In the Arms of a Pirate (A Sam Steele Romance Book 2) (3 page)

“What?” Aidan took a deep breath, wiped his mouth. His heart was banging around his ribs. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead and he wiped them away as well. “Not to me, to us I meant. He stole the
Revenge
. That ship meant everything to you, me, and Luke.”

The worry never left Sam’s golden eyes but she reached out a hand. Helpless to deny her anything, Aidan took it.

“Luke and I can build another
Revenge
. We only have one of you.”

Ignoring Cale’s stare boring into him, Aidan squeezed her hand, overwhelmed as always by the love this woman had shown him over the years. But she, like the others, had nearly been killed tonight. Like a festering wound, they needed to cut out Roche before the cur inflicted more damage.

“I do not intend to die at Roche’s hand, but nor am I willing to stay here and wait for him to attack us again.”

“But with no idea where he is, what do you propose to do?” Cale asked.

Aidan contemplated Cale’s words. The man, he admitted grudgingly, was right. At this moment Roche held the power. They needed a way to alter the odds into their favor.

“What we need is leverage,” Aidan said. “If we don’t know where he’s going, then we need something that will draw him to us.”

Across from him Grace—who’d been Roche’s prisoner prior to Cale rescuing her—looked about the group of them gathered and said, “If ’tis leverage you be needing, I know just where you’ll find it.”

N
obody bested Roche
Santiago. Nobody. Ever.

Though Roche was firmly ensconced in the captain’s cabin of the
Revenge
, the ship he’d stolen from Steele, it wasn’t good enough. Because he didn’t have what he’d gone for. The ship was a beauty, true enough, though he was in no mood to appreciate its attributes.

“ARGH!” Roche yelled. “Damn it, man, are you helping or making it worse?” He wiped the sweat soaking his forehead.

The man he used as a doctor looked up, eyes wide. He held the shaft of the arrow in one hand and a small saw in the other. His own face shone with perspiration. Though why, Roche had no idea. It wasn’t
his
arm being mutilated.

“I’m sorry, Captain. But it was necessary.” He tossed the broken arrow aside and set the saw on a table he’d dragged close to the berth. He swallowed hard, wrung his hands together before reaching for a spoon. “To take out the arrow I need to insert this into the wound and around the arrowhead. It’s the only way to get the head out.”

“Wait!” Roche bellowed, and cursed when the doctor all but leapt from his skin. Roche lifted the bottle, poured enough rum down his throat to have tears streaming from his eyes.

“Now,” he wheezed.

He clenched his teeth against the pain and to keep from screaming for he was certain if he did the doctor would jerk and tear his arm open.

“I have to-I have to pull it now,” the doctor stammered.

“Do it. Now, damn you!” Roche growled through his teeth.

Roche’s vision went grey, then black. Thankfully, he lost consciousness then. Unfortunately, he awoke to a searing pain and the nauseating smell of burning flesh. His.

He yanked his arm back but, judging by the smoke and black skin, he was too late. “I’ll have your head!” he thundered.

The doctor flinched, nearly dropping the glowing red iron onto Roche’s chest. “I-I had-I had to! You’d get gangrene if I didn’t!”

Roche was panting for breath. The doctor hadn’t been burning off his limb, simply cauterizing the wound. Still, he’d never been in such unholy pain in his life. Thank God his wounded leg hadn’t needed the same treatment.

“And will I?” he demanded. “Will I lose my arm from gangrene after all this?” He waved an unsteady hand over his forearm. His stomach wouldn’t allow his gaze to linger on the wound. The revolting smell of burnt flesh had his guts in knots.

“I’ve done-I’ve done all I can.” The doctor set the iron down on a metal plate.

Roche’s eyes narrowed to slits. “There is nothing more you can do?”

“N-No! I took the arrowhead out and cauterized it. There is nothing more to be done.”

