My Seaswept Heart (7 page)

“Yer letting him go, just like that?”
Israel’s good eye was wide with astonishment.

“What else can I do?”

Jamie had never seen someone change so
completely. Moments ago he would have thought nothing would ever
defeat her. She was nearly throwing off sparks as she faced him.
But now her features were a study in failure. He liked her better
looking as if she could single-handedly overpower the British
admiralty.

“Your uncle is expecting me for tea,” Jamie
heard himself say. “’Twouldn’t do to disappoint him.”

“That’s quite all right. I shall give him
your regrets.”

“No one is giving him my regrets.” Jamie
straightened till he loomed over her. “I shall speak with Mr.
Cornwall myself.”

She didn’t back away. “Very well, if you
insist.”

And he did. Jamie would be hanged for a
sinner before he’d let a slip of a girl tell him what to do. It
wasn’t until they were all seated on the wide veranda of her
uncle’s cottage that Jamie began to wonder why he’d insisted upon
taking tea.

Her uncle was more confused than ever. Just
when she wanted him to expound upon the devastation d’Porteau did
to Libertia he seemed to remember none of it. It probably didn’t
matter, Anne doubted MacQuaid would be likely to offer his aid
regardless. She didn’t really know why she was prolonging this.
Perhaps if she petitioned the governor of Grand Bahama again
or—

“Anne, are you listening?”

“Oh yes, Uncle Richard.”

“Then will you tell me where he is?”

“Where who is?” Anne felt heated color tinge
her cheeks and took a sip of tea.

“Arthur. I haven’t seen him all day.”

The bottom fell out of Anne’s stomach, though
she should have expected as much. How could her uncle not remember
what happened to the island? To the settlement he worked so hard to
build. Not that he always seemed oblivious to the tragedy. There
were times when he sat in his room pouring over his books as if he
might find the answers there. “What went wrong?” he would ask. And
Anne could barely stand to witness the melancholy in his eyes.

Now she chose what she’d begun to think of as
the coward’s way. Dabbing her lips slowly she shook her head.
“Arthur is busy. Perhaps he can join us later.”

But this time her fabrication didn’t calm her
uncle. Instead his brow wrinkled and it was almost as if he was
viewing the raid again through eyes that saw too much. He gripped
Anne’s arm, his fingers pressing into the soft skin beneath her
ruffled sleeve.

“We must do something,” he screeched.
“They’re burning everything. Can’t you see them, Annie? They’re
killing...” Richard jumped to his feet. “God, what are they
doing?”

Without thinking Jamie pushed out of his
chair. His arm circled the old man’s shoulders by the time Anne
pressed a tumbler of dark liquid to his lips.

“Drink, Uncle Richard,” she coaxed. “Yes,
that’s it. Everything will be all right.” Her eyes flashed to
Jamie’s. “I promise.”

“But they took my boy. They took Arthur.”

“He’ll come back. You’ll see. Just a little
more,” she said, tilting the glass higher. “There now.” Anne wiped
his mouth, then turned toward Israel, not surprised to see him
right behind her.

“’Pears to me ’tis time for a rest, wouldn’t
ye say, Master Richard?” As Jamie stepped aside the wiry ex-pirate
slid his shoulder under Richard’s and led him toward the door. Anne
rushed to open it and through the wedge Jamie saw a bedstead and
chest. As soon as Anne, Israel, and Richard, who by this time could
barely walk on his own, were through the opening the door shut and
Jamie fell back into his chair. His hands were sweating and he took
a gulp of tea wishing it were something stronger.

Richard Cornwall was mad.

There was little doubt of that. Jamie took
another drink and tried not to let those memories of his mother
slide into place. But he wasn’t able to block them out. He was five
when she left so there were few things he remembered clearly.
Except the screaming. And the mad look in her eyes. Jamie blinked
and lurched to his feet when Anne reentered the room.

She pressed a finger to her lips, then led
the way outside. Jamie filled his lungs with fragrant moist
air.

“Now do you understand why d’Porteau must be
found?” Anne said when they’d walked a short distance from the
cottage.

“I understand that your uncle would be better
off in Bedlam.”

