The Pirate (The Legacy Series Book 5) Page 11

  Bart nodded. “It means – “

  “I know what it means,” he snapped, his hands balling into fists.

  Bart held up his hands as if to calm the riled pirate. “I forgot you were raised on St. Kitts. You must have heard French quite a lot growing up there.”

  Few knew about James’ childhood, save for Grace, but it was unlikely that Bart had been in contact with her.

  “Who told you I was raised on St. Kitts?” he asked.

  Bart lowered his hands. “No one. I already knew.”

  “You make no sense.”

  The privateer had taken a few extra strides forward and James could see the bits of golden flecks in his dark eyes that he hadn’t noticed from a distance.

  “You look just like her too,” he remarked, a slow smile spreading across his lips. “Same nose and eyes. Everything else… you got from me.”

  James was sure his lungs had stopped taking in air for a moment. “What?”

  “I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to put the pieces together, but I’ve been in England for the last forty-five years and –“

  “Shut your gob!” James barked, taking a few stumbling steps into the clearing behind him. His eyes flared gold and the beds of his fingernails tingled as his claws began to unsheathe themselves in the wake of his sudden fear and anger.

  Bart followed him into the light, but he wouldn’t be silent for anything. “You have to know I didn’t know where you were. When I went to see your mother just before – “

  James let a bit of his wolf out as his lips pulled back into a stern growl that he reserved for those men who refused to surrender after his crew boarded their ship. “Talk about my mother again and I swear I’ll rip out your tongue.”

  A burst of dominance from the older werewolf struck James in the chest, threatening to crush his ribs. Bart only glared and waited until the recalcitrant pirate submitted with a whimper. James had never been on the receiving end of such power and he knew in that moment that he was no match for Bart. James would be a fool to try and take on the privateer now, knowing what he was capable of. In a fight, he’d certainly lose.

  “Don’t interrupt me,” he said with a scornful look. “I was there the day she died, and she wouldn’t tell me where you were. The landlord mentioned you had signed on with a ship, but couldn’t tell me which one. I searched for as long as I could, asking the captains I was acquainted with and all those who came back to England after serving in the Caribbean. No one knew a James Croxen.”

  James took a stabilizing breath. “That’s because mother never took your name.”

  A mildly startled look crossed his face. “I thought she had.”

  “You would have known that if you had been around at all.”

  Bart shook his head. “I was around, James. I came to St. Kitts as often as I could. You see, I joined the Royal Navy in 1655 after my first wife died in France. I knew I couldn’t stay in Europe. It held too many memories. I sailed under General Robert Venables when he endeavored to take over Hispaniola. I wanted to come to the Caribbean to start a new life and I’ll admit that I was reckless. I met your mother while we were fighting for control over St. Kitts from the French, but as you know, it’s difficult for us to stay in one place for too long, being what we are. I was able to visit for the first few years of your life, whenever I could. I had help to hide that I was loup-garou, even from your mother, but the navy always has other plans for its sailors. It wasn’t until a couple of decades ago that I finally made up my mind to be captain and I returned to England, my father’s country.

  “When I heard rumors about a pirate whose eyes turned gold during battle, I knew you must have been alive. I acquired my Letter of Marque from the king and I came looking for you.”

  James stood, staring at the ground between them, listening to everything he said and yet trying not to let it sink in. All this time, he thought his father had abandoned them. His mother never spoke of Bart or the fact that he still came to visit after James had grown up. Why would she have kept such a secret from him?

  What was Bart expecting from him now? They were on opposite sides of the law, both sailors and at odds with one another. He couldn’t have been expecting warm hugs and joyful tears of reunion. Maybe if he was younger and more naïve, James might have been glad to see his father come back to be with him after all this time.

  But he wasn’t that wide-eyed child who stared up at the sky and wondered if his father were looking up at the same array of stars. He wasn’t the adolescent who had to watch other boys learn the family business while he scrambled to find his own destiny.

