Capture The Wind (7 page)

He looked up at Turk. “Have you seen Rollo?”

“Not in the past few hours. He is probably bunking with Mr. Buttons this evening. You know how he adores sweetmeats, and Mr. Buttons always has an ample supply after we take a ship.”

Kit laughed. “True. What a fickle soul Rollo has when it comes to any sort of honeyed treat. I suppose I’ll see him tomorrow morning when the treats are devoured and his belly is full.”

“Quite a plausible conclusion.” Turk swirled the brandy in his small goblet with a thoughtful intensity, then looked up again.

“So, Kit, where do you intend for the young ladies to spend their nights?” Turk watched him over the rim of his brandy snifter. The ship rolled gently on a wave, and the gimbaled lanterns swayed with the motion, shedding pools of light in shallow splashes on walls and windows.

Kit gave a resigned sigh. It was apparent Turk would not let the subject of the reluctant shipmates rest until he had an answer. “I have no idea. Are you interested?”

Frowning, Turk said, “Your levity is sadly lacking. No, I am not interested in the manner you obviously imply, merely curious. Your decision could have a detrimental effect on the ladies.”

“Or the crew.”

Turk’s brow lifted. “Perhaps not quite as detrimental for them. The men seem a bit more experienced at depravity.”

“But not humanity?” Kit smiled wryly. “Leaving our charming captives on deck would be a grave error, I fear.”

Turk grinned. “Exceedingly grave. There would be only bits and pieces left for aquatic life to devour by the time the crew had done.” He paused. “I understand that you gave the order they were not to be molested.”

“Yes.” Kit shifted impatiently, already regretting his momentary insanity in taking them aboard. He should have left them to the cruel mercies of Turnower. At least their deaths would not have been on his conscience. He took a sip of brandy to drown his irritation and said, “I suppose it’s not fair to ask Mr. Buttons to give up his cozy little cabin.”

“No, it is not.” Turk paused. “You seem quite drawn to the fair-haired miss. Have you considered sharing your berth with her?”

Because he had—for a fleeting instant—considered that very thing, it made him even more irritable, and not at all inclined to admit to such damnable weakness. He slammed his brandy to the tabletop and glared.

“Drawn—devil take you, Turk. Why do you say that?”

Shrugging, the huge quartermaster said placidly, “Because I noted the manner with which you regarded her while we were still aboard the unfortunate
Scrutiny.
Not many of the fair sex draw your rapt attention so swiftly.”

Kit cursed softly. “Bloody hell. Not many of the fair sex almost cripple me with their knee at first meeting, either.”

“True.” Turk smiled. “In my opinion, you have had matters in your favor much too long when it comes to women. Do you deny that the pretty English miss attracts you?”

Kit arched a brow. “Do I seem desperate for a woman?”

“Desperate in some respects, perhaps, but not for a woman.” Turk sipped his brandy, regarding Kit for a long moment of silence. “The lady is definitely attractive.”

Kit frowned into his snifter, then upended it and drained the last of his brandy. It seared a comforting path to his stomach, and he stood. “This time, my friend, you are quite wrong. I shall find the charming, inconvenient misses and inform them that my cabin is at their disposal for the night. Tomorrow, I will find them another bunk.”

“There will be plenty of offers from the crew.” Turk’s chest rumbled with subdued laughter. “I envision both those lovelies draped in hammocks in the forecastle. Perhaps a rather snug berth, but better than the watery berth Turnower intended to leave them. Although that fate would have left your conscience clear, I daresay.”

Kit paused at his door. There were times that Turk’s words eerily echoed his thoughts. Too often. He shot him a quick glance, but Turk’s innocuous expression gave no hint of his sentiments. He shoved open the door and stepped into the passageway without replying.

