Capture The Wind (27 page)

Turk shrugged his massive shoulders. “So it is said. We will reach land soon. The crew is already impatient, and I have informed them of the shifts when they will be allowed to go ashore. Is that agreeable?”

“As always. Save room in one of the skiffs. Miss Angela will be joining us this evening.”

The blue tattoos on Turk’s cheeks seemed to grow darker as he stared down at Kit with a shocked expression.
“Joining
us? Have you taken leave of your senses? Joining us where?”

“At Bloody Bob’s Tavern. I promised her entertainment.”

“Dear God. You
have
taken leave of your senses. Or gotten too much sun. Whyever would you take her there?”

“Because it’s a diversion and she seems in need of one. Do you really think I would allow anything to happen to her?” Kit asked irritably.

“But Bloody Bob’s—it is not exactly the sort of establishment to which a young lady of breeding is accustomed, Kit. I beg that you reconsider.”

“She’ll enjoy it, dammit. You surprise me, Turk. After all, it was your idea that she visit the Café Des Réfugiés in New Orleans. This is no worse.”

“Nor any better.” Turk took a deep breath, started to say something else, then looked at Angela and lapsed into silence. Kit paused and slanted a glance toward her. She was gazing at them with a faintly perplexed frown, and he knew she’d sensed the tension. Well, it couldn’t be helped.

“I will see that there are places made for both of you,” Turk said. “And for myself. I have a driving desire to be there this evening.”

“As participant or guard?”

“Both capacities are feasible, I should think.”

Angela, staring from one to the other of them, was confused by the barbed comments. She had never known Kit and Turk to bear animosity toward one another, and recognized that both of them were circling one another like wary dogs. The most prudent course seemed to be silence, and she settled her spine against the polished rail behind her.

Kit turned abruptly and told her to go below. “You’ve had enough air for the afternoon. I’ll send Dylan for you when it’s time to go ashore.”

Shrugging, she flashed Turk a faint smile and made her way over the rolling deck to the hatch leading below deck. Several of the crew watched her progress, and she heard soft laughter from the man named Reed. He frequently watched her when she was above deck, his eyes narrowing with malice. Apparently—and Emily had sworn it was true—he had been unwise enough to drink too much rum one night and speak out boldly. To Reed’s dismay, Kit had overheard him. The incident had cost Reed several stripes across his back.

Angela ignored Reed as she passed, but did not feel easy until she had stepped into the musty shadows of the companionway. Not that she was afraid of him. No, she’d learned that despite what he said to her in private, Captain Kit Saber had no intention of allowing anything to happen to his female captives. Yet Angela did not delude herself that it had anything to do with deep emotions for her. It was simply his nature, as Dylan had once told her. Whatever else he was, she had come to the conclusion that Kit was also a gentleman in the strictest sense.

Really, so much had happened in the past month and a half that she was growing quite accustomed to the changes in her life. To alter a hard-held opinion was the least remarkable change. More remarkable, was the way she now felt about Kit Saber. It had been a complete revelation to her the day before when he had stuck his head in the door of her cabin and inquired about her health.

It had occurred to her then, as she’d stared at his handsome face, that she had been much too preoccupied with him for some time. Even before Philippe’s bitter betrayal, she’d thought of the pirate captain more than she should. And since then—well, it did not help in the least that Dylan had correctly summed it up for her just that morning.

“Don’t be mule-headed. Anyone with half a brain can see that you’ve gone over the rail about him,” Dylan had said.

At the time, she’d been quite irritated with Dylan for his presumption. Since then, however, she’d considered it carefully and come to the conclusion that he was right. All the signs had been there. She’d just refused to acknowledge them.

It left her more confused than ever.

How could she have thought herself in love with Philippe, yet fall in love with Saber, too? Or had she ever been in love with Philippe? If not, would she be able to recognize love when it happened? Did she really love Saber, or was he just an attractive man who had been too much in her company of late?

Angela stepped into her cabin and shut the door, leaning back against it with closed eyes. Stuffy and still smelling faintly of charred wood, it provided a cozy retreat in which to contemplate her growing confusion. It made her head ache just to think about it all. She wished Emily would come to talk to her. That might help.

Left alone, images of Kit Saber were much too prevalent in her mind. She could not keep at bay the memories of his hands on her, or his mouth, or the heated press of his body against hers. She thought of his earlier words about distractions, and wished fervently that she could be distracted enough not to think about him in that way. He thought that she was distressed over Philippe’s betrayal.

But the truth of the matter was that after the shock of Philippe’s cruel rejection had worn off, she’d found herself relieved more than grieved. It was as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders, and the guilt she had felt over betraying Philippe, in mind if not body, had vanished, like a puff of smoke.

There was, she decided ruefully, a certain freedom in being rejected out of hand. What bothered her was the uncertainty of what she would have done if Philippe had welcomed her with open arms. Would she have stayed with him? Despite how she’d begun to feel about Kit Saber? And dear God, how could she ever explain her feelings about a pirate captain to her parents? Papa would never understand. Mama would swoon and have to be brought around with smelling salts, and her friends—well, she would definitely be ostracized. Polite society did not normally accept pirates into their ranks. Pirates were even more frowned upon than penniless French royalists.

A knock sounded on her door just behind her ear, startling her. She turned to open the door, smiling when she saw Emily’s face. “Emily! I’m so glad you’ve come.”

“I can’t stay but a moment. I’m helping Dylan pick oakum.”

“You’re helping what?”

Emily laughed, and Angela had the thought that the nervous girl who had left England was completely different from this confident woman who stood before her now.

