A Pirate's Wife for Me (14 page)

Leaning over her, Taran took her arm. "Think of what it will be like to again face a situation where you might be killed. You'd panic again."

He made her want to slap him. "I didn't panic," she said tartly. "I did as Billy had instructed me. And while I am as afraid of death as the next
man
," – she taunted him with the word – "it was the loss of Billy that I mourned. I assure you, I have waited for this assignment. It proves that my time with Billy happened for a purpose, and that purpose was to teach me to pick a lock, rescue a nation — and avenge my brother. Tragedy has made me strong."

His expression and his stance didn't change, but Cate would have sworn he made a decision.

"My mother is waiting upstairs to show you the layout of the palace." He gestured toward the table. "Gather up your tools, Cate. I concede defeat."

She wanted to crow, and indeed, she couldn't restrain a single, large smile. Taking his hand, she shook it heartily. "You won't be sorry. I promise you that."

When she tried to withdraw her fingers, he clasped them a little closer, engulfing her in the warmth of his grip. "Yes, you are the company picklock."

"I'll do my job."

"Aye, I know." He released her at last, and in a voice that sounded quite different from his usual tone, he added, "May God have mercy on both of us, my dear. Fate has caught up with us at last." He walked away.

She watched him, and whispered, "No. It doesn't have to be so. If only you would agree to forget…"

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

On the third evening of her training,
Cate watched as, like a bantam rooster, Blowfish strutted across the candle-lit taproom. "Every time ye walk into a room" — he swung on her and pointed his finger in her face — "any room, ye look fer the weapons. Ye look fer the possible villains."

"I know."

"Oh, ye know, do ye?" He cracked his knuckles.

In the daylight, he dragged Cate up and down city streets while lecturing on likely escape routes and hiding places.

She was not a woman who took kindly to being lectured, nor was she a woman who enjoyed having her ignorance pointed out to her, especially when she prided herself on having had experience with the seamier side of life. But she listened intently, because she knew every time Blowfish taught her something new, she had a better chance of completing her mission alive and going on to another. She would not fail Kiernan … or herself.

In the evenings, Blowfish grudgingly allowed her to spend time with Sibeol, learning the layout of the palace.

Taran had remained conspicuously absent from all lessons. Men arrived, went up to his bedchamber, and held low-voiced consultations with him. Sometimes he summoned Blowfish or Quicksilver. But he didn't speak to Cate. He scarcely glanced at her.

Yet … he stalked her.

Not physically. Not at all. Still, he was aware of her in a way that made her skin prickle and her heart race. She dreamed of him at night, and looked for him by day.

They shared a secret she dared not allow him to reveal.

Knowing he was in her vicinity disturbed her in ways she refused to examine. On her treks through the city, she had found herself catching glimpses of Taran – but it was never Taran. It was some stranger with the same build, or the same hair color, who never even glanced at her. Her own irrational behavior worried her; why should she see Taran everywhere when in real life she prayed never to see him again?

When she went to bed at night, before she took the precaution of placing the rope ladder by the window, she locked the door and shoved a chair beneath the handle.

"What do ye do if someone grabs ye like" – Blowfish snatched her arm and wrenched it around to her back – "this?"

Giving a cry, she struggled against his hold. "Ouch! That hurts. Ouch, ouch, let go!"

The pirates gathered around the perimeter to enjoy the spectacle. Quicksilver leaned against the wall, an elegant figure in a pirate's rough clothing. Dead Bob sat at a small round table, drinking an ale, his mouth a straight line. Maccus and Italy desultorily tossed the dice, while Lilbit rocked from toe to heel in a constant motion. Even Mr. Cleary stopped to watch.

So she resolved to provide them with a spectacle.

"What have I taught ye to do now?" Blowfish demanded. "Think, woman! Use the weapons available to ye. What should ye do?"

She sniffled. "I don't know what to do. I'm just a girl."

Blowfish sighed mightily. "'Ere in Mr. Cleary's fine establishment, what could ye use fer a weapon?"

