The Pirate Captain

CHAPTER 19: Declarations in the Dark

The women gasped in startlement and clustered like a covey of frightened quail. Cate might have fallen back with them had her feet been willing to move. Altogether, it painted a guilty face on the scene. Quite surprisingly, it was Lady Bart who was the cooler head.

“Diggie!” Lady Bart pressed a hand to her bosom. “You gave us such a start, skulking about! You ought to announce yourself…”

In dishabille and wigless, his short hair tousled, Harte still presented an imposing figure. As he stood now, shirt hastily tucked into his breeches, features obscured in the half-shadows of the doorway, he was thoroughly ominous. Barely acknowledging the elder, he stepped further into the room and swiveled his attention on Cate with an intensity that reminded her of Artemis spotting a rat.

“Mistress Harper, our little refugee from the pirate ship. Escaped again?” he said to Cate under Lady Bart’s rambling.

Cate gulped and forced her frozen lips into something that she hoped resembled a smile. “Roger, what a surprise.”

She strained to recall if the windows were opened or closed, envisioning a leaping escape. Air stirring against her arm gave hope. So faint, however, it might have been only the result of someone moving. If the room had been stuffy before, it was now stifling.

“My regrets if I have discommoded you lovely ladies, in any manner.” Harte’s voice took a condescending dip. He took another step, bringing his humorless smile to light. “Were we looking for someone? Lost something, perhaps? Or might this be a social call?”

Given the hour, he knew damned well it wasn’t that.

“Whatever are you doing down here, Diggie?” Lady Bart demanded, insinuating herself between him and Cate. She briefly squeezed Cate’s arm, but if it was meant as a signal, or only another of her maternal gestures Cate couldn’t tell.

“I thought you retired for the night,” the elder woman said. “Oh, pray put away those weapons. One would think we’re about to be attacked.”

“Aren’t we?” He arched a questioning brow at Cate. “Are we about to have unwelcome visitors?”

He broke his stare to address Lady Bart. “I heard voices and was alarmed for your safety, m’lady.”

Lady Bart completed her indignant parade around the room and alit in a chair, like a hen settling on her nest. “I declare, there certainly are no dangers here. If you were to ask me, I would say you’ve over-reacted. It’s only Cate, come to see that Prudence is safe. She learned Prudence was here and—”

“Yes, I would imagine she’s quite aware of the whereabouts of our Miss Collingwood,” Roger mused dryly.

A green-eyed look cut sideways to Cate. “I had feared perhaps you were indisposed, Mistress, when you failed to offer your compliments the other day.”

“What I do hardly matters,” Cate stammered. A trickle of sweat began a slow march down her ribs.

“On the contrary.” The green eyes flickered to Prudence, then back. “May I assume you’ve come in some feeble attempt to right the damage already done? A little tardy in your concerns, aren’t you? The time to help would have been before the despicable act took place, not after.”

“I don’t understand what—” began Cate.

“Oh, I think you do,” he cut in. “I don’t know who you are, but I do know you are not as you represent. Of that, I am entirely sure.”

There was little sense in arguing the point; Harte had obviously come to his own conclusions. How much he had overheard was the larger issue. His bland countenance showed nothing. Had he heard enough to know of Prudence’s deception, or only arrived in time to learn of Cate’s grander scheme? The more chilling prospect was, if he knew of Prudence’s hoax, would he chose to ignore it, and use her supposed abuse as one more excuse to see Nathan hung.

With a small—very small—bit of relief, Cate noted he made no mention of the warrants against her. Her familiarity with the finer points of British law was foggy, but she believed kidnapping and defilement to be lesser offenses than murder and treason. It was a small consolation to know that at her execution, she would only be hung, not drawn and quartered.

Harte tilted his head slightly in consideration. ”You’re too fine to be one of Blackthorne’s whores, but neither are you a hostage, for you are unscathed.”

“Compliance has its rewards,” she said evenly. Containing her dislike for the man was becoming a task.

“Indeed,” he said distantly, deep in his speculations. “Clearly he has yet to tire of you, for he would have sold you for his next rum.”

She winced at his conclusion being so near to her own.

Harte regarded her with the same air as one would regard a new horse. “Although you’re fair enough, he could make whoremongering worthwhile. And now he’s using you, hiding behind a woman’s skirts, sending you to do his dirty work.”

“No differently than you sought to use me,” Cate shot back in equal coldness.

“Upon my word, Diggie,” exclaimed Lady Bart. “You’re being rather boorish, playing silly questions.”

He gave his hostess only the briefest of glances.

“Two counts co-conspirator to kidnap, misrepresentation, fraud, wrongful doing: all hanging—”

“Cate had nothing to do with that. She wasn’t there when I was taken,” Prudence said, darting protectively to Cate’s side.

“Really?” Harte’s voice arced with doubt. “And where, pray tell, would our dear Mistress Harper have been, if not on the famed Ciara Morganse?”

“Well, I…” Cate was at a loss. The day she met him, she had confessed to being on the ship. Any further denial or explanation would only incriminate Thomas.

“It’s beside the point. You can explain it all to the magistrate.” Shoving the pistol into his waistband, he crooked a beckoning finger. “Come along, my dear. I’ve arranged for—”

He took Cate by the arm, but instantly went stiff and frozen.

“Hold off, mate.”

Cate couldn’t see behind Harte, where the voice and the metallic click of a pistol being cocked came from, but she immediately recognized the voice.

Harte stiffened and drew Cate against him. “Well, well, Nathan Blackthorne.”

Nathan slipped around Harte to come further into the room. The muzzle of his pistol shifted with him, going from the back of the Commodore’s head to the side. The women gasped upon seeing Nathan, and scurried behind the settee. With Harte between them, Cate could only see Nathan’s hat and eyes. They flicked in her direction, assuring that she was so far unharmed.

Nathan clucked his tongue with what only the most desperate could call sympathy. “Captain Nathanael Blackthorne. Disappointing you can’t retain that bit. Gone feeble, have we? And at such an early age.”

Roger held Cate so close, his pistol gouging her ribs. It was a miscalculation on his part, for now she blocked both his pistol and his sword.

Nathan pressed the muzzle harder into Harte’s temple. “Leave ’er go.”

“Rest assured, I will add this to your charge sheet,” Harte said, coolly.

“An extensive and weighty document already,” Nathan replied lightly.

Harte gave a short, humorless laugh. “You’ll be arrested before you reach the front gate.”

Nathan rolled his eyes thoughtfully. “I see it different. By my way o’ thinking, you’ll let us go, easy like, since the young miss over there will be with us—insurance, as it were. Her safety being your main charge and concern, you’ll not desire to endanger her with something so unfortunate as a stray bullet.”

“A fool’s mission,” Harte sneered. “There are guards just outside, in the hall. They’ll—”

“Not anymore.” The smile in Nathan’s voice couldn’t be missed.

Harte’s confidence faltered a fraction. “Where are they?”

“Not here.”

Harte’s fingers dug deeper into Cate’s arm. She felt him shift, evening his weight, readying himself. Her instincts screamed for her to do something, yet she stood, unable to breathe, afraid to move lest she distract Nathan.

“I’ll have you shot before you clear the grounds,” Harte said, his confidence regained.

“Mebbe.” Nathan said agreeably. “On the other hand, ’twould be a mite embarrassing to find it necessary to inform Lord Creswicke of the shooting of his betrothed, during your attempts to apprehend someone who had bested you again.”

“Pray, don’t—!” cried Prudence.

The outburst gave Harte the diversion he needed. He flung Cate aside with a force that sent her to the floor, and whipped around with his elbow. A move intended to smash nose and teeth, or dislocate or fracture jaw, caught Nathan in the side of the head. Nathan sprawled backwards on the floor, his pistol skating off into a corner. Harte drew his sword and spun. He came down with its heel, aiming for Nathan’s head. Nathan rolled, taking the blow in the shoulder, instead.

