The Pirate Captain (82 page)

The hot spring had been glorious, alive with fine bubbles. The water here was coolly refreshing, the swirl like caressing arms, massaging her body and limbs. With glee bordering on childishness, she rolled again and again. She dove to lie at the bottom like a trout on a summer’s day, and then broke the surface in a sputtering explosion of air. Floating on her back, she allowed the eddies to take her under the falls and back around. On one pass, she caught a glimpse of Nathan through the greenery. She heard the scratch of his voice, but the water’s rush drowned the words, and so she floated.

###

Nathan took up a post at the pool’s edge, near enough to bear an eye, and yet far enough to allow Cate privacy. Well, aye, it meant close enough to catch an occasional glimpse through the ferns. Blessed eternity it was between the sightings of the ivory blur of her body.

He had lost track of Princess Pain-in-the-Ass. Could fall off a bloody cliff, for all he cared.

Might could just prop up the body and collect the ransom. ’Twould be that much more delightful for Lord-on-Highness Creswicke to pay for what was already dead.

By a certain way of thinking, he could be doing the wretched wench a favor: putting her out of her misery, before the suffering began. And suffering she most certainly would, wed to His Haughtiness. Plaques might be issued in his honor for the magnanimity of his humanity for saving the soul from such tortures.

On the other hand, no one deserved misery more than the one who inflicted it. Suffering came in many forms, and she had managed to exploit a heretofore untold number. As the sages are known to say, turnabout is fair play, or misery enjoys company, or some such rot.

His hand brushed his cheek.

The Devil burn me! I forgot to shave.

Cate preferred when he did so, the green eyes going to blue, a sure sign of pleasure. Those eyes were a port to what went on inside that maddening tangle of mahogany. Cross her and risk waking the jaguar. Hard and green they would go, fit to separate a man’s gullet from his craw. Please her, and they would go the color of the reefs. Bloody rare sight it was, hence a judgment based on brief observation.

Nathan moved to the pool’s edge, near enough to Cate to be the alert, and yet far enough not to be seen. There he knelt over his reflection, drew his knife, and to set to scraping the growth from his jaw.

A flash of yellow caught Nathan's eye. He looked up in time to see Princess Pain-in-the-Ass skulking about the bank. Swearing under his breath, he allowed a brief fancy of the blade he held in his fist pressing at her throat.

Belay that! Cate would never abide it. I’d never hear the end of it.

It was no great deed to catch up said wench, clap a hand over her mouth, and drag her away from the water and, more importantly, Cate’s hearing.

“Where the bloody hell do you think you’re going?” he demanded in a hoarse whisper after depositing the noisome wench neatly on a rock.

She gave a prominent display of lip. “I was just going to—”

“I don’t care if your skirts are on fire, you’ll not disturb her.”

Prudence sprang back up. “I just need her to—”

“Nothing! You have had her at the beckoning crook of your finger, since night last.”

She primly batted her lashes, as if he hadn’t seen that one before! “I can’t imagine what you’re talking about.”

“No imagination necessary, darling. Do not try me on. Bother her, and I’ll turn up those skirts and give you the spanking you so justly deserve. Now sit!”

A rigid arm pointed, and Prudence did so, stiff as the rock ledge beneath her. Nathan considered returning to the poolside to shave, but on second thought, sat squarely next to her. To his pleasure, she shifted sideways, tucking her skirts away lest they touch the dirty pirate. Crossing his arms, he settled for the duration.

Between the noise of the falls and a flock of parrots overhead in full voice, it was a bit of a strain, but he could still hear Cate splashing about, cavorting like a mermaid. The mind could be as barren as a desert, but at the moment, his was as fertile as Eden with imaginings of what awaited just the other side of those bushes.

“Can’t we—?” Prudence began.

“Shh!”

“Then, couldn’t—?”

“Shh! Shh!”

Huffing in protest, she bent her head under the broad hat brim. Her feet soon picked up her restlessness and began rapping rhythmically against the rock.

“Didn’t your mother teach you not to fidget?” he asked over the tempo.

“She tried,” came from under the hat. Pushing back the brim, she peered up from under it like a hermit crab. “You make me nervous. I can’t control myself when I’m nervous.” The brim flopped back down.