Cate sniffled again. "The fireplace poker, a burning brand … my arm hurts, Blowfish, please won't you let me go? The bottles behind the bar." She'd learned so much. Today the ship that ferried goods and people back and forth to Cenorina had docked. Tomorrow she would be on it, and soon, so soon, Kiernan would be avenged.

She squirmed in Blowfish's hold. A lock of her hair shook loose from its chignon. She shook it, for she knew the strand would catch the firelight, and shine, and distract them. "Ow, ow, it really hurts –"

Blowfish let her go. Leaning his hand on the table, he said, "Blast, woman, ye've got to stop whining, else no one will take ye seriously."

She pounced on the silverware, snatched up a fork, and stabbed it right between his spread fingers.

He yelped and leaped away.

Coolly she looked into his eyes. "A woman's weak tears make a man underestimate her, and a fork makes a fine weapon."

The silence in the taproom was awesome.

Then the pirates fell on each other with laughter.

For one moment, she observed a flash of hardnosed rage in Blowfish's features.

And it was gone.

He chuckled. "All right," he said. "I deserved that."

She looked at him more carefully. He seemed the genial sailor he'd always been with her, but that expression … was that the pirate who had survived so many years at sea?

"Ye're a crafty lass, and ye'll do fine in a fight, except fer one thing."

She glanced around at the men she thought of as her friends. Beneath their welcoming exteriors, did they all hide a pitiless streak that made them pirates feared throughout the world?

He snapped his fingers under her nose. "Pay attention!"

She blinked at him. "What?"

"Ye'll never really 'arm a soul."

She could scarcely sputter from indignation.
"What?"

"Have ye ever, in yer whole life, ever really 'armed anything? Shot a deer? Skinned a bunny?"

How had he guessed? She hated hunting, and on butchering day, she worked hard in the garden, and plugged her ears when the pig squealed.
"Caught a fish?" Blowfish asked hopefully.

The men quieted as they listened to the argument.

She folded her arms and lifted her chin. "I shot your Cap'n!"

"She did that," Quicksilver defended her.

Blowfish cast him a scornful glance and retorted, "With clear intent to do no harm."

Lilbit chewed his lower lip. "In the mission, she's not supposed to have to hurt anybody, is she?"

Dead Bob clouted Lilbit to the side of the head.

"Wha … at?" Lilbit sputtered.

Dead Bob nodded at Mr. Cleary, who watched them wide-eyed and fascinated.

"Oh." Lilbit rubbed his ear. "I forgot."

"He's going to forget us into a trap," Blowfish muttered to Cate.

"Me?" Mr. Cleary pointed to his barrel chest. "I don't tell anyone anything!"

Quicksilver rose, his gentlemanly upbringing evident in the way he moved and in every word he spoke. "Mr. Cleary, let me assist you with clearing the boards. Lilbit, Mucus, give us a hand."

Within minutes, the pirates had hustled Mr. Cleary and his crockery out of the taproom and into the kitchen.

Troubled, Cate asked, "Isn't he trustworthy?"

"He is. He can be trusted to accept any bribe." Blowfish tossed his arm over Cate's shoulder. "A man who always behaves the same way, even a bad way, is trustworthy in his way. Right?"
"I suppose." She'd never thought of it that way.

"Lass, do ye know there's evil in the world?"

"Yes." She'd seen evil in the slums of Edinburgh. The killers, the whores, the pimps. But she'd seen evil among Edinburgh's finest society, too. The women who ignored their children. The men who beat their wives. The people who murdered and betrayed their country for a sack of gold. "I recognize evil when I see it."

"If ye knew ye would save a 'undred lives by ending one, would ye do it?"

She struggled with the answer. "Nay. For what if I judged badly, and that person was the one who could save a hundred lives?"

"Soft," Blowfish scoffed.

In the dark of the night after she'd heard the news about Kiernan, she had sworn this vow that whoever had caused his death would pay. "I will do everything possible to incarcerate the villain."