Cate came up from the floor and lunged at Harte built up for another blow. Hitting his elbow, the momentum took her back to the polished planks. At the same time, Nathan bound to his feet, and tried to draw his sword, but was impeded by a chair. Harte kicked it from his hand to send it skittering out of sight.

Now unarmed, Nathan backed around the room as Harte slashed at him. Nathan came near enough to the fireplace to snatch up the poker and wielded it as if it was a weapon, sparks flying at every collision of steel. Nearly a half a head taller, Harte should have had the advantage of reach and weight, but the furnishings seemed to have joined Nathan’s side, hindering him time and again.

“Pray, not the silk!” Lady Bart cried querulously from her sequester behind the settee when Harte skewered a chair, “Mind the wood!” when a table was knocked over, and “Have a care with the crystal!” when a cabinet was hit.

From where she laid on the floor, Cate spotted Nathan’s pistol in a corner. She lunged to seize it. Rising to her knees, she took aim at Harte, but hesitated. Granted, the fight was noisy, but the sound of a gunshot would bring everyone in the household, including the guards. A worst risk was, she might hit Nathan. She lowered the pistol and hovered, desperate to do something, the poker having been knocked from Nathan’s hand. She snatched up a small footstool and hurled it at Harte’s feet. It tangled there for a moment, and then skittered within Nathan’s reach. He grabbed it just in time to use it as a shield against a vicious swipe from Harte.

Cate whirled in search of another weapon, when Sally shot out from behind the settee. A fringed satin pillow poised high, she set to beating Harte about the head. Confused, Roger tried to defend himself with one arm while going at Nathan with the other, driving him further back with each blow. Satin only able to endure so much abuse, the pillow split with an explosion of feathers.

Nathan came up against a chair. Now trapped, he hurtled the stool at Harte. It hit Harte in the right shoulder and his arm fell limp to his side. Weaponless again, Nathan dove behind the settee, his belt buckles scraping the wooden floor. Lady Bart gave a startled screech as Nathan wove under her skirts, popping up finally at the opposite end.

Feathers stuck in the sweat streaming down his face, Harte staggered as he furiously rubbed feeling back into his arm. When his back was to her, Cate took the chance and launched at him, intending to…hold him down? Tackle? Distract? Anything! Somehow, Harte sensed her coming. He sidestepped and swung with his left arm, bellowing “Away!”

Cate was sent tumbling, the corner of a cabinet catching her in the ribs. She cried out in pain. The wind knocked from her lungs, her knees buckled and she crumpled to the floor.

“Leave off!” Nathan roared and launched up to drive a ringed fist into Harte’s jaw.

Both men now unarmed, they resorted to fists. His right arm still useless, Harte staggered, and then swung his left fist. Nathan ducked and drove his shoulder into Harte’s midriff, sending them both to the floor in a writhing heap.

Cate lay curled on her side, straining to force her spasmed lungs to move. The sounds of the two men fighting, grunts and curses, fell flat in her ears. Through a swirl of black spots, she watched them amidst the wreckage of furniture and feathers. Nathan got an arm around Harte’s throat and squeezed, but Harte threw him off. Both men rose to their knees. The cords rigid in his neck with the effort, Harte drove a fist into Nathan’s gut that sent him sprawling face down. Dazed, Nathan braced his head on the floor as he struggled to rise.

Cate watched in horror as Harte snatched up his sword and, with a double-fisted grip, rose behind Nathan poised for a killing blow. She wanted to scream—needed to scream—to warn Nathan, but her airless lungs managed only a wheezing gasp. Fearing the sickening sound of a blade slicing flesh and shattering bone, the spots before her eyes grew to a frenzied dance as she floundered to rise.

There was a sound, but not the one expected. Shattering, yes…but it was glass.

Amid the female shrieks, Cate’s breath came back in a wrenching gasp. With it, her vision cleared enough for her to see a round-eyed Prudence standing over Harte’s hunched figure, shattered china scattered at her feet. Harte staggered, then collapsed on top of Nathan.

Grunting and swearing came from the swirl of feathers as Nathan struggled out from under Harte’s limp weight. Cate unsteadily rose her feet and stooped to help Nathan to his.

Eyes rolling, Nathan managed a lop-sided grin. “Nice shot, luv.”

“It wasn’t me,” Cate said. She braced a shoulder under his when he swayed. “It was Prudence.”

Nathan's unfocused eyes traveled the room, until they came upon Prudence, standing nearly at his side.

“Nice shot, darling,” he said, blinking wide.

He sagged against the back of a chair and braced his head there, his shoulders heaving as he caught his breath. Cate scooped up his hat and pistol, and guided his fumbling hand to tuck the latter into his belt. He cautiously settled his hat back on his head, wincing.

Seeing Nathan was safe, Cate’s anger surged. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to wait outside.”

Nathan touched his temple, checking for blood, and then glared down his nose at her. “I came looking for you.”

“We agreed you would wait.”

“You didn’t come back.”

“I wasn’t finished.”

The shouting of guards—strident with alarm as the raced down the hallway—cut them short. With a small “Eep!” and a swirl of skirts, Sally ran out to meet them, Lady Bart close behind.

“Thank heavens!” Sally exclaimed. Her feigned breathlessness was muffled by as she pulled the door closed behind her. “They went out through the back.”

“The fiends! They broke in upon us.” Lady Bart’s shrill rose over the male furor. “They seek to escape through the gardens. Oh, the shock! The horror!”

“Yes, ma’am,” came a deeper voice. “But we heard—?”

“No, no! The Commodore has scared them off. Pray, he begs you give chase and do not return, until you have apprehended them and we can safely rest in our beds,” said Lady Bart, with a heretofore unheard tone of authority.

There was a moment of indecision, questions and answers colliding. And then they heard the thump of boots speeding away. Sally and Lady Bart slipped back into the room, closing the door and throwing the bolt behind them.

Lady Bart pressed a hand to her heaving bosom. “They’ve taken their leave for now.”

Sally retrieved Nathan’s sword from the corner. Adoration softened the stern features as she gave it back, her fingers lingering on his. “You need to take your leave.”

From outside the windows came the clatter of musketry and men running.

“We need to show a leg and haul our wind,” Nathan announced and headed for the door.

“There’s been a change in plans,” Cate said, stopping him by the sleeve.

“Suffering Jesus on the cross, now what?” he groaned.

“Prudence won’t be going with us.”

His mouth fell open and remained so for several seconds. “Then what the bloody hell did we come here for?”

“To help her, and we did!”

“We did,” he said dully. He gave his head a shake. “I must have been hit harder than I thought.”

“It’s all arranged,” Lady Bart cried joyously, pressing her palms to her cheeks. “She’ll be staying here, with me.”

Nathan whirled at the sound of her voice, feathers billowing at his knees. “Who the hell are you?”

“This Lady Bart,” Cate said. “She’s Prudence’s aunt—”

“Except not anymore,” Prudence said with a conspiratorial smirk.

Nathan looked to the ceiling in search of guidance, then closed his eyes in search of patience.

“Look, luv, I’d love to stand here and have a gang old chat, but yon Commodore shan’t stay down much longer, and here is not where I’d rather be when he wakes up, if you get me drift.”

Conceding his point, Cate hugged Prudence, and then held her by the shoulders. “Prudence, it’s your responsibility to set this all right. This could have very serious consequences, so you must do everything in your power to assure the Captain isn’t implicated.”

“What did I do?” Nathan demanded from the doorway.

