Capture The Wind (33 page)

The question trembled on the tip of her tongue, but she said merely, “Yes, the meal was surprisingly good. Except for the sand. I don’t believe I care much for grit in my vegetables.”

Kit looked back at her, amusement curving his mouth. “I expect not. Sand is very adequate roughage, however.”

“That’s almost exactly what Dylan said.”

“No doubt.” Amusement still marked Kit’s face when she asked cautiously, “Is it true that we will be leaving this island tomorrow?”

Glancing toward the beach where the
Sea Tiger
still lay scuttled on the sand, Kit shrugged. “I hope so. The keel has been scraped and tarred, and the mast set in. We can move her back into the water with the morning tide, then reload the remaining cargo.”

“Turk said you sold most of the cargo in town, except for items you feel will sell better elsewhere.”

He looked back at her, nodding. “Yes. As I told you, the merchants here may despise us, but they like the profits they make from our goods. Our profit has already been divided among the crew.”

She didn’t reply to that. It still rankled that the world seemed motivated by greed. The past weeks had taught her some very valuable lessons about life and reality, but they’d shattered any illusions she’d had that honesty always prevailed.

And they’d failed to teach her how to carry on a casual conversation with the man who mattered most to her, she added silently. Pushing at hair blowing into her eyes, she asked, “What is our destination when we leave here?”

Kit shrugged. “Wherever the wind blows best.”

It was an evasive reply, and she understood that he had no intention of telling her anything. That much was normal. He rarely divulged information. She always had to learn things from Turk or Dylan. She had hoped for some sort of sign from him that he wanted her with him, but his closed expression left her floundering. What did one say to a man when he behaved as if he’d forgotten their intimacy?

Angela was still trying to decide what to do next when Kit reached out to take her chin in his palm. The shock of his touch left her reeling, while a hundred different reactions raced through her quivering brain and took root in her body. A shudder surged through her like a tidal wave, and Kit must have felt it because his touch altered slightly, becoming more of a caress.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, and the husky tenor of his voice penetrated to her very center.

She caught his hand, turned it, and pressed a light kiss on his rough palm. Calluses scuffed the surface of his skin, an imprint from years of hauling hemp lines and climbing masts. Angela kissed each one, and heard the sharp intake of his breath.

He started to say something, then stopped when a burst of raucous laughter rose from a group of men only a few yards away. Tents sprouted around them like mushrooms in a rain-wet cow pasture, much too close for anything resembling privacy. She saw the flash of frustration in his eyes, and his mouth thinned into a taut line.

When he pulled her to her feet, Angela hesitated. “Kit, where are we going?”

For an answer, he slid an arm around her waist and pulled her with him, moving past the fire into the night shadows. Members of the crew grouped around driftwood fires, some playing fiddles and singing, others talking. Kit walked her past them without speaking, but she detected interested gazes in their direction.

Clumps of tall grass sprouted up from the ground at intervals, resembling graceful dancers in the moonlit breeze. She moved slowly beside him, her feet sinking deeply in the sand. Then she stepped on a sharp object and stumbled.

“A conch shell,” Kit said, bending to lift it and hold it out to her. She took it, marveling at the knobby texture of the outer shell and the satiny smoothness of the curling interior. Even in the fading light she could see the delicate colors, shading from a pale pink to a deep purple. Smiling at her delight, Kit said, “Hold it to your ear and you will hear the roar of the ocean.”

Skeptically she did so, and was amazed at the muffled sound of the sea emanating from the shell’s interior. “It’s just echoes,” she accused, and he shook his head.

“No. Actually, it’s the sound of your own pulse you hear, but that’s not nearly as romantic.”

His smile made her breath catch in her throat and sent the pulses he had just mentioned pounding in a rapid rhythm. Trade winds lifted her hair from her neck and sent it in light caresses across her flushed face, and as if he knew what she was feeling Kit took her free hand in his. She allowed the contact, and they walked hand in hand over the clinging, wet sand.

When she stumbled again, Kit swung her up and into his arms, ignoring her squeak of protest. She turned her face into his shoulder, knowing what the crew must be thinking as they watched them. Intimacy was still so new to her that she inwardly quailed.

“Where are we going?” she asked again, the words muffled by his linen shirt.

“Somewhere we can talk.” His arms tightened slightly. “Do you have any objections to some privacy?”

Objections? When she’d sat in the shade with her heart on her sleeve and watched him work all day? No, she certainly had no objections, but she doubted the wisdom of telling him how deeply she felt when he had not revealed his own feelings. She shook her head in reply, unable to voice her doubts.

A brisk wind blew off the water of the bay when Kit paused to lower her to her feet. The sand was wet, with tiny puddles here and there reflecting the moonlight. Stepping gingerly, she avoided the water and a chunk of driftwood as she followed him.

“Watch the jellyfish,” Kit cautioned. He stopped and pointed to a shimmering glob of what looked like a translucent silk balloon. “If you step on it, you’ll regret it.”

“Why?” she asked even as she was skirting the creature. “It looks harmless enough.”

“Does it?” Kit picked up a piece of driftwood and knelt, then nudged one of the long, slender tentacles trailing in the sand. Immediately, the thready appendages coiled around the driftwood. Kit looked up at her. “If that was my hand or foot,” he said, “I’d have festering sores by now. It stings like the devil. I’ve seen men almost lose a leg after being stung.”

Disengaging the wood with a brisk shake, he stood up. “This is a small one. A larger one would be around my arm.”

“Why is it on the beach?”

