Within a Captain's Treasure (9 page)

Her mouth had been opened to no doubt fire another shot in his direction about her need for a cutlass and pistol. Gavin used the advantage to ravish the sweetness of her lips. But then Alice unleashed a much more lethal weapon—she slid a hand up to caress the nape of his neck and she kissed him back.

Before the smoke cleared, he’d wrapped his arms around her waist and hauled her brazenly against the growing ache in his trousers. He tipped her back, curving his body over hers, making her slip her arms tighter about his neck.

When sanity reigned, they righted and separated as if they’d been burned. Her erratic breathing matched his own. His heart worked at a full gait to pump blood to his ready cock. Their eyes locked, and before he could come up with a single sensible word to utter, Alice spun on her heel and left.

Bloody hell.
What had he been thinking? He hadn’t. That was clear as a May morn.

Gavin looked at the small stack of letters now lying before him. Beth’s letters. Letters she’d written when he’d gone to sea as a green-horned lad of twenty.

They’d only been wed a little over a month. He hated leaving her in their doorway, but she didn’t want to stand on the dock and watch him sail away.
“I’ll not whimper and sniffle with the other women. I plan te give ye a proper kiss right here, Gavin Quinn, and here I’ll be standing te kiss ye again when ye come home to me, safe and well.”

As he’d promised, he returned safe and well fourteen months later, but the only thing waiting for him was a stack of letters and a pain so deep he nearly died. Would have. Gladly. But his father-in-law had dragged him back into the world of the living, and convinced him to return to the sea where he belonged.

More than a dozen years had passed. A dozen years of sailing from one corner of the ocean and back again. Trading his honor for a life of piracy. Fighting. Scraping. Waiting. Knowing the next battle would be his last. Or hoping it would be.

Twelve years and he’d never betrayed Beth’s memory until today. Yes, there had been women in that time. A few. When the needs of his body overruled his head. But he never let any of them close enough. Not until now. Alice had somehow slipped past his rock-solid defense.

He gathered up Beth’s letters and put them to rights. Each in line with the next. All thirty of them. And the last, still bearing the marks of his hand as he crushed the pages in his fist. The one he’d only been able to read once. Even it sat in its proper order within the thirty envelopes.
My darling, Gavin
written on the face of each. He tied the thin length of black leather to hold the small bundle and returned them to his desk drawer. Next to them lay a fine cut crystal bottle of brandy tucked securely into its appointed cubby. The matching glass caught the light of the ceiling lantern.

His hand hovered. How many demons was a man to fight in one night? He slammed the drawer shut, rose, and snatched his coat from its peg. Perhaps he’d find the clarity he sought pacing the decks, feeling the sea air on his face. He sure as hell wasn’t going to find it at the bottom of a bottle.

Night had its last hold on the sky. The gray of dawn’s push lightened the horizon as he headed toward the bow. Another had beaten him to the spot, however. The nemesis of his sleepless night already stood there.

Gavin moved to stand next to her. Words failed him. She gave him a long look before averting her gaze. Evidently, words failed her, as well. A reluctant grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. His kiss may have been successful in silencing her after all.

Her eyes made a quick scan of his person. “You’re mussed.”

He shook his head. He’d made his conclusion too soon. “Pardon?”

“Your hair’s unbound, you’re unshaven, unbuttoned, no stock or sash.”

“I wasn’t aware there would be an inspection.” He rubbed at the night’s growth on this chin.

Alice lowered her gaze and was quiet for a long moment. “I didn’t mean it as a criticism.” She met his stare. “I rather like it. You look rakish.”

“Rakish? Interesting word.” She looked as lovely as the last time he’d seen her. In that second between their kiss ending and her bolting from his quarters.

“Pay me no mind.” She tugged the blanket wrapped her shoulders a bit tighter and pulled a deep breath.

If only I could
. “What brings you on deck so early? Didn’t you sleep? Or are you prepared to complain about the size of your bunk?”

“No. My private little corner is all I could want. I just needed a bit of fresh air.”

“Aye.” He nodded a slow agreement, but he didn’t believe her for a moment. How long were they going to dance around the subject keeping both of them from their rest?

“Did
you
sleep well?” She slid a glance his way.

Gavin began to say, “like a babe,” but the words stuck in his throat. “Well enough.” He went back to watching the horizon. “I had a bit of reading to do last night.”