“Nothing,” Cate said, gazing unwaveringly at Prudence.

“Then, what did she do?” he asked.

“Nothing,” chorused the women.

“I shall, I promise,” Prudence said earnestly. She hugged Cate tightly. “Thank you, Cate, for everything.”

Prudence peeked around Cate to wave timidly at Nathan. “Thank you, also Captain.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, and then grumbled under his breath, “Not sure what I did.”

Cate lowered her eyebrows at him, jerked her head in Prudence’s direction, and then arched her brows significantly.

“She just saved your life,” she hissed in the face of his scowl.

Groaning, he stepped around, took Prudence by the shoulders and kissed her lightly on the cheek. The girl’s eyes popped open in shock, her porcelain face going several shades of crimson.

“You’re a lovely girl,” he said, with surprising sincerity.

Nathan turned to find himself encircled by women, all focused at him. Flashing a nervous grin, he shifted on his feet. Expelling a resigned sigh, he seized Nanna’s hand before she could recoil and kissed it. He had barely straightened, before Sally had her in his arms and gave him a plunging kiss.

“Good-bye, Nathan,” she said, breathless as a maid.

He pushed free of her grasp only to wind up squarely before Lady Bart. She was clearly distraught to have the renowned brigand so near. There was a brief jousting of hands, Nathan reaching while Lady Bart, caught between civility and dread, extended only to jerk away. Nathan finally caught up her hand and touched her knuckles to his lips. He then swept a bow, and then wheeled around on Cate.

“Can we go now or is there a scullery maid I missed?” he asked as he propelled her toward the door.

“Wait. Wait!” Prudence cried.

Amid Nathan’s sputtering protests, Cate pulled to a halt. Prudence snatched up the two sewing boxes and thrust them into Cate’s arms.

“You need these,” the young girl said, eyes bright with emotion.

“Thank you!” Cate shouted over her shoulder as Nathan pulled her away.

“Wait! Wait!” Lady Bart trotted to catch them up “Allow me.”

“But, there’s guards and—” Cate began.

Lady Bart waved her away. “Yes, yes, I know. Come!”

Exchanging uncertain glances, Cate and Nathan had no option but to follow Lady Bart down the long hallway to the foyer. Every footstep echoed like a gunshot on the polished floors, but the house was already in such high turmoil, they passed with little notice. The doorman drew open the front door for his mistress to pass, Cate and Nathan in her wake. Lady Bart stopped on the portico and craned her neck to inspect the surrounding grounds.

“It appears to be clear,” she announced, red-faced with excitement. “Have no care; I’ll attend the guards.”

Cate hesitated, not sharing her confidence. “How are you going to explain this?”

“Pish-posh! Diggie already thinks I’m a doddering old fool; a little more so is of minor consequence. I’ll manage.”

She hugged Cate, a gesture of surprising familiarity. “I am in your debt; you saved my niece from an intolerable fate.”

A knot of remorse twisted in Cate’s gut. “And robbed her of her family.”

“And given her a life. I’d call it a fair trade.” Chin quivering and eyes welling, Lady Bart patted Cate on the arm. “Have a care, dear.”

Nathan stood with his hands on his hips in the middle of the drive, having apparently just discovered that Cate wasn’t with him.

“Forgot to exchange recipes?” he asked as she caught him up.

“A real gentleman would carry these.” She pitched the sewing boxes into his arms as she passed, leaving him to fumble on his own, to keep from dropping them.



###



Suffering none of Lady Bart’s confidence, Nathan steered a path sharply away from the one they had come by, and well wide of the sleeping town. Several times Nathan left Cate in a thicket, in order to circle back and confirm they weren’t being pursued. Eventually, they angled back to the narrow road to the back bay.

Once on the road, they walked side by side. A box dangling from each hand, Nathan listened to Cate relate the resolution of Prudence’s situation.

“How in bloody hell did you come up with that?” he cried.

“I don’t know. It just came to me.”

He snorted and shook his head, wincing with the movement. “That plan has more holes in it than a fish net. And people say I’m daft.”

The starlight limning his profile, she told him of Prudence’s dalliances in Boston, and her father’s decision to send her away.

“Why that little trollop,” he said in grudging awe.

“I was thinking something considerably less kind.”

“I dare say,” Nathan said, smiling tolerantly. “You curse better than a street whore.”

“I suppose I should take that as a compliment?”

“In every sense of the word, darling,” he said, with all sincerity. “That scheming, devious, conniving little…”

Nathan chuckled wryly. “Blessed pity, that. I was enjoying the prospect of the misery she would cause His Bumptiousness.”

Cate saw him wince as he shook his head. “Head hurt?”

“A bit. It would seem the Commodore’s elbow is a mite more accurate than previously credited.”

Nathan protested—more for form, Cate thought—but finally halted to submit to her attentions. Plucking away the lingering feathers, she probed his head and under the scarf. His scalp was wet, but it felt more like sweat than blood’s stickiness.

“It’s difficult to see in the dark, but it doesn’t seem anything serious,” she said.

The night closed in. The way was narrow and they occasionally bumped shoulders. It was remarkably warm and still for such an hour, the air like heavy velvet. Moths, some the size of small birds, hung motionless, as if suspended. Nathan had a cantus firmus of his own amid the nocturnal choristers of night creatures. The crunch of his boots, the creak of leather belts, the slap of his sword against his leg, and the swish of bells made a kind of music—his music, the soft rasp of his breathing adding a counterpoint.

“You owe me a thank-you, by the way,” Nathan threw into the silence.

“For what?”

“Did you not notice? I told Princess What’s-Her-Name she was pretty, just like you asked.” Nathan nodded primly.

“Yes, I noticed, and I’m proud of you. I could see she was much the better for it.” Cate felt rather like a mother praising a child, as though she should be patting him on the head.

“I live to serve.” His attempt at a grandiose bow was hindered by his burden.

It was nearly impossible not to notice Nathan’s increasing uneasiness, like a pot building up to boil. Several times, he drew a breath as if to say something, and then abruptly chose not to.

“God’s blood and wounds, I can’t bear another minute,” Nathan burst out, drawing to a halt. “What did I do? I’m not so thick-pated as I couldn’t tell I was being blamed for something. What did I do?”

“Nothing.” Cate turned and continued on.

“No, no, no!” Striding to catch up, Nathan pried a finger from a box handle to waggle it at her. “Don’t try to pull one over on Ol’ Nathan. What did I do?”

“Nothing.” Cate clamped her lower lip between her teeth as eyes fixed straight ahead. “I thought you did something—they thought you did something—but you didn’t, just like I thought.”

A faint flash of gold and white showed his relieved smile. “That’s good!”

Nathan's pace slowed as the smile faded. “What had I done?”

“Nothing. That’s just it, nothing.”

Cate whirled around with a suddenness that made him skid to a stop to avoid a collision. “Just as always: nothing! Isn’t it?” she fumed.

He fell back a step in the face of her vehemence. “I’m being cursed for doing nothing?”

“You’re damned right!” Spinning around, she struck off, agitation quickening her pace.

“And, if I had done…something?” he called.

“Anything!”

Nathan jogged to catch up and fell into step next to her. “I see,” he finally said, straining to pick through her logic. “And, if I had done anything, you’d be the happier?”

“Something would have been better than nothing,” Cate said tartly.

“There’s an eloquently informative statement.” Nathan paused to sweep a mocking bow, as if the forest was his audience. “Pray, I beg you not hesitate to allow me the joy of knowing how I can be of greater service. If there’s anything—something—nothing I can do, I am forever at your leisure.”

“I’d be happier than I am now.”

“With nothing. Bloody hell!”

Grumbling darkly under his breath, he stopped again. “All right, let’s have it!” he called after her. “C’mon, something’s vexing you. Let’s have it!”