“Well,” Roche said. “If there’s nothing more you can do.” He grabbed the pistol he’d placed at his side to ensure the doctor did his best work, aimed, and fired it between the man’s shocked eyes.

*

“Come in.”

The bedroom door opened soundlessly and Sam peered around its edge. “Luke said you wanted to speak with me.”

“I do.” Aidan set his weapons onto the small desk that filled a corner of the room.

He was anxious to get underway but he’d make time to tell Sam the truth. He owed it to her.

He dragged the chair closer to the bed and settled into it, leaving Sam the softer bed. “Despite what I said downstairs, I’m leaving tonight.”

Sam nodded. “I’m not surprised. I wouldn’t waste time going after him either.”

Aidan shook his head. Who would have thought the vilest scallywag in the Caribbean not only had a daughter but one, according to Grace, he treated as a fair princess? “Even though Grace said Roche isn’t aware she knows of the girl, there’s a chance he could err on the side of caution and move her regardless. I’ll not risk the chance. She’s the perfect leverage to draw him out.”

“Luke’s giving you the
Freedom
?”

“He is. As soon as I have the
Revenge
back, I’ll send some men and the ship back to you.”

Sam peered at him. “Clearly, you didn’t want the others to know of your intent. This has something to do with Cale, doesn’t it? You’ve always gotten along well but, when you came out of the woods tonight, there was something strained between you. What changed?”

Aidan leaned his forearms on his thighs and interlocked his fingers. He stared at them for a time as he struggled once again with the ugly truth he’d only learned this evening.

“You know how Alicia lost her memory of you, your family, and what happened the night your father’s ship was attacked until many, many years later?”

“She spoke to several doctors after we were reunited and they suggested perhaps the trauma of that night had been so terrible her young mind had blocked it.”

“And she believes it was the cannon fire on Blake’s ship that brought the memories rushing back.”

Sam tilted her head. “What are you saying?”

“Until tonight, I’d only remembered the plantation and being a slave there. Though my memories began at the age of five, I’d assumed I had been Mr. Grant’s slave from the time I was old enough to walk and talk.”

She perched on the edge of the mattress. “And now?”

Memories, Aidan was learning, were not always a blessing. He’d rather not have the image of Roche and his men storming their home while his father had been away. Would give anything not to, once again, see the terror on his mother’s face as she begged for them not to hurt her son even as they beat and raped her. He’d give every cent he’d earned while working on Steele’s ship not to remember them tossing her broken and bloody body overboard.

He shuddered as the truth once again raked him raw. “I was five when Roche and his men attacked.”

Sam jerked. “Roche?”

“I didn’t know myself until earlier tonight when we came face to face.”

“Seeing him brought it all back.” Sam exhaled.

He nodded. “It would appear so.”

“Oh, Aidan.”

“It gets worse, Sam. Much worse.” He took a deep breath, grasped her hand when she reached for him, and began the awful tale. “My father was working at sea. Our home was on Nevis, a day’s walk from Fort Charles. They came. A dozen, maybe more. My mother fought for our lives that day. She begged them to do what they would with her, so long as they spared me.” His laugh was bitter. “They did indeed do what they wanted with her but they never spared me either.

“They beat her, raped her. Starved her. By the time they tossed her overboard she was badly broken.”

Sam’s eyes filled with horror. “But not dead?”

It took a full minute to gather enough strength to whisper, “No.”

She squeezed his hand and he knew she shared his pain.

“I was helpless, Sam. They held me back, laughed at my efforts.”

“Aidan, you were but a child. There was nothing you could do.”

“I tried. I hope—” His voice cracked and he cleared his throat. “I hope she knew I tried.”

“You were her son. I’ve no doubt she loved you and would not want you to carry this burden.”

“Well, I haven’t, have I?” he mocked. “I put her and everything she did for me completely out of my mind.”

“There is a difference between being distressed to the point your head closes off the nightmare in order to protect itself and choosing not to remember. You would never forget her on purpose.” Sam squeezed his hand. “I know you better.
You
know yourself better.

