The Rogue Pirate’s Bride (22 page)

She still wore Bastien’s shirt and breeches, and she wondered now if she should return them and don one of the dresses in his trunks. After all, this would be the last time she would see him for some time, possibly ever. She knew they had talked about meeting again, but those were only words. Once he sailed away, he would find other adventures, other women. She hoped one of those adventures was locating his family.

She supposed she could find other adventures and other men, as well, but she knew she wouldn’t. She knew no man would ever measure up to Bastien, no adventure would ever compare to those they had shared, simply because no adventure would have the excitement of sharing the risks with him.

Now that she was alone, she could admit she was well and truly in love with him. She wished she had told him more of her feelings. She wished she hadn’t stuttered and stumbled. She’d been afraid he wouldn’t reciprocate. Yes, he’d spoken endearments during their lovemaking, but did he really mean she was his heart and his love? Those might have been just words.

She wished she knew for certain. If he didn’t love her, at least their parting would be easier.

She glanced at herself in the mirror and decided against changing clothes. In a very short time, these garments would be all she had left of Bastien. And he certainly had plenty of replacements.

She paced back and forth, impatient, playing dozens of potential conversations over in her head, before she finally heard the sound of boots in the companionway outside.

Bastien! She turned to the door and tried not to look too eager.

The door swung open, and her father stood in it. She supposed her face must have fallen, because he scowled. “Don’t look so pleased to see me, Raeven.”

“Father!” Though she’d been expecting Bastien, she was happy to see her father. She hugged him fiercely, noting with some alarm he seemed thinner and frailer than before. He hugged her back, but his voice was gruff when he said, “You’re coming with me. Now.”

She nodded. She had expected this, only she thought Bastien would bring her the news. There would be no private farewell for them, she realized as she followed her father into the companionway. She would see him on the deck of the ship, and that would be all.

“Did you come to terms?” she asked her father.

“Yes. And don’t ask what they were. One of the conditions was you were not to know the terms.”

Raeven frowned. “That seems unusual. Why wouldn’t you want me to know the terms?”

He glanced back at her as they started up a ladderway. “Why do you assume it was my condition?”

Raeven felt her heart kick slightly. Just what had Bastien negotiated? “Surely you agreed not to destroy this ship,” Raeven said.

“This ship will leave my sight unscathed,” her father commented as they stepped on deck. “Much to my regret. But if I ever see her again—
ever
—I’ll blow her out of the water and use her hull for toothpicks.”

She reached out, put a hand on his arm. “I wasn’t hurt, Father. I was treated well.”

He glanced back at her, shook his head. “Don’t think I don’t know what went on here. I may be an old man, but I’m no fool.”

“I didn’t mean to imply—”

He held up a hand. “We’ll discuss it on board the
Regal
. You’ll be confined to quarters, so I imagine you’ll have plenty of time to unburden yourself and make all of your apologies.”

She smiled because it was exactly the sort of thing she would have done in the past. But this time she didn’t feel the need to apologize. She was twenty years old and no child. Her actions might have been careless in that they caused worry to her father, but she didn’t regret them.

Except for the part she’d played in Percy’s death. That she regretted more than she could ever express. And as they neared the ladder, she felt tears prick her eyes. The purser wouldn’t be returning with them. He had been given a burial at sea along with the other casualties of the battle with Jourdain. He would never see the
Regal
or English soil again.

As they neared the spot where Mr. Carter, her father’s second lieutenant, waited, she scanned the group of men, hoping to spot Bastien. To her surprise, he wasn’t among them. To her further surprise, most of the men were scowling at her. Ridley had his arms crossed over his massive chest and his mouth turned down in a frown. Mr. Castro was glaring at her, and even Gaston—whom she rarely saw outside of the infirmary—was on deck and frowning at her. Raeven did not think she had been any of the men’s favorite person, but she had thought most of them bore her no ill will.

But judging by their looks now, she would have sworn if she wasn’t leaving this instant, they might throw her into the sea as food for the sharks. Where was Bastien? And what exactly were the terms he’d negotiated?