Scuffing to a halt, Cate stared ahead. Her legs ached, for she had been pounding the ground with every step, since they had passed through Lady Bart’s gate. She had been trying to make the best of the evening—on the surface, everything had been a success—but had failed miserably.

“Very well,” she said, turning back around. “Do you really want to hear it?”

Nathan's shirt a ghostly glow in the dark, he extended his laden arms to his sides, as if to offer a target. “Either that or I’ll be doomed to spend the rest of me days in mystery of when it finally will come out.”

A part of her screamed for her to desist, to leave it lie. Another part, larger and more boisterous, irked and angered, frayed by weeks of containment, urged her to let fly.

“You kissed every woman in that room tonight,” she began, her throat tightening.

“I did.” His pride faltered at the sight of her stalking toward him. “At your bidding, I might add.”

“I only desired you to give Prudence a little peck on the cheek.”

“Then you should have given me your peck signal, because all I got was the go-ahead-and-do-something,” Nathan shot back, eyes bulging in defiance.

The internal voice of ration screamed for Cate to stop. On many occasions she had listened, but not now. A knot of impending tears grew behind her eyes; she vowed not to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

“Jesus to god, woman, out with it!” Nathan growled.

“You kissed every woman in that room tonight, except me.” Cate gulped down a lump. “You kissed all of them, except me! Why not me?” She pounded her chest with her fist. “Am I so distasteful to you?”

With no ready answer, Nathan looked to the ground, and then away. “I was taking you with me.”

“For what?”

He winced at his hollow answer being recognized for what it was.

Squarely before him now, her voice quavered dangerously. “You kissed Prudence. You kissed Sally—God knows what else you did to that poor woman! Hell, you even kissed Nanna’s and Lady Bart’s hands! But not me. Why?”

The moonlight caught the glitter of resentment and accusation in his slitted eyes. Regretting having said anything, she retreated in the face of what looked to be a storm fit to erupt. Instead, he lurched forward and kissed her, firm but quick on the mouth.

“There!”

If shock has been his intention, he had been triumphant.

Nathan stood back. His chest heaved, rising and falling as if he was fighting someone, or something, like a long torment.

“Oh, bloody hell!” He flung the boxes aside and swept Cate into his arms.

Knowing Nathan was going to kiss her was one thing. The ferocity with which he took her was something else, driving Cate back, until she came up against a tree and then held her there.

“Damn!” He drew a shaky breath. “I knew this would happen; I knew if I started, I could never stop.”

Nathan kissed her again, forcing her mouth open under his, hungry and demanding. A thrill verging on giddiness raced through her. The scrape of the tree at her back brought back visions of another night, but this was nowhere near the same. Cate's head whirled with in disbelief, fearing it another of his fooleries.

Nathan braced his forehead against Cate's, his voice hoarse with yearning. “Mother of Heaven, I’ve waited a long time to do that, since the day we pulled you from the water.”

“But why…? Why so long?” she gasped, breathless.

His mouth moved wordlessly. Ultimately, he shrugged. “I was a damned cod-livered coward. God curse me sorry bones, I was afraid you’d laugh, afraid you’d leave.”

“I’d never—”

Nathan choked a mirthless laugh. His body still hard against her, the walnut eyes were but inches from hers. “Aye, but you almost did. The only thing what kept me from locking you up was the fear you’d jump the moment you were free.”

He touched his lips to where Cat's neck and shoulder met, and she shivered. “Just there,” he breathed. “I’ve wanted to put me mouth just there and taste you.”

And so, he did, a warm path from shoulder to neck, lingering at the tender skin underneath her jaw. He sucked gently on her earlobe, and flicked it with his tongue, her breath coming shorter yet. She slid a hand into the opening of his shirt and felt his skin ripple at her touch.

Nathan's body against hers strained with need and they tore furtively at each other’s clothes. His hand found its way under Cate's skirt to her bare leg. The heat of his palm followed the curve of her thigh and cupped her bottom. His knee insinuated itself between hers and he lifted her higher. Her feet no longer touching the ground, she hooked a leg around his hip. His fingers to search deeper, and she made a small, almost animal sound when he found the slipperiness between her legs.

He broke off with a ragged gasp and braced his head on the trunk. “It’s not right. You don’t deserve me coming at you like a rutting boar.”

“It doesn’t—”

Nathan turned his head enough to peer at Cate from the corner of his eye, and his voice softened. “Not here. Not this way. I want a bed, a place where I can serve you properly and not have to worry about Harte looking over me shoulder.”

He lowered

Cate to the ground and, with considerably effort, withdrew his hand. He tipped her face up and kissed her again, eloquent with tenderness. The bristle of his mustache brushed her lips as a final parting.

“Properly,” he whispered. A reminder to himself, a vow to her. He smiled, one of devilment and charm.

Cate kissed the hollow of his throat. His skin was damp with exertion, his pulse racing against her lips. He bent to kiss her again, but stopped short. Arm curling protectively around her shoulders, his gaze averted skyward.

“What is it?” she asked, looking up.

Nathan's jaw twisted sideways as he scanned the diamond-glittered velvet. “I don’t know. Just a feeling. Best we push off.”

“Is there something wrong?” She stooped to retrieve the boxes from the ground.

“Don’t know for sure and not desirin’ to see.”

Nathan took the boxes and put his arm around her. The small gesture was suddenly so natural, and yet so intimate. He took several steps, and then stopped. Screwing his face, he shifted his weight and plucked delicately at the front of his breeches.

“The lads are in a bit of disarray.”



###



The remainder of the walk was lost to Cate. It was entirely possible she had floated the rest of the way, for she didn’t recall her feet touching the ground. She was buoyant on a flood of emotions: joy, disbelief, elation. They tumbled past, too quick and too many to name. Besides, to do so only threatened to dampen them. With the heat of his hand still on her thigh, she played the scene over again and again in her head. If she could etch every detail to memory, then she could prove to herself that it hadn’t been a dream.

How? Why? When? What? But then…?

Questions bobbed to the surface like apples in a barrel, and yet none could she seize upon with enough surety to respond.

Nathan moved next to her as if nothing was different. His face was too obscured by the night, and therefore of no guidance as to what he might have been thinking.

…from the first…

A part of her was furious with him for waiting so long, and yet she flogged herself with the regret of having been so blind.

He must have felt her looking, for there was the ivory and gold flash of a smile, and she was sure he winked.

Pryce waited at the longboat, Maori and Chin resting on the oars. He gave them a long, significant look, seeming to know what had transpired. There was no disapproval, however. If anything, Cate thought she caught a glimmer of relief on the stern countenance.

“’Pears there be foul weather a-brewin,’” the First Mate said, casting an eye skyward.

“Aching bunions saying tomorrow next, eh?” Nathan said as he handed Cate to a thwart. A blur of brilliant blue soaring toward the ship caught his eye. “It would appear Beatrice knows it, as well.”

“Aye, I’ve yet to see that blessed bird stray when there be a blow a-comin’. Artemis ’tis not moved the night, neither.”

Following their gazes, Cate saw only night-shadowed trees, ink sky and the bay’s glittering gunmetal surface. The Morganse’s silhouette laid low against the island, her masts and spars merging with the jagged treeline. Lamps doused and sails aback, she sat like a panther coiled to spring. The two mariners stood in the boat elbow to elbow, gazing up with the wisdom that came only with a lifetime at sea.

Nathan closed his eyes and lifted his face into the freshening breeze. “We’ll haul anchor at the ready.”

Pryce pursed his mouth and said as they pushed off, “’Twill be a dicey passage to make in the dark.”

“And no easier for the waiting. At the ready, Master Pryce.”

