A Pirate's Possession (33 page)

“It's a long story. I'm sure you'll see her at the burial. If I can find her in time.”

Alicia looked at Samantha. Her sister nodded. She faced Nate, her eyes shining with determination.

“Tell me where you think she is and what she looks like. We'll find her.”

 

 

Perhaps she was simply getting used to the pain, Claire thought as she poked at the fire. Either way, it wasn't the piercing kind it used to be. She still had to keep her breaths light, but it no longer felt as though someone were taking a red-hot iron to her middle. They'd switched to a club instead.

And after another restless night's sleep, it wasn't only her ribs that throbbed. Her head pounded as well. Which was likely why she hadn't heard the sound of approaching steps until it was almost too late. But hearing them now, and the swish of branches being moved, Claire grabbed her knife with her left hand and her pistol with her right.

She felt like a flaming idiot when two women stepped into her camp, both wearing day dresses, both unarmed. Still, since it was ingrained in her to always be prepared, she kept her weapons in her hands as she lowered her arms to her side.

They were about the same height, but while one had light blond hair and a blue dress, the other had darker hair and wore green. It was the darker-haired one who smiled.

“Claire, I presume?” she said.

Since only a handful of people on the island knew her name, and since she couldn't imagine any other women would come looking for her, Claire threw her pistol onto her bag and put her knife back into her boot. She wiped her hands on her trousers.

“Samantha and Alicia,” she sighed. Why was it that when Claire thought her life couldn't get any worse, that she couldn't be more ashamed of herself than she already was, she was proven wrong?

The one in blue came forward, held out her hand. “I'm Alicia, pleased to meet you.”

Claire held back. She wasn't going to take her hand, not when her own was as dirty as it was.

“I wish it could be under better circumstances,” Claire answered.

“I'm a blacksmith, Claire. Look at my own hands.”

Claire did, and felt some of the tension fall away when she saw a hint of black smears around Alicia's fingernails. Alicia held out her hand again, and this time, Claire took it.

“I'm her sister, Samantha.” Samantha angled her head. “I imagine you've heard of me?”

Claire nodded, amazed that this woman, this very pretty woman, had at one time been the fearsome Sam Steele.

“You don't look like a pirate.”

Samantha laughed. “I imagine you thought my husband did?”

“Yes, Luke most definitely looks the part.”

“And he'll be most pleased to hear you say that.” She offered her hand. “Samantha Bradley.”

“Claire Gentry.”

Suddenly realizing the reason they'd come looking for her, and the very fact that they were on this island, made Claire's stomach clench.

“The burial. It's today?”

Alicia's eyes shone. “It is. Nate and Blake are arranging it. We only arrived a short time ago.”

“Thank you for telling me,” Claire said. “I'll come once I've ...” She held her arms aside, looked down, and saw herself through their eyes. Worn, dusty boots that rode to her knee, gray pants that used to be black, and a tan-colored shirt that was worn thin at the elbows. That wasn't to mention the dirt that felt embedded into each fold of her skin, the fact that her hair was cut ragged, or the smell she was sure she wreaked of since it had been days without washing.

Claire looked at Alicia, whose long blond hair was folded into a neat braid, and at Samantha's darker, curled tresses, which flowed loose and clean around her shoulders. There was no judgment in their steady gazes, but Claire had enough of her own. She looked and felt like an urchin. She'd been alone and miserable and now, not only did she have to face burying a friend, but she had to do it looking and feeling her absolute worst.

It was all too much. Claire felt her face crumple. She'd been battling to hold herself together, but she couldn't do it any longer. She didn't have the strength or the will. The emotions she'd held back burst from the walls she'd pushed them behind and came forth in a flood of tears.

The trees around her blurred into a fog of green. The smell of the fire faded as did the melodic singing of the birds that hid amid the greenery. There was only the emptiness that engulfed her. Her sobs drummed against her ribs and tears slipped into the corner of her mouth as she gasped for breath. She turned away, hands covering her mouth, mortified she'd lost control.

