The Pirate (The Legacy Series Book 5) Page 8

  He looked to Patrick, who was smiling and joking along with the rest. His quartermaster had done a fair job of keeping their secrets, as well as his opinion of James. He often wondered what the pirate truly thought of him.

  It couldn’t have been easy to harbor such a secret bottled up in his pocket, or serve under a man that was considered a monster. The only thing he did know, was that Patrick’s people, the Irish, didn’t consider werewolves to be the terrible, bloodthirsty beasts that the legends spoke of. They saw the half-man, half-wolf creatures to be benign. Faoladh, they called them. Guardians of children and the sick, protectors of kings. Perhaps that was why Patrick took the news so well.

  On the other side, Grace had managed to get her hands on a mug of ale. James watched her light up with interest at each of the stories the men told, but all the while, he couldn’t help but wonder how she would take the truth of what he was. Would she be disgusted? Would the potent stench of fear replace the rosy scent of arousal that lingered whenever he drew closer?

  He wouldn’t have to wonder much longer. By dawn, Jamaica would be within sight and Grace would be off the ship before noon. That thought, no matter how true it was, gave him great pain, so much that he almost stopped breathing. How could he possibly give her up? She was worth far more than any governor could pay. Not even the king could wrench her from his hands.

  James hadn’t been lying to Grace when he told her about how he came to be called The Devil Dog. When given something that he could prize above all else, he never let it go. And right now, the world wanted to take Grace away and his inner wolf foamed at the mouth, ready and willing to do whatever it took to keep her.

  It was the man in him, the one who wanted nothing but the best for her, that collared the beast and held him back from doing something impulsive. He could sit up on the main topgallant yardarm and teach her swordplay all day long, but it didn’t erase the fact that she didn’t belong to him, and she never would. Grace was not his to keep.

  When Grace nearly lost her balance reeling on the barrel she sat on, James placed his hand on the small of her back to steady her. Peeking into her mug, she hadn’t even finished off the ale. Though she was probably too far gone, he took the cup from her anyway and passed it to Patrick. The Irishman greedily downed the last of it.

  Seconds later, he heard Mr. Nickels pull out his instrument and pluck away at the strings to tune it. Voices drifted from every corner of the ship to sing away cheerful songs like Windy Old Weather, Round The Corner Sally, Billy Riley, Drunken Sailor, and the worst possible ballad they could have played, One More Day.

  When the chorus came, James couldn’t bring himself to sing with the rest. Grace, Patrick, and the others however, didn’t seem to mind that the very words were like a cannonball to his chest. The pirates were thinking of the bounty they would earn off of her ransom price, while Grace must have been reveling in the knowledge that she would be off this ship and away from the crew in just one more day.

  James’ thoughts were far darker. One more day left with Grace, one more night together. James thought it was simple enough to leave her that night in Kingston when they first met, but now, it was damn near impossible.

  He slammed down his mug and left the bardic circle the crew had formed around the mast on the main deck. He retreated to the forecastle where he and Grace had spent so much of their day together and gripped the railing tight enough to split the wood.

  For the second time in his life, he wished the decision to abandon his ship and his crew could be an easy one to make. When he found out his mother had died alone in St. Kitts, James wished he could have gone to her grave and grieved for days. At the time, he wasn’t a captain yet. That day, stuck on a ship bound for Cuba, he decided to operate outside the laws of men who tried to control the seas, so that he could make decisions for himself. He could go wherever the wind led him, and didn’t have to answer to a single soul besides the one that writhed inside of him.

  Now, faced with a similar decision, James knew he couldn’t leave behind everything he had worked so hard to create. He was hard up in a clinch with no knife to cut the seizing.

  He couldn’t throw away the men who trusted him. Patrick could take over in his place, but it would never be the same. The Caribbean wouldn’t fear him in the same way that they feared The Devil Dog and taking prizes would be far more difficult when his reputation was no longer tied to The Burning Rose.

  James had to stay. He couldn’t follow Grace ashore, whether it was in Kingston’s port, St. Kitts, St. Thomas, Tortuga, Cuba, Nassau, or anywhere on God’s green earth. James had to give her up and the knot of rage in his stomach could not be wished away with any rational thought.

  James pounded his fist into the railing and made the polished wood splinter. Some jagged spikes cut into his hand, but the pain did little to ground him back to reality.

  “James?”

  The meek, feminine voice caught him by surprise and he stood rigid by the damaged railing. He didn’t have to turn to see Grace shuffling forward to stand by his side. He could smell the ale on her already, almost masking her signature scent.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  If he could be honest, he would have told her that nothing was all right. The empire he had forged was threatening to suffocate him.

  “I’m fine,” he replied, risking a look her way. In the moonlight, she was even more beautiful. “You’ve been drinking too much.”

  She waved him off. “I’m perfectly fine.” Her words were punctuated by a squeaking hiccup that threatened to break him, even now.

  James laughed and shook his head ruefully. “You should get some rest. You get to go home tomorrow.”