Night had fallen. Fitful rays of lantern light glinted from smooth, polished rails and brass fittings on the main deck. A brisk wind blew, filling the sails. Decks had been scoured with sand and holystones, cleared of any sign of battle. The crew was cheerful, as they usually were after a good haul, sitting under lanterns tossing dice and gaming away future shares of their profits.

“Cap’n,” a laughing voice called as he passed, “I bet I know who you’re looking for.”

Recognizing Dylan’s rich drawl, Kit paused. The youthful pirate stood up in a fluid motion, a half-grin on his face, his boyish features blurred in the subtle glow of a lightly swinging lantern. Gold flecks sparked his eyes.

Kit couldn’t help a returning smile. “I’m certain you do. I take it you’ve seen them loitering nearby.”

Youthfully muscular shoulders lifted in a careless shrug. “You might try looking aft. There’s a bit of lace peeking out from behind some barrels. I hated to say anything, ’cause they seemed to think they were well hid.”

Kit smothered a sigh. Not only females aboard the
Sea Tiger,
but idiotic females. “Just what I need,” he muttered.

Dylan stepped away from his comrades. Candle flame glinted in his long dark hair with reddish lights. He moved with lazy grace until he stood close enough not to be heard by the others. “Saber, these women—I hear that you gave the order they were not to be bothered.”

“That’s true.” Kit raised a brow and stared at him. “Do you have a problem with that order?”

Dylan shook his head. A torrent of sable hair brushed against his bare shoulders. He grinned. “Not me, Cap’n. They don’t look like the sort who’d know much about the finer points of what I’d want ’em for.”

Kit smiled faintly. “Probably not. They seem like the sort who would be more nuisances than pleasurable.”

“Are they to be held for ransom, then?”

“I haven’t yet decided their fates.” Kit paused. “It will be brought up at the next council.”

Dylan nodded. “That sounds fair. For us, anyway.” He laughed in tones as rich as the Colombian coffee plantation where he’d been born twenty-two years before. The illegitimate son of the English-born owner and one of his servants, Dylan had learned early that there would be little future for him there, and so had set out on the high seas to make his own. Having found little justice in life, he had few expectations. Over the years, this had jaded his views of the world, a perception Kit had tried at various times to alter with little success.

“I’ll see if there’s anything left of them,” Kit said now, ignoring Dylan’s implication. “If not, our problems are over.” Not that he really expected them to do the sensible thing and fling themselves overboard. The blonde had looked as if she intended to survive with a vengeance.

Kit found them huddled behind barrels strapped to the aft deck. They looked frightened and, in the pale light of the glassed-in lantern he lifted above them, wearier than he had anticipated. He bludgeoned his impatience into diplomacy.

“Come along, ladies. Your room is ready.”

A reedy voice said, “No. Not until you promise to—”

“Sweet Jesus. Do you know where you are? On a bloody pirate ship. I don’t have to promise you anything. Now come out from behind those barrels.”

After a moment of taut silence came the clear reply, “We’d rather stay here, thank you.”

They seemed to draw farther into the shadows, and he lost what little patience he could claim. “Come out,” he snapped. “Unless you have a desire to sleep on deck with most of the crew for the night. Not that you’d get much sleep . . .”

That brought their hesitation to a halt, and the blond came out first, straightening her damp, wilted hat with one hand while she bent to help the other woman crawl out.

“What do you intend to do with us?” the blonde asked when she turned back to him. Despite her obvious fear, her voice was cool. He had to admire that much, anyway. Apparently, the little chit had good breeding and excellent training, her brief lapse into brawling notwithstanding.

Out of a perverse desire to see her as uncomfortable as she’d made him earlier, he set the lantern on the roof of the coach house and leaned casually against the capstan. Light sprayed over them, illuminating one side of her face and leaving the other in shadow. He studied her with a silent intensity that he knew would be unnerving, letting his gaze rake over her as if measuring her feminine charms. She stared back, and he could see the spark of disquiet in eyes that looked—gray? No, green. Definitely green.