“Don’t say that!” Anne turned on him with a
vengeance, her fists pounding against the hard muscles of his
chest.

At first too shocked to do anything Jamie let
her anger run its course, only pulling her against him when her
blows became no more than ineffectual thumps. She rested in his
embrace only a moment before pulling away and quickly scrubbing at
her tear-streaked face.

“He isn’t crazed. Not really,” she insisted.
“Until the Frenchman came there were only certain times when his
mind failed....” Her voice trailed off, was stronger when she
continued. “He was fine until the pirate came. Just fine. And he’ll
be that way again if I can only find Arthur. And if we no longer
have to worry about that...” Anne turned away abruptly.

When she looked back at him her expression
was composed. The late-afternoon sun caught the coppery highlights
in her brown hair. “You’ve seen what d’Porteau did. You dislike him
yourself. Why can’t you and your crew go after him?”

“Because I’m not some damn crusader. And
whatever gave you the impression I am is beyond me.”

“It was Israel.” Anne wiped her hands down
the panels of her skirt.

“Israel?” Jamie laughed. “He has no reason to
think me other than a scoundrel such as himself.”

“Perhaps, but he feels otherwise.” Her head
cocked to the side. “Do you recall the last time you saw him?”

“Aye. He was standing knee-deep in the surf,
arms flailing, howling his head off. And blasting me to the devil,
I may add.”

Anne couldn’t help smiling. She could just
imagine Israel doing such. “Well, blast you though he may have
apparently Israel thinks you have a compassionate nature.”

Compassionate nature? What the hell was the
chit rambling on about? He was a pirate, for God’s sake! “I’ve a
notion your uncle isn’t the only one on this island going mad. I’m
beginning to think you all are.” Ignoring the flash of anger that
crossed her face, Jamie turned and strode down the path toward the
dock. This entire incident was like a crazy dream, a nightmare that
he was escaping. As far as he knew Israel was still with the crazed
uncle. But the way he felt now, he didn’t care.

If there was anyone on the wharf foolish
enough to attempt to stop him from taking the sloop, he’d rue the
day he crossed Jamie MacQuaid.

“Stop. Oh, will you stop!”

Jamie wheeled on her when she grabbed his
arm. Feet planted wide in the sandy soil, arms on hips he faced
her. She should be intimidated. Few men could face Jamie when he
allowed his demons free reign and not cower. But she faced him
square. He was certain the breathless quality in her voice was a
result of chasing him, not fear. He was beginning to think he was
right. Everyone on the island was insane.

“It angered you to be called compassionate?”
she asked, her tone one of surprise and possibly a touch of
amusement.

“I’m a pirate, by God, not some crusading
fop.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Anne shot
back.

“Aye, ’tis possible ye have your doubts.”
Jamie’s eyes narrowed. “Else why would you find yourself alone, and
defenseless?” He watched her features soften, then the breath
expand her chest as she realized their isolation. Around them
wind-trimmed pines and thick undergrowth isolated the bend in the
path.

Jamie stepped closer. “Mayhaps ye think me
too compassionate to take what I want? What was offered so
enticingly before?”

Without waiting for a response Jamie reached
out. His fingers speared through her hair, framing her face, and
sending the lacy cap and wooden pins showering to the ground. Her
only protest was a muffled, “No,” as his mouth swooped down on
hers.

His lips were hard, punishing. The tongue he
thrust into her mouth ignored her futile attempts to stop him. He
took; he plundered. He showed her what it was like to deal with
him; deal with him without the advantage of drugging potions and
cocked pistols aimed at his heart.

His kiss was relentless. His hands curved
round her head, angling her mouth toward his. And he took. Took all
that he could and still he wanted more. She aroused him from the
first moment he set eyes on her, standing before him, scared but
defiant. He wanted her then. And the ache she caused in his groin
only intensified when she took him to her room. And nothing, not
the drugged sleep nor the vinegar of her tongue had cooled his
ardor.

She squirmed beneath his hands, the movements
only fueling his passions. By God she saw him as some golden-haired
crusader she could bend and twist to her liking. He would show her
differently. He would show her who would bend and twist.

His hands forged down, tangles of dark curls
trailing along as he followed the line of her neck, the rounded
curves of her shoulders. She fought him, but he was larger than
she, stronger. And the force of desire heated his blood.

