The Pirate's Jewel (4 page)

Nolan searched the crowd again, looking the fiercest men
straight in the eye. Strangely, he felt more comfortable with these armed
pirates than Bellamy’s offspring. He now gladly sought the worst his former profession
had to offer, if only to prove how much he had changed.

Unfortunately, the identifying scar running from the corner
of Wayland’s eye to the tip of his nose did not render him distinguishable in
this lot. Missing eyes and noses were common among the weathered faces. Piracy had
a tendency to wear down a man as traffic did the cobblestones on Bay Street.
Bellamy was the exception. He still loomed larger than life every time Nolan
thought of him.

Nolan walked to the bar and ordered ale. He took an ungentlemanly
gulp, which prompted some of the hostile stares to slide away. He leaned
against the bar, scanning the dimly lit tables on the fringes of the room.
Wayland sat in the corner with his back to the wall. A shadow covered part of
his face. When Wayland turned, catching Nolan’s gaze, light reflected off his
glass eye. With a subtle nod, the pirate summoned Nolan over. Nolan ordered two
more ales before complying.

Wayland grinned, and Nolan noticed he had lost a few more
teeth. “I like the way you walked in here, lad. Ye’ve the gait of a captain.”

Nolan sat down and pushed a pewter mug in front of the
pirate. “Since you knew I was in Charles Town, I’ll assume you know how I got
here.” He leaned forward, and both Wayland’s artificial ice blue eye and his
true dark brown one came into view. The mismatched glass eye was Wayland’s
prized possession. Nolan had been there when he had snatched it from an unlucky
victim. Most men, even other pirates, crossed themselves when they saw the
freakish eye. Nolan was glad he’d remembered and didn’t flinch.

Wayland studied him. “Aye. I heard you got yourself a ship
and a crew. The
Integrity
. What do you plan to be doing with her?”

Nolan shrugged out of his coat, the sweltering heat in the
enclosed room winning over propriety. “I intend to privateer. War’s
inevitable.”

“A privateer? Hmph. I guess that’s why you’re using the
name Kenton instead of Kent.”

“It was my father’s name.” Nolan hadn’t heard the name
Kent in so long, it no longer made him drop his gaze in shame. His last few
years of sober repentance had finally convinced his father that he was truly a
pious reverend’s offspring rather than the spawn of the most notorious pirate
of the last century. Of course, his father was likely writhing in his recently
turned grave. He wouldn’t believe that Nolan had used his inheritance to buy a
ship merely to join the coming revolution any more than Wayland did.

Nolan might have let his father’s wishes to deny the family’s
tainted past hold sway even in death if not for the worn leather book on the
occult he’d found in the man’s possessions. If the cover had ever declared an author
or title, it had long since been worn away. Inside, the print had smeared and
faded as if the pages had been pored over for hours on end. Why his devoutly
religious father had a book that spoke of mystical connections between
astrology and varying alphabets, notes in his own hand in the margins, led
Nolan to only one conclusion. His pious sire, too, had an interest in the
notorious Captain Kent’s legacy.

“Where will you get your letter of marque?” The
unmistakable note of disgust in Wayland’s question showed what he thought of
privateers. He tipped his head, assessing Nolan with his good eye. “Will it be England?
Is that why you changed your name? Sucking up to the bloody crown, hoping
they’ll forget they hung a Kent not so long ago?”

Nolan drank from his tankard. “No, I remember what English
justice did to my grandfather. I wouldn’t sail for them even if they pressed me
in chains. I’ve been promised a letter of marque from Massachusetts. They’ll
start issuing them any day now.”

“Massachusetts is no country. Sounds like piracy to me,
lad.” Wayland eyed Nolan with pleasure.

Nolan forced himself not to flinch. Perhaps a slight thrill
surged through him at this taste of his old life, but the horrors of those days
still gave him nightmares. All he need do was recall the time that Bellamy
nailed a particular captain’s foot to the deck when he hadn’t heeded the
raising of the black flag quickly enough.

“Extreme violence, torture, death? I have no stomach for
that. I’ll admit I’ve given in again to the lure of the sea, but you know how I
felt about piracy. About Bellamy’s practices.”

