Treasured (4 page)

He hummed in the back of his throat and trailed his fingers down her naked back. “My father would claim so, but it is not that simple.”

“Explain it to me, then. Please. I want to know.” Her silky hair slithered across his chest as she tilted her chin up to look at him.

“Do you? Truly?” No one had ever asked him. Not his father or brothers. Not one person. They’d disowned him without blinking and had never had any contact with him since. He’d had to read an announcement in the
Times
when his eldest brother had wed. Bitter irony coated his tongue, but he tamped it down. He’d had years to become accustomed to the consequences of the choices he’d made in his life.

“Yes.”

He tucked one of his hands behind his head. “I was the dutiful son all my life. You knew me then.”

“You were in the Navy.”

“Yes, and our fathers thought our match would merge their shipping interests and allow their fortunes to span the sea. Your father controlled the American half and mine the English half. Your father wed off his only child, and my father got a large dowry from his third son’s marriage.”

“So we were both the throw-away children.”

“Yes.” He sighed. “I tried being a merchant after the war. I didn’t immediately fall in with
pirates
.”

“I didn’t know that.” He felt her eyebrows rise against his chest.

A mirthless chuckle slid from his throat. He had no doubts that she had been told the very worst of him by her father. “I found the life of a plantation owner didn’t suit me, so I left my property in capable hands and bought
The Dark Fortune
as a trade vessel. I had no intention of falling in with such scoundrels. I found some of the men who served under my command in the Navy wasting away at Port Royal, Tortuga, Portobello, and Santo Domingo, and I brought them on as crew. We did quite well, for a time. But after a few months we were boarded by pirates. My men were trained, experienced, and cut the bastards to pieces. We were happened upon by a British galleon and they would not believe
we
were not the pirates. No logic would sway them. I was tried and branded a pirate.” He tensed when her fingers slid down his forearm to trace the branded letter P on his skin. Forcing himself to relax under her touch, he continued. She deserved the whole of the story, even if she returned to the shrew he knew her to be come morning. “When I wrote to my father for aid he sent back a letter acknowledging my disinheritance. There was no returning to honest merchant trade after that. Everyone knew me as a pirate. My own family abandoned me. There was nothing left but to become what they claimed I was. So, I stopped being the dutiful son.”

“Now you’re the prodigal son.”

A dark chuckle slipped out. “I hardly think my father would welcome me back with open arms. Perhaps if he were
armed
and ready to shoot me down like the dog he believes I am.”

“I’m sorry.” With a sigh, she relaxed against him by degrees. She settled soft and warm against his side, her arm curved around his waist. Soon her chest rose and fell in the easy rhythm of deep slumber.

He should rise and check the ship once more. Rarely did a night pass where he slept well, and not at all since Rebecca had come on board. The tension between them had made it impossible to be in the same room with her. He’d preferred the night air on deck to her company. But tonight the soft sound of her breath was soothing, her warmth against him an unexpected comfort. Her scent called to him, and the feel of her smooth skin under his fingers made him wish to linger for a moment more. Damned confusing, this woman. He closed his eyes for just a moment, a deep sigh eased from his lungs, and he slid over into sleep.

Chapter 2

Becca topped the short flight of stairs that led up to the deck. Breakfast had been brought to her by a man who looked at her as though she’d slithered out from under a rock. She had grown bored after thoroughly exploring every corner of James’s cabin. She was too fat for his wife’s clothing. She wrinkled her nose at the thought. Her own clothes had disappeared, so she’d used a cord to tie herself into a loose pair of James’s pants and one of his shirts. Her eating knife had helped her shorten the length. She wriggled her toes against the rough wood of the top step.

What was she still doing here? She’d expected to wake up in the museum. She still expected to wake up there at any moment. Maybe she really had slipped into a coma. Panic fluttered in her belly. Did she want to wake up if she’d been seriously injured?

A flurry of activity overtook the ship. Men hammered planks into place to replace the areas of the deck and railing that had been damaged by cannon-fire. Other men swabbed the deck and still others sat sewing sail canvas. A stiff breeze blew and the sails harnessed it to move the ship through the water. She spun in a slow circle. Nothing broke the wide expanse of ocean. It stretched out until it dropped away to the horizon.