"Incarcerate? That's a mighty fancy word fer
no."

"It's not
no,
it's … well, it is
no.
But I'll still be a good spy." She hated to disappoint Blowfish. "I'm sorry."

Blowfish gave her a squeeze before he let her go. "Don't be sorry, lass! Most people would as soon whack ye as look at ye. But ye – ye're a good woman, so ye've got to be extra prepared. When ye meet with the evil ones, cry and pretend to be weak, if that'll disarm 'em. Then kick 'em in the nuts. Lock 'em in a closet. Gag 'em. Knock 'em out. Most times, the important thing is timing, and if ye ruin their timing, they'll get what's coming to 'em somehow. Now" – he grinned wickedly, showing his missing tooth – "we got the final test before ye go off to do yer dooty fer God and country."

She didn't like the way the men gathered around her in a circle. Quicksilver, Maccus and Lilbit had returned. Everyone was
leering
.

"What?" she asked.

"Ah, she sounds suspicious, don't she, me hearties?" Blowfish walked around her, looking her over. "D'ye think she'll struggle? Shall we tie 'er arms to 'er side?"

"It's all right, Miss MacLean. I survived with scarcely a scratch." Lilbit towered over the others, and he looked as if he wanted to laugh.

Surely that was a good thing. Surely torture wouldn't make Lilbit merry.

But they
were
pirates.

"I'm sorry, Miss MacLean." Quicksilver's melodious tones rang heavy with regret. "I tried to talk them out of it, but it's a pirate custom that can't be ignored."

Was she supposed to fight them?
All?

She assumed a battle-ready position. Balanced on the balls of her feet. Hands relaxed and free of any encumbrance.

They'd cleared the table. The bottles, good for smashing and slashing, were at the bar. She had her knife in her pocket, but that would help her for about one second.

Expressionless, Dead Bob stood, his arms crossed over his chest. "If grown men can survive this, Miss MacLean, you can, too."

Her heart beat in her throat. Were they going to brand her? Beat her?

Blowfish backed toward the bar. "If ye're going to be one of us, ye'll have to do this."

"Cap'n said we could do it," Maccus said. "An' a fellow Scot like yerself'll have no trooble showing them yer mettle."

"The Cap'n knows about this?" Cate would make sure the Cap'n paid for not warning her.

"Only lost one sailor in all the days we've been doing this rit-oo-al," Blowfish reassured her. "He couldn't … dance."

"What?"

Blowfish pulled a squeezebox out from under the bar, and it gave a squall. "What do ye say to a party?"

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Cate stared at the accordion,
at Blowfish, at the grinning circle of pirates. Lilbit shoved his dice in his pocket and danced a jig. Quicksilver bowed as elegantly as any gentleman in a ball. Dead Bob folded his arms over his chest and without a twitch of a smile gave the impression of happiness. Maccus joined Blowfish at the bar and brought forth a violin.

"A party?" Cate's smile quivered. "Really?"

"We couldn't allow our best girl to go beard the lion in his den without a proper send-off," Blowfish said.

"You are a dear, dear man, my favorite pirate ever." Overwhelmed by a wave of affection, Cate kissed his whiskered cheek.

Blowfish's dark cheeks turned darker. Putting his hands on her shoulders, he put her away. "Enough of that. We've got some dancing to do."

Blowfish and Maccus tuned up while the men formed two rows facing each other. Quicksilver bowed, took her hand, and led her to the top of a line. In an undertone, he said, "The dance isn't difficult. In fact, it's not even arranged. Do your best country dance with the occasional spin and everyone'll be pleased."

The music started, a jig with a lively rhythm, and Cate observed as the first two pirates pranced along. One of them lifted his legs high, skipping like a schoolboy. The other kept the rhythm with a combination of taps with his heels and toes. Everyone clapped in time to the music, so Cate clapped too, and laughed to see the fearsome pirates frolicking like children. Two by two they danced past her, each of the men she'd come to know this past week.