Her Pirate to Love: A Sam Steele Romance (5 page)

Just then the hatch to the cabin banged opened and a man came rushing down the ladder. All thoughts of Ireland scattered. With every beating and degrading touch Roche had inflicted upon her racing through her mind, Grace shot her hand under her pillow. She grabbed the dagger she’d found in the captain’s trunk the moment Jacques had left her, kicked the covers free, and leapt from the bed.

Sharp claws of pain speared her side as she lurched for the table.

“Damnation, woman!” He cursed.

The fury behind Steele’s voice did little to alleviate Grace’s fear. Only once the table was solidly between them did she look at him.

Where earlier his face had been unreadable, it was now glaringly obvious just what he was feeling. Anger. Shock. Disbelief. And then it hit her. Jacques. She’d asked for the doctor; Steele must have asked the man why she’d wanted him. Sweet Mary, what would he do now?

Her knife wouldn’t hold against his pistol. More, she only had to look at the breadth of his shoulders to know, even unarmed, he could best her. It didn’t mean, however, she was going to make it easy for him.

Though he remained near the ladder and hadn’t given chase, Grace nonetheless warned him to stay back. Then, to show she was willing to go down fighting, she pointed the blade at him. Her sutures stretched with the movement and she winced.

“Dammit, you’re going to hurt yourself further.”

“Stay where you are!” She barked when he took a step.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he growled, though his tone implied he was capable of it. “As it happens, you’re likely doing a fine job of it all on your own. I only want you to get back in bed.”

“Oh, aye, I’m sure you do.” Grace shrieked as he charged toward her and, before she could jab at him, he clasped her wrist within his large hand.

“Drop it.”

Overpowered or not, she wouldn’t yield. “No.”

“Oh, for the—” He dug his fingers into her flesh until she yelped and dropped the weapon. It clattered to the table.

Then, in a move that was surprisingly gentle, he took her arm and guided her around the table. The minute she was laying on the berth he ordered, “You try something like that again and I’ll shackle you to the bed.”

He wouldn’t be the first.
She couldn’t keep the bitter thought at bay.

He eased the blanket over her, ensuring it covered her modestly. His piercing gaze clutched hers. “How many times do I have to tell you I won’t hurt you?”

“You’re a pirate, are you not? Pirates don’t care for anyone except themselves.”

Shadows of pain clouded his eyes. She didn’t believe for a moment she’d actually hurt his feelings, but he had saved her life and he hadn’t beaten her for having a knife. His first concern had truly seemed to be for her health. Had it been Roche…

She swallowed the lingering fear that had engulfed her when she’d seen his fury. “I wasn’t going to let you hurt me.”

He ran a hand over his beard. “I’m sorry if I scared you but I’ve just come from talking to Jacques.”

Grace wiped her palms on the covers. Would knowing of the child change his mind about taking her to Santo Domingo? Taking her anywhere?

“Is it true?”

“Aye,” she answered.

“The man who stabbed you? Did he know about the child?” His tone was sharp as the knife Roche had used to cut her.

“No.”

He exhaled heavily. “Was he the father?”

“I’m no harlot. There’s only been Roche.”

“Roche Santiago?” He gaped. “That’s whose ship we attacked? Dammit, had I had known, I would have gone after him.”

“After him?” She felt all the blood drain from her face. “You didn’t kill him?”

“No. He must have been on the longboat that escaped.”

He’d fled? Dear Lord. There’d been many survivors from Roche’s ship; she’d seen them tied to the masts. The lot of them had witnessed this man take her onto his ship. Roche had a temper and he was known for going after his enemies.

“What is it?”

“There were witnesses who saw you take me. If Roche learns of this…”

“He’d need a ship and a crew. Besides, he has no idea of my heading and I would wager he wouldn’t search the entire Caribbean for a woman he’s already tried to kill. And if he decides to come after me, you’ll be off my ship and tucked safely ashore by the time he can locate me.”

Steele’s words were logical and should have put her at ease but she knew Roche to be evil and vindictive.

“I’d hoped he was dead,” she said, instead. “’Twould be a better world if he were.” As a Catholic, such words were blasphemous, but surely even the Lord would agree the best place for Roche Santiago was hell. “Does my condition change your agreement to take me to Santo Domingo?”

“No, I said I would take you and I will. And, as you’re hurt, you can have the use of my cabin until we make shore.”

“I’ll not be someone’s whore.”

“I’m not after one.” His voice snapped. “Nor a mistress, wife, strumpet, or any other sort of woman.”

Hearing the finality in his voice, she found herself wondering what had happened to make him so cold.

“When we reach Santo Domingo, I’ll take you to Claire. I’ve known Claire for years. She’s a good woman. She and her husband, Nate, own an orphanage and can always use more help. She’ll be able to give you work; offer you a room of your own. It will be safe for you until the child…”

His eyes fell to her belly. His lips pinched and a vein throbbed at his temple. For a moment, two, the only sound was that of his breathing. Finally, he raised his gaze to hers. It wasn’t the shadows she saw that bothered her but the rawness, as though she was looking at an open wound. He blinked and she was once again peering into cool, emotionless eyes.

“You’ll be safe with Claire. You both will.”

She wasn’t fool enough to hand over her trust to any man, but so far, he’d kept his word and hadn’t hurt her.

Still, she’d be cautious. “Thank you. I don’t know what to call you.”

“Steele.”