Her father took her arm. “Let’s go.”

She nodded, scanned the ship one last time. Was Bastien really not going to see her off? She hadn’t expected any grand gestures, but was a wave or a simple
good-bye
too much to ask?

Her father began to shuffle her toward the side. She would have to climb down the rope ladder and take her father’s gig back to the
Regal.
But she wanted a last glimpse of the pirate. “Where is…?”

“Let’s go, Raeven,” her father ordered, his tone one of unquestioned authority. She knew she was out of time, but she couldn’t leave like this. She couldn’t leave without seeing him one last time.

“Bastien!” she screamed, her voice echoing over the vast blue seas. “Bastien!” She scanned the deck but saw only the stern faces of the
Shadow
’s men.

“Where is he?” she demanded. “Bastien, you bastard! I don’t care what my father told you. Show yourself!” Nothing. No movement. No sign of Bastien.

“Raeven!” Her father gripped her arm and pulled her hard against his side. “You’re making a scene.”

“I don’t care. Let me go!” She struggled, but it was futile.

“He’s not coming out,” her father hissed in her ear. “You’re wasting your time. Now come quietly, or I’ll have you dragged across.”

She met her father’s eyes and saw he meant every word. She was breathing heavily, but now she caught the breath and fought for control. She’d made a fool of herself already. Did she really want to be dragged unceremoniously aboard her father’s ship?

With a shaky nod, she stepped onto the rope ladder and began the descent. Her father and Mr. Carter followed. Once they were back on the
Regal
and her emotions were under control, she angled for the deck rail. She had thought she would stand and watch as the two ships raised sails once again and went their own ways. She might have caught a glimpse of Bastien, but as soon as she stepped on the
Regal
’s deck, the ship’s first lieutenant took her arm and escorted her to her cabin.

It was locked behind her, and when she picked the lock and opened the door, she saw a guard was posted. It seemed no matter which ship she was aboard, she was going to be locked away.

So as the men worked above, she sat on her rumpled berth and stared at her cabin. It seemed years had passed since she had last sat here, last paced the small space. Unlike Bastien’s cabin, hers looked as though a hurricane had torn through it. Clothes were thrown over the trunk, and others peeked out of the sides. She never quite managed to fold everything so the garments would be contained and free of wrinkles. On her small desk, maps and charts were strewn about, pen and ink lay where she’d left them—the ink staining a paper she’d begun to make notes on—and one of the three pictures she’d hung on the walls was crooked. All of the pictures were of ships and the sea, and she wondered now why she didn’t have any of land.

Bastien had paintings of fields and flowers and houses.

She pushed thoughts of him aside, went to her desk, and slid open the drawer. Inside, buried under more maps, several books, and a hairbrush, was a dark frame containing a miniature of Timothy. She stared at the picture, at the man she had loved so much. He looked youthful in the portrait, though at six and twenty, he had been seven years her elder when he died. But it had never felt as though he were older or wiser. She suspected Bastien to be closer to her age—she guessed he was at most five and twenty—but he seemed more experienced in every way.

She supposed he was; she supposed Timothy possessed more life experience than she, as well, but she’d never felt so when she’d been with him. Not like when she’d been with Bastien.

And why, exactly, was she thinking of Bastien anyway?

She heard the scrape of rigging, felt the
Regal
begin to catch the wind, and knew the two ships were parting. Bastien was gone… or would be within the hour. She should stop thinking of him.

And she should definitely not compare him to Timothy, though looking at the portrait again, she saw there was little to compare. Timothy had been fair with light brown hair, doe brown eyes, and a round face. He was handsome but not striking. His gazes had never taken her breath away, the way one look from Bastien’s cobalt eyes could.

Bastien is gone
. She shook her head, willing her mind to put him away as easily as she placed Timothy’s picture back in the drawer and closed it tightly.

