The Rogue Pirate’s Bride Page 22

  She looked at Bastien, and she wanted to wrap her arms around him, close her eyes, and pretend the Regal was still some distant problem they might encounter. But even as she met his gaze, their plans for a wedding in Brest, the search for his family, their life together began to sink to the bottom of the ocean floor.

  His cobalt eyes were steady, the question burning in them.

  “Signal them,” she said, coldly, decisively. “When he’s close enough, I’ll make sure he sees me. He won’t fire if he sees me.”

  Bastien held up a hand, and the men stepped back. He took Raeven’s arm, steered her to the taffrail. “We can run. I’ve outrun a man-of-war before. I have the wind, so with a little luck…”

  She shook her head. “And how long will you run? Weeks? Months? Years? He won’t stop, Bastien. He’ll keep coming after you—after us. Think of your men. How long will they tolerate running from a man-of-war when they could hand me over and resume more profitable ventures? Give it one week, maybe two, and you’re looking at a mutiny.”

  He looked away, but she knew he agreed with her. She wished she wasn’t right this time. She wished they might have made it to Brest.

  “When my father catches us, I won’t go aboard without conditions. For my safe passage, I’ll make him promise to let you and your ship go.”

  Bastien gave a bark of laughter. “And do you think once you’re aboard he’ll keep his word?”

  “Yes. He’s a man of his word. If he makes a promise, he’ll do it. He may not like it, and he may come after you another time, but…” She looked down. “I’ll try to dissuade him. I’ll protect you.”

  Bastien’s finger notched her chin up, and she looked into his eyes. He was smiling. “I can take care of myself. You, on the other hand…” He shook his head. “I don’t want to let you go.”

  Her breath caught in her lungs. For a long moment, she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but stand on the deck of the ship with him.

  The pain in her chest intensified until she had to all but close her eyes against it. She wished with all of her being, with everything she was, she had more time with Bastien. Another day, another week. She would take another moment if that was all she’d been given. She wanted to curse her father for finding them so quickly, but she knew he searched only out of love.

  She was in love, too, and the temptation to flee her father was strong. But the little time she and Bastien would gain together was not worth the consequences. She thought of Percy, and she knew for once she couldn’t be selfish.

  “Maybe we’ll meet again.” Her voice sounded weak, breathy.

  He nodded, but she could see he wasn’t convinced. “This is what you want?” He gestured to the Regal, just a distant speck on the horizon at the moment but growing larger.

  “Signal them,” she said.

  He turned away from her, all formality and business now. “Mr. Khan, set a course to intercept the HMS Regal. Jack”—he gestured to one of the deckhands—“run up the colors. Mr. Ridley, when we’re close enough, hoist the signal for parley. Miss Russell will make herself visible on deck. Hands to your stations and beat to quarters. I want you ready for battle.” He glanced at Raeven. “I’ve dealt with the British Navy before. I’m sure your father’s a man of his word, but I don’t want to take chances.”

  Raeven knew it would be several hours yet before the Regal reached them. She spent the time in Bastien’s cabin, mostly pacing but also rehearsing the words she would say to her father. She had to ensure he would allow the Shadow to go on her way, and she was not at all certain she could do so.

  Half a dozen times, she heard a sound and turned to the door, expecting to see Bastien saunter in. She wanted him to come, wanted him to take her in his arms one last time, kiss her and touch her until she was too dizzy to think of anything but the feel of him pressed against her.

  But he didn’t come, and as the hours ticked by, she knew he would not.

  Finally, she went on deck. She still wore Bastien’s breeches and shirt, but she’d left her hair down, made sure it would whip in the wind. She stood on the bow, watching as the Regal drew closer. Her father approached cautiously, even after she saw Mr. Ridley himself hoist the signal for parley.

  She stood tall, holding her head up as the Regal drew nearer. She could not see her father or make out anyone on the decks, but she knew their spyglasses were trained on the Shadow. She knew they could see her.

  “Now’s the time we all hold our breath,” Bastien said beside her.