  Grace let out a long sigh and leaned her hip against the railing so she could face him in all her tipsy glory. “I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to go back to Jamaica and marry some man I don’t love and be with a family that doesn’t care about me. I want to keep doing this.” She gestured toward the sea ahead of them. “I want to keep sailing and learn how to fight and climb up into the rigging with you. All of it with you.”

  He ground his teeth together, knowing she probably didn’t mean to be saying any of that. The drink had loosened her tongue, nothing more.

  “You don’t want this life, Grace,” he told her. “You deserve to be happy and comfortable, out of harm’s way.”

  Grace lightly smacked the back of her hand against his upper arm. “Damn comfortable! I don’t need safe,” she argued. “I want adventure and burgoo.” The woman bent over the railing, laughing at herself.

  James had enough. “Come on. I’ll take you to bed.”

  Before he ever saw it coming, she whirled and threw her arms around his neck. Their lips collided in an aggressive, demanding kiss that James was tempted to enjoy, but he couldn’t. There was no passion, no genuine longing, though he knew Grace was capable of it.

  He pushed her back and her ragged breaths warmed his face.

  “Take me to bed,” she whispered, then giggled at herself again.

  Doing the only thing he knew to do, James scooped her up and threw her over his shoulder to carry her to his quarters. However, nothing was going to happen. Nothing like her drunken mind was imagining anyway. He had too much respect for her to even consider it right now.

  The men he passed on deck let out whoops and shouted their inexperienced advice regarding how to bed a woman, but James paid them no mind. He brought Grace into his cabin and left the door wide open. He wasn’t going to be in there for long.

  Grace, on the other hand, was trapped in a fit of giggles as he lowered her down to his mattress. Her hands clumsily reached for the front of his shirt, but he easily detained her.

  “This is your fault, you know,” she said as she regained some sense of composure. “You shouldn’t have done what you did at the ball that night.”

  James nodded, playing along. “I convinced you to go to sea and you have no business being here. Yes, I know.”


  Grace shook her head, her red hair spread out in a fiery halo over the pillow. “No, you did so much more than that. You, sir, are a no good, coldblooded thief.” And she said it all with a grin spread across those silky lips.

  “Yes, I stole from your parents. We discussed this.” James pulled up the rough blanket that had fallen to the floor and tried to slip it over her, but Grace continued to resist and sat up on the bunk.

  “No,” she said, pointing an accusing finger at him. “You said my heart was far away, but what you didn’t tell me was that you were going to steal it that night. You’ve had it ever since.”

  James stared at her, unblinking, as a hurricane of emotion rushed in to capsize what stability he had left. Never in his life, had he felt remorse this deep, this penetrating. He had stolen millions from those who could afford to lose it. He had killed men who had families waiting for them at home. He had done unimaginable things that he knew he would go straight to hell for.

  Yet, in this one moment of honest confession, she just admitted that he had stolen something so precious. He didn’t even know he had done it. James swallowed hard and lowered her back to the bunk. Grace rolled her head to the side, still laughing about something that he must have missed.

  “Get some rest,” he told her, then left the cabin.

  He wasn’t sure how his weak legs managed to get him from that locked door and high up onto the main topgallant yardarm, but he ended up there either way. Gazing out over the dark expanse of sparkling ocean and stars that peppered the night sky, he let his temper drift away into the wind.

  As far as he was concerned, he had just committed the greatest crime imaginable. He made a woman love him, without ever intending to. James, did in fact, love Grace. Even when she was furious and stubborn, or tipsy with drink, he loved her all the same and he couldn’t understand why.

  It didn’t matter. They would be in Kingston soon, and they would part ways. As soon as Jamaica was to their rudder, maybe he would feel better. Maybe.

  As his once perfectly simple world began to roil and crumble around him, a new awareness blasted through like musket shot. In the back of his head came a prickling, almost needlelike sensation. It wasn’t all too painful, but a nuisance.

  The longer it persisted, the more irritated James became. His wolf, however, was not fazed by it. Soon, the sound of lapping water and a new scent floated up to alert him to a new presence on the sea.

  James peered to starboard and saw it. A rowboat, manned by one, bobbed atop the waves, breaking the crystalline reflection of the moonlight that slanted from the east. The sailor faced away from him as he continued to row for The Burning Rose. By the smell of him and the lack of provisions on the boat, the man must have been adrift for a long time. Why, was anyone’s guess.

  Suddenly, the sailor stopped and finally turned. From this distance, The Burning Rose was clearly visible, but unlikely that the man could see James astride the uppermost yardarm of the main mast. Still, it appeared that his dark eyes trailed upward and stopped.

  A slow smile crept across the stranger’s face and he spoke.

  “Are you going to slow down so I can come aboard?” he asked.

  James narrowed his eyes upon him. The man neither shouted, nor screamed the request, yet he assumed that he could be heard from so great a distance.

  “I know you can hear me,” he continued.

  They weren’t flying The Devil Dog flag and as James assumed, there was no way any normal man could spot him, so how did he know? Baffled and curious, James grabbed for a spare line that ran from the yardarm and swung his way back to the deck.

  The captain gave his orders to the half-bombed crew to douse canvas and come about so they could wait for this mysterious stranger to make his way toward the ship.