“Me? What did I do?” he asked, inching away.

“Nothing…exactly.” Her voice suddenly went to a pitch that would warrant a mouse. The tempo of her feet increased, her head now bobbing in unison. “You’re so…strange.”

“Strange?” He frowned. “That’s a rather uninstructive observation.”

Hunching her shoulders, Prudence withdrew under the brim like said crab. He eyed her and considered the merits of pulling the thing clean to her chin, if he thought it would serve. Instead, he re-crossed his arms and settled back to his vigil. He discovered, if he leaned ever so slightly to port, it brought him to an advantageous hole in the greenery, through which he could see where the sun illuminated the pool and Cate when she passed. It was pleasing to do at least this much for her. The woman was blessedly difficult to please; like pulling shipworms from a hull to learn what she desired. Concern for her drug at him. It was wholly disquieting to see her—

“Have you been a pirate long?”

Nathan's head snapped around. “What?”

“Have you been a pirate long?” she repeated more forcefully.

“Long enough,” he said with some hesitation as to where this line of questioning might lead.

Prudence nodded distractedly and looked off. There was a brief—and altogether uncomfortable, by his measure—silence. A viper can be ever so quiet before it strikes.

“Have you ever killed anyone? Pirates are always killing. Have ever you killed anyone?”

“Eh?”

“Do you really drink the blood of your victims? Why is your hair so strange? Did you know Blackbeard? Don’t the cannons scare…?”

Fired them off like a battery, she did. Like crossing the doldrums, she finally ran out of wind.

“She’s afraid of you, you know.”

His head jerked up. “What?”

“She’s afraid of you.” Prudence enunciated, as if he were simple.

Slack-jawed as said simpleton, Nathan stared. “She’s never—”

“I’m sure she’s never said,” Prudence put in, primly. “But how can you expect someone who’s afraid of you to tell you so?”

His head was beginning to buzz; he shook it to clear it.

I need rum…bad!

“Why did you made her cry today?” she asked, with far more scold than he cared for.

“I never—”

“She was perfectly fine when
we
were talking.” The wench took on an entirely unpleasant imperiousness. “And then, she went out and you said horrible things. When she came back in, she’d been crying. Anyone could see it.”

“Well, aye, she had, but—”

“She was telling me
all
about him.”

“Him?”

“Yes,
him!
” Her eyes rounded with significance. “You know, the Captain of the other ship. She fancies him,” she said, importantly.

Like the dry gripes, a pain clutched his gut. He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly gone dry.

Suffering Jesus on the cross!

“You could see it in her eyes and in her voice when she spoke of him,” Prudence sighed dreamily. Her head bobbed faster, the rhythm of her feet quickening. “Isn’t it romantic? It’s like a storybook: on the high seas, a woman captive, the handsome pirate rescues her, and they fall in love to sail away.”

“Sounds like a goddamned nightmare,” he groaned, rubbing his face in his hands.

She reddened and said in high-toned virtuousness, “Blasphemers go to hell.”

“Been there, darling, and the goddamnedest place it ’tis,” he said evenly.

Her face deepened color, but then she pressed on. “Cate is lovely already, but if she had something more suitable, she could allure him
so
much more readily.”

“Not necessarily me first and foremost desire,” he said through his fingers.

A rational voice was able to finally break through the fog of irrationality. “Clap a stopper on it!”

Seized by the icy fear that Cate might have heard, he lowered his voice to a level known to make able-bodied forecastlemen quake. “I don’t know your game, Your Meddlesomeness, but I’ll offer you fair warning just the same.”

Prudence sat back, lids fluttering in disbelief. “Whatever do you mean, Captain?” Her face started to crumple, chin quivering. “My only intention was to help. Cate’s been so kind and…”

Panic overcame frustration at seeing her prime up for another deluge. Panic gave way to horror at the thought of Cate finding the snot crying again.

“Hist, now. Belay,” he said in his most soothing manner, as soothing as possible when every fiber of his being wanted to wring the life from the malignant pestilence.

Desperation led him to the cider bottle and he offered it eagerly. Observing carefully while she sipped, he saw her eyes were brimming, but thankfully her cheeks were dry. He glanced toward the pool and closed his eyes in relief.

