In the Arms of a Pirate (A Sam Steele Romance Book 2) (8 page)

“And we’re to take the word of common thieves?” The butler sneered.

“Once I have Roche, I will see to it Sarah is returned, unharmed. Until then, you may resume your daily lives.”

With a nod to Chunk, the big man stepped to the butler’s chair and dropped a meaty palm onto the bony man’s shoulders. The butler shut his mouth, which was enough for Aidan. He could ignore the daggers shooting from both the old man’s and the old maid’s glares. He could appreciate Jacob’s seething as he’d be doing the same in the man’s position but the arguing was wearing on him.

“What do you want with my father?”

His gaze flicked to Sarah’s. “That is a matter between us.”

“As your intent is to steal me from my home, I’d say it involves me as well.”

“I’m not interested in what you have to say,” Aidan returned before signaling for Lucky. “How’s the cellar?”

“Small, dark and putrid.”

“A locking door?”

“Aye, Cap’n.”

“Excellent. That’ll do them for the night. By the time the morning staff finds them, we’ll be well under way.”

Jacob leapt from his chair and, head down, rammed into Jack. Jack grunted and the two men stumbled into the cupboards. Dishes rattled, glasses wobbled, tipped and crashed to the floor. Jacob was a solid man but Jack had been a pirate for many years and he clearly had more fighting experience. Still, Jacob managed a solid crack into Jack’s jaw before Jack swung out, kicked the man’s knee. Jacob howled in pain and Jack pressed his advantage. In seconds, Jacob was on the floor cursing while Jack twisted one of his arms behind his back.

“You don’t have to take Miss Sarah! Mr. Santiago is expected for her birthday, the day after tomorrow!” burst the timid maid.

“Emma!” Sarah scolded. “Not another word!”

Aidan couldn’t believe his good fortune. He’d thought it could be weeks, months before Roche came home, learned of his daughter’s fate, and began the hunt to come after her. But hardly more than a day and half until he could have his revenge? His lips curled into a smile and he couldn’t help taunting Sarah.

“It appears we will both be receiving gifts on your birthday.”

*

Morning couldn’t come
fast enough to suit Sarah, though the darkness of the cellar prevented her from seeing the hand before her face, let alone the time of day. Still, as much as the little space allowed, she paced. Paced and thought, considered and weighed. The captain would never be mistaken for a gentleman. It was more than the nearly shoulder-length, blond hair she’d seen beneath the bandana he’d tied around his head. More than the well-worn, black boots and the swagger of a man who’d spent hours at sea. It was the wildness hovering behind the golden brown eyes.

He could be mean; she had little doubt, as Jacob had spoken of his proficiency with the bow in the backyard. Yet, he’d let them all have use of the bedpan prior to locking them up and he hadn’t hurt Simmons when he’d let the captain know, in no uncertain terms, whom awaited him on his death. He was patient, she concluded, and not without heart.

They had a whole day before her father was expected and while she didn’t fool herself into thinking she was in any position to overtake the captain and his men, she was nevertheless intent on talking to the man. Clearly he had some vendetta against her father and she wanted to know what it was. Her father was but a merchant sailor and he could not have done anything vile enough to send a band of pirates after him. Surely, this was nothing more than a misunderstanding and, with any luck, she could talk him out of his believed slight and have him gone before her father returned.

There would be no repeating her plan with Sophia but perhaps she could still find a way of escaping before her father arrived. First, however, she had to rid herself of these pirates.

Now that she had a goal in mind, all she needed was for the cellar door to unlock. Sarah crossed her arms and tapped her toe against the hard, dirt floor. The others were beginning to stir and mumble. Surely it must be morning and they’d be out of the dank soon.

As though her thoughts travelled through the press of bodies and up the dirt walls, the door opened and the big, burly man named Chunk stood in the doorway. The light was near blinding after so many hours in darkness but Sarah rushed forward, gaze narrowed against the brightness. The flood of fresh air was worth the discomfort to her eyes and she cleansed her lungs of the moldy, stale air of the cellar.

