Hart's Reward (Pirates & Petticoats #3) (5 page)

“It’s near impossible to try and figure out how yer head works, Cap’n. I’ve seen men clobbered hard enough that they forgot their names and never remembered them again. I’ve seen other’s wake up the next day fine as sea mist.” Gus turned his pipe upside down and tapped it over the rail, sending the coals into the sea.

Landon stared at the glossy water moving behind his ship. “Images seep into my mind like the smoke from your pipe…one moment a swirling shape, the next…a wisp of nothing.”

“Give it time, Cap’n. Give it time. You never know, there may be something familiar happen that opens the door to your memories.”

Landon leaned back in his chair, pensive. It was as if his mind was blocked by a curtain; all he needed was a strong enough breeze to move it. Today, when Ronnie and the young Persian had sparred near the helm, something…a movement…a color…a fragrance…had invaded the dark closed off place in his head. He’d been hopeful his mind would open and he’d remember. Nothing had happened. Nothing at all. He was left with a twisting sensation in his gut telling him that he’d missed something, he just didn’t know what.

Keelan strolled into the galley, bucket in hand. “Should I pour some water into the Captain’s pitcher?” she asked Marcel, already knowing the answer.

“
Oui
. He will expect it,” the old cook answered, not looking up from his task.
 

Gus told her that he and Landon had decided to keep his memory loss a secret from the crew; they’d agreed that this was no time to lose the confidence of the men. Even now, British ships and privateers prowled the waters seeking a prize like the
Desire
. This ship had to remain unified and strong.
 

“These are good men when they have faith in their ship and her captain,” Gus had said. “We can’t give ‘em reason to doubt.”

Keelan carried the bucket half-filled with fresh rain water to Landon’s cabin, the bottle of dye tucked into her boot. Daniel informed her that Landon and Gus were currently sitting on chairs near the stern, enjoying a tankard of ale where no one could eavesdrop. They were reading through the most recent journals, with the hope that something would pull Landon’s memory to the present.

Keelan kicked the door closed and hurried to the deep bowl Landon had placed for her near the water closet. She pulled the bottle from her boot and emptied it into the basin and then added some of the water. She found the mirror in one of Landon’s desk drawers next to his shaving supplies.
 

Beside it sat a small box. She stroked it tenderly. Inside, wrapped in a piece of silk, was her wedding ring. It had been Landon’s grandmother’s and Keelan wore it the night she and Landon had performed their handfast in front of Conal and Daniel, pledging their hearts and lives to each other. Opening the box, she removed the ring and put it on her finger admiring the sparkle of the rubies and diamonds in the dim light of the cabin.

Landon had carried the ring with him the day they were to be married in Harbour Town. They never made it to the church. Conal’s ship was taken and thus the wedding delayed.

She pulled out the mirror and propped it up beside the basin. That accomplished, she tugged off Landon’s old linen shirt and tossed it on the bed, then unlaced the leather corset that bound her breasts. She pulled off the cloth covering her hair and dropped it into the dye. Her natural auburn color had begun to emerge as the stain faded, prompting her to keep her head covered. It seemed to help with the disguise as well. The crew never questioned the claim that she and Daniel were Persians. The cloth also helped keep the sun from burning her neck and scalp.
 

The ship creaked and moaned as the wind gripped her sails. Sometimes, the
Desire
seemed to act like an old dog, groaning, sighing and growling. Her timbers, spars and lines whined with every movement of the sea. Keelan actually enjoyed listening to the ship chatter her condition as she slid across the water.

It didn’t take long to rub the stain into her arms, chest and neck. She couldn’t reach as far back behind her shoulders as Mrs. Schoen had done, and prayed her administrations were enough to cover the necessary parts. The slashes where Gampo’s first mate, and cousin, had marked her back were gently healed, but she avoided them as she applied the stain over her shoulders.
 

Keelan had accidentally killed the man when she’d thrown a chain around his neck to prevent him from sinking a dagger in Landon’s back during a fight. Now, Gampo had a price on her head, hence the dye and the disguise.
 

The hardest part to stain evenly would be her face. Propping the mirror at a better angle, she reminded herself to use steady, even strokes. A streak or blotch on her face would surely expose her charade to the crew.