“
Sam
Steele?” Dear God in Heaven. She may have been locked aboard Roche’s ship, but her ears had been open and Steele’s name had been mentioned more than once. Sam Steele wasn’t the butcher Roche was known to be, but he’d committed his share of atrocities.

The captain’s face went hard as his namesake. “Steele never hurt a woman, as you yourself can attest. And I’ve never raised a hand to a child, even an unborn one.”

As though he sensed he must look capable of it at the moment, he took a step back, raised his wide palms. “You’ve nothing to fear on my ship, Grace, not from me or my crew.”

“I haven’t had much luck with pirates.” She reminded him.

He returned to the table, took hold of the knife. “Don’t,” he growled when she began to cower. Then, to her utter surprise, he flipped the weapon in the air, caught it by the blade and held it out to her. “Keep it. If you ever feel threatened, you have my permission to use it.”

If her mouth had fallen open any wider her chin would have scraped the mattress. Yet it didn’t stop her from taking the weapon.

“Feel better?”

“Aye.”

He gave a sharp nod. “Are you hungry?”

“A little,” she confessed though in truth she was ravenous.

However, having learned from Roche that her needs could be used against her she didn’t want to appear too eager, lest Steele withhold the food.

The glint in his eye told her she hadn’t fooled him, but he didn’t press the point. “Since you already know Jacques, I’ll have him bring you something.” Then he turned on his heel and left.

Grace slid the knife under her pillow and eased back against it, considering what he’d said. He’d claimed never to have hurt a woman or a child. She couldn’t know if it was the truth but he’d sounded affronted by the insinuation she considered him capable of it. Was it a ruse? Unfortunately, there was nothing she could do but wait and see. She’d learned on Roche’s ship—despite her one ally, a crewman named Fitch—there were little options to be had in the middle of the ocean. She couldn’t run and there was nowhere to hide.

Yet, he’d let her keep the weapon. More, he hadn’t used it against her. He hadn’t hurt her and she wasn’t defenseless, wasn’t completely at someone’s mercy. It was more than she’d had in years.

And it had come from the hand of a pirate.

*

Rum wasn’t the
answer. Hadn’t he learned the hard way no matter how much or how long he drank the demons came right back? That they would only remain held at bay so long before they broke through the haze of drunkenness? Knowing, however, didn’t stop him from raising the near-empty bottle to his lips and swallowing another mouthful. Whether they returned tomorrow or not, he just needed the damned fiends gone tonight.

He had a steadfast rule in that he didn’t drink himself into oblivion before his crew but tonight he had little place to hide with Grace occupying his cabin. He took another gulp, relished the heat that burned his throat and warmed his belly.

As soon as he’d learned Grace was with child, he’d felt as though he’d been turned inside out and scraped raw. He’d been around pregnant women since Catherine’s death. Every time, it seemed, he saw Aidan’s family, be it Claire or Alicia, one of them was carrying another babe. While he couldn’t look at them without remembering Catherine in the same condition—remembering and burning with the memories—this was different.

Because, until they made port and he saw her safely to shore, Grace was under his protection. Bloody hell. He didn’t want to be responsible for her. What if they were attacked before they made it to Santo Domingo? What if she were hurt? What if the child died?

He didn’t know Grace; certainly, he didn’t owe her anything. Yet if anything happened to her or her babe while aboard his ship, whatever life he’d made for himself since Catherine and Caden would be gone forever. There would be no surviving such guilt a second time.

Raising an unsteady arm, he lifted the bottle. Somehow, he missed the target and rum trickled from the corner of his mouth, through his beard and onto his shirt. Concentrating harder, he tried again. Nothing came out.

“Blasted thing is empty.” He slurred.

Funny, the wind wasn’t any stronger on his face than it had been all evening and yet the ship was pitching like a bucking horse. A fog must have drifted in because everything was hazy. And suddenly Aidan appeared through the fog. He looked at the bottle, met Steele’s gaze.

“Off to bed?” Aidan asked.

Steele slapped a hand on Aidan’s shoulder. “Can’t sleep yet, I’ve an errand to run.” He lifted the bottle, barely missing Aidan’s jaw. “See, it’s empty.”

“But you’re not.” Aidan grabbed the bottle, whipped his arm, and threw the glass overboard.

Steele shoved his first mate aside. “I’m not done drinking.” He took two steps before Aidan grabbed him and turned him around.

“That’s enough for one night.”

“I’ll decide what’s enough.” He countered with a glare. Of course, he wasn’t sure which Aidan to scowl at since there were suddenly two. He wrenched his arm free but the sudden movement spun his head and he stumbled back. His heels came up against something hard and the next thing he knew he was flat on his arse, looking up past the mainsail to the starry sky.

Aidan reached a hand down and hoisted him to his feet. When they were eye to eye, he added, “Come on, Cale, you’ll be sorry come morning as it is.”

The ship steadied long enough for him to grab Aidan’s collar and spit. “That’s Steele to you, boy.”

“Then act like it.”

Steele’s fist came up but the rum impeded his aim. His knuckles barely grazed Aidan’s chin. Before he could try again, Aidan came round with a fist of his own. White stars exploded in Steele’s eyes. He staggered, blinked. The stars disappeared but the fog was back, rolling in thick and grey until he couldn’t see.

*

Aidan watched Cale
fall to the deck, hoped to hell he’d stay there this time. He flexed his fingers, winced. The man had a damn hard jaw. Aidan took no pride in besting his drunken captain but letting him drink more would accomplish nothing but ensuring Steele would be even surlier come morning.

From behind him, Smoky asked, “You going leave him there?”