  She glanced at him, trying to memorize his features. At some point, he’d found time to change clothing. He knew how to dress the part of the pirate. He wore shiny black boots up to his knees, tight black breeches, a cutlass at his waist, a pistol tucked in his waistband, and a stark white shirt dripping with lace and open at the throat. His long black hair had been pulled back in a simple queue, and the style accented his strong cheekbones, straight, proud nose, generous mouth, and the impossible blue of his eyes. Hard eyes now, all business as he watched the Regal’s approach. “Close with him amidships,” he ordered. “Gunners be ready.”

  “He’s not going to fire with me standing in plain view,” she said and hoped she was right.

  Of course she was right, but she held her breath, seeing the Regal’s gun ports were open and the men at their stations. All was ready on the Shadow as well.

  One wrong word, one wrong move, and the whole situation would explode.

  Finally, the two ships came alongside one another. Raeven couldn’t stop a smile when she saw her father on the deck. She moved to the quarterdeck so she might be opposite him. The admiral didn’t smile back at her, and even at this distance, she could see he looked older, tired.

  She raised a hand, and he nodded. But his eyes were cold as they looked past her and studied Captain Cutlass.

  “Your flag indicates you want to parley,” he called. “If this is some trick to lure me close so you can attack, I’ll warn you we are fully armed and ready.”

  “It’s no trick, Father,” Raeven called before Bastien could answer. “The Shadow wants a peaceful exchange of words and terms.”

  Her father didn’t blink. “Terms for what?” he yelled back.

  “My return.”

  The admiral shook his head. “No terms. Send her over now, and we’ll consider not killing the whole lot of you.”

  “I can’t do that, Admiral,” Bastien said, his voice carrying across the two ships. “If you want her back, you’ll have to negotiate. Otherwise, she stays with me.” He wrapped an arm about her waist and pulled her possessively against him. Raeven knew it was no affectionate gesture but a move calculated to anger her father.

  It worked. The admiral’s face turned as red as the horizon at sunset, and he whirled to converse with his lieutenants. After several minutes of discussion, the admiral stomped back and called, “Cutlass, you and one of your crew have my permission to board the Regal. You will not be harmed and are guaranteed safe passage back.”

  Bastien still had his arm about Raeven, and she felt the anger course through him. “Thinks I’m that much of a fool, does he?” he muttered in French. “I don’t think so,” he called. “Your ship has more guns, more men, more firepower. I might have outrun you, but the time for that is past. You and one of your lieutenants have permission to come aboard the Shadow. I guarantee you safe passage back.”

  The Admiral scowled. “And if I refuse?”

  Bastien shrugged as though it mattered not to him. But he stroked Raeven’s hair possessively. “She’s your daughter.”

  Another conversation between the admiral and his lieutenants ensued, and finally he called, “Agreed. Have your men throw down a ladder.”

  Raeven watched as the men went about their tasks, and her father and his first lieutenant moved away from the deck rail to converse. On board the Regal, the men began to lower her father’s gig. She turned to Bastien. “I want to be included in the discussions.”

  His
eyes never left his crew members. “Of course you do.”

  She put her hands on her hips. “Are you going to argue with me?”

  “No.” He raised a hand, and Ridley stepped forward. “Take her to my cabin. Lock the door and post a man outside. Then ready the ward—”

  “What?” Raeven screamed. “You do not honestly propose to lock me up while you and my father discuss my future. You cannot honestly believe—let me go!” Ridley had her about the waist and was pulling her toward the nearest ladderway. “I’m not going to be locked up! Cutlass! Bastien, you bastard!”

  Ridley lifted her, hoisted her over his shoulder, and lumbered down the ladderway. Once they were below deck, she stopped fighting. She knew she wasn’t going to win, and Ridley was simply following orders.

  “You can put me down,” she ordered. “I won’t fight.”

  Ridley did so, but he kept one hand firmly on her arm. Raeven balled her fists and seethed. How like a man to pretend to listen to her advice, pretend to respect her opinion, and when the crucial moment came, send her away.

  They reached the captain’s cabin, and Ridley deposited her inside, closed the door, and locked it. A few moments later, she heard him speaking to the guard outside. There were plenty of windows in the cabin, but all faced the stern, and the two boats were floating side by side. Still, she stared out at the blue sky and the churning waters and wondered whether her father had come on board and what was being discussed in the wardroom.

  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.