“Captain wants to see you in the parlor,” Chunk told her.

“Tell your captain I have needs to see to first.”

“As do we all,” Mrs. Bingham said.

“Fine. As we did this last night, then.”

Three of the captain’s men accompanied Sarah, Mrs. Bingham, Emma, and Sophia—who had only just awakened when Chunk opened the door and was indeed looking green around the mouth—upstairs. Behind the screen, the chamber pot they’d used last night was empty and waiting. Despite her embarrassment, Sarah didn’t hesitate to take her turn. Nor did she hesitate to take extra time at the washbasin to wash her face and hands.

Sophia rushed to her side and handed her a towel. “Miss Sarah, what’s happened? Who are these men?”

“I don’t know. They came last night before—” she swallowed the truth.

Thus far the assumption amongst them was Sarah had only tried to escape after the men had penetrated the house, nobody knew it had been her intent all along.

“Before?” Sophia prompted.

“Before I had a chance to change into my own clothes.”

Sophia frowned. “Trying on each other’s clothes had made more sense last night.”

Sarah removed the bonnet she wore, handed it to Sophia. She knew she wouldn’t be given a chance to change her clothes but, as much as possible, she wanted to be taken seriously when she met with the captain and she doubted looking like a servant would aid in her goal.

Mrs. Bingham strode over, grabbed Sophia’s arm, and spun her round. Her wrinkled face was red with fury. “That’s because last night you were no better than a town drunkard. How dare you presume to drink while working? And wearing Miss Sarah’s clothes as well?” Her bosom swelled with righteousness. “The moment we are rid of these brigands you can march yourself out those doors. I’ll not have the likes of you working in this house. And just wait until Mr. Santiago finds out what you’ve done!”

Before Sophia could protest Sarah pulled her from Mrs. Bingham’s grasp. “What happened last night was of my doing and mine alone. I talked Sophia into it and
I
will be the one to tell my father.”

“Sophia works under my orders, Miss Sarah, and—”

“And you work under my father’s,” Sarah reminded her. “I can assure you, once I tell him the truth he will allow Sophia to remain.”

Mrs. Bingham arched both needle-thin brows and while it was evident she did not agree with Sarah, she said nothing more on the matter.

“Respite’s over,” the man named Lucky said. “Downstairs, the lot of you.”

They marched down the stairs one guard before them, two behind. When they reached the bottom, the captain strode out of the parlor. “Take the others to the kitchen, the butler and Jacob are already there. This one”—he pointed to Mrs. Bingham—“can be in charge of food. The men are hungry.”

Mrs. Bingham scowled as fiercely as Sarah had ever seen and she knew by the twitch in the maid’s lips that it was costing her to remain silent. It didn’t stop her, however, from turning to Sophia, grabbing her ear and dragging her to the kitchen. Emma skittered behind them, followed by the guards. Sarah would speak to Mrs. Bingham again about Sophia’s innocence but, at the moment, there were other matters to attend to. She faced her captor.

The captain’s gaze pierced hers. “Apparently, you’ve never learned to take orders.”

“Actually, I have, but there were more pressing matters than responding to your summons.”

“Well, if your highness has no further pressing matters…” He gestured toward the parlor.

As having a discussion had been her plan as well, Sarah didn’t bicker over his choice of name for her though she didn’t care for his degrading tone. Unwilling to lower herself to his level, Sarah stepped into the sunlit parlor. She was about to take her usual place on the sofa but decided in her father’s absence she was master of this house and instead sat on the elaborately carved wainscot chair usually reserved for him.

It was not lost on Sarah that sitting in such a chair would only serve to further reinforce this man’s opinion of her. Nevertheless, she settled into it and arranged her skirts before focusing her attention on him.

