Caught by Surprise (21 page)

After Natty’s departure, Brig walked into the cottage and stood with his hands on his hips. The silence was unnerving. The loneliness inside him accentuated it.

“You little fighter,” he muttered. “You’re just tiyin’ to make me more miserable than I already am.”

But in his heart he knew that wasn’t the reason she hadn’t waited in Birmingham. Brig sat down on her couch and wearily rubbed his temples. He wanted to kick himself every time he replayed the things he’d said to her at the hospital. They might have been true, but he shouldn’t have taken his grief out on her when she lay in bed looking battered and helpless.

He’d made her feel like some sort of freak. He had seen the humiliation in her eyes. Despite all the times he’d insisted that he loved her just the way she was, he had raged at her. In a sense, they had both broken promises.

Whether she needed him or not, whether she’d gone against her word or not, he loved her and was proud of her heroics in Birmingham. His love and pride had been buried under layers of shock, he realized now, and he’d been furious that she’d scared him so badly. In revenge, he’d accomplished what no other man in the world could—he’d sent her into full retreat.

The fragrance of jasmine came to him suddenly. Brig knew there were jasmine vines outside the cottage, but he also remembered that Melisande St. Serpris had written that she always wore jasmine, her favorite perfume. He chuckled dryly. “Well, Melisande, glad you came to visit me. What should I do about your great-great-great-granddaughter?”

Her photocopied diary lay on the coffee table. Brig picked it up and thumbed idly through the pages. “ ‘Jacques finally understood that I could give him strength, pride and a spirit to equal his own,’ ” Brig read. “ ‘Those very qualities, which caused us such annoyance with each other, eventually became the things we shared most. We spent the early days of our courtship, if one could call those seafaring adventures by
such a civilized name, struggling to learn which of us held the most power. To our great relief, we finally agreed that it was unimportant. He had kidnapped me, but I had captured him.’ ”

Still reading the diary, Brig walked outside. “
Strewth
!” he said suddenly, and slapped the manuscript closed. “I’ve got it!” He started back to the house. His attention was diverted by the delicate greenery of a jasmine plant growing by the edge of the porch.

Brig walked over and studied it carefully. It bore no flowers, and when he inhaled, he smelled nothing but hot summer air.

“How about that, Granny Melisande,” he said softly. “Thanks for the help.”

Millie rested her arms on the porch railing and watched sunlight shimmer on the ocean. Key West, land of Hemingway and aging hippies, was a windswept paradise for castaways. She felt morosely at home.

Dinah walked out onto the porch and settled into a rocking chair. “The Coast Guard could use you,” Dinah noted. “To replace surveillance ships and radar.”

Smiling pensively, Millie leaned back in her chair and sighed. “I guess I’ve spent a lot of time sitting here during the past two days.”

“Hmmm. Rucker says if he put a lantern in your hand he’d turn you into a lighthouse.”

“A very
short
lighthouse.”

“Why don’t you go for a walk on the beach?”

Millie nodded, then stood up and stretched. “Want to come along?”

“No, Rucker’s taking a nap, and I might join him.”

Millie immediately sensed that her absence would be welcomed. The house was charming, but the floors creaked with every footstep and the walls might as well have been made of paper. “I’ll take a
long
walk,” she offered.

Dinah smiled. “Smart girl.”

Millie slipped her hands into the oversized pockets of her blue-striped sundress and started to walk to Key West’s only real beach, a man-made one. When she finally reached the brownish sand strip, she walked down to the surf and let the cool, foamy water rush up to her ankles.

What was Brig doing now, and what did he think of her decision to avoid him? She wanted to give him an easy way out. No regrets, no long good-byes, just a clean break. Men liked things that way.

She had thought that this way would be less painful for her too. But she was wrong. Neither her pride nor her noble resolutions could quiet the tormenting inner voice that said she’d never find another man like Brig.

Sometimes the urge to see him was almost more than she could bear. She wanted to swear to him that she could change, that she would change. She’d become a shorter version of Natty Brannigan—Natty was tough and shrewd, but she hid those qualities under a beguiling facade of helplessness.