Unable to disagree, Pryce signaled the oarsmen aweigh.

Conversation as they pulled across to the Morganse was kept to low-voiced murmurs, voices being so readily augmented by the night-glassed water. Cate sat on the thwart next to Nathan. Pryce eyed the two of them knowingly. By some strange intuition, every hand in the boat peered at them with the same look.

Is there a damned sign on my forehead?

Feeling the weight of everyone’s stare, Cate and Nathan avoided looking at each other like two north ends of a compass. While Nathan and Pryce made low-voiced plans of what was to be done once aboard, Nathan’s hand crept under the cover of darkness and her skirt, seeking hers. As he directed Pryce on men and sails, his fingers brushed the dip and curve of her knuckles, and then curved in a two-fingered grasp over her hand as he gave Pryce a heading.

Darkness and damp-slickened steps made scaling the ship’s side a treacherous proposition, even with Nathan guiding from behind. Cate had barely managed halfway up when two stout arms reached down to lift her up over the gunwale. As she was lightly set down on deck, she was struck with an overwhelming sense.

Home.

Something longed for, now found.

Silence was the order, stealth an utmost necessity, the urgency to make weigh sharp in the air. With no more than a gesture or nod from their superiors, the men were but dark blobs against a darker deck as they moved in a silent ballet to set sail. The flat line of the topsails and jibs bellied as the filled, inching the ship into motion. The slap of bare feet, creak of rigging, and the Morganse’s sigh of relief to be off.

Nathan steered Cate through the scurrying crewmen to the Great Cabin. The moon was visible through the stern windows. Now no more than a glow behind the island’s curved back, the silver beams streaming through the glass barely reached the table. Nathan deposited the sewing boxes on the table. Glancing outdoors, he steered Cate backwards, out of the way of prying eyes, and kissed her there. He held her loosely, his lips barely brushing hers, intending a reserved parting. His resolve quickly dissolved and he grew more ardent. His arms tightened and his mouth became more demanding. She pressed her hips against his, offering, asking. A trunk pressed against the backs of her legs; he could take her there. There was plenty of room, and it wouldn’t take long. She was ready, moist and full, and he was already rigid against her leg. A flick of the tongue or a touch of the fingers would be all it would require.

Nathan broke away with a gasp. Bracing his forehead against the bulkhead, he closed his eyes and grimaced, as if waiting for a spasm to pass. He cut a sideways look, the corner of his eye pinched with a combination of regret and curiosity.

“Siren.” He smiled, sly and crooked. “Always believed them to be naught but fantasies, but me thinks I’ve found one.”

Groaning at the loss of what might have been, he pushed upright. He hesitated, making a visible effort to collect himself, and then bent to kiss Cate again.

“They do say duty is a heartless master,” he said into her hair. “I had plans of things much greater, but I’ve reefs to clear and a commodore to evade.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Nathan made a sarcastic noise in the back of his throat. “Bloody damned near did, twice, no three times. You’ve no idea how near I came to locking you up.”

With considerable effort, he held her away at arm’s length, and said, “Properly.” A pledge to himself, a vow to her.

“I could be a while.” Nathan winced at the prospect, and allowed Cate to see his longing. “It ’tis a wonder how a moment can pose as an eternity.”

Weak-kneed, Cate sat heavily on the trunk and watched Nathan go out, disappearing into the darkness. She waited for her heart to steady and lucid thought to return.

I could be a while.

She took a tiny bit of skin at the back of her hand between her thumb and forefinger and pinched until she was on the verge of breaking the skin. She cautiously looked around, waiting.

Nothing had changed. The tingle of Nathan’s mouth was still on her lips, the taste of him still on her tongue. It wasn’t a dream.

The weight of guilt kept her seated, guilt for having made Nathan suffer, for making herself suffer. The mind reeled at the joys that had been missed. And yet, how could she have known? She harbored a deeper appreciation of his powers of deflection, of how thick that mask of his had been.

At last, Cate rose. Her first steps a bit unsteady, she found her way through the room’s deep shadows to the galley steps and went down to procure a ewer of hot water from Mr. Kirkland.

Once back in the sleeping quarters, she filled the basin. Prudence had used the last bit of soap, and so for a bit of fragrance, she sprinkled a pinch of dried lavender from her blood box atop the steaming surface. Bathing was a ritual performed most every night, but this time it was done with exacting care, the hot water echoing the paths Nathan’s hands had traced. She fumbled with the sponge, dropping it several times, her chest tightening until breathing was no longer a natural thing. She chided herself for being as nervous as she had been on her wedding night.

No, not Brian…not now…not ever.

She couldn’t think about him now. He was gone…and Nathan was there, so very there.

From overhead came the hurried stump of footsteps. The floor beneath her feet shifted as the Morganse began to move out of the bay. In the moonlessness, it would be a treacherous passage. By means of lead lines and her master at her helm, the ship felt her way through the shoals and reefs like a blind person in a narrow corridor.

When finished bathing, Cate slipped naked under the quilt, feeling as fresh as a nymph. She was seized by the fear of appearing a little too eager, and jumped up to snatch her shift from the stool. Slipping it on, she tied the bow at the front with extra precision, and then settled in bed once more.

It wasn’t long before ship leaned on a larboard tack. Cate shifted with well-practiced ease to wedge herself more comfortably. The Morganse was sailing hard, her urgency felt through the thrum of her rigging and rush of the water sliding past the hull. With Harte and his warships standing in at Hopetown, pursuit was a real threat. It was difficult to erase the image of the Resolute at the Straits, in all her 80-gun glory. Cate regretted not having fully appreciated the risk under which she had placed not only Nathan, but the Morganse and her people, when she had pleaded for help for Prudence. Granted, Nathan had grumbled and chaffed, but with no more ire than if she had asked him to pass the salt. There had been no remonstration, nor recrimination from anyone, but then no one had been injured…yet.

She was familiar enough now to know the difference between the clamor of sailing and that which rose from eminent danger. Pryce and Hodder’s bellows and the fainter hails from the forecastlemen and topsmen all indicated they were in the clear. Nathan’s destroyed voice couldn’t begin to equal that of the First Mate or Boatswains, but authority compensated where volume failed. The only thing now to be heard was the all-encompassing desire to put as much sea to the ship’s stern as possible.

The deck prism as her light, she lay in its ethereal greenish glow with nothing more to do than to think.

He wanted her!

The shock was as strong then as it had been on that dark road. Touching her fingers to her lips, she could still taste Nathan's kiss, and feel the press of his body against hers, urgent and needing…Yes, so very, very in need.

He wanted her…but Nathan couldn’t possibly burn for her the same way as she did for him. It would mean he had suffered the same ache and need that coiled like a serpent in her belly and constricted to the point of verging on pain. It would mean he had woken in the night panting and writhing with avidity, and then walking the decks, for nothing else would appease the cries of the flesh.

It was a wonder how two people could have lived in such parallel worlds of desire and denial. She regretted for having been so blind, for having made him suffer—for making both of them suffer, for that matter. A steadier thought pointed out it hadn’t wholly been her fault: the King of the Arcane had ruled his realm in convincing fashion.

With nothing but time, she reexamined every moment with Nathan, from the first day, when she stood dripping in the cabin, until just a few hours ago, trying to glean out the oh-so-very-subtle hints only hindsight could illuminate. So many questions were answered, and yet from each answer rose another question.

Gradually, her racing heart slowed. Breathless anticipation eased into tempered impatience, which faded into uncertainty as the watch bell clanged its increments of time.

One hour…two…three…

I could be a while…



###



Cate woke sometime later, with no way of knowing the time.