Oddly, despite her disheveled appearance, she would be considered an attractive woman once she was cleaned up a bit. His first impression of a winsome young chit barely out of the schoolroom altered slightly. Young, yes, but not as young as all that. She was slender, and slightly above average height, though it was hard to tell exactly how tall she was with the crumpled mess of her hat still clinging to her head. The stiffened muslin stuck up at an odd angle that made him want to jerk it off, and he reached out to pull the chin ribbon free.

The girl gave a startled little leap, like a frightened kitten, then stiffened. Heat flashed in her eyes, amusing him. So, the little cat still had some fight in her. Maybe the situation would afford him some entertainment, after all.

He yanked the ribbon and tossed her hat aside. The wind caught it and swept it over the rail. Catching her by the chin, he held her face up to the light, ignoring her rebellious glare. A tangled mass of pale hair that had been tortured into curls straggled about her face, partially masking a face with patrician features: straight, pert little nose, full lips that were set in an angry line, and murderous green eyes. He adjusted his grip slightly, still keeping her chin in the wedge of his thumb and fingers as he turned her face in a slow, deliberate motion, studying her at leisure and watching her anger mount. It was fascinating to see the flush of color rise and stain her high, delicate cheekbones and milky skin. Only Englishwomen seemed to have that particular coloring, as if they were exquisitely painted porcelain.

Intrigued, he stared at her longer than he’d intended to, dwelling on the vagaries of fate that imbued women with beauty on the outside and such deviant natures inside. Beautiful women should be outlawed, really, Kit decided. They should be penned on a desert isle, where they could do harm to no one but themselves. There were enough problems in the world, in his opinion, without men being distracted by willful, deceitful women.

He wondered just what it was in his face that made this lovely creature stare at him with eyes widening in fear.

“What do you intend to do with us?” she repeated in a voice that now vibrated with anxiety.

Kit released her chin. “I could toss you to my crew. None of us have been this close to a woman in the past few months.”

Her gasp diverted his attention to her open mouth. Lips the color and delicacy of a rose petal parted to draw in another deep breath. Intrigued, he watched as her teeth cut into her bottom lip to steady it. One front tooth was slightly crooked, and somehow, that made her appear more vulnerable. Her voice was surprisingly cool, if a bit shaky.

“But
 . . .
you wouldn’t do that, would you?”

“I might.” Kit didn’t bother to repeat his earlier assurances. Apparently, she hadn’t believed them anyway. When she panicked and tried to bolt past him, he pulled her up short. His fingers bit into her arm. “Don’t be foolish. There’s no place you can hide on a ship that we can’t find you.”

She struggled vainly. “Let go, you beastly fiend!”

Kit snorted. “If you allow this to degenerate into name calling, at least be more articulate.”

Held tightly, she looked up at him with huge, shadowed eyes. “Please
 . . .
” Her voice trailed into quivering silence that made his anger fade.

He felt a spurt of unaccustomed sympathy. Why he should, he had no idea. The women were a tempting problem aboard a ship full of healthy men accustomed to taking what they wanted. These two may not have realized it, but they were in much more danger here than they’d been aboard the burning
Scrutiny.
At least there, their fates had been certain and swift. Now
 . . .
he didn’t finish the thought.

His hand loosened slightly on her arm, and he saw her breath come more easily. She finally looked away from him, fastening her gaze downward, head bent so that he saw only the mass of falling curls atop her crown. Silky, flyaway hair slithered in wayward strands down the sides of her neck and over her cheeks. He resisted the urge to push it from her face, and instead reached out to touch her cheek. She looked up at him again, warily, as if about to take flight.

She was warm and soft, and he could feel the rapid thud of her heartbeat beneath the forearm he was still pressing against her ribcage. Kit frowned. It had been a deuced long time since he had held a warm female in his arms, and his body responded with predictable idiocy. He should let her go. This was no time for a little idle lust, for God’s sake.