  James was a man now, seasoned in the ways of the world and well aware that things never went as planned. Nothing good could come of this and he would give no quarter to the man who stood before him now, trying to pass himself off as apologetic and justified in his absence. He had a lifetime of fatherless living and a dead, lonely woman to atone for.

  He looked up, his gaze hardened by the slow, smoldering rage in his chest. “So, what now? I assume your ship is waiting in the harbor and you must know where mine is docked. I don’t smell a pair of irons on you, so how do you think you’re going to get me off this island?”

  Bart didn’t seem surprised by his response. “I’m not here to take you away,” he said. “You have a warrant out for your arrest, but I can make sure you never have to come to trial.”

  James lifted his chin. “I’m listening.”

  The privateer let out a sigh. “I’m not proud of the life you’ve created for yourself. It’s insane the way you’ve been parading around, giving away our secret like you have been, doing the unspeakable things I’ve heard about. I’m surprised real loup-garou hunters haven’t come after you yet.”

  In one sense, James wanted to spit in his face. He didn’t care if he made Bart proud or not, and the man had no right to tell him what he should or should not have been doing. He might have been his father by blood, but the devil would be blind drunk before James treated him like one.

  “I’m here to make a proposition,” Bart continued. “I can show you how to control the wolf inside you. There’s so much more I can teach you that you could never learn on your own.”

  James had to laugh. “You’re suggesting that I give up my crew, my ship, and everything I’ve worked for to come with you and learn things I’ve lived years without knowing? If you can’t see, I’m doing just fine without -”

  Bart cut him off, coaxing James’ rage even further. “You also don’t have to be executed for your crimes. Do you think you could face the judge and talk your way out of a death sentence? It doesn’t work that way, James.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “And if I should refuse, you’d arrest your own son.”

  “I’d arrest you and Will both,” he replied coolly.

  James tilted his head. “How do you know I have Will?”

  Bart smirked. “When you get to be as old as I am, you learn a thing or two about tracking. He has a long list of his own crimes that he has to answer for. He’s been as much of a thorn in the navy’s side as he has to other pirates from what I hear. He’s becoming known for turning crews against their captains in hopes for a mutiny, but he’s rather sloppy about it. He’s done unspeakable things to captives, not just as a pirate but as a loup-garou too. Like you, he is inexperienced. He doesn’t know anything about what it means to be loup-garou. But I can make that different for both of you.” Bart came closer and dropped his voice. “I’m willing to take you both away from all of this. I’ve had to fake my death before and I can do it again. Say the word and I swear I won’t make the same mistakes. I’m here now and I can teach you what I’ve always needed to teach you. If you won’t give up piracy, I have no choice but to carry out my orders.”

  James glared. “You’re giving me the choice to be your enemy or to be your son, is that it?”

  Silence filled the jungle around them. Birds had stilled their wings and even the bugs ceased their humming as the two
werewolves stared one another down.

  “I’m giving you the choice to continue your life of piracy, knowing I will end it, or ending it yourself and coming with me.”

  This should have been an easy choice. He should have darted into the trees to escape to the harbor. He should have turned Bart down without another thought, but it wasn’t so simple. If he stood his ground and refused to give in to such an ultimatum, it would mean the death of his crew. Not to mention, there would be a lot of explaining to do when he was sent to the gallows to dance the hempen jig and he didn’t die. James had been down that road once and he was lucky to escape that time too.

  If he went with Bart and dragged Will along, he could hand the ship over to Patrick and the crew had a chance at freedom. Then, James could have Grace. Giving up the sweet trade of piracy was the only thing holding him back from living the kind of life he wanted with her. Maybe if he could find the right words, he could win her back after he treated her so brutally in Kingston. Maybe he could explain what he was and see his love returned in her blue eyes.

  Bart wasn’t just offering an escape from the noose, but an opportunity for a future with the woman he knew he loved beyond logical reason.

