed as likely a reason as any, Anne didn’t think he would wait this long to call her down if he had. And she hadn’t seen him since the incident with Stymie this morning.

  Anne crossed her arms, hugging herself around the middle. Just thinking of that dreadful Stymie gave her gooseflesh. Oh, why couldn’t they find d’Porteau?

  But that didn’t solve her immediate problem. She would just have to keep the hat low and hope the captain saw what he wanted to see.

  Anne tugged the knit brim over her forehead and picked up the bucket. Her first knock was tentative and obviously couldn’t be heard over the singing inside. It was a tune she didn’t know and different from anything she’d heard before on the ship. The words were lyrical, and hauntingly sad. And they were sung in a rich, deep voice that held her entranced. Anne listened, her fisted hand raised to knock again, but unwilling to break the spell by pounding harder. And then she realized what she was doing and hit the paneled wood with as much force as she could.

  The song stopped and the pirate captain growled “What?” with such annoyance that she almost dropped the bucket and ran.

  Instead she swallowed and spoke as low as she could. “’Tis Andy, Captain.”

  “Come on then,” came the command and slumping her shoulders Anne lifted the latch and pushed open the door. She didn’t see him at first, but when she did, Anne’s mouth gaped open.

  The captain was naked as the day he was born.

  Chapter Five

  “Ah good, lad, you’ve brought more water.” Jamie scrunched around trying to get comfortable in the small, curved tub. It was a tight squeeze and his chin nearly rested on his jutting knees. “Pour it on me if you’d be so kind, Master Andy. I might as well be takin’ a bath in a puddle as trying to clean up in this wee bit of water.”

  The heavy rope bit into her curled fingers as Anne shifted from one foot to the other. “You want me to...” Anne realized her voice was even higher than usual and paused to clear her throat.

  The captain didn’t seem to notice anything but the lack of speed with which “Andy” obeyed his command. “Come on now, boy, I’ve a need to rinse the soap away.”

  He was right about that. Anne could smell the strong scent of lye and his wide, sun-bronzed shoulders were covered with a film of flaky dried bubbles. But to pour the contents of the pail over him would mean moving closer to him. As it was, though, she could imagine he wore nothing below the waist and since he was folded into the tub, she couldn’t exactly see anything.

  Other than his naked chest, that was. But then with his penchant of going about barely clothed, with no jacket and his shirt blowing open in the wind, she’d seen that much of him before. Which she would just as soon not, Anne reminded herself. Though she seemed to have a difficult time keeping her gaze from straying to the broad expanse of hair-covered skin whenever she saw him. As always it intrigued her how the hair on his head was so much lighter than that on his chin and chest. The triangle of curls that arrowed down below the rim of the tub seemed almost coppery when wet. The—

  “Hell and damnation, lad. Pour the water.”

  The growled order jolted Anne from her deep contemplation of his body. She jerked the bucket up and advanced on him, determined to do this thing and be gone. The last thing she noticed before she hefted the bucket was the look of astonishment that crossed his face.

  And then she upended the pail, splashing seawater down over his head.

  “What the—” Cold, salty liquid spewed over his face, stinging his eyes and riveting down his cheeks. Jamie sputtered and spat, knuckling his eyelids, and shaking his head so that diamond droplets of water flew in all directions.

  Too shocked by his reaction to do more than stand her ground, Anne’s clothing absorbed a splattering of water. When he squinted up at her she returned his stare, then realizing her mistake lowered her lashes.

  “Is it your desire to drown me, lad?” Jamie shivered, then wiped at his face again. “And would it have hurt ye to warn me that the water was cold?”

  “I... No one told me...” Anne began but now that she thought back on Joe’s instructions, he’d said to fetch a pail of heated water from the galley. Apparently she’d been so overwrought by the summons to the captain’s cabin that she forgot that small part of the order.

  Thinking that Joe might join her on the receiving end of the captain’s wrath, Anne cleared her throat. “Mayhap heating the water was mentioned.”

  “Well, that be a relief to know.” Jamie forked his fingers back through his hair, skimming it away from his face. “Hand me that towel yonder,” he said, still blinking his eyes against the salt water.

  “The towel?” Anne felt like an idiot for repeating his words but now that she was close to the tub most of his secrets were revealed. And she couldn’t seem to keep her eyes off him. Water lapped around his hips, swirled about the tight dark curls between his muscular thighs and floated an odd mushroom-shaped appendage. At least she assumed it was an appendage. Whatever, she’d never seen such a thing before and was busy watching it bob and sway among the soap bubbles when he surprised her by pushing to his feet.

  It was attached all right. Now it hung thick and long betw
een his legs, and Anne realized what it must be. She also realized she was a lot closer to him than she should be. He might have trouble seeing with the salt stinging his eyes, but after grabbing the linen towel himself he was busy scrubbing it over his face.

  While she could, Anne backed up to the door, pressing her spine against the splintery wood.

  After rubbing his face and hair, the pirate wrapped the scrap of fabric about his narrow waist, then turned to face her. She couldn’t tell whether he planned to chastise her or laugh. Then his lips twitched and it was an amused chuckle that she heard. “Well, I suppose that rinsed me off as well as anything.” He padded toward a small looking glass nailed to a timber by the windows, leaving-watery footprints as he went.

  As he studied his face in the glass, angling it first one way, then another, Anne took a good look at his cabin. It was as messy and unorganized as the rest of the ship. Clothes, and boots, books and rolled charts were everywhere: on the decking, piled on the one chair and covering the desk so that she couldn’t tell for certain if the piece of furniture truly did serve that purpose.

  The room was as unkempt as the captain.

  That thought made her eyes roam toward him. He stood now, his back toward her, hands fisted on narrow hips, his legs spread. Only the water-soaked piece of fabric covered him, and that molded to him as if a second skin. Anne forced her gaze higher, trying to keep her mind on how disheveled he was. His hair hung in burnished-gold clumps over his shoulders, all attempts at keeping the wavy locks in a queue gone.

  He turned then, his whiskered jaw jutting out. “I think I could use a shave. Have ye ever given one?”

  “Me?” Her voice was little more than a squeak. “Nay.” Anne shook her head violently.

  The captain shrugged those wide shoulders, the motion slipping the precarious tuck of toweling. “’Twas just a thought.” Retracing his steps to the tub he bent over, fishing in the water until he pulled out a congealed slime of soap. Grinning as if it were a hunk of gold he rubbed it between his hands and then worked the lather into his whiskers.