The soft touch that settled onto her shoulder only made her feel worse.

“We loved him, too,” Alicia said, her own voice watery.

Claire squeezed her eyes shut. She didn't doubt they knew her tears were about more than Vincent, but thankfully Alicia chose to concentrate on the most obvious reason.

Claire managed a nod and swiped impatiently at her tears. They'd never accomplished anything, she'd learned, yet here she was leaking like a sinking ship. Dammit.

“I'm all right.” She wiped her face again and turned.

Alicia kept her hand on Claire. Samantha watched with steady eyes that seemed to miss nothing.

“I think it pays tribute to Vincent to cry. It means he was loved and mattered enough to be wept over.”

Claire choked on emotion and had to settle for nodding instead.

Samantha came forward, raised her skirts, and kicked dirt over the fire. Using Claire's stick, she stirred it, then shoved in more dirt until nothing but a thin finger of gray smoke rose to the tree tops. Then she faced Claire.

“Do you have a gown in your bag?” she asked.

Claire felt her cheeks burn. “I haven't.”

“Then we'll buy you one. There's a bathhouse and a barber in town.” She came forward and touched the tips of Claire's short hair. “It's such a beautiful color.”

“I can't—I don't—” She sighed, then pressed a hand against her sore chest. “I don't have any money, not yet.”

“I thought you'd be insulted by the offer,” Samantha said.

“Sam has a habit of being very forthright,” Alicia agreed with a grin.

Claire shook her head. “How can I be insulted when you're right? I know how I look. And I want to do better by Vincent than to go looking like this. I simply don't have the means to do anything about it.”

“Did Nate refuse to help you?” Alicia fisted a hand on her hip. “If he did, I'll—”

“No, no, I didn't ask. He has enough to deal with.”

Alicia softened. “As do we all. He'd have helped you. It's in his nature to help.”

Claire thought of how he'd offered his cabin when she'd been hurt, how he'd jumped into the pit to help her, how he'd tended to Vincent. Nate would have given her money, had she asked. But she hadn't wanted to. It hurt being near him, and she'd already decided to leave as quickly as possible after the burial. She had plans for her part of the treasure that didn't include Nate or anything on that island.

“I know what it is to be independent, to be used to doing things alone,” Samantha offered with a smile of understanding. “But there comes a time when you have to reach out, accept there are people who care about you and want to help you. I hope you'll let us.”

“I'm sorry, I'm grateful to you both, truly I am. Especially since you don't know me, but the truth remains that I have no money.”

Samantha smiled. “Well, that's no bother. I happen to have more than I need.”

Claire's refusal was immediate. “No. I can't accept it.”

“Why not?”

Claire bit her lip, thought of the best way to explain without hurting this woman she'd only met, and decided to be as forthright as Samantha had already proven herself to be.

“It's pirate money. I want no part of it.”

Alicia's eyes widened and her gaze snapped to her sister. Samantha's gaze had hardened, and in the cold look she shot Claire, Claire saw the pirate she'd once been.

“I've made money legitimately building ships, but yes, prior to that I was a pirate. However, I took no glory in it. I became Steele to avenge my family's murder, nothing more. The ships I took in the interim were treated with as much respect and lack of violence as I could manage.”

Claire frowned. “If that's the case, why do you have such a fearsome name? Why does everyone fear Steele?”

“There were many battles that were vicious, too many. Besides, you don't have to be deadly to be feared, you only have to be effective. Most people who came against Steele lost. However, that's the past. The point I wanted to make, Claire, was that when I met Luke, I thought he was no better than the man who murdered my family. Had I not looked past Luke's piracy, I'd have missed the wonderful man he is and all the joy and love he's brought to my life.

“Tell me, are you only an urchin that lives in the forest and forages for food, or are you a woman of substance behind the clothes and the ragged hair?”