She dipped the rag in the basin and squeezed it as best she could, then leaned closer to Landon’s mirror and carefully wiped her forehead with the stain. She repeated the slow, even swipes across her cheeks and nose, then chin before blotting with a dry rag and repeating the process. The lantern swayed in a slow sweep casting shadows and light.

She moved on to her hair, pulling the dye-soaked cloth from her scalp down to the ends. She’d become accustomed to the inhalation and the exhalation of the
Desire,
as the ship cut through the water. The motion of the sea no longer made her queasy. The old Landon would have been proud of her for that. She paused. The old Landon loved her. The new Landon barely noticed her. Along with the rest of the crew, he thought she was the Persian boy, Mahdi.

The memory of their garden dance in the moonlight drifted through her thoughts. It was the night of her cousin’s ball. The moon was luminous enough to cast shadows in the garden. She’d ventured out for fresh air and to escape from Dr. Garrison and his clumsy attempts at dancing, which had been painful for her toes.

Landon had pulled her into a waltz and it had been just the two of them. His hand against her waist had been distracting, his words even more so. He was witty and charming and before she knew what was happening, she’d been goaded into a bet…that she couldn’t initiate a kiss with passion. Of course, she accepted, she’d never been able to refuse a bet. Losing at anything vexed her to no end, so she made sure she always won.

She’d kissed him, and time stopped. The moon quit pulling the tide, the earth ceased spinning and the breeze froze in the sky. Landon stirred a fire in her heart that heated her entire body, and all she wanted was for his arms to never let her go.

She paused and lowered the rag. She wanted the old Landon back. She wanted him back and she’d be damned if she was going to stand idly and wait for him. There had to be something she could do to help him regain his memory. Daniel might have some ideas. When she finished here, she’d seek him out. They’d form a plan.

The light in the cabin had dimmed with the approach of evening; she turned up the lantern a tiny bit, then picked up the mirror and brought it nearer to her face for an inspection closer to the light. There were no uneven blotches. She nodded in satisfaction. Once she pulled back her hair and covered it, all signs of the fiery tresses would be extinguished.

She shifted the mirror for a better view of the side of her neck, then caught a movement in the glass. Landon stood with his hand still on the latch of the closed door, jaw slightly open.

“Landon!” His name fell from her mouth before she could stop it. Her heart pounded hard in her chest and for a moment, she froze.

His eyes widened and traveled down her profile from her face down to her breasts, then over her boy’s breeches and boots then back up again. “What in God’s name….” He clenched his jaw and in two strides closed the space between them. His movement finally broke her temporary paralysis and she lunged for her shirt still draped over their bed.
His
bed now, since he had no memory of ever sharing it with her.

He reached her before she could take a second step, grabbed her arms and pushed her against the wall of the cabin. His crystalline irises flashed in anger. “Who the hell are you?” His gaze raked once more past her stained face, neck and chest to her breasts and pale stomach.

“And no more lies,” he growled.

If he expected her to shrink in fear, he’d be disappointed. She lifted her chin and glared back at him as best as she could, considering the top of her head barely reached his jaw.
 

He grabbed her wrist in a painful vise and twisted it up between them and in front of her face. “You can begin by telling me why you are wearing a family heirloom that once belonged to my grandmother,” he ground the words out through clenched teeth.

The ring! She’d forgotten she still had it on. Her throat constricted, not allowing her to swallow. He could have her punished for theft. If only she could be certain the truth would jar his memory, she’d tell him everything. But…what if it didn’t? One thing was certain, if he was convinced she was trying to steal from him, he’d order a harsh punishment. The wounds on her back from the last lashing she received from Gampo’s first mate had not fully healed. She’d not survive another. There’d be no more tiptoeing around the truth, then. She met his hot blue gaze with her own of green fire.

“I am Keelan O’Brien Hart. Your
wife
.”

Landon fell back as if he’d been shot. His face paled and his lips moved but made no sound. “Impossible,” he finally whispered hoarsely. He backed into the edge of the bed and sat staring.

“It’s entirely possible,” she stated, pulling at the shirt he’d trapped beneath his hip when he sat.
 