With one arm he yanked her against him, hard
to unbearably soft. His other hand swept down the swell of her
buttocks, pressing her tighter to his throbbing flesh.

Stunned.

From the moment he lurched toward her Anne
was stunned to inaction. She didn’t expected this, had begun to
think of him as less than the pirate he was. How very foolish of
her. Now she couldn’t stop his onslaught. His arms were like iron
bands, binding her, drawing her to him. And his hands were
everywhere on her body.

She wriggled but it did no good, tried to
kick but his powerful legs seemed to surround her, tangling with
her skirts and keeping her from squirming away.

And his mouth. His lips seemed to shape hers,
demanding that she move them in tempo with his. Anne tried to think
what to do, but she couldn’t seem to focus. Her skin tingled and
she felt an odd heavy sensation in her stomach. Her head was heavy
and when his lips left hers to burn a path down her neck, she
couldn’t seem to keep from swaying back, exposing more of her skin
to the heat of his tongue.

She felt drugged and euphoric.

His golden head dipped lower, branding the
rounded flesh above her bodice. He nipped, then soothed and Anne
thought her knees would lose their power to hold her upright. His
very breath, whispering across her moist skin entranced her. She
was melting away, caught in a swirling eddy of she knew not what.
Falling deeper and deeper until his words sliced through the
fog.

“This...” Jamie caught the laces of her gown
between his teeth and tugged, “... ’tis what a pirate does to his
women.”

He was a pirate. No better than the one who’d
come before him. Anne stiffened as memories of the other filled her
mind. His foul scent, the bitter taste of blood as the press of his
mouth split her lip.

“Stop.”

The word meant little to Jamie and wouldn’t
have brought an abrupt halt to his ravaging of her breast if not
for the accompanying bite of cold steel against his ribs. His hands
dropped to his side and with an expression of disbelief on his
face, he stepped back.

She looked wild and wanton. Her dark hair
flowed about her shoulders and the lips he found so fascinating
from the start were rosy red and wet. If it weren’t for the knife
poised in her hand Jamie would have lowered her to the sandy path
and taken her on the spot.

But the knife
was
there. And when he
glanced down toward the burning on his side, he realized the
crimson on the blade was his own blood. She’d sliced through his
shirt and skin leaving a jagged tear that oozed and was beginning
to hurt like hell.

“Damn your eyes, woman! Look what you’ve
done.”

Anne held the knife higher as he stepped
forward. “And I’ll do a lot worse if you dare touch me again.” Her
jab, though striking nothing but air, brought him to a halt.

His stare pierced through her as he sucked in
air, then he shook his head and to Anne’s surprise began to laugh.
“Good God, lass, you’re a strange one.” With one hand he balled up
a section of shirt, bunching the cotton to his wound, attempting to
staunch the flow of blood. He twisted to watch his own progress for
a moment seemingly oblivious to Anne and the knife she held.

But when he glanced back, his gaze riveting
with hers, she knew he hadn’t forgotten her presence or the
shameful way she acted.

“ ’Tis some experience I’ve had in pleasing
wenches, Mistress Anne. And by all accounts you seemed to be
enjoying yourself mightily.”

Anne lifted her chin, and tried to steady her
hand. “I wonder how many other women have fooled you such.”

“Fooled?”

The arch of his brow made Anne grip the bone
handle tighter. She swallowed. “I have no interest in your inflated
ego or anything else about you other than your ability to defeat
d’Porteau.”

His grin revealed strong white teeth. “And I
think it’s a liar you are. We both have an interest in the other
that has nothing to do with that scoundrel d’Porteau. Who by the
by, I have no intention of fighting.”

“Are you afraid of him?” Anne’s own brows
arched in question.

Anger shot through his body, and Jamie opened
his mouth to protest any cowardice on his part. But a certain light
in her eyes gave him pause. He’d seen the same expression when she
tricked him into having tea with her uncle. The woman might have
the eyes of an angel but her mind ran as sharp as a
charlatan’s.

Now she stood waiting for his answer looking
as innocent as you please despite the love-tousled state of her
clothing and hair.