The towheaded boy who’d dowsed her with water the previous day scuttled across the deck. What was his name? She scrambled for a moment before she came up with it. “Hello, Willy.”

He stopped dead and stared at her for so long she thought she might have done something inappropriate. Was the captain’s wife on a ship allowed to speak to his men? There were very few women pirates in this era. Two she knew of, Anne Bonny and Mary Read, had met with unhappy endings. Or they would within the next ten years or so. She had a reasonable idea of what year she was in because she’d found a half-written letter in James’s cabin dated March 19, 1715. She shivered in the hot, humid air. When was this going to end? How had she ended up here? She needed to distract herself or she’d really go insane.

Willy offered up a tentative smile. He hovered on the balls of his feet, looking as if he was ready to sprint away from her. Something close to wariness or…
fear
?…flashed in his gaze. “Good morning, Mistress Morrow.”

She bit her tongue before she asked who Mistress Morrow was. Right. That was her. She was supposed to be Rebecca Morrow. This was definitely the weirdest dream ever.

Shaking herself, she smiled back at Willy. “What are you doing?”

“Mister Murdoch is helping me practice, Mistress.” He came down off his toes, and took a step towards her.

“Practice what?”

“Fighting. Cap’n says I need to use my sword better.”

“May I watch?”

His blue eyes went wide, and a touch of awe lit his voice. “I saw you using that blade yesterday. How did you learn to do that?”

“Practice.” Her grin spread. “A lot of practice. I can help you, too, if you like.”

“Would you?” Hope shone in his face.

“Of course.” This was something she could do. She might know nothing about how a pirate’s wife really lived on board a ship, but she knew how to teach people to swordfight.

He drew his sword enthusiastically, and she lifted her hands. “Whoa. All right. First, you need to go through some exercises before you can be really good with the sword.”

“Exercises?”

“Yes. There are movements you need to practice with your sword before you can be really proficient with the blade. Understand?”

His chin bobbed. She walked him through the basic exercises she learned her first year of fencing lessons. He had some experience because he grasped them quickly. She watched his movements carefully, adjusting his grip on the hilt when he needed.

“All right. Take a break for a moment.”

He turned to grin up at her. “That was—”

A large tattooed man with a shaved head wrapped a hand around the back of Willy’s neck. “Don’t you be botherin’ the Captain’s wife, boy.”

Both she and Willy jolted at the interruption. She tilted her head and gave a friendly grin. “He wasn’t…Mister Murdoch, is it?”

He grunted, and she took it as an acknowledgment of her question.

“Do you mind if I watch you show Willy how to use a sword?” She put on her most ingratiating smile.

Blinking, he narrowed his eyes at her. “You ain’t been one to ask fer nuthin’,
Mistress
.”

Well, that explained the nasty looks she’d received, and the wide berth every one of the men gave her. Rebecca Morrow must have been one very unhappy woman on board. How long had she been on
The Dark Fortune
? She’d have to ask James. Unfortunately, there wasn’t a convenient letter to tell her that. “I’m asking now, Mister Murdoch.”

He jerked his chin down in a nod and led the way to the forecastle. She followed the other two quickly, avoiding the accusing glances and rude glares of the men they passed. Wow. Rebecca Morrow must have been a heinous bitch to garner this much animosity from
everyone
. She didn’t even want to think about how things had been between her and James. He hadn’t seemed to hate her—or Rebecca—last night. Confusion swamped her. She was so sick of not knowing what was going on.

“Now.” Murdoch spun and drew a long, curved scimitar. He faced Willy. “Lift your sword and use those moves the Captain’s wife showed you.”

“Just…call me Becca.”

He slanted her a look. “Becca?”

“Yes. Short for Rebecca. Becca. I prefer it.”

“Ya went around sayin’ how’s you wanted to be called Mistress Morrow.”

“I changed my mind. I’m turning over a new leaf today, setting a new course. You’ve done that before, haven’t you, Mister Murdoch?” Yep. Rebecca had been nasty to these men. Not smart considering where they were, in the middle of nowhere. No need to make enemies.

He grunted at her again. “Heard you saved the Cap’n yesterday.”

