Hart's Desire (Pirates & Petticoats Book 1) (2 page)

Landon and Conal both yelped and dove to the ground as the weapon whizzed over their heads and landed on the forest floor somewhere behind them.

Daniel shook his head. “Your throw was not balanced.” With his hand on his hip, he stood over Keelan and jabbed the air with his sword. “Your chest must point to your target before you release.”

“What matters is I threw first, which yields me five points!” The boy flexed his hand and licked the inside of his thumb. “It beats the three you get for disarming me, aye, Daniel? I win our game today.”

Daniel glanced at his wounded shirt, then over at the trees where Keelan had thrown the dagger.
 

 
“An interesting game,” Landon said, brushing his trousers as he got back to his feet.
 

Daniel turned toward them, pointing the tip of his sword at Landon’s chest before stepping in front of the boy. “Have you business at Twin Pines?”

Conal stepped forward, drawing the movement of Daniel’s sword with him. “My uncle, Fynn Ahern, scheduled a meeting with Commodore Grey for this morning.”

Daniel lowered his sword. “The Commodore does indeed have an appointment with a Mr. Ahern today. Why is he not with you?”

Conal cleared his throat. “Mr. Ahern is dead. I’m Captain Conal O'Brien of the
Seeker.
This is my business partner, Landon Hart, captain of the
Desire.
We were
Mr. Ahern’s business associates.”
 

Daniel shook Conal’s hand before he addressed Keelan once more. “Your skills have developed well. I’m proud of your progress.” He deftly flipped his own dirk from his hand. The knife hit the same tree where, moments before, Conal had stood. It hit with a solid
thunk,
and the bottom half of a feather wedged into the bark, fluttered lazily to the ground.
 

He shot a glance at Keelan. “Your impatience and lack of concentration denied you the ten points you would have had if you actually had
hit
the target. Instead, you’re left with a meager five points and a nasty little cut.” He reached down and helped the lad up. “Is it deep?”

“No, only a scratch. Slaney will rub marigold tincture on it and it’ll be fine.” Keelan warily eyed the two strangers as he retrieved his stray boots.

“You have us at a disadvantage, sir,” Conal said.

Daniel put a hand to his chest and introduced himself. “I’m Daniel Hunter, valet to Commodore George Grey, the newest owner of Twin Pines Plantation.” He sheathed his sword and wiped his brow with his sleeve. Although only a couple of hours after sunrise, the air was thick and still, his shirt already damp with sweat from the exertion of dueling.

Landon assessed the boy. His shoulders, though slight, were straight and proud. Not much muscle to his arms. His wrists were thin, almost feminine, making Landon even more impressed with Keelan’s skill. Recalling the trials of his own youth, before Conal’s Uncle Fynn had taken him under his wing, he understood Keelan’s desire to best a skill.
 

“You’re quick for one so young,” Landon said.

The boy shot an uneasy glance toward Daniel, grabbed an oversized boot and shoved his foot inside.

“Well, yes, er...” Daniel glanced at the ragged figure busy snatching the second rebellious boot from the grass. The valet shrugged. “The lessons are for the child’s protection. Several family members recently died under rather suspicious circumstances, so Keelan’s father has decided the training should become more intense.”

 “Your hand with a sword is impressive, Keelan.” Landon gestured toward Daniel. “It’s apparent you are being given excellent instruction.”

Daniel smiled and inclined his head, accepting the compliment.

 “My crew and I must be keen with sword, pistol and dagger, if we’re to survive encounters with privateers and pirates on the seas. We all must do our part to defend the ship. May I voice an observation?” he asked.
 

“Please do,” said Daniel.

He gestured to Keelan’s dagger. “Work on the short blade further. ’Tis a more valuable skill to have.” The lad tensed so he smiled to put him at ease but peered at him more closely. There was something strange about the boy that seemed a bit…off.

The youth slammed his booted foot on the ground and straightened, his face flushed. “I don’t normally miss so badly,” he muttered. “I suppose a sailor can do better?”
 

Daniel’s eyes narrowed in apparent warning, and the boy dropped his gaze and busied himself by brushing the meadow grass from his sleeves before straightening the faded blue rag covering his head.