But Millie glumly acknowledged that she’d be deceiving both herself and Brig if she acted like Natty, and Brig was too savvy to be deceived for very long. Disappointment would turn into new anger, and that would slowly destroy what was left of the wonderful bond between them.

She let the tears come and walked faster, barely seeing the tiny seashells and white sand that passed beneath her feet. For several minutes she forced herself to imagine the worst possible scenario for her future. Alone, lonely, an outsider. Her brother’s raucous teasing would become gentle as their respect turned to concern. Just as Brig had once predicted.

So be it. Brig was the only man she wanted, and for a brief time she’d had him. The memories would have to be enough. Swallowing hard and gulping back more tears, Millie scrubbed a hand across her eyes as she
trudged along. She glanced out at the ocean and halted, astonished.

Only a few hundred yards offshore, a nineteenth century sailing ship rode the ocean like a magnificent ghost.

It was a classic reproduction, not a ghost ship, she realized after a second. It resembled one of the ships that had sailed into New York harbor during the Statue of Liberty celebrations. Her dull reverie disappeared temporarily as she studied the graceful schooner. Wind ruffled the sails on its two tall masts, and she could see crew members moving about on deck.

Millie sat down and watched the beautiful ship for nearly an hour. Feeling charmed and oddly at peace, she went back to the house.

“I’m back,” Millie called diplomatically, as she walked down a cool, dark hallway to the kitchen. She heard the sound of the upstairs shower and decided she’d timed her walk well. Sighing with envy, she got a soft drink from the refrigerator and reached into a cabinet for a glass.

The front screened door slapped open as if it were being torn from its hinges. Millie swung around, her heart jumping, and stared down the hallway in utter shock as four sword-bearing pirates burst into the house.

Pirates?

They were barechested, though wide crossbelts were slung across their shoulders. They wore only loose knee britches and rough leather shoes in the style of moccasins. Two of them had bright bandanas tied around their heads. One carried a coarse blue blanket.

“Be you Melisande?” the leader said in a hearty English accent.

The situation was so absurd that she blurted back, “Aye. And who be you, you scurvy sea dog?”

“No back talk. Cap’n McKay
said
you’d try a man’s patience!” He gestured for his companions to come forward. “Let’s go, men!”

Millie was so stunned at the name,
Cap’n McKay
, that she didn’t react quickly enough when they pounced on her. She tried to dodge, but they threw the blue blanket around her body and pulled it snug, pinning her arms down. Two of the men picked her up.

“Caught like a fish in a net!” the lead pirate chortled. “Go quiet, wench.”

“Like hell I will!” Kicking, wiggling, she fought them all the way down the hall. Millie flung her head back and saw Dinah and Rucker, both wearing robes, watching her from the top of the stairs. Dinah looked uncertain, but Rucker looked grandly amused. “Dinah! Rucker! What is this all about?”

“It was Brig’s idea,” Dinah told her.

The lead pirate waved his sword at Rucker menacingly. “Give us the wench’s belongings.”

Rucker reached down, picked up her already-packed suitcase, and tossed it to the man. “Have fun, Miss Hunstomper,” he drawled cheerfully.

Speechless, Millie quit fighting and lay still, squinting in the bright afternoon sun as the men carried her to the beach. Once there, they put her in a small row-boat, climbed in, and started toward the schooner.

“Where are you from?” Millie demanded. “Did Brig rent you?”

“Quiet, wench.”

“I want some answers!”

Instead she got a bandana stuffed in her mouth. Mumbling darkly around the improvised silencer, Millie drummed her heels on the boat’s bottom.

When they reached the schooner one of the bigger pirates balanced her on his shoulder and climbed up a rope ladder to the deck. With the lead pirate following, he carried her below deck and pushed open a small door.

Millie gazed around at a modem galley with an electric stove. They set her on a formica-topped dining table and turned her loose. When they pulled the gag from her mouth she said, “Hmmmph. What are you going to do—threaten me with an egg whisk?”

“Get dressed, wench. I’ll be back in ten minutes,” the leader ordered. He pointed to a heap of green silk on a nearby chair. After the men left, Millie went to the chair and gathered a gorgeous, floor-length gown into her hands.