To her, time was relative on a ship. Granted, the grains of sand in the glass perpetually sifted away, but there were four sizes. Beyond their increments of half minute, half-hour, hour, and four hour, they were of little guidance. The watch bell clanged with meticulous regularity, but the intervals tended to blur together, their intricacies lost.

As best she had been able to gather during her sojourn at sea, albeit brief, at any given time the bell rang there were five options. Six clangs of the bell could mean it was either three, seven, or eleven in the morning, or three or eleven in the evening. She prided herself on her intelligence and quickness of mind, but the entire concept she found staggering.

With a finite amount of patience, Nathan attempted several times to explain. Suffice it to say, the sessions never went well.

“Why can’t you just ring it like any other clock?” she had argued testily.

The questioning of such a time-honored tradition caused him to puff with indignation. “It’s not a bloody parlor clock.”

“But it’s still a clock. If it’s five, why not just ring five? If it’s nine, why not ring nine?”

“That makes no sense a-tall! You can’t have the goddamned ruddy thing banging away. The crew would be deaf by the end of their watch, besides not a soul having a wink of sleep.”

“So, those four bells just now, meant it’s…?”

“End of the dog watch,” he said with a narrow look.

She closed her eyes, summoning patience. Sorting out the watches was even more elusive. She was yet to comprehend why the First Watch began at eight o’clock at night. “Which means…?”

Nathan frowned as if she were dim-witted. “Six o’clock.”

“Morning or night?”

“Bloody hell!” Nathan threw his hands up as he bolted from his chair. “Any slab-sided, Dutch-built fool can look up and see if ’tis day or night. Besides the fact there’s no dog watch at six in the morning. Honestly, darling, I’m worried for you. A simple cabin boy can grasp it! Hell, even Hermione knows it!”

Shaking his head, he had walked away.

Consequently, Cate resorted to her own concept of time: Either it was day or night, early morning or late morning, noonish, early afternoon, late afternoon, early evening, or night. Sometimes, night could be divided into late and really late, but such distinction was rarely significant.

However, at that moment, it felt very late.

I could be a while.

She sat up and flung back the quilt, the chill of the night air cutting through her worn shift. A sliver of light slipped under the curtain. True enough, it meant someone was in the salon, but it also meant it was all right for the light to be lit, the threat of the ship pursuit was past. Aboard a pirate ship, the Captain’s cabin was considered public domain, his table open to anyone who cared to dine. It was a privilege rarely exercised, but the possibility was always there. Pryce, Hodder, Kirkland, Millbridge, or a number of others could be in the cabin on some manner of business. In any case, she wrapped the quilt around her before going out.

Nathan sat in the relative quiet of the ambient voice of his ship. A small collection of candles in battered holders sat on the table in a molten glow. Slouched in his chair, his bare feet were crossed on the table. His head tilted back, he stared at the beams overhead, the scar at his throat a shadowy slash. She was nearly to the table before he heard her. He jerked up, his bells jangling softly, and blinked.

“’Ello, luv.”

His speech was thickened, either from sleep or lack thereof. As he sat up and a bottle he held came into view. He made preparations to stand then decided against it. Instead, he hooked a chair with his foot and slid it closer, then gestured for her to sit.

“Did I wake you, darling? I’m sorry; I thought I was being quiet.” It was uttered with marginal sincerity, the candlelight flashing on the gold of his teeth as he bared them ever so slightly at the end.

Cate busied with arranging the blanket in the chair around her, not from modesty, but as an excuse to avoid meeting his gaze. “No, I just woke.”

It was only a small lie. A twitch of a dark brow revealed he recognized it as such.

An awkward silence filled the space. Nathan struck a blank gaze at the table. His straight-nosed profile sharp in the candlelight, he was deep within himself. There was an unfamiliar slump about the usually square-set shoulders and a mood she couldn’t identify. A gap loomed between them, now more vast than her first day aboard, when she had sat in that very chair. She propped her head in her hand and wondered.

I could be a while.

And, indeed, Nathan had been a while. Cate had waited…and waited, but apparently, not long enough. Sometime in the darkness, she had fallen asleep. In hindsight, perhaps the lavender hadn’t been a wise choice. Ordinarily administered to ease headaches and minor pain, it might have had a more sedative power than credited.

Had Nathan come back—or not? It was a question she couldn’t bring herself to ask; there were no good answers. When they parted, he had shown every intention of coming to her, but did he? Or had second thoughts prevailed? In typical Nathan fashion, was he hoping the situation would go away, forgotten? She found herself faced with the choice of where to put her faith: with six weeks of past behavior, or a flash of passion?

Nathan took a swig from the bottle, and then looked up, as if he had forgotten she was there.

“Have a nip?” He made a feeble attempt at one of those smiles intended to charm.

Cate took the proffered bottle. The rim glistened from where Nathan had just drunk, and she made a point of turning it in order to use that same space. She winced when the raw liquor touched her throat. As she passed the bottle back, their fingers brushed, his seeming to reach for hers. It was ever so brief, but enough to make her heart jump.

“Is there a…problem?” she finally threw into the silence. It was woefully inadequate, but sounding inane was better than the waiting.

Nathan stared at the bottle as he pensively rolled it between his palms. A smile slowly grew, as if to a private joke. He looked up with an intensity that made her breath catch.

“I’m gathering courage, luv,” he said so very quietly, inordinately so. “The courage to take something.”

Cate was struck a bit odd. Nathan was a pirate; rarely did she consider them to suffer the burden of restraint on taking anything they desired.

She had learned it was often necessary to be patient when trying to follow Nathan’s train of thought. Often perplexing at first, he had a tendency to make sense…usually.

“Do you know what it is to want something?” Nathan began conversationally, his gaze fixed on the bottle. “’Tis right before you, within your grasp, and yet so far from reach it might as well be on the rings of Saturn.” He ended with a skyward flair of fingers.

“It’s not anything you’d considered to fancy or seek,” he said without waiting for her answer. “And yet, you know from the first that it is something for which you have searched all of your days.”

Nathan stared at Cate with great intent, as if waiting for an answer to a question unasked. Bottle in hand, he rose with startling abruptness to prowl the room like a great cat.

“And then you realize,” he said, “’tis something not to be yours a-tall. Meant for another, a treasure never intended to be shared. ’Tis unworthy you are, the Fates whisper.”

He drew up before the window. He leaned his arm against the frame and cocked a hip. A breeze lifted the tails of his scarf and coiled them about his shoulders. He gazed at a sea glittered with gunmetal and silver.

“But then you find yourself thinking, ‘Just once,’” he said softly to the night. “Not forever, for that would be too grand. But just once, if you were to reach out and take it, and be damned the consequences.”

“What led you to believe this…something wasn’t—?” she began.

“’Tis the treasure of another,” Nathan sighed over his shoulder in utter defeat. “Once claimed is twice possessed.”

Nathan resumed pacing. As he moved on a feral path in and out of the shadows, Cate noticed his bare feet once more. The candlelight caught the gleam of freshly shaven cheeks and glistened on droplets of water in his beard and chest hair. She surveyed the room with a new eye. His coat and sash were flung over a chair in the corner, his hat and belts tossed on the table. Boots and socks laid scattered across the floor. Under closer observation, they formed a loose trail toward the curtain.

Yes, he had come back.

She recalled awakening at one point. No one had been there, the movement of the curtain assumed to be from the motion of the ship.

Yes, Nathan had come back. He had kept his word and she…

Cate braced her head in her hand. The regret that sickened her just then had to have paled in comparison to Nathan's abject disappointment. There was no gracious way of saying someone’s arrival hadn’t been sufficiently exciting to keep one awake. To many a man it would be an insult, a deep unforgivable affront.