Sweet merciful heaven! The gods are on me side! She still swims.

###

Cate had knelt in the shallows of the pool. Scooping up handfuls of sand, she had scoured away months of grime and emerged from the water like a nymph, new of body and life. Now, glowing and pink, she had thanked Nathan effusively. For all his denials, he beamed with pleasure.

Prudence cavorted about the glen, marveling at butterflies and picking wildflowers. Tossing the latter on the water, she watched in fascination as they swirled on the pool’s eddies and eventually swept out of sight downstream. Mirthlessly pointing out that his daisy-picking days were long over, Nathan had shed his hat and weapons—still at arm’s reach—and flopped down on the quilt spread on a luxuriant patch of moss then patted the space next to him for Cate to join him.

Nathan reclined, his hands laced behind his head and ankles crossed. Sitting companionably together as they did, so near and yet never touching, they were almost as brother and sister. Brother and sister, that is, who had been separated at birth and just recently rejoined, for siblings raised together possessed an intimate knowledge of each other. She knew relatively little of him, and he of her.

Eyes closed, Nathan dozed, his chest slowly rising and falling. It must have been a man’s trait, Cate thought as he ruffled her fingers through her hair to dry it. Brian had possessed the same talent: dirt, rock, or deck, he could make himself comfortable. With his shirt pulled taut, the filtered sun spangled in the mist which collected on his hair and lashes, and curved lacy patterns over his body. Now minus his belts and weapons, his hips were considerably slimmer, his shoulders seeming so much wider.

Away from his ship, Nathan was a different man. When with his crew, he was one of a greater whole, the leader, but still reliant on their acquiescence. Command never seemed a burden, but he was always preoccupied, as if half-expecting to be called away for some minutia regarding his ship. He was connected to the
Morganse
, the heart to his body, his ear always cocked to every creak and groan of canvas, plank or rigging. He would never be whole without his ship, but for this small bit, Cate could pretend and was content to have him for her own.

To see Nathan thus provided a glimpse of what he might have been before…everything: genial, without the edge; humorous, without the bite; more like Thomas, in many ways. Cate closed one eye and tried to imagine him as what could have been: close-shaven, his hair sleeked back and bound with a bow—blue, to show off the silken black and color of his eyes—an elegant waistcoat, silk shirt with a laced neckcloth, hosed and slippered, just like those in Lady Bart’s salon.

The image refused to form, for it was never meant to be. Regardless of whatever Fate delivered him, Nathan would always be a man of the sea, “free,” just as it was written on his chest.

“Do you remember that age?” Cate asked idly sometime later.

Nathan stirred and opened his eyes. He raised up to crane his head around her in order to see Prudence. He snorted as he lay back and closed his eyes.

“Aye, well enough. Thomas and I were able seamen, by then. Couldn’t keep our minds on our duties for the aching balls and stiff cocks.”

Cate lifted a brow, considering. “A fair description; my brothers weren’t much different.”

Nathan lifted his head again to peer down the long line of his nose at her. “And you?”

“Umm…” She closed one eye as she recalled. “I was serving the second year of my sentence at Mrs. Peachwood’s Academy for Young Ladies of Virginia.”

“Oh, dear. I never saw you for that sort,” he said, regarding her anew.

“The operative word was ‘sentence,’ with two more years to serve, or so I thought at the time.”

“Reprieve?”

“Of a sorts.”

Sensing a story, Nathan rose to his elbows. “What was your crime?”

“Being a product of the world in which I was raised.”

Nathan snorted again. “So shall we all be punished. And pray tell, how did the young ladies at Mrs. Peachwood’s occupy their young active minds?” By the licentious lilt in his voice, the minds were the last thing he was thinking.

“Young men, to be sure. Much more romanticized versions than you’re thinking, however.”

“Always the way of it,” he grumbled good-naturedly. He resettled with his hands behind his head and re-crossed his ankles. “’Tis Providence you women have us men about to show you the way of things, or mankind would have died out ages ago.”

Cate ducked a mocking bow from her seat. “Allow me on behalf of all women of the ages to offer our eternal gratitude.”