“Brig, why are you doing this to me?” she whispered wretchedly. Despite her distress, excitement hummed through her veins.
Kidnapped. She’d been kidnapped. Just like her ancestor
. She didn’t understand Brig’s plan, but suddenly it didn’t matter.

Melisande was going to be more than a match for him.

What would a pirate captain do while waiting for a beautiful captive to be brought to his cabin?
Act relaxed
, that’s what, Brig decided. He glanced around the sumptuou’s captain’s quarters and picked out a richly upholstered chaise lounge.

He grabbed a pewter goblet full of wine and lay down on his side, propped one elbow on the lounge’s rolled headrest and drew one knee up. Perfect.

Someone knocked at the door. Brig cleared his throat. “Bring her in,” he ordered in a stern voice.

The heavy wooden door swung open. Brig’s chest tightened with longing as Millie stepped inside—or rather, was pushed inside by a burly man. She’s a
little princess
, he thought. The people at the costume rental service had warned that the green gown was seductive, but no one had warned that Millie would hypnotize him.

The low-cut neckline and tight bodice showcased her full breasts and small waist. Her arms were extraordinarily graceful in snug sleeves accented by white lace at the wrists. Her hair, curly and disheveled, gave her the appearance of having recently been tumbled in bed. And her eyes were large and vibrant as she glared at him.

“Have fun with her, Cap’n,” her escort said drolly.

“Aye. That I will.”

The man left, pulling the door shut behind him. Now that she was alone with Brig, Millie clasped her hands in front of her and arched one brow. “I just want you to know that—”

“You’ve got no say here, woman.” Brig tossed back the pewter goblet and swallowed his wine. He got up languidly. “Just do as you’re told.” His voice became wicked. “I’ll tell you when to open your pretty little mouth and what to use it for.”

Millie sniffed in disdain but kept quiet—she needed to catch her breath. She was stunned by the sight of Brig. He wore a billowing white shirt with a deep V neck that revealed an inviting swatch of dark hair on his muscular chest. The shirt was tucked into snug, camel-colored knee britches which clung to his thighs and the masculine territory between them. Black leather boots completed the impression that he was a successful pirate captain. Successful and outrageously provocative.

He strolled toward her, his eyes riveted to hers, and she couldn’t determine from their expression whether he was angry or amused. He played this amazing part so well. He stopped in front of her, his shirt nearly brushing her bodice.

“This time you can’t run from me,” he told her smoothly. “You can’t escape the way you did in Birmingham.”

“Run? I didn’t—”

“Be
quiet
I kidnapped you to teach you a lesson. I’ll no more put up with your sass than Jacques would put up with Melisande’s. You’re here for my pleasure, not to talk.”

A confusing mixture of anger and giddy anticipation made her face burn. She trembled with the need to speak, to ask him why he was doing this after the incident in Birmingham. He’d been furious and humiliated. Was this his way of paying her back?

“My tough Melisande,” he said in a low, grim voice,
“do you think you can wrap me around your little finger? Do you think you can break your promises to me and then disappear as soon as my back’s turned?” His eyes seared her with rebuke. “I won’t have it, you hear?”

She couldn’t bear to be quiet any longer. He’d provoked all her defensive instincts. “You can’t tell me what to do!”

His eyes narrowed coldly. “Well see about that!” He grabbed her, swung her up into his arms, and strode to a bunk covered with burgundy satin and thick pillows. Millie gasped as he dropped her on the bunk and immediately covered her with his own body. He caught her shoulders and held her still. His lips were nearly touching hers, his fierce eyes so close that she could see silver flecks amid the blue background.

“I’m stronger than you, eh?” he taunted. “Bigger and stronger and a helluva lot better fighter—and don’t you ever forget it. You need me to be that way. You want a man who can best you in a fair fight.”

“That’s the most idiotic thing I’ve ever heard.” She inhaled raggedly, catching the mingled scents of their bodies. His was erotic and purely masculine. “I
know
you’re physically stronger than I am.”

“I was wrong about you, Melisande. You do want to need me. You want me to protect you. All you have to do is admit it.”

“No.” She shook her head from side to side. “That’s not what love is about.”

His breath was harsh as it touched her lips. “You like bein’ kidnapped by me, same as Granny Melisande liked bein’ kidnapped by old Jacques.”