“I didn’t mean to offend.” Amused by the lad’s pluck he added, “But in answer to your question, aye, any of my crew can do better. If not, they wouldn’t be part of the crew for long. Now, if you’ll adjust your grip like so…” Pulling out his own dagger, he placed it in the boy’s hand, careful to avoid the cut. He moved behind and reached around the lad’s chest to adjust his grip. “Mr. Hunter is correct about facing your chest to the target. But, you must also cock the hand back, like this.” He flexed the boy’s wrist. “Try it.”

Keelan stood still, taut as a fiddle string, his other fist clenched at his side. Daniel took a step forward then stopped, as if someone else’s legs were attached to his body and he wasn’t sure how to move them.

“Widen your stance a bit and bring this foot forward.” Landon placed his leg against the inside of the boy’s thigh and kicked his foot away and forward then squeezed his shoulders and gave them a rough shake. “Relax.”
 

Oddly, Keelan remained motionless. Was the boy angry with him for his tutelage? Keelan seemed to struggle to remain composed. Landon frowned, how irritating the runt acted so ungratefully. At that age, he would have lapped up this lesson like a thirsty pup. He'd been on his own from a young age, and he grew up fast. He learned many harsh lessons in the process. Not the least had been how to defend himself against a bigger opponent.

Landon stepped back. He half expected the child to fling the blade into the pines as hard as he could, and stomp away. But pride seemed to outweigh Keelan’s anger, and he relaxed his shoulders. He balanced the blade in his hand, drew back, cocked his wrist, and threw it. It hit the tree with a
thunk
, pinning the top half of the feather to the bark. The boy pursed his lips; Landon couldn’t tell whether it was in grim satisfaction or acute irritation that the instruction had corrected his flaw.

“There, you see?” He clapped Keelan on the back. “You’re a quick learner. We’d gladly welcome you as a ship’s hand aboard the
Desire
.”

“Thank you…Captain,” Keelan said. The corners of her mouth lifted a little.
 

“You’d best get along now, and tell Slaney to inform the Commodore and Mr. Grey the men from the
Desire
have arrived and will be at the house shortly.” Daniel grasped the lad’s elbow and steered him in the direction of the house.

Keelan gave a curt nod and scuffed away. Daniel bent to retrieve the boy’s fallen sword, walked to the tree and wrenched the captain’s weapon from the trunk.

Landon’s bemused gaze followed the lad’s awkward gait to the edge of the meadow, where the youth halted and turned to face them. Slowly and deliberately, he reached his hand up to his head and gave the men a jaunty salute. Before Landon could raise a hand to respond, the boy pulled the long blue scarf from his head.

Landon froze.
 

Conal’s jaw dropped.
 

Long auburn hair cascaded over the waif’s shoulders and down to her elbows. Not a boy, but a young woman.

She flashed a triumphant smile, obviously satisfied she had sufficiently astonished them. There was a toss of her head and a flash of blue, then she disappeared. Her laughter hung on the breeze for a moment then it too drifted away, leaving behind a stunned silence.

Landon replayed the last few moments in his mind. His arm across her chest adjusting the blade…his knee nudging the inside of her thigh to widen her stance…It’s a wonder she didn’t clobber him over the head with her sword.

Keelan’s face hadn’t been flushed with anger and restraint; instead, she’d been blushing in acute embarrassment. Landon caught sight of the valet’s barely extinguished frown.
 

“My apologies,” he said, fighting to smother a grin.
 

Daniel nodded. He fidgeted with his belt a moment before he spoke. “It’s best forgotten, if you will.” He handed the dirk to the captain. “Come, let’s retrieve your horses and get them to the stables. Commodore Grey and his brother are most curious as to the nature of this meeting you have requested.”

She’d made a terrible mistake. A stupid mistake.

Keelan jogged down the path in the direction of the main house. She’d retrieved Daniel’s dirk from the tree trunk and her own poorly thrown dagger, which she sheathed in irritation. She placed Daniel’s dagger into the back of her waistband.

“Too bad your short blade is weak. My men can do better,” she mimicked. “We fight privateers and pirates…Bah! I’ve been training with Daniel since I was ten. I can throw a bloody dirk as good or better than any gritty sailor.”