What he was about, however, was no longer a mystery. He was afraid to ask the same awkward, humiliating question she couldn’t bring herself to pose.

“But what if…?” Cate gulped, words not being where she had expected. “I mean, what if the Fates were to, umm…change their minds?”

Nathan paused in mid-step and looked off to consider, his jaw twisted thoughtfully to the side. “Only a cuckle-headed dolt would think it possible,” he said, and then added with a wistful smile, “But if I was that fortunate cove, I’d treasure it, cherish it as no other has or could.”

Cate shifted self-consciously and wiped her suddenly damp palms on the quilt.

“What if you find you’ve misjudged, that this…something isn’t all—?” she asked. Anticipation could be a lethal enemy, meeting expectations a daunting prospect. It was no secret that he was far more practiced than she in the art of lovemaking. One man, in her whole life, compared to how many women for him?

“Noo…” Nathan said gravely. It was uttered so softly she could barely hear it over the tinkle of his bells. “Not possible. I’ve observed this something for a time, now. So much, so remarkable…”

His mouth moved wordlessly, and he finally surrendered. “Nay. Dreams are fulfilled in so very many ways.”

A glowing rush surged up to her face and other parts below. “Once, then, is all you’d desire of this…something?” The hoarseness of her voice wasn’t completely a result of the rum.

Nathan made a scornful noise. “Hardly. A lifetime wouldn’t allow for what could be.”

He flopped in the chair and sighed, dejected. “But, if it came to pass the once ’tis all I was allowed…” His head fell back against the chair, and he looked again to the smoke-darkened beams. “Then, I would have the once, and would be obliged to find a way to live with that.”

Too restless to sit, he rose again to stand at the window.

“If you’ve wanted this something, why haven’t you taken it before now?” Cate asked.

Nathan turned to her with a look that turned her spine to water. Boring into her with an avidity-sparked cinnamon and amber gaze, he knew better than anyone of how to hide his thoughts, but he hid nothing now.

His voice dropped to a throaty purr. “’Twas not mine to have. To take it could be to lose it, and then…” He looked away, his shoulders moving under his shirt finishing the thought.

Cate drew a deep breath. A kindred spirit had been mirrored in those eyes, one who had suffered and burned the same as she, desire and longing that neither had words for.

Words, however, had served them poorly.

She rose and walked purposefully to the doors. She swung them closed, the sound of the bolt sliding home punctuating an end to conversation. As she came back across the room, she allowed the quilt to slip from her shoulders, and halted as near to Nathan as possible without touching. A breeze wafted through the cabin. Clad only in her shift, she shivered, but not from a chill.

She plucked the bottle from his hand. “Just how much of that rum have you had?”

Nathan lowered his lids. The heavy lashes fanning dark crescent over his cheeks, he looked up through them and smiled crookedly. “Not much.”

Cate set the bottle on the table, and then pressed her body against his. “Then you’re not so drunk, are you?”

“No.” His breath stirred her hair.

“Good, because I want to show this fortunate cove something.”

Cate plucked a taper from the table and put out her hand. As she led him toward the curtain, Nathan reached to retrieve his baldric and pistol, and shrugged self-consciously. She nodded in mute acknowledgment of the facts of his world: above all else, one must always be on guard.

From the time she took Nathan's hand, until she put the candle into the wall sconce by the bunk, Cate's mind was flooded with a myriad of reasons as to why she should stop. Instead, she turned into his arms and allowed his kiss—so fervent it arched her backwards—to erase them all. She thrilled as her hands splayed across his back, tracking the cords of muscle taut over bone. A stronger thrill rolled through her at the brass hardness against her leg.

“I have to warn you,” she said. “I haven’t done this in a very long time.”

“Well, ’tis not something readily forgotten,” Nathan said dryly.

“It’s been five years.” She spoke with some effort as his tongue flicked her earlobe.

Nathan drew back, scowling as if he thought surely he had misunderstood. “Five years?”

“Nearly six, now.” She took the brief interlude to catch her breath. It had been nearly six since she and Brian had…

No, not now. Go away!

“Five years.” Nathan angled his head and viewed her as if she was a new variety of animal. Then he straightened, ready for the challenge. “Five years. Aye, well, as I recollect, not much has changed.”

He kissed her again, his braids pattering a provocative dance on her chest. “Damn, you taste good.”

He had his own taste: rum—strong enough to make her light-headed—musk and desire, and she drank deeply.

They undressed each other with hands that occasionally shook and fingers that fumbled. Buttons suddenly became inordinately slippery, ties unmanageable. Her hand hovered at the ribbon at the neck of her shift, and she bit her lip, embarrassment heating her cheeks. “I can’t. I’m scared."

“Of what?”

“You.” What if it had been too long? Was it possible for the body to forget? At the moment, it didn’t seem possible, but the doubt lurked.

“Me?” Nathans disbelief dissolved, and his brows drew together. “You know I’ll never hurt you.”

Cate tried to smile, but his image blurred.

Dammit! Not tears! Not now!

She laughed mirthlessly. “No, not that way. I’m nervous as all hell, but it’s because you’re more…experienced.”

Nathan flushed under his tan and looked away. “Don’t worry luv,” he mused. “We’ll move easy. If there’s any part you don’t recall, just let me know.”

“But there’s…” Her hand went reflexively to her stomach.

“Your scars?” Arching an admonishing brow, he gently took her by the wrists, turned them up and kissed the inside of each one, the bristle of his mustache tickling the delicate skin. “We all carry them. You forget: I’ve seen them.”

“But I didn’t see you see them; there’s a difference.”

Nathan smiled tolerantly. “And so, you shall see mine, or blow out the candle. ’Tis your choice.”

Cate saw and heard his hopefulness that she would not. They both wanted something more than a furtive anonymous tumble in the dark. He would take her, flaws and all, if she would do the same.

“But, I—”

He cut off her objections with his lips, as reassuring as nothing else could.

“Now, then…” Nathan's eyes held hers as he pulled the ribbon free. On shaky legs, she stood transfixed on his gaze as he nudged the garment from her shoulders and it fell into a puddle at her feet. She observed him keenly for the first sign of recoil or disgust, but found nothing. His fingers dancing an air ballet around her, his eyes glistened as he took her in.

“My God.” His throat moved when he gulped. He shook his head in wonderment. “You’re more beautiful…How could I have ever…?”

Nathan pressed his lips to her cheek, neck, and collarbone, while at the same time sank to his knees before her. He cupped her breast, pale against his tanned hand. Lying heavy and taut in his palm, he took it deep against his tongue. She cradled his head in her arms as one would a child. He sank lower, his lips tracing a moth wing’s path over the slope of her belly, holding her by the hips to steady her when she flinched or shied. As he followed each scar, from the heaviest to the most thread-like, she could see in her mind’s eye the angle and curve of each one.

Cate closed her eyes. She grew more light-headed, the room beginning to spin. She clung to him, her anchor, afraid if she were to let go he would be lost to her forever. It had been so long since she had felt the sensations that now coursed through her. Sequestered for years, the body recalled all too well the yearning, the deep-seated, aching need.

At last, Nathan rose to his feet. “There now,” he said, as one would soothe a child.

“Now you,” she said, tugging at his shirttails.

Nathan took a half step back, slipped his shirt over his head, tossed it to the floor and spread his arms in display. Dark and wild, a blur of tattoos and scars, he glowed, bronze fading to ivory. The candlelight played patterns across his body, shadows defining the deep cut of bone and muscle. It was obvious was that he wanted her badly…very badly.

He lifted her to the bunk, and lowered himself over her. “Don’t worry. I shan’t risk burdening you with a child.”

He kissed her once more, this one a thorough exploration of her deepest crevices, his tongue darting, taunting, and teasing.