Claire felt the sting of Samantha's words as surely as if she'd been slapped. And, she realized, she deserved that and more.

“Hasn't Nate proven to you that he's more than a pirate?” Alicia asked.

Claire nodded, feeling suddenly weighed down. “He has, on more than one occasion.”

“Then I don't understand,” Alicia said.

“It's a matter of self-respect. Mine.” She sighed. “I've tried so hard to maintain my integrity, to come back from the bad decisions I've made in a way I could be proud of. I could have turned to piracy but I wanted people, and that included myself, to look upon Claire Gentry and see a woman worthy of respect.” She gestured to her clothes. “As you can see, I've yet to attain my goal.”

“Claire,” Alicia said, taking her hand. “As a blacksmith, I know what it's like to be regarded with disdain, to not be included or valued for who I am. I'm not a traditional wife and that's fine by me. You don't have to live up to anybody else's values, only your own. In the end, those are the only ones that matter. The fact that you're living as you are, knowing you could have made it easier on yourself by turning pirate, shows me the character you have. You should be proud of yourself.”

“It doesn't matter to me how you're dressed or where you live, you already have my respect,” Samantha added softly.

Tears once again filled Claire's eyes.

“Thank you both,” Claire said as she wiped her eyes. “And to you, Samantha, I apologize.”

“Accepted,” Samantha answered. “Now, can we take you into town?”

 

 

The ceremony was everything Nate thought Vincent would have wanted. It was simple, it was to the point, and it was attended by his family. The crew was gathered round, hats in hand as the afternoon sun spread its glow around those in attendance. Judging from their shiny hair and ruddy faces, they'd taken the time to bathe and shave.

Vincent would have chuckled to see it.

And knowing that pressed on Nate's heart.

Blake had found a woman, the preacher's daughter, to sing. She stepped forward now. Her voice, pure as anything Nate had ever heard, wove around each of them and held them captive. When the words spoke of a being lost, then found, Nate's gaze sought out Claire.

His heart had tumbled when he'd seen her. She wore green to match her eyes and her hair had been cut, the tattered ends smoothed. It was too short to be called fashionable by most standards, but Nate wasn't most men. He thought the way the tips brushed her cheekbones made her look soft and pretty. The dress clung to her waist and the square cut of the bodice offered a hint of the gentle curves beneath it.

She met his gaze across the freshly turned earth, wiped a tear from her cheek. The woman's voice trailed off and the last note of the chorus floated over tear-streaked faces. She stepped back and her father once again came forward. He held his hand over the grave, recited a last prayer.

Nate and Blake knelt down as they'd planned. They reached out, grabbed a handful of the cool dirt, and let it sift over Vincent's grave. Nate's hand remained on the ground long after the last of the dirt had fallen. The earth beneath his hand was cool, and reality was a bitter taste in his mouth.

Vincent would never again tease him mercilessly, would never drag a crate to the helm when it was his turn to man the ship. His friend was lost, and for the life of him, Nate couldn't envision the rest of it without Vincent in it. He buried his face in his hands, clenched his teeth against the grief.
Good-bye, my friend
.

He felt Blake stand, knew he was seeking comfort in his wife. Nate breathed deeply, concentrating on the simple movement rather than the loss. Still, when he opened his eyes and stood, he knew another, equally strong sense of loss.

Claire was nowhere to be seen.

Twenty-five

Claire plodded back to camp, her heart too heavy to care about the thorny fingers that clawed at her skirt. Seeing Nate and Blake at the grave, their eyes wet, had undone Claire. She hadn't been able to endure their pain a moment longer. Not when her own was nearly unbearable. Selfishly, she'd slipped from the assembled group while they'd had their focus elsewhere.

Hours later, after changing back into her trousers and shirt, with her dress carefully folded into her bag, Claire lit a fire out of necessity rather than a need to keep busy. She sat cross-legged on her bed, watched the flames flicker with life. How easily it could all be snuffed out, she thought sadly.