  If James allowed himself to believe in the impossible, he suspected he knew just what this man was. And he wasn’t sure whether to be glad or concerned.

  Chapter 7

  Grace didn’t want to move. She barely wanted to exert herself enough to breathe. Her temples pounded with an infernal headache and for the first time onboard The Burning Rose, her stomach began to churn with the need to vomit. Every creak and slight bobbing of the ship’s movement made her wish she could slip into unconsciousness again. She could tell it was morning by the golden light that penetrated through her closed eyelids and added to her anguish.

  All she could remember of the night before were the songs, the music, and the terribly honest conversation she had with James. If she knew it wouldn’t be so painful, she would have groaned aloud when she thought of that impetuous kiss they shared. Then again, they didn’t truly share anything. She was the one who took liberties that were not hers to take and James was the gentleman, refusing to give her what she demanded. It was a good thing, but that didn’t console Grace in the least.

  How could she leave this cabin and face James on the deck after how she behaved? What could she say to make things better between them? Was it even worth the trouble of reconciliation when she’d be leaving that day?

  Her heart gave a frightened start at that realization. They would be porting into Kingston today and she’d be handed back to her father in exchange for a hefty sum that James had yet to disclose. Grace flipped back and forth between wanting to throw herself into the sea just to escape the embarrassment and praying that her father would delay in getting the ransom to James so she could stay on The Burning Rose a little longer.

  She thought that making up her mind to let go of whatever feelings she had for James would metaphorically set her free from their impending separation. It only served as a painful thorn in her spirit, worse than any hangover she might ever suffer from. The more she drank last night, casting furtive glances to the captain who sat beside her, the more she realized the truth.

  Grace loved him. She loved a pirate, regardless of what he stood for and all that he had done in his career of thieving. How could it be possible? How did it happen? Had she been in love with him the whole time since they first met, or did it happen sometime when he taught her how to use a cutlass? Was it when they were up on the topgallant yardarm or when he threw her over his shoulder to carry her onboard at St. Thomas?

  It didn’t matter anymore. It was there, hooked into her heart and infiltrating every part of her soul until each breath she breathed silently screamed for his love in return. She’d be screaming for the rest of her life.

  Just as a single tear was about to roll down her cheek – the first of thousands that were to come – Grace realized that she was not alone in the cabin. With painful effort, she cracked open her eyes. Leaning against the edge of the outer frame of the alcove at the foot of the bunk, stood a man with black hair and a pair of haunting, equally dark eyes.

  Though he blocked out a portion of the light streaming in from the window beyond, Grace couldn’t be put at ease by this stranger’s presence. There was nothing particularly devious in the way he softly smiled down at her. Yet, there was something in his eyes that frightened away the aching in her head.

  “Who –“ The moment she tried to push herself up from the mattress, Grace was reminded of the other affliction in her stomach. The world spun for a moment and then she settled herself back down as the stranger spoke.

  “Name’s Will Ainsworth,” he said. “James told me to give ye this when ye woke up.”

  Will passed her a mug he had been holding and Grace found the strength to take it. As she brought it close, an acrid and sobering scent passed up her nose. She coughed even before she had the chance to take a sip.

  “What is this?” she asked, her voice crackling.

  “Somethin’ to help with that headache,” he replied. “James swears by it, but it smells like piss to me. The Irish fellow suggested ye be buried on the beach instead, sayin’ somethin’ about the cold sand helpin’. But James wouldn’t hear of it.”

  Grace held her breath and took a swig before Will continued.

  “I think he mentioned it had soot, vineg
ar, ginger root, orange juice… and somethin’ else… Oh, boiled cabbage.”

  If the concoction wasn’t settling in her stomach, she would have spat it all back out. Grace wrinkled her nose as the aftertaste violated her mouth. However, she could already feel a bit of her queasiness dissipate.

  “You’re not on the crew,” she remarked and sat up in the bed.

  Will crossed his arms over his thick chest. For a man probably only a few years older than her, he was well built. She would have taken him for a sailor if his clothes weren’t so clean. His garments weren’t stained with the usual sweat and evidence of hard labor. “I’m not. I just came onboard last night.”

  Grace might have been wellied with drink, but she knew for a fact that they didn’t make port anywhere. “You were adrift?”

  “Aye,” he said with a nod. “I’m waitin’ for James to make up his mind of what he wants to do with me. I’m crossin’ me fingers that I’ll join the crew, but that’s all up to the captain. He’s been stuck in his head since last night and hasn’t given me much of an answer.”

  The thought occurred to her that perhaps James was just as conflicted about leaving her in Kingston, but that might have been too much to hope for.

  “James said as soon as ye were well, he’s expectin’ ye on deck.”

  With her palm pressed between her eyes, Grace wished she had the ability to shout out in protest. It’d be reasonable to make one last show of defiance before she’d be out of his life forever.

  Will turned to stare at the door. Seconds later, it opened and the captain, standing tall and proud with his chest out, appeared to give his new guest the sign to leave. He did, and the two of them were alone. Grace wouldn’t so much as pay the honor of a glance as he closed the door and stood by the table in the middle of the cabin.