“Pick oakum,” Emily repeated as she hugged her. Her brown curls smelled of wind and sea air, and there was fresh color in her cheeks that made her dark eyes sparkle. “Turk set him to it for some infraction of the rules—I think it had to do with being late for his watch because he was with me—but anyway, I said I’d help. It’s not bad, really. One must take old rope and shred it to stuff into the ship’s seams as caulking. It swells when it’s wet.”

“Oh. And you
like
picking oakum?”

“Not particularly. But I do like being with Dylan, and as long as we don’t flaunt our friendship, no one seems to mind. Of course, I think that is largely due to Captain Saber’s orders. He won’t allow any of the crew to even swear in front of us. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed?”

“No,” she said slowly. “I suppose because Dylan has been known to swear in front of us.”

“That’s different. He is in charge of our protection.”

Frowning, Angela moved across the cabin to her bunk and perched on the edge. She plucked idly at the comforter folded neatly on the end. “Emily, have you considered what you’re going to do about Dylan when we get back to England?”

A shadow crossed the girl’s face. “No. I can’t make myself think about that now. The time will come all too quickly, and I guess I’ll deal with it then. And you—what will you do about Captain Saber?”

Startled, Angela’s head jerked up and she stared at her. “What are you talking about?”

“You know what I’m talking about. I cannot see Mr. Lindell allowing you to bring home a pirate for dinner. My parents are dead, and I have just my aunt. I’ve no one to answer to, but your circumstances are quite different.”

It was something to think about. Even after Emily had left her and gone above deck, Angela could not get the question out of her mind. Once back in England, she would probably never see Kit Saber again. The thought was crushing. And worse, there was very little she could do about it.

Sighing, Angela moved to the trunk Dylan had placed in her cabin and pushed open the lid. If she was to be taken to a tavern, she should dress appropriately. But what on earth did a
young lady of breeding
as Turk had referred to her, wear to a Caribbean tavern?

“This is Bloody Bob’s?”

Kit glanced down at Angela and smiled. “Yes. Looks rather comfortable, doesn’t it?”

It was an understatement, and he knew it. Tucked beneath an overhang of palm trees and thick vegetation, the hut resembled a crofter’s cottage in Yorkshire more than it did a tavern. Instead of thatching, palm fronds formed the roof, and rough poles supported a porch that ran the length of the front of the building. Torches sputtered, giving off smoky light. Open windows provided glimpses into the dimly lit tavern, and music and laughter drifted out into the soft night air. Sand and crushed seashells lined the path.

“It’s very—quaint,” Angela murmured, and Turk snorted.

“Another term for decrepit, I presume.”

She looked up at Turk with a smile. “Oh no. I think it very charming. And it looks like fun. I’ve never been to an establishment such as this.”

“No,” Turk said dryly, “I daresay you haven’t.”

“Enough chatter,” Kit cut in. “It’s much more entertaining inside than out here in the road.”

Putting his hand beneath her elbow, he steered Angela toward the door, leaving Turk to follow behind. It was dim and cool inside, despite the press of bodies crowded into the common room. Lanterns hung from the ceiling, shedding pools of erratic light. A long bar stretched across one end of the room, and behind it stood a dark-haired man with a thick mustache, a red kerchief wound around his head and a huge gold hoop earring dangling from his left ear.

Looking up and spying Kit, he grinned broadly. “It’s about time you showed up again, Saber. I was beginning to think the government cutters had got ya.”

“Not yet.” Kit made his way toward the bar, one arm around Angela’s shoulders. He saw several interested gazes in her direction, but no one dared approach.

“You must be Bob,” Angela said when they reached the bar, and the man laughed.

“Not hardly. Bob owns the place. I just run it for him. And I do a damn good job of it, too.”

Kit grinned. “Angela, this is Monroe. Don’t listen to a word he says. He’s not only the worst tavern keeper in the Caribbean, but the best liar.”

“I’m grieved that you should think so low of me, Saber,” Monroe said with a sad shake of his head that made the earring sway. He winked at Angela. “Saber just gets too damn impatient.” “Only after requesting a bottle for the fourth time. Until then, I’m an easygoing fellow.”

Monroe reached beneath the counter and lifted out a bottle of rum, slamming it to the surface. “There. Without even asking. I should be well paid for such service, but I ain’t.”

“A bottle of light wine for the lady, please,” Kit said, and Monroe’s jaw dropped slightly. “Don’t say it. I know you have some in the back, so bring it out.”

“That’s Bob’s private stock,” Monroe began to protest, but Kit shook his head.

“Not for the right price, and you know it.”

Throwing up his hands, Monroe left the counter and disappeared into the back. When he returned, he held a bottle of wine in one hand. “This what you want?”

Kit tossed a gold coin to the counter and took the bottle from Monroe. “I knew you’d find what I wanted for the lady.”

Monroe’s dark eyes slid over Angela with appreciation, and he smiled broadly. “Only the best for such a fine lady, eh, Saber? I admire your taste in both women and wine.”

From anyone else, Kit would not have tolerated such obvious admiration, but he’d known Monroe far too long to be insulted by his comments. He escorted Angela to an empty table that Turk had managed to commandeer for them and seated her in a chair with her back to the wall so that she could view the entire room.

She looked totally out of place, with her blond hair neatly braided atop her head and her dress much more demure than any worn by the few other women in the tavern. It was obvious she was fascinated with the friendly chaos of the tavern. Her eyes were wide, lips slightly parted as she stared around her, and he tried to envision the scene through her eyes instead of through his own, which had long ago been jaded by similar sights. It was an assorted group, from wealthy indigo planters to rough pirates, with only a few women among them. Those, he knew from experience, were not the kind of females to which Angela was accustomed. He wondered what she thought of them and if she was sorry that Emily had not joined them.

As if reading his mind, Angela leaned forward and said softly, “Emily was right—she would have been terrified to come here.”