  James’ mind went to work on a third option. If he could outrun Bart – because he certainly couldn’t beat him - perhaps he could manage to take the best of both options. He wanted to go away with this man as much as he wanted to be swimming in shark infested waters, but he wanted Grace too. There had to be a stretch of safe water between these two encroaching sandbars.

  “How long do I have to think about it?” James asked as he let his eyes and nails return to normal.

  “Until dawn,” he replied. “I’ll meet you at the tavern. If I don’t see you, I’m coming after your ship.”

  He gave his nod of agreement, but that wasn’t enough for Bart. The privateer offered out his hand and James eyed it. Putting on a good show, he shook it firmly, but he had no intention of giving his ultimatum any real thought. His concern was how quickly his men could get the ship moving before Bart even knew they were gone.

  Chapter 9

  As soon as James’ feet hit the deck of The Burning Rose, he was shouting out the orders to get the sails flogging and anchor hoisted out of the water. When all he got were stupefied stares, he threw everything he had into a pulse of dominance that spread all the way down to the bilge and to the uppermost yardarm on the masts.

  “Have you all got Cape Horn Fever? Now!” he bellowed.

  Only then, were they spurred into action and the entire crew was moving about the ship, getting ready to shove off from St. Johns’ dock.

  As he predicted, Patrick came to his side. He was far from in the position to give an answer for his behavior, but he owed his quartermaster that much. After the numerous times James brushed him off, Patrick was due for an honest conversation. But, how many more honest conversations could James withstand that day? He still wouldn’t let the reality of Bart’s words sink in. He had accepted his fate as a fatherless man decades ago. Having that all change now, when there was so much to lose, was more than inconvenient.

  There was no way he was about to face another werewolf in battle. Not after the way Bart nearly knocked him out with his dominance the way he had in the jungle. His original plan to extinguish this threat went flying by the boards the moment he put the pieces together. He was going to have some strong words with Will as soon as they were out to sea.

  “What’s gotten into ye, Captain?” he asked. “We just started makin’ repairs.”

  James looked around for Will and found him up on the mainmast yardarm helping some of the men unfurl the canvas and adjust the rigging.

  “In my quarters,” he mumbled to Patrick.

  When he shut the door, James put his finger to his lips to give him the sign that they should talk softly. He didn’t know how much Will could hear, but he was counting on the distraction of sending the ship to sea to keep him from listening.

  The Irishman nodded in understanding and dropped his voice far below a whisper. “Was there trouble ashore?”

  James nodded and lowered his own tone as much as he could without becoming completely muted. “Have you heard of Bart Croxen?”

  Patrick’s eyes went wide. “He’s still alive? I thought he died years ago.”

  “Apparently not,” James replied. “Will told me the night he came onboard that Bart was looking for me. He’s in St. Johns right now.”

  The quartermaster moved toward the door, probably eager to start belting out his own instructions and threats to the crew to get them moving, but James reached out and held him firmly in place. “Don’t breathe a word of this to anyone.” He prepared to fire the second volley. “I’m leaving the ship.”

  Patrick’s scruffy face scrunched up with confusion. “Leaving? Are ye daft?”

  “No. I’m thinking rather clearly.” It was a lie, but James had to make himself seem in control or his plan would all go to hell. “We are going back to Kingston before Bart knows we’re gone. We’re going to change the name of the ship and you’re going to take the crew north. Go past Cuba, the Bahamas, all the way to the colonies if you have to.”

  Patrick’s strong hand grabbed James’ shoulder. “What about ye?”

  “I’m staying in Kingston,” he replied plainly, as if it should have been obvious. It wasn’t the plan he intended a week ago. He thought never to sail into Jamaican waters again, but seeing his father for the first time put everything into a new perspective.

  “You’re goin’ after that redhaired lass, aren’t ye?”

  James nodded. “Aye.”

