Pirate's Intent Page 3

  In fact, she never saw him again.

  “I received a Letter of Marque and ended up becoming a privateer during the war,” he divulged. “When that ended, I took to pirating.”

  Rather than come home to me? Rather than marry me as you said you would? She bit back anger and tried to remain focused on the matter at hand.

  “Why piracy of all things, Thomas?” The boy she remembered had not been suited to this life at all. He had been caring. Kind. Certainly not a criminal.

  “Because I was good at it,” he replied simply.

  She frowned, certain there was more to it. A man did not turn to a life of crime without a reason. Especially when he had someone who loved him to return home to. Yet here he was, a pirate through and through. Which brought her mind back to their immediate situation. She had to stay alert because she knew nothing of the man sitting in front of her. Nothing of his life and what he was truly capable of now.

  “Who has Hannah?” she asked. “And where have they taken her?”

  “My brother has her.” His lips thinned into a grim line, his words damning. “She is safe, Rose...it is you who is not.”

  No sooner did he say it than Charles pounded on the door. “All hands on deck! Trouble’s afoot, Cap’n!”

  Chapter Three

  “HOW MANY?” HAVING ORDERED Rose to remain in his cabin and hold tight to something to brace herself, Thomas took to the helm and narrowed his eyes through the driving rain.

  “Two ships closing in fast,” Charles reported. “Big Devil for sure.”

  Thomas cursed, grateful at least that lightning flashes kept the ships visible. The downfall, however, was his own ship being seen or worse yet his crew being struck by that very lightning.

  Either way, they had to shake these ships.

  He carried a few light cannons, which was good and bad. Bad because it meant he had to get it right the first time. Good because it meant he had far better maneuverability than his counterpart. Not only did Big Devil carry more guns, but they were heavier.

  He met Charles’s eyes and gave him the signal to make ready the cannons.

  His quartermaster nodded and roared the order to prepare for battle. “Beat to quarters!”

  Excellent sailors all, the crew knew what to do and how to do it quickly despite the weather. They also knew enough to strap down and brace themselves for a wild ride.

  Charles gave them the go ahead, and they lowered a sail to slow the ship, then strapped off. Taking into consideration the wind, waves, and current, Thomas cranked the wheel just enough. If he turned too fast, the ship would flip. Not enough, and they would never get the guns into position before the enemy fired at them.

  As soon as they were ready, and he deemed it the perfect moment, Thomas roared, “Boom about,” warning his men to duck as he cut the wheel, and the boom swung.

  The ship leaned over so far one of the sails nearly touched the water before he cut the wheel back. As he had hoped, his ship, fine vessel that it was, took the turn perfectly lining his guns up with the ships.

  He held his hand out to stay Charles from giving the order quite yet.

  Wait.

  Wait.

  Just a bit more.

  Account for the seconds it would take for his order to reach the right ears then...perfect.

  “Fire everything we have,” he roared. His order was repeated by Charles then down the line to the master gunner below.

  Boom. Boom. Boom.

  His guns went off in rapid succession, and he got lucky. They not only hit Big Devil’s main mast but his hull.

  The enemy's ship would sink.

  But not the other.

  Thomas was out of cannons, and attacking at close range would be unwise. He was outnumbered and unlike his brother, too careful a sailor to risk hand to hand combat in seas this rough. He could sink his ship or lose men to the dark waters before they even had a chance to fight.

  Thomas’s men hooted and hollered with approval when Big Devil’s main mast split and crashed down.

  “Boom about,” Thomas roared again, cutting the wheel back in the other direction.

  Time to flee and flee fast.

  Once they were facing away from the ship, the sail was raised again, and they lurched forward.

  “Bloody good hit, Cap’n,” Charles praised. “That’ll slow ‘em down for sure.”

  He turned the wheel over to his quartermaster and nodded with approval. By hitting Big Devil’s ship, they forced the other vessel to stop and save their leader. Had they hit the other one, Big Devil would have likely kept going, and they would have had a hellish time escaping him.