“Did you say O’Brien? As in Conal O’Brien?” He peered at her and cocked his head to the side, then once again raked his gaze over her head to foot.

She tugged harder at the shirt, but he seemed oblivious to her struggle. “Yes, O’Brien. I’m Conal’s sister.”

Landon’s eyes narrowed then. “I know every member of Conal’s family. He has no sister named Keelan.”

She finally forfeited her quest for the shirt and stepped back, crossing her arms over her chest both in irritation and a small amount of modesty. As his wife, she wasn’t opposed to revealing her naked body to him, but this particular situation confused things more than a bit.
 

“I was taken from my crib as a baby and raised by a British commodore and his wife.” She studied his face. A glimmer of acknowledgment, a tiny light of recognition flickering in his eyes,
 
would give her hope. But there was nothing.

He pressed his lips together and leaned back. “That sounds rather outlandish…and too convenient.” He nodded toward the ring.

“It’s the truth,” she snapped, unable to hide her disappointment.

“Prove it.”

“Papa—Commodore Grey, gave me a signet ring and half a locket with a miniature of my—and Conal’s—father. The ring had a family crest on it… four lions, a shaft of wheat and a knights helm.” She silently prayed the information would help him remember something.
 

Anything.

Landon shrugged. “Show me the ring.”

She fidgeted and edged toward the tall boy then jerked open a drawer and removed another shirt. “Conal has it.”

Silence. “Of course he does. It’s his ring. If you had it then it would have probably been because you
took
it.”

She glared at him before she shrugged into the shirt. “Ask Daniel. He witnessed our vows.”

“Who’s Daniel?” He crossed his arms over his broad chest, making the muscles in his arms bulge and her mouth go dry.

She groaned in exasperation. “Daniel is a loyal servant who’s been with me all my life. He’s disguised as Kahlil on your ship. He tends the horses.” Her story started to sound more and more like fiction, even to her ears. How could she prove she told the truth when the truth sounded outrageous, even to her?

He sat back and leaned against the cabin wall. “Why didn’t Gus tell me that you were my wife?”

Could her stomach sink any further? She shook her head. “He doesn’t yet know. We decided to wait until we left Charleston before we told any of the crew.”

He snorted a sarcastic laugh. “Of course, how convenient for you, again.” He flicked his hand at her. “Why this elaborate disguise?” Ice blue eyes raked her, head to foot. “I can think of no reason for it, except deceit.” He lowered his chin and captured her gaze, his eyes cold and unyielding. “And believe me, my sweet, I am well-experienced when it comes to a woman’s knack for duplicity.”

He reached for her wrist and pulled her until she stood between his knees at the edge of the bed. She searched his face for the tiniest flicker of recognition, but it remained impassive. He pulled her closer still, and studied her face. She did her best to meet his gaze confidently, but she still blinked first; he leaned back and smirked.

When he spoke, his voice was deadly soft, “I don’t believe you. I would have
never
married again. I
will
never
marry again.”

“I have no reason to lie.” She held her breath as he turned her hand over and touched the ring with his fingertips. “No?”

Keelan ground her teeth together and yanked the ring from her finger and slapped it into his waiting palm. He slid it on his little finger where it went no further than the first knuckle.
 

She started to step back, but he stopped her by capturing her wrist once again. He ran his fingers across her palm. He slid the shirt cuff up and caressed the tender skin on her inner forearm. Her pulse quickened, as it always did when his fingers touched her. Her eyelids fluttered closed replaying the scene in her mind from their first kiss in her aunt’s garden.
 

Was he remembering it, too?
 

His other hand splayed on the flat of her stomach and she trembled. The need within her awakened and began to swirl in her belly beneath the warmth of his palm. She could barely breathe as he stroked her hip, then up her ribs to the outer curve of her breast.
 

Please. Remember me. Please.

She almost reached for his hand and placed on her breast. She loved when he stroked her nipples until they hardened, when his tongue made sensual circles, and his mouth gently pulled as he suckled. A low throb of desire and need pulsed within her and she wanted more than anything to feel his mouth on her, kissing her breasts, sucking that little bud of pleasure between her thighs. Her fingers ached to twist in his long dark hair, rub her palms over his chest and marvel at the hardness of his shaft and the velvety softness of the tip.