“Bah. Bellamy wasn’t as bad as most. You just had to show
you had some ballocks if you wanted to stay afloat. He didn’t kill one woman he
raped. Set ’em all on shore nice and gentle like. Hell, I’ll wager he didn’t even
have to rape half—most of them highbred ladies came to him practically
purring.”

Nolan shook his head and stared into his ale. After he’d
returned home from his stint with Bellamy, his father could barely look at him.
He’d thought his son had participated in every sordid crime attributed to pirates.
Nolan’s own grandfather had been rumored to take women as well as plunder from
the merchant ships he captured. Once they’d served their purpose and required more
care than they were worth, he’d tossed them overboard to drown or be eaten by
sharks.

“Privateers operate under a different set of rules. We only
take ships that are sanctioned in our letter of marque. And harming the
passengers or crew of said vessels is not part of the game.” Nolan glanced up
to see Wayland’s amused gaze. He said, “I’m returning to the sea because of
something I believe in beyond my own selfish lusts. It’s not just about freedom
for the few who can take it by strength and violence. It’s about freedom for an
entire nation.”

“I like to see that passion in you, Nolan. The sea is in
your blood, like it was in your grandfather’s.” Wayland took a pewter flask
from his coat pocket. The once red garment had turned the color of dirty brick.
Even the coat’s original cut was altered by disuse, but Nolan had the distinct
impression it once had been part of a British soldier’s uniform. Obviously not
content with his ale, the pirate took a long swig from the dented flask. He
offered the container to Nolan, who winced at the slight whiff—kill-devil, a
vile but potent rum from Barbados.

Wayland chuckled and tucked the flask back in his pocket.
“I say pirating is the only true life that’s free, but you make a strong
argument for the patriot’s cause. I think I’ll join you.”

Nolan tried not to laugh outright. Wayland would terrorize
his crew more than the British. He shook his head, grinning. “I don’t think you
could tolerate the rules of a privateering vessel.”

The barmaid set down drinks Nolan hadn’t ordered. Before
he could tell her so, Wayland grabbed her wrist. “Meet the captain of the
Integrity
,
Kat. Nolan, this is Katie. Say hello to my friend properly, love. I’d wager he’s
been real lonely these last few years.”

The dark-haired barmaid giggled and plopped herself in
Nolan’s lap, throwing her arms around his neck. Her curves fit him in all the
right places. “Nice to meet you, Nolan. I get off at midnight.”

Wayland had guessed correctly. Nolan had been very lonely
since he gave up pirating. Katie felt warm and soft in his arms, reminding him
of all he had tried so hard to forget. He even liked the cloying fragrance of
her heavy perfume because it smelled exclusively feminine.

He craned his neck away. If he caught the scent of her
long cascading hair, he’d be lost despite himself. “Sorry, I’m leaving at dawn.
Maybe the next time I’m in Charles Town.”

“We can make it quick if you like, love.” Katie settled herself
deeper in his lap.

Nolan’s sharp inhalation garnered another scratchy laugh
from Wayland. He had lost his taste for tavern wenches when he still wore an
earring, but Katie felt too good to ignore. A sensation, a dangerous one, one he
had learned to instantly douse, sparked in Nolan’s groin. He quickly gripped
her corseted waist and put the woman on her feet.

“Another time.” He tipped her a shilling, double the price
of the ales. She walked away with hips swaying and a wink over her shoulder.

Wayland rested his chin on his hand and studied Nolan.
“Don’t like women anymore, lad?”

Nolan smiled. “I’m more selective than I used to be.”

Wayland shrugged. “As long as you still like ’em. I don’t
want to be sailing with no one I have to be watching me bum around.”

Nolan laughed. He had forgotten how good it felt. He’d
also forgotten how good it felt to act freely. He doubted he could offend
Wayland if he tried. “You don’t have to worry because you’re not coming with
me.”

Wayland grinned. “You’ll need me. And you’re lucky, I’m
between captains. After being with Bellamy all those years, it’s hard to take
orders from a lesser man. But I’ll be proud to sail with you. Bellamy thought of
you as a son.”

Nolan’s smile faded. “No, he didn’t.”

“Still, he taught you well. You were the best, as good as
Bellamy his—”

“I don’t think you’ll like the kind of ship I’ll be
running. My concern is with fighting the British, not loot and plunder.” Nolan
shook off his previous ease. Over the years of reform, he’d focused exclusively
on the brutality of his former life. He’d never intentionally taken a woman
against her will, but he now wondered if he’d been too into his cups to notice
when fear was the cause for lack of resistance.