  “They’ll follow soon enough,” Thomas said. “But if we keep this wind, we should reach our destination with time to spare.” He clapped Charles on the shoulder. “Well done, mate. Keep me apprised.”

  Charles nodded and took a hearty swig of rum.

  Thomas praised his men for a job well done and made his way back to his cabin.

  As to be expected, Rose was white as a ghost, clutching his bed of all things. Regrettably, it wasn't the way he wanted her to. When that time came, she would not be trembling in fear but writhing in bliss.

  “Is...did you...are we...” she stuttered, taking a swig from his rum bottle.

  Amused, he wondered how many she had taken before that.

  “Everything is fine.” He drew the curtains, lit a candle, sat behind his desk, and decided the less she knew, for now, the better. “We are clear of trouble.”

  Wide-eyed, she stared at him for a moment before she realized where she was and made her way back to the chair, stumbling a bit. Whether that had to do with the storm or the rum was yet to be seen.

  She sat and primly adjusted her skirts, her hands shaking ever-so-slightly. After making a project out of smoothing her hair and the rest of her attire, she took another rather lengthy swig, inhaled deeply, and finally looked his way, her words matter of fact. “You are soaked.”

  “I am,” he confirmed.

  “Are you not going to change?”

  Used to being wet, he pulled another bottle of rum out of a drawer and downed several long swallows. “I will eventually.”

  Not for the first time, he scanned her person for the bauble. Where was it? His man had confirmed she still had it in her possession in Virginia, or this plan might have gone differently. Yet his informant said nothing about her always wearing it. Hannah’s letters had provided that tidbit.

  Hence Big Devil’s pursuit.

  Yet he saw no signs of his mother’s brooch. The family heirloom he had given her when he asked her to become his wife. A keepsake he was shocked to discover she never parted with.

  “So Hannah is safe?” she said, reverting back to what they were talking about before. Her eyes narrowed. “You said she was with your brother.” Her hand fluttered over her heart in distress. “Please tell me Luke does not have her.”

  “He is the only brother I have, Rose, so yes, Luke has Hannah,” he replied. “Which you should be grateful for. He is an exceptional sailor and soldier.” He shook his head. “They will never get close to her.”

  “Yet it sounded like Hannah was staying on the island.” She cocked her head in consideration. “If we were just pursued, that means they know you took me.” She offered a dainty hiccup, remarkably level-headed considering the rum was most assuredly having an effect. “Which means they will likely try to track down your brother too.” Her eyes widened. “All the pirates on that island will.”

  “For starters, Big Devil’s pride would disallow him from telling anyone that I stole you, nor would he risk others getting to you first.” Or, should he say, what she had in her possession. Seeing no reason to worry her, he fibbed. “As for leaving men behind to seek out my brother, it is unlikely. He does not know Luke has Hannah, so there is no reason to pursue my brother on Blackbeard's behalf.”

  She need not know that Luke was baiting a trap for the crew that Big Devil undoubtedly left behind when he sp
ied Thomas's ship.

  He took another hearty swig and continued. “From what I could tell, the bulk of his crew were pursuing us.” He shook his head and told a half-truth. “They will not be bothering anyone for some time.”

  “How much time?

  He forgot just how sharp she was.

  “A long time,” he assured, lying through his teeth, but it truly was best for her to remain calm. Worrying would get them nowhere. Remaining one step ahead and prepared would.

  Time to redirect the conversation to what mattered most. “Rose, where is your brooch?”

  “My brooch?” She touched the folds of material at her waist. A frown tugged at her lips. “Oh, no.” She stood and patted the area again before she shook out her skirt. “Where is it?”

  He was taken aback by the genuine anxiety and sadness in her eyes.

  “It meant that much then,” he said softly, speaking before he could stop himself.