“I don’t blame Alicia for forgetting me and our parents for so many years. Her loss of memory was beyond her control, as was yours.”

“Be that as it may, it does little to ease my conscience.”

“Give yourself time, Aidan. You’ll come to see you were but a boy and no match for Roche and his men. Truth be told, it’s a miracle you weren’t killed as well.”

“He sold me to Mr. Grant. I was of more value to him alive than dead, I suppose.”

“I’m sorry about your family, Aidan, but you came into my life because we were both slaves on Oliver Grant’s plantation. Much as I loathed that man, being there gave me you and for that I can never be sorry.”

He drew her close, kissed her cheek. “You saved me, Sam. Saved me, gave me a home, and, by marrying Luke, you also gave me a name.”

He pushed to his feet and moved to the boarded window. He curled his hands around the end of a plank and wished desperately he hadn’t covered it. He needed to feel the breeze on his face, to breathe deep the tropical air. Inside this tiny room, he felt as though he was suffocating.

“My name isn’t Aidan. It’s Caden. I suppose I must have muttered my name at some point and they heard Aidan.”

“Caden is a nice name.”

He knew by the uncertainty in Sam’s tone she didn’t understand the bitterness behind the designation.

“It’s not my first name that troubles me, Sam.” He forced his fingers open and turned to her. “My name is Caden Hunter. Cale is my father.”

Her eyes widened. “No, it’s not possible. You sailed with him—”

“For four years.”

“Luke knows.” Her eyes dawned with the truth. “That’s what had him so upset earlier.”

“Luke arrived just after Roche fled, as the memories were bombarding me. I was telling Luke what I’d remembered when Cale happened upon us. He heard it all.”

Sam’s features hardened in a way Aidan hadn’t seen in years. There weren’t many times he saw the old Sam Steele in Samantha, but the pirate was present at the moment. And she was furious.

“Had he known? Had Cale simply been pretending there was nothing more between you than captain and first mate these last four years?”

“I didn’t give him a chance to explain himself, but he seemed as shocked as I was.”

Sam deflated like a sail that had suddenly lost the wind. “He didn’t know.”

“How could he not?” Aidan demanded.

“Aidan, many years have passed since he last saw you. It’s not unreasonable that—”

“Do you know how many times he mentioned he had a son in the four years I sailed with him?” he interrupted. “Not once! It was as though I never existed!”

She shook her head. “You know that isn’t true. We’ve always known something haunts Cale. When he sold the treasure map Nate ended up winning, he told Nate he’d lost more looking for the treasure than could ever be found by finding it. You told me yourself a few times a year Cale drinks himself into oblivion.” She stepped before him, cupped his cheek. “Aidan, you know the kind of man he is. He didn’t forget about you. He clearly believed both you and your mother were dead and so had no reason to look closer at what was before him.”

Aidan stormed past her. “How can you possibly defend him?”

“Tell me this. Do you remember him as a loving father? Did he beat you, yell at you?”

He stopped at the bedroom door and slapped his palms on the wood. Dammit, he didn’t want to give Cale any leniency.

“Roche came when I was five. I don’t remember much before then but…”

“But…” She nudged.

His voice fell. “But I do recall my father teaching me to fish. I remember riding on his shoulders, even after he told me I was getting too big to be carried in such a manner.”

He hung his head between his raised arms. “I loved him and never questioned he loved me as well.” He shoved away from the door and turned. “As a grown man, I can understand he thought me dead. I’ve seen the pain he carries, though I had no idea why, so I know he cares. But, Sam, I remember being that child. I’ve only to close my eyes and I can see it again, feel it again. I was helpless, terrified. Alone.”

The feelings of fear, helplessness, and horror once again doused him. He’d been so damn scared, so sure he was going to die as well.

“He may have loved me, Sam. And I him. But I swear on my mother’s grave, I’m not sure I can ever find it in me to forgive him.”