“Now I’m envious. Of all the things I’ve lost since leaving Weatherington, I miss my books the most. Not that I’ve had much leisure time to read, but in the middle of the night….”

“When you’re sleeping sound and well….” he teased.

She shot him a grin. “Exactly.”

“You’re welcome to look through what I have. Most are dry naval tomes, but we did secure some new books from the Spanish ship yesterday. Bound in leather, trimmed with silver at the corners. I haven’t had a chance to examine them fully, but they were listed in the accountings.”

“I’d love to see them.”

“They’re in my chambers. Come by after eight bells. Read whatever you wish.”

“Your chambers.” Her words hung in the air. She kept her gaze upon the sea. “Should we talk about what occurred the last time I was in your chambers? The kiss—”

“A lapse.” Like her, he studied the stretch of dark water in front of them.

She snapped her head to stare at him. “A lapse?”

“In judgment.” Quinn buttoned his coat and faced her. “What took place yesterday was a result of high emotions from both parties involved. It won’t happen again.”

“It won’t.” She continued to study him.

Was that a question or an agreement? At the moment he didn’t know which he preferred. “Indeed, not.”

Alice lifted her hand, tipping the palm. “Perhaps it would be best if we forgot the entire incident?”

He gave a curt nod. “That would be wise given the circumstances.”

“I agree.” She turned away from him.

No argument. No clipped words. He pushed away from the rail. “Our first meeting of the minds.”

Alice studied the toes of his boots. “It was bound to happen.”

“Very well.” He wished he could read her mind. Perhaps it was best he didn’t know. “I’ve morning duties, and you have orders to report to MacTavish. I’ll leave you to carry on.”

“Yes. Carrying on.” Alice didn’t move. She murmured. Contemplative. At least they’re last words to one another didn’t include raised voices. He should be more pleased.

“One last thing.” He met her gaze over his shoulder. “Have MacTavish fit you for a weapon.”

Gavin had not exaggerated about Master Gunner, Malcolm MacTavish. He was a beast of a man. Not overly tall but broad as a barn with legs as thick as tree trunks poking bare from beneath a wool plaid. The tartan must have been a bright red before it saw most of its days in the company of black powder. It swept up over one shoulder of a loose, collarless shirt. His sleeves were rolled back past his elbows showing forearms carved from stone and larger than her thighs.

“Excuse me, MacTavish?”

“Blast.” He startled and spun on her holding a short knife. When he saw her, he made a face as if he’d been given something sour. “Aw, now what do I need with the likes of ye, I ask ya? Have ye lost yer way, lass?” He pointed to the table with his knife. “Ye should ney be sneakin’ up on a soul workin’ wit things that explode. Rid me of a year of me life.” He turned back to his work. “I’m busy. Be gone wit ya.”

Alice stood where she was. MacTavish turned back narrowed his gaze. “Do yer ears flap o’er? Dinna ye hear me tell ya to git?”

“The captain told me I should report to you for work.”

The hulk of a man tossed down his knife and planted his hands on his hips. “Oh no, he dinna. No, he dinna. I’ll snap his neck, I will. I swear. What have I done te deserve the likes of you? I won’t be havin’ a lass down here. Blow us all te kingdom come, ye will. No.” He gave a short jerk of his head and retrieved his knife. “There, I said it. No. Ye can tell our fair-haired captain I’ll have none of it.” He flipped his hand toward the door. “Yer dismissed.”

“What if I swear on my mother’s grave I won’t blow us up?” She glanced around the place. It was chaos with pots of powder and piles of all manner of things spilling into each other. Pistols sat awaiting repair, swords leaned against a whetstone. Lead shot molds and crucibles littered the far table. “Couldn’t you use an extra set of hands around here?”

He snorted. “Wee lassie hands? I doubt it.”

“One day,” she bargained.

“No.”

“Half a day.”

He glared at her. Alice read the moment of silence as a good sign and kept pushing. If he wouldn’t let her stay, he sure as hell wouldn’t agree to give over one of his spare pistols. “Eight bells. If I don’t change your mind by eight bells, I’ll leave you in peace.” She crossed her arms over her chest so he wouldn’t see the slight tremor of her hands and stood her ground.

MacTavish narrowed his eyes and peered into her face. “Tell me, have ye a bit of brain behind them bonnie green eyes of yers?”

She met his stare. “I think so.”

“Ken ye be readin’ a scale?’