  “Of course it did,” she said just as softly, sinking back into the chair. When her gaze lingered on him for a moment, he wondered if she remembered the day he gave it to her. The bright future they had envisioned. If she did, it was fleeting because she promptly refocused on the mystery at hand. Her eyes narrowed in thought then widened in understanding. “She took it!”

  “Who took it?”

  “Hannah,” she exclaimed. She shook her head, amazed. “I thought it was strange when she squeezed my waist. She must have lifted it then.” One eye narrowed as though homing in on a suspect. “How positively devious of her!”

  “Bloody hell.” He raked a hand through his hair. Had his brother known she was going to do that? Not that it changed things all that much as long as Big Devil thought Rose had it.

  “Why would she do that?” Rose said slowly. Her eyes narrowed on him. “Why would Hannah take my brooch?”

  Though he debated how much he should tell her, it was time to give her a tad more truth. “Because Big Devil is after it.”

  Her brows snapped together. “I thought he was after me.”

  “That too, I am sure.” He shook his head. “But you are not the grand prize.” His gaze lingered on her eyes, and he found himself saying what was in his heart when he swore he would not. “At least not for him.”

  Hell and damnation, she deserved his anger, not sweet words. The time for such sentiment was long gone. Part of their past.

  Or so he kept telling himself.

  The moment stretched before she finally cleared her throat and spoke. “Please tell me everything, Thomas.” She shook her head. “All of it. From start to finish. The whole story. Why the brooch is so important. How they know about it. How safe my sister really is.” She tilted her head in question. Anger flashed in her eyes. “Most importantly, why it is we are not turning back immediately to help her.”

  He sighed and considered her before he sat back and crossed his arms over his chest.

  “It all began several fortnights ago,” he said. “When your captain sent a missive to Blackbeard and struck a deal.”

  “A deal,” she whispered her eyes round once more. “Our captain?”

  “Yes, he promised our magistrate an expensive ship laden with worldly goods and finery.” He perked a brow. “As well as two fine ladies of untouchable beauty and unquestionable virtue.” Sadly, this sort of thing happened far too often. “In exchange, Blackbeard would give your captain and seamen who stood by him a place amongst his crew. Prestige and a standing in our society such as it is.”

  “Such as it is,” she murmured, merely repeating him while putting the pieces together. “So he purposefully put us in pirate waters.” She shook her head. “It had nothing to do with the storm.”

  “No.” He swigged from the bottle, eyeing her all the while. “He and several of his crewmates joined Blackbeard and his crew. The rest were slaughtered.”

  “Dear Lord,” she whispered, closing her eyes for a moment before she opened them to his. “What does any of that have to do with my brooch, though? It is but a sentimental bauble that few knew about.”

  Was it then? How sentimental exactly?

  “Did you know your sister wrote to Luke?” he said, fairly certain he already knew the answer.

  Her brows flew up. “I highly doubt that.”

  “Well, she did,” he replied, still frustrated with his brother’s revelation. “Worse yet, she kept his letters when she was supposed to have discarded them. Something I only learned about when her trunk was being rummaged through in the tavern, and the correspondences between her and Luke were discovered.”

  The only beneficial thing that came out of those letters was what he learned about Rose. According to Hannah and Luke's inappropriate missives, she remained virginal. It seemed her husband was waiting for her to be ready before consummating the marriage, which was all but unheard of. For that alone, Thomas was grateful to the man. It said a lot about his character. Truthfully, he didn’t think he would have been able to do the same. Not when it came to Rose.

  “Oh, dear, Hannah said all that in her letters?” she said softly, not knowing the half of it. She shook her head again. “Are you quite sure?” She flinched, focused solely on Luke and Hannah rather than the miscreants going through her sister's belongings. “You do recall the state of affairs between those two?”

  Did he ever. How to phrase how peculiar things had truly become between them, though?

  “From what I can tell, they were...a different sort of letter...each time.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “Pray, tell.”

  “Well, you remember how they often goaded each other?”