In her isolated life, Sarah had only known a handful of men. A select few of her father’s most trusted crewmates and the staff he kept here at the house. The crewmen always seemed uncivilized to Sarah. Certainly, they behaved properly in her presence, and dressed accordingly but Sarah had always had the impression the clothes were but a ruse. Perhaps it was the madness she caught a glimpse of when they thought she wasn’t paying attention. Or the way the words seemed a struggle to form and always sounded forced, as though it wasn’t the way they usually spoke.

At any rate, neither they nor the hired men were as young or handsome as this man standing before the row of windows. He’d taken off his bandana and the morning light played on his blond hair, shone on his golden skin. Considering he was after her father, she shouldn’t be noticing such things.

Forcing her mind back to what was important, Sarah stated, “I think you’re looking for the wrong man.”

“Do you now?”

“My father is a merchant sailor. Whatever it is you think he’s done, you’re mistaken.”

“A merchant sailor?” he sputtered. “Is that what he’s told you all these years?”

Sarah’s back went taut. “Of course it’s what he’s told me, as that’s precisely what he is.”

“No, your highness, that is not what he is.”

“My name is Sarah,” she corrected. “And if he is not the merchant sailor he tells me he is, than what is he?”

He strode from the window to her chair, anger tightening his jaw and lips. He stopped, shoved the stool aside with his boot and stood looming over her. She would have stood as she’d prefer not to have to crane her neck to look up at him, but he was too close. If she tried, she’d likely end up pressed against him. With Sophia’s words from last night still in her head the image wasn’t a hard one to conjure. Her belly fluttered as it formed clear in her mind. What was she thinking? He wasn’t a gentleman; he was a brigand. Setting her jaw, she willed away the disturbing image.

He opened his mouth as though to speak then sighed deeply instead.

He stepped back. “You really don’t know, do you?” The anger faded from his face and mouth but he was very solemn when he took a deep breath and said, “Your father and everyone else in his employ has been lying to you. Roche Santiago is no merchant sailor, he’s one of most vicious and vile pirates sailing the Caribbean waters.”

She couldn’t have been more shocked. “Pirate? He most certainly is not!”

“Why would I lie?”

“Why wouldn’t you? Why would he?” Unsettled, Sarah pushed to her feet, glad he’d shoved the stool aside so she could stand without bumping into him.

She stopped at the large windows, looked out into the gardens. Usually the butterflies and bees skittering from one colorful flower to the next brought her comfort, peace. She felt anything but peaceful.

No, it was as she’d believed; this man was mistaken. Her father might not treat her as she’d want to be treated but she’d never doubted his love for her. He wouldn’t have lied to her all these years. No father would deliberately deceive his only child. Her whole life a ruse? Impossible. Besides, why would she take a rake’s word over her own father’s?

Feeling calmer, she once again addressed the captain. “Mister—”

“Aidan.”

“Pardon?”

He stood, walked closer. “My name is Aidan and what I’ve said is the truth. I know who Roche Santiago is. I’ve looked him in the eye and as he’s currently got my ship—the one he stole from me—I can assure you I am not mistaken. He is a pirate to the depths of his black soul.”

Black soul? Yes, she’d seen a glimpse of his temper, and clearly he wasn’t perfect or she wouldn’t have been trying to escape his house but to say he had a black soul?

“Stealing a ship, if indeed that is what happened, does not make him soulless, nor a pirate.”

“No, but killing innocent people does. And before you try to deny it, he tried to kill me and my family.”

“Kill?” She shook her head. Her father was no murderer. “No.”

“He hunted us down, devastated a family celebration and nearly killed us all by lighting the house on fire. We were in the house, and there were children. Alicia’s youngest is no more than a few months old. He escaped, with most of his crew and my ship. We lost several good men and some maids as well, but it could have been much worse.”

“You expect me to believe he hunted you like animals? I’ve only met you and I’ve known him my entire life. Why would I take your word for this? What you’re describing is not the man I know!” Despite the sun’s warmth beaming into the room, Sarah felt chilled.

“You can ask any of the men with me as they were there as well.”