Ten days passed, during which Raeven was largely confined to her quarters. For once, she didn’t mind the confinement. She wanted to be alone. Her father came every day to visit her, and after the first three days, had stopped lecturing and scolding. Raeven didn’t have the fire to argue with him, and she supposed he grew tired of berating her when she did not fight back. There had been times she wanted to argue with him, justify her actions, but now that she’d spent time away from him, she saw how ill he’d become. His cough was worse, and he’d lost weight. He told her they were bound for England again, and she was grateful. A few months on land, eating good food and resting, seemed just the thing for her father’s ailing health.

And then one night she couldn’t sleep. She tossed and turned in her berth, unwanted memories of Bastien plaguing her dreams. Finally she rose, dressed, and opened the door to her cabin. She expected to see the guard posted there, but no one stood outside. The deserted companionway invited her, and without a backward glance, she stepped outside and within moments made her way on deck.

The wind blew strong and cool, and she stood in the shadows and allowed it to slap her face and toss back her hair. The salt spray of the ocean splashed her arms and face, and she closed her eyes and tried to banish unwanted dreams and memories.

“What d’ye think will ’appen to the poor bastard once ’e arrives in London town?”

Raeven turned at the sound of the voices. She’d known she was not alone on deck. It was late, but the men of the watch were on duty. Undoubtedly, some of them had seen her, but she did not think they would rush to tell her father if she only stood and looked at the water. Still, she’d kept in the shadows, and these two seamen must not have seen her. She had no intention of making her presence known. She turned back to the rail and leaned her elbows on it.

“’E’ll be ’anged sure as my name is Tom Skippy. Tried and ’anged. I’d pay a farthing to see it.”

“They say ’e ain’t said a word since being brought on board. Just sits in the brig, like ’e’s some sort of fancy gentleman.”

Raeven’s breath caught in her throat, and she had to stop a gasp from escaping. As far as she knew, there were no prisoners in the brig. When had one been brought on board? They’d had no interaction with other ships since they’d left the
Shadow
.

“Some say ’e’s a fancy gentleman,” the first seaman said. “But I say ’e’s a pirate, and ’e should be ’anged for his crimes.”

“No.” She gripped the rail tighter then pushed back and ran for a companionway that would take her all the way to the lowest deck and the brig. She scurried down the steps, feeling her way past decks dark and crammed with men sleeping in dozens of hammocks. She didn’t need a lantern. She knew the ship as well as she knew her own body. She could find her way blindfolded.

It’s not him. It’s not him. It
can’t
be him
.

When she reached the orlop deck, the smells of rotting wood, vinegar, and oakum assaulted her nostrils. They were familiar scents, almost comforting. She arrowed straight for the brig and was met by a large sailor, who stood blocking her path. Beyond him she could see the small cells. The
Regal
had three. She stared hard at the dark cells, her heart pounding in her throat.

“Your father said you might run down here,” the sailor said, grabbing her arm when she tried to push past him. Raeven shook him off and glanced at him long enough to place his face and name. Everyone called him Rummy because he could drink any man under the table, and his beverage of choice was—what else?—rum.

“Let go of me, Rummy. I’m going back there.”

But he blocked her way and grasped her by the arms. Fury bloomed in Raeven. “Get your hands off me, and get out of my way,” she hissed.

“I can’t do that, Raeven.”

She glared at him, and he cleared his throat. “Miss Russell. The admiral said you weren’t allowed down here. Go back to your cabin.”

She stood ramrod straight and gave him a hard, direct look. “If you don’t get your hands off me, I swear by all that’s holy, I’ll cut them off and feed them to the sharks.”

Rummy took his hands off her.

“Good.” She nodded to the cells behind him. “Now get out of my way.”

But he shook his head. “I can’t, Miss Russell. Your father—”

She held up a hand. “I don’t care what my father said. Move, or I’ll move you.”

He grinned. He was easily two feet taller than she and weighed three times what she did. “How are you going to do that?”

In one smooth movement, she extracted the dagger from her boot and pressed against his throat. “This is how. Now move.”

But the stubborn man didn’t budge. “You wouldn’t do that to me, Miss Russell. I’m only following orders.”

She bit her lip. “You’re right. I don’t want to kill you.” She pulled the dagger from his throat and swung it considerably lower.