  Patrick rolled his eyes and paced across the length of the cabin in that restless, agitated manner like he was a man trying to make sense of a world gone mad. If James allowed himself, he would have looked like he was coming undone at the seams too.

  “Check yer head, James. Ye can’t just leave,” he hissed, still mindful to keep his voice down. “What about the men?”

  “Tell them whatever you want. Bart wants me, not the crew. As long as I disappear, the men have a chance to save themselves from the noose.”

  A pirate hunter was ruthless enough, but they were no match for a werewolf as powerful as Bart, and James knew that better than they did. He had gone into this endeavor half-cocked and blinded by the need to run from his problems, only to find more.

  Patrick pinned him with a glare. “Ye realize you’re handin’ the crew to me at the worst imaginable time, right?”

  James’ brows furrowed. “What do you mean? They seemed fine to me.”

  “Aye, because ye haven’t been on deck for the last hour.” He pointed toward the door. “I knew they weren’t happy on the way here, but now they’re itchin’ for a mutiny.”

  Oh, how he hated that word. He had never been mutinied. Not once. Never came close. James knew he had avoided potential prizes in the offing and the crew was well aware of it. It’d been over a week and a half without a payout and he shouldn’t have been surprised that they were getting frustrated with the way he jerked them across the Caribbean without reason or explanation.

  If he had to tell them they were setting a course for Kingston after they just came from there, Patrick was right. There would be mutiny.

  “I’ve never seen them so riled up so quickly,” Patrick continued. “I know it’s Will. I saw him with a group of the other lads talkin’ when ye went to shore. When I came walkin’ up, they stopped their whisperin’ and acted like nothin’ was goin’ on, but I know it was.”

  James leaned back against the map table and ground his teeth together. Although he was as much to blame for any mutinous thoughts amongst his crew, he couldn’t forget what Bart had said. If Will was the sort to look one way and row the other, then he should have done his father a favor and tied a cannonball to the mutinous werewolf’s ankles and let Davy Jones have him. He couldn’t have a scheming serpent on his ship, werewolf or not. And after the way he damn near lied to James about Bart, Wil
l was as good as gone in his eyes.

  He passed a hand over his face, remembering all that transpired in the jungles on shore. Bart was his father, no doubt the reason he was a werewolf – a loup-garou – to begin with. His mind couldn’t grasp any of it. James considered himself to be a quick-witted man, but Bart expected too much of him so soon. Even if his decision wasn’t this clear, how could the man expect his son to make a choice so quickly? Dawn was still a day away, but it would come far too soon.

  If all went well, he wouldn’t have to see Bart again and he’d be with Grace in a few days. All would be well once he was holding her again. That’s what ailed him, without a doubt.

  “Have Mr. Noir set a course for Kingston,” James finally told Patrick. “The next merchant ship we come across that looks like an easy purchase, we’re taking it.”

  It wasn’t Grace’s idea to practice her drawing that afternoon, but it was better than fumbling through her piano scales or pricking the tips of her fingers while trying to make something pretty with needlepoint. No matter how hard she tried, everything turned out inadequate and subpar in comparison to what other ladies her age could create. She would rather have driven a rusty nail through her ears than here Miss Elizabeth Ferris brag about her prized oil paintings that now hung in some of the richest homes in France and England.

  She sat in her chair and stared at the vase on the side table with pitiful regret. No matter how many time she smudged out the charcoal, she couldn’t get the shading just right. Grace twirled the pencil in her hand and sighed.

  This was nothing more than a diversion, something to keep her mind off of James. As the days continued, the pain lessened, but that aching loneliness persisted. Not even Commodore Carter’s presence could brighten her day after she had spent the morning fretting over the fate of the pirate she still loved. After everything he had done, she still loved him and there was no end to the silent curses she whispered to herself.

  She lifted her hand to the canvas once more, but her eyes fell upon the scars peeking out from the edge of her palm. The blisters and sores were gone now, completely healed, but they endured as a reminder of her time at sea.