The heady aroma of pine surrounded her. She tore a few needles from a drooping branch and rubbed them between her fingers to further release the refreshing scent, hoping to calm her nerves a bit.

Why couldn’t she resist the urge to prove her worth to the men in the meadow? Why did she need to shock Captain Hart as he had shocked her? She had barely been able to quell her panic while he adjusted her grip on the dagger. However, what happened next almost sent her to flight. Landon Hart touched her in a place no man had ever dared. When he nudged his knee against the inside of her thigh, the heat from the outline of his leg had remained, even after he stepped away. The urge to slap him was overwhelming.

She studied her wrist. Even now, the impression where his fingers had touched still seemed warm. Keelan frowned. In the past, enough suitors had pushed their presence upon her: an arm casually brushed against her breast while fastening her cloak, a thigh pressed against hers while seated on a settee. While those actions often earned them a stinging slap and a short path to the door, no man had ever affected her state of mind as Captain Hart had done so nonchalantly a few moments ago.
 

All she’d been able to think about was the fact that he was
touching
her. His arm had almost brushed her breast when he reached around her chest to adjust her hold on the dagger. She fought to keep her outrage internal, and restrain from slapping his hands from hers and bolting away. She’d been terrified he’d discover she wasn’t a boy.

However, now that point was mute. The entire episode seemed to have left her without any rational sense. She had foolishly revealed her identity as if there were no consequences at all. She stomped further along the wooded path, her irritation growing because she allowed her embarrassment and humiliation to distract her from exercising good judgment.
 

Now she’d placed all involved in jeopardy.
 

Daniel, especially.
 

She swallowed, her stomach queasy with nervousness. She’d never forgive herself if her father’s servant was punished or let go because of her reckless actions.

A couple weeks ago, after witnessing a training session between Keelan and Daniel, her Aunt Sarah had nearly fainted from shock. Uncle Jared quietly talked with her father, and asked them to cease the exercises. For added insurance toward her good behavior, Uncle Jared had confiscated her boots.
 

Out of respect for his sister-in-law, Papa acquiesced publicly but privately encouraged Daniel to continue training her in secret. If the captain mentioned what he’d seen, then Uncle Jared could flog Daniel for disobedience, and Papa would use the occasion to bring up his desire to secure her future by marrying her to ancient Mr. Pratt. She kicked a pine cone, sending it flying into the dusky underbrush. It was crucial she find a way to meet with the captain alone and ask him to remain silent about the scene he’d witnessed. Would he agree to keep silent? What kind of man was Captain Hart? Honorable, she hoped. He was a ship’s captain, that had to count toward his reputation, did it not?

Judging by their dress, both were men of significant means. With his sun-bronzed skin, and hair was dark as pitch hanging about his shoulders like a wild mane, it was easier to picture him as a Persian or better yet, a pirate. He had the cocky arrogance of a man used to taking what he pleased. His strong self-assurance unnerved her. Even the air about him vibrated with intense power and confident composure. The russet-haired business partner, with his neatly trimmed mustache and beard, had been pleasant and amiable.

The path broke through the trees near the stables, and she crept inside to return the boots she had borrowed earlier from one of the slumbering grooms.
 

Keelan headed toward Slaney, her maid, who stood amid a flock of at least two hundred chickens and geese. The petite woman with boisterous salt and pepper curls and twinkling gray eyes had been with Keelan’s family for as long as she could remember. Back home in Chatham, England, Keelan’s mother had been content to let Slaney care for her daughter.
 

Mother seemed to resent Keelan’s intrusion into her life and spent most of her time in her shop. When Keelan was younger, she happily spent her days with Slaney, rather than her melancholy mother, who never spoke unless it was to criticize.
 

That life was gone now. The scandal surrounding her father’s court marshal, followed by the strange deaths of her mother and aunt, had disrupted the path of her life like a stream of water is redirected when a jagged rut is carved into the earth.

Slaney, quite the opposite from Mother, teased and laughed and told exhilarating stories about pirates and giants and magic faeries. It was Slaney who dried her tears, wrapped her scrapes, and taught her how to draw.