“Probably stranded by the tide. When the sun comes out tomorrow, it will dry up and die. Jellyfish have to stay wet.”

“Oh.” She caught at his arm. “Can’t you put it back in the water?”

He flashed her a strange glance. “Why?”

“Because it will die if left here. Oh Kit, please. I hate to see it lie here waiting to die.”

An amused smile curved his mouth. “So, the tenderhearted girl child can’t stand to see even a fish die? What do you think you eat whenever you get the chance?”

“That’s not the same thing. This doesn’t even look like a fish, and besides—I don’t have to watch my meal die.”

“I fail to see the logic in that, but never mind. If you think I intend to touch it, you’ve lost what little sense I supposed you had.”

“You’ll think of a way to save it.”

Kit stared at her in the moonlight, and Angela had the notion he was wondering if she’d lost her mind. Then he shrugged.

“All right. If it will make you happy.”

She watched while he removed his shirt, using it and the piece of driftwood to cautiously scoop the quivering jellyfish from the wet sand. One of the tentacles slithered toward him and he jerked back, swearing. The look he shot Angela made her quail, but she murmured encouragement that only made Kit swear again.

“Damn bloody jellyfish—if it stings me, it’ll be your fault,” he muttered, reaching gingerly for the edge of his shirt to close the top and entrap the creature. It made a shallow trench as he dragged it out into the water, where the tide washed up to his ankles. He lifted the edges of his shirt and gave them a shake, dislodging the sea creature. It made a slight splash as it tumbled into the waves, then bobbed on the surface.

Wading back to her, Kit muttered disgustedly, “It’ll just be washed back up on the beach, and now I’ve got wet boots.”

She smiled. “But you saved it for me. Thank you.”

He gave her another strange look, wringing seawater from his shirt with both hands. “Which only goes to show that I’ve lost what little sense I could claim. Why is it that you always have me doing things I don’t normally do?”

“Such as?”

“Such as rescuing a stranded jellyfish, for one.” He gave her an exasperated look. “And rescuing stranded females for another. I should have left you aboard the
Scrutiny.
My life would be much simpler.”

“Do you really wish that?”

“What—that I’d left you aboard a burning ship?” He wrung the last of the water from his shirt and shook it out. “I’d be better off, but no—I don’t wish that.”

“I was beginning to wonder. You’ve remarked more than once that I’m a nuisance.”

“And so you are.” He caught her arm when she took a step back. “But a pretty nuisance. I’ve grown accustomed to you by now.”

She didn’t try to avoid his touch, but said, “And here I’ve been thinking you were trying to avoid me these past two days.”

“Ah.” He released her arm. “Perhaps it escaped your notice that I’ve been rather busy scraping barnacles and other determined crustaceans from the hull of my ship.”

“Not at all.” Escaped her notice? When she’d sat beneath the overhang of a tent and eyed him with a hunger that half amazed her, half shamed her? She could never admit that. “I do recall seeing you in that vicinity,” she said instead. “I wasn’t aware, however, that you were engaged in honest toil.”

Kit snorted. “You’re not alone. You must have been talking to Turk.”

“Yes, he was able to find time to visit with me, however briefly.”

“Nag, nag, nag. Is that all women do?”

“Hardly,” she snapped. “If you brought me out here just to pick a fight, I would as soon go back to my tent.”

He caught her arm when she turned away, dragging her back to him. “This isn’t a fight. This is what passes for casual conversation between us. Or haven’t you noticed? We rarely chat idly.”

It was true. She could count on the digits of a one-handed pirate the number of times they had enjoyed casual conversation. But it still stung to hear him blithely acknowledge this lack of civility between them, especially when she wanted so desperately to learn all she could about him.

“So,” said Angela with what was—she hoped—a nonchalant shrug, “why don’t we try that some time?”

“What? Informal discussions? How novel. It sounds delightful, but I’m not at all certain either one of us can manage it. We’re rather like flint and tinder, I’ve recently been told.”

“Dylan’s words, no doubt.”

“Ah, you’re quite perceptive. Come with me. No, I’m not going to drown you, angel. There’s a boat behind these bushes, and I had visions of a romantic moonlight sail.”

Pleased—and more than a little surprised—Angela allowed him to lift her into the small dinghy. It rocked alarmingly, and she gripped the sides with both hands. Kit pushed it away from shore and clambered in, splashing water and sand on her.

“Somehow,” she remarked as she brushed wet sand from her skirts, “I never envisioned grit in my romantic dreams.”

“Ah, a decided lack of reality. But one should allow for certain intrusions into fantasy in order to enjoy it at all.”

Leaning back, Angela watched the play of moonlight and shadow on Kit’s face as he picked up the oars and began to row. The slap of water against the small craft was soothing, and the fact that she was with Kit made her almost giddy with delight. This was how she had hoped it could be with them, this playful teasing and enjoyment.

In the distance, she heard the cries of night birds in the trees and could still smell the faint fragrance of roasting meat from their evening meal. It was mixed with the salt tang of the ocean and a heady scent that she could not place.

Shrugging when she asked him what it was, Kit said, “Spanish jasmine, I think. Some kind of flower. The island overflows with them. If we had time, I’d take you to the north side, which is a lot greener than this side.”

“We passed a lot of small islands, I noticed. Wouldn’t you feel safer careening the ship on one of those?”

“Definitely. But we needed to rid ourselves of a lot of cargo, so we took the chance of coming here.” Kit bent to the oars, and moonlight reflected from the smooth flex of his muscles.