  “Yes.” She rolled her eyes. “It was tiresome.”

  “It was,” he agreed. “And you would have thought with such behavior things would have ended with good riddance when we left, only they did not.”

  “To whom did she give the letters? How did they find Luke?” Rose’s cheeks reddened in unmistakable frustration. Moments later, he discovered why when she felt the need to explain herself rather than focus on the topic at hand. “I would have written you again...” Her brows furrowed, and her chin notched, as she clearly conversed more with herself than him. “Or maybe I would not have.”

  “Likely for the best,” he said dryly, reminding her most pointedly why they did not continue corresponding. “I doubt your fiancé would have approved.”

  “You knew then?” Troubling silence settled before sadness flickered in her eyes, followed by a scowl. Just like that, her focus was back on Hannah and Luke. “We are not talking about us but them.”

  Were they? Because it certainly did not sound like it.

  He bit back frustration, remembering far too well the crushing moment he’d learned of her betrothal. She had said she would wait for him no matter how long he was gone. Yet she had not. She hadn’t kept her word but instead turned to another.

  Loved another.

  “Luke and Hannah evidently exchanged letters over the years,” he stated bluntly, no longer keeping things vague for her delicate ears, “of a sexual nature.”

  Her eyes grew round as saucers. “Of a...a...what?”

  “You heard me.”

  “Surely, not clearly.”

  “Very clearly,” he snapped, torn between being aggravated with her for breaking his heart and at his brother for his frivolous dalliance and the peril it had put them in. “Their correspondences were most certainly sexual....of a daring nature, some might say.”

  “Of a daring nature,” she mouthed, baffled before she gasped. “You remember the promise he made her when you two went off to war, yes?” She swigged the rum, likely trying to make sense of Luke and Hannah's interplay. More than that, Luke's veiled threat. “What he would do to her when next he saw her?”

  “A threat not all that heeded, I would say,” he murmured. “Considering the letters they exchanged.” He shrugged a shoulder. “I doubt he will see his promise through.”

  Truth be told, based on their letters, there was a damn goo
d chance Luke would tie Hannah up and show her just where her flirtatious, teasing nature got her. Back then, his departing words had sounded like a threat of rape, but those letters had made clear it was more a cat and mouse game between them. A game she seemed eager to play.

  But then that had been from the safety of her uncle’s plantation.

  Now she was someplace else entirely with a man who most definitely meant to have her. Did he think Luke would take her against her will? Never. But he did not for a moment doubt he would bend her will to serve his purpose. A will that would bend easily enough he imagined.

  “You mean to say you doubt Luke will see through his threat,” Rose muttered under her breath. “You were the one who made promises.”

  “As did you,” he bit back.

  Rose went to reply sharply by the looks of it but gathered herself and primly smoothed a skirt that was bloody well smooth enough. “I will not have you bait me, Thomas.” She shot him a look, the rum making her bold. “Stay on track.”

  Bait her? Toward what end? An argument about her turning from her promise? He saw the clear winner in that discussion.

  She cocked her head. “What do Luke’s letters have to do with my brooch?”

  “You mean my brooch,” he said tightly before he could stop himself. But at the moment, he damn well meant it.

  Rose jerked back a little as if she’d been slapped, blinked several times then tore her eyes from his. “Yes, your brooch.” She pulled her shoulders back, gathered herself, and looked at him again. “What is the connection?”

  “Luke talked about the bauble,” he said. “And those letters were in the trunk.” He shook his head. “Thankfully, he never used his name, so his anonymity remains intact.”

  Her hand drifted to her chest, where he suspected she typically wore the brooch. “I can only assume it had value to someone...other than me.”

  “It did,” he conceded, finally telling her the truth about the dainty rather plain, floral brooch. “Though it was underwhelming, it was extremely valuable. Of the royal line and the only one of its kind, it ended up with my family, handed down generation upon generation. It is hundreds of years old.”