She just nodded. Was that a good thing or a bad thing? Not all pirate captains were beloved. However, she caught the light of grudging respect in Murdoch’s eyes. Whew. James really had recruited good men who were loyal to him. Good. Her shoulders relaxed a little even though she could feel the men on deck boring holes in her back with their stares.

Willy bubbled over with information. “Captain Morrow was fightin’ two men and another came up to stab him in the back like a scurvy dog and Becca blocked him and dropped him without blinking.”

“That so?” Murdoch looked at her, but she focused on the wooden deck and bobbed her head in a nod. He turned back to Willy. “Well, boy. Let’s see if you can learn some of that. Get your sword up.”

After about an hour, when Willy lost his sword for the fifth time, Murdoch called a halt. “Not bad, lad. Keep learning from Becca and we’ll have you in shape in no time.”

She warmed from the inside out at the compliment. She didn’t let her smile burst forth, though, just hummed to acknowledge the comment.

“Here.” Willy thrust his sword in her hand. “Show Mister Murdoch what you can do.”

“Um…”

“Right, then.” Murdoch lifted his sword, arcing it towards her. She didn’t stop to think, just blocked and stepped. Thrust, parry, thrust, step, forward, dip, back. All ingrained in her, it was muscle memory and she just moved with it.

As she swung her arm, she caught a whiff of the oil James had used on her the night before when he…she flushed so hard her face hurt. Her sex dampened just thinking about what he’d done to her, for her, with her. Oh, God. The swing ended awkwardly and she had to dance out of range to avoid Murdoch’s sword.

“Pay attention, Becca,” Murdoch barked.

She swallowed and blushed deeper. Snapping off a sharp nod, she forced herself into calm, cool focus. This was what she’d done with every moment of her spare time for fifteen years. She wasn’t the best that ever was, but she was very good.

A hard thrust from Murdoch drove her to her knees. He brought his sword to her neck. “That’s an end for you, Becca.”

“But I’d take you with me.” Flashing a mocking grin, she shoved her blade forward to let him know she could slide her sword between his ribs if she wanted.

He chuckled and stepped back, holding his arms out to the sides. “Fair enough.”

His big paw reached out to help her to her feet. She let him pull her up. “That was a good fight, Mister Murdoch. Thank you.”

“You’re…not what I expected.”

She just grinned and saluted him with the sword before handing it back to Willy. Heavy footsteps approached from behind her. She turned to face James. She knew it was him because every nerve ending in her body lit up when he came near. Her skin felt too hot and too tight. Heat flooded her sex and she squeezed her thighs together. The memories of what they’d done were enough to send her into a tailspin of lust.

“Well done, Rebecca.”

Blushing, she focused on the open neck of his shirt. “Thank you, James.”

“What’s this? Shy, Rebecca?” He stepped close so that the earthy masculine scent of him washed over her. It mingled with just a hint of her own smell. Oh, God. Desire made her nipples tighten and press against her shirt. Which was his shirt.

Willy appeared at her elbow. She jolted. The boy moved with a spooky quietness. “Thankee for the lesson, Becca.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I could help you, too. As an exchange.”

“Help me with what?”

He just nodded and stepped back. Pulling a slim knife from his belt, he flicked it with deadly accuracy into the foremast of the ship. It embedded deep into the wood.

She arched her eyebrows. “Impressive.”

“Good day, Becca. Captain.” He tipped an invisible cap to James and scurried to retrieve his knife, disappearing into the crowd of men on deck. She blinked. The kid really was a spooky escape-artist type. How had he done that? She blinked again. It looked as though the entire crew had come up to watch her fight with Murdoch. She lifted her chin and willed herself not to blush.

“I’m having the noon meal served in our cabin.” He stepped back and nodded towards the stairs down to the gun deck. He simply assumed she’d obey him, and the part that really annoyed her was that she did. No questions. Just went where he told her to. She passed row after row of cannons until they reached his cabin. He followed so closely behind her she could feel his heat branding her back. Unfamiliar prickles of desire sluiced over her skin, though she had a feeling if this dream lasted much longer, the sensation would become
very
familiar. She wanted him again, now. Just like she’d had him last night. Or any way he wanted to take her.