“Yes.” She didn’t dare blink.

He grunted and indicated a pile of cloth with the tip of his blade. “See ’em squares of cloth?” She nodded and he pointed again. “Put two grams of that powder there onto each square and tie the corners snug.”

“The black powder?”

“Nay. The gray powder. Dinna ya see me pointin’? If yer not gonna pay attention….”

Alice raised her hands in surrender. “Two grams. I got it.”

“Aye, and not a mite over.”

“Aye, aye.” She nodded and grinned.

“Don’t ye be ‘aye, aying’ me lass. I ain’t yer captain. Quit yer sass and git workin’.”

Alice set to measuring out the appropriate amount of powder until she had exhausted the small pile of linen squares. MacTavish spoke not a word, but he’d glance in her direction every few minutes, gave a satisfied “humpf,” and return to his work.

She’d finished by the ringing of the noon bells, and had tidied the area where she’d worked. By the eighth bell, she’d stopped and stood waiting for his decision.

MacTavish moved past her to the small pile of powder sacks. He plucked half a dozen and checked each in turn on the scale. “Come back after yer noon meal ’n I’ll give ye more te do.”

“You’ll not be sorry.”

“I’m already sorry. Git away ’fore I change me mind.”

Alice brushed the remains of soot and powder from her clothing and moved away from the ship’s magazine.

She soon found herself standing back in the same spot she’d stood the day before. After she and Gavin’s “lapse.” She skimmed her fingertips over her lips. Yesterday they’d tingled. Alice had never been
lapsed
quite like that before. It had been her suggestion they forget it happened, but she wouldn’t forget.

They’d been angry at one another, and in the next instant, his mouth had crushed down upon hers. It was nothing like the slow, languid promise of the kiss in her dreams. It was as if he’d touched a flame to black power. The instant flare had rocked her to the soles of her boots. No, she’d never forget.

Alice took a deep breath. She regretted nothing except running from Gavin’s quarters like a frightened rabbit. All night long she’d imagined the scenario of what might have happened had she stayed. Kissed him again. Would he still consider the knee-melting embrace to be a momentary slip of his resolve?

What did it matter? It happened, it didn’t happen. Their kiss was water past the hull. Gavin didn’t want an encore. He made that fact clearer than fine glassware. And she had stood in the bow at dawn and agreed. Brushed it away as if it meant nothing to her.

She was here to get a book. Not anything more. So why did her stomach feel as if she’d swallowed a jar of sparrows?
Stop being foolish and knock on the door.

“Come.” Gavin sat at his desk bent over a ledger. Hair queued, stock in place. Not an unstarched wrinkle. He didn’t look up when she entered.

“You’re busy. I can come back.”

“No.” He rubbed a hand over his eyes. “I’ve tallied this column four times, and I’ve come up with four different totals.”

Small chests of coins sat open on his desk. Another held gold and silver chains, jewels. She picked up a stunning emerald-and-gold necklace and admired it in the light. The stones were clear and bright and nested in a filigree of solid gold. “What a beautiful piece. There must be a most unhappy queen somewhere. She’s been stripped clean.”

Opening the collar of her shirt, she laid the piece to her neck. “Can’t you imagine her? Velvet gown and satin slippers, with her hair piled high on her head.” She moved to Gavin’s small shaving mirror, and tried to see how it looked. “What do you think?” She swept the braid of her hair and twisted it up. “Does it suit me?”

Gavin didn’t answer; he watched as her fingers stroked the face of the largest gem. He cleared his throat and looked away. “Aye. It suits you.” He shifted in his seat and concentrated on his tallies.

The way he’d stared made Alice suddenly self-conscious and foolish. She would never be the kind of woman to wear such a costly piece of jewelry. Returning the necklace to the desk, she laid it back exactly as it had been. “No wonder the Spanish crew fought so hard.” Her hand swept the cache. “All this must be worth a fortune.”

“Unfortunately for them, the queen will never get the chance to get it back. We’ll sell the gems, melt down the gold. We don’t see beauty past what its worth. We’re thieves.” Gavin gestured toward the built in cabinet along the back left wall. “You’re here for a book. I warned you, however, I can’t imagine books of sea routes and battle accounts will interest you.” He indicated a flat-topped chest with brass latches. “The Spanish books are there. Useless if you don’t speak the language, I’m afraid. You’re free to read whatever you can find.”