Nor had he killed without cause, but he’d broken a few
bones on Bellamy’s command, all in the name of building a reputation. Nolan
couldn’t afford to let himself act freely, no matter how appealing. The
abandonment of one restraint so easily led to another.

“Who’s your carpenter?” asked Wayland.

Nolan sipped his third ale with more caution. “You won’t
know him. He just finished his apprenticeship with one of the finest
shipbuilders in Boston.”

Wayland made a mule-like sound through closed lips. “He’s
been in battle then?”

“I don’t want any pirates on my ship.” Nolan wasn’t about
to reveal how green his crew was. “My goal is to harass the British whenever
possible. I told you before, I’m not concerned with plunder and I don’t want
anyone on my ship who is.”

Wayland winked his brown eye. “Captain Kent’s treasure
concerns you, or you wouldn’t have gone to see Bellamy’s girl today.”

Nolan stopped his surprise from reaching his features, though
it gripped him by the throat. He should have known that was why Wayland had
sent him a note requesting this meeting.

The pirate smiled widely, apparently unconcerned with his
lack of teeth. “Didn’t know for sure what happened to that map, but you made me
sure. I’m going with you.”

Nolan glanced over his shoulder. His old instincts
returned. He wondered if Wayland had allies stationed nearby. In this crowd, it
would be easy to slip a dagger between his ribs and carry him out into the
alley without anyone noticing or even caring if they did. In an old habit he’d
sworn he’d rid himself of, he eased his hand to a dagger that wasn’t there. To
come to a place like this unarmed had been stupid.

“Leave her alone,” he said with enough threat to
compensate for being unarmed.

Wayland waved his hand in a gesture of dismissal. “I won’t
hurt the chit. And you don’t have to look around like I have mates to jump you
as soon as you get on the street. I know I can’t read the map without you. If I
could, we would have found the treasure with Bellamy.”

Nolan leaned back, but he was far from relaxed. He had not
handled his confrontation with Jewel well. Her stubbornness had knocked him off
guard. That, and the unexpected surge of guilt temporarily capsizing him when
he stared into her clear green eyes. He had thought protecting her from her
father was a sort of gift, but he’d not considered the life he’d abandoned her
to. Was the man who’d left in a rage actually a suitor, or was he something
more sordid? And no doubt that British officer would be back. The man covered
his aggression with polite language, but the colonies had been preyed upon by
wolves in sheep’s fine aristocratic clothing for years. The Quail and Queen
reigned far superior in its clientele than this den, but arrangements forced
upon women with no family were not uncommon even in the finest of
establishments.

Jewel’s predicament was not entirely his fault, Nolan forcibly
reminded himself. Relieving her of the map would be better for her all around.
He’d move her to a safe place while helping her find a situation that was less compromising…and
less dangerous. If Wayland had been watching, someone else might have, too.

Wayland’s raspy words punctuated Nolan’s last thought.
“Don’t scowl so, lad. You’re too young for that. Always the serious one, you
were.”

Nolan took another sip of ale and watched Wayland over the
rim. From here on out, he had to live as if the war he’d been anticipating had
already begun. Only, he’d be battling more than just the British.

Wayland emptied his tankard and chased the ale with a swig
from his flask. “Why wouldn’t the girl give you the map?” he asked.

Nolan hesitated, thinking before he spoke. Being with his
family in Boston had softened him, but now he was back in a realm where every
move, every word had to be guarded. He wasn’t about to give out any more
information that might put Jewel in danger. “What makes you think she didn’t?”

Wayland laughed. “’Cause when I mentioned her, you looked
like you had a bowsprit stuck up your arse. Did you tell her her dad’s dead?”

Nolan nodded but couldn’t stop himself from glancing down
at the table. God, how Bellamy would love to know that after all these years,
he still couldn’t hide his emotions.

Wayland raised the brow of his good eye. “Maybe that’s why
she won’t give you the map.”

Nolan leaned back, struggling to look relaxed when he
really wanted to grab Wayland’s tattered jacket and haul him across the table.
“I didn’t tell her how he died.”