“Show me, Kitty,” he whispered. “Touch me as you would have me touch you. Use me as your chart. Give me your course.”

The ship’s ambient chorus of sail, rigging, and plank faded. Their eyes held each other’s as they played a languid game of show and tell: seeking and exploring, discovering and learning.

“Touch me here,” she said, curving her hands along the spring of his ribs. And so he did, gooseflesh following in the path of the softly callused fingers.

“And here.”

Nathan's breath caught and he trembled when she touched his nipple. It came up hard, as hers rose against his palm, begging to be suckled once more.

As she directed, he followed, echoing her every move. Her fingers teasing his stiffened length were answered by beguiling fingers, which found her slippery cleft. A fingertip at the tip of his cock delicately guided him further. When her eyes closed in ultimate surrender, he chuckled softly, and then slid down. Cradling her hips in his hands, he re-traced his exploratory route, re-discovering with lips what fingers had already known. She curved her fingers into the raven hair, and guided him, until she could hold on no more.

He kissed the inside of her thigh, his breath warm on the tender skin. “When you’re ready, luv, and not a moment before.”

Cate surprised him when she pushed him back and rose over him to track similar journeys: over the curve of his ribs, his skin rippling in response; down to the jut of his hip and the deep grove of his groin. She tasted the salty dampness at the hollow of his throat, felt the hard nub of his nipple, and smelled the deep must of the heavy thatch between his legs.

“Succubus,” Nathan hissed and pulled her to him. Crushing her mouth with his, he rolled above her.

Encircling his cock, she gave the silken length a few more strokes, and then guided him home. He gave a solid thrust and staggered with relief in her arms. She flinched, her tender flesh contracting at the invasion, and he tried to pull away.

“Nathan, no, please…” Her hand at his back held him in place.

“But, I…”

“No. Please.”

Nathan’s body trembled with the strain of giving her time to adjust, unable to move, unable to breathe. A flex of her hips her assent, he plunged to the root. He held so very still, allowing her to set the pace. She had the impression he would have never moved had she not seized his hips and goaded him on. She discovered years of denial weren’t as ready to be relieved as one might think. What had seemed so simple and imminent became an elusive taunt, teetering so very near, only to fall away, a dam impregnable. She bucked under him, urging, begging, demanding. Pain and pleasure ricocheted against each other, until they became a new glorious goal: to suffer one was to gain the other.

Her consciousness spiraled down to the point of their joining. Clawing at his flanks, she smothered her cries into his shoulder. Giving over to his own need, he settled with new purpose, driving harder and faster. The pounding became a fleshy rhythm, each thrust felt to her womb.

He sought to withdraw, but her hand at his back stopped him. His final shuddering gasp was lost as her finish came in a flood of long racking spasms, one overlapping the next as she crashed against him.

Forehead buried in the pillow next to her head, Nathan limply lay on top of her. His pulse echoed through their joining, and their hearts settled into a unified beat.

Yes, the body does remember—and remembers very well, she thought, idly stroking his back.

Nathan’s body began to quake, and then the low rumble of a laugh finally erupted into the pillow. He pushed up, rolled his eyes back and fell away. Spread-eagle across the bunk, his chest heaved as he strove to catch his breath. He raised an arm to wipe the sweat from the side of his face, and then dropped as if it was too heavy to support.

He cut her a sideways look, started to speak, gulped, and tried anew. “Are you always that way?”

The flush of their love-making drained into cold mortification. Cate scrambled for the edge of the bunk. “I’m sorry! I told you it had been a while. I didn’t mean to—”

“No! No!” Nathan groped for her arm and pulled her back. “I meant, I have never been with anyone ever like that.”

“I’m sorry.” Embarrassment still heated her cheeks. “I was nervous; I’m not usually that…that…awkward.”

Nathan lifted his head to peer down his nose at her. “Awkward?” His head dropped heavily back down, and drew several more ragged breaths. “For a moment there, I thought I shan’t ever breathe again.”

“Suffering Jesus!” he gasped, with a lop-sided grin. “You are something!”



###



Cate had never experienced it, but she had heard of men who, once their needs were fulfilled, rolled away and slept. It would not have been a surprise if Nathan had fallen into that category. Once again, he proved to be unique unto himself: he gathered her close, nestling her head into the curve of his shoulder. One leg wedged between his, she toyed with one of his braids, and listened to the rush of his breathing under her cheek. The deep thud of his heart gradually steadied to an easy rhythm. His fingers languidly tracing her outline from temple to hip and back, he periodically brushed a wisp of hair from his face or pressed his lips to the side of her head.

She closed her eyes and reveled in the joy of him near. She had never thought to have a man again. Perhaps she had been too dubious and impatient of Providence. Perhaps, given sufficient time, it would smile. She brushed all the mystery and questions of the last weeks aside, and sighed in contentment.

He wanted her.

It felt so good to finally know…

So good to be with him…

So good to be…

She buried her face into his shoulder and began to silently quake.

“Here now, what’s this? ’Tis not flattering to say I’ve driven a woman to tears.”

“Nothing…It’s…” Shaking her head, she rooted deeper.

“Did I…? Dammit!” His alarmed concern grew as he tried to see her face. “Did I hurt you? I didn’t mean…I mean, I thought you would have—”

“No, no,” she moaned, now too embarrassed to be seen.

He burrowed his hand between them, until her chin was found. He brought her face up to his and she cut her eyes first one way, then another to avoid him. His persistence won out and she reluctantly settled on the coffee-colored orbs directly before her. Just inches away, she could see the thick row of double lashes, the candle, now so very near to guttering out, catching the cinnamon and gold flecks.

“It’s nothing…” she sniffed, looking away.

“Well, aye, ’tis most definitely not nothing. I’ll wager it’s very likely something,” he said dryly.

“It’s just…It’s just…It feels so good to be held…” The rest was lost in a thin squeak as her throat constricted.

Cate sobbed, the frustration of spoiling such a joyous moment only adding to her despair. Years of never being touched in anything other than the most perfunctory of ways: accosted, yanked, barricaded, or mauled, she had been touched, but never held. She clutched him until her arms shook, while Nathan held her with the fervency of one hanging on to his life.

Nathan lifted her face once more and dabbed her eyes with the corner of the quilt. “I know, luv. I know,” he said, gravely. “More times than I care to think, I have paid a fair bit o’ coin just for this.”

Nathan found her hand between them and squeezed it.

“To know you live.” His voice shook with sincerity. “To know you’re something more than some heap of flesh stalking about.”

Sniffing, Cate hung her head and nodded.

He kissed her on the forehead, and then thumbed from her cheek a fugitive tear that squeezed out. “You’re alive. Know that.”

Chin wobbling dangerously, she nodded again, swiping at the tears glistening on the hair of his chest.

Nathan resettled her against him and nestled her head under his chin. “And I’ll skewer the next bloody damned scrub what says different.”

She gave a half-choked laugh. Once more Nathan had worked his charms.

A sputtering pop! And a hiss marked the death of the candle. Now cloaked in darkness, Nathan continued to hold her. Rocking her ever so gently, he stroked her neck and arms, while a thumb brushed her ear.

“Hist, now. Shh, shh…Shh, shh, shh…” he whispered so lowly at times to be almost the rush of the water against the ship’s hull.



###



Sharing the single pillow, they slept entangled and entwined. Sometime in the darkness, he came to her again, tender but wanting. Cradling her in his arms, as he proved to be the gentle and skilled lover she had suspected. At the end, they clung to each other and shook. In the foggy margins of sleep, they rolled together, fitting like spoons, his arm around her waist, his upturned palm cupping her breast—her surrender, his possession.

Sometime in the night, the bond was broken, ties snapped.

Adrift again.