The Wicked Ways of Alexander Kidd (The MacGregors: Highland Heirs) (9 page)

She was a mystery to him. A mystery Alex wanted to try to figure out. He liked her but liking her was dangerous. “Mr. Bonnet is waitin’.”

T
rina had watched Kyle practice and fight mock battles her whole life. But his opponent was never a pirate who wouldn’t hesitate to run him through and toss him to the sharks.

Mr. Bonnet fought well for a man with one eye. His vicious determination to inflict pain on Kyle made Trina close her eyes twice. But she didn’t think he would find victory against her cousin. The gold hoop in his ear seemed to help his seasickness, though she had no idea why it would. She worried about what the others would do when the pirate fell. The captain said he’d spoken to his first mate about not fighting to the death, but would Mr. Bonnet and the others obey?

“He parries and blocks well.”

She glanced up at the captain, standing beside her on deck, watching the contest. “He knows more than defense,” she countered, catching his meaning while his mate drove her cousin back. “Look. See how cleanly he jabs? Ye can almost see the air being sliced apart.”

The captain agreed, folding his arms across his chest.
“Yar cousin deserves respect fer his fine precision with a blade, but his arm grows tired from wieldin’ a heavy claymore.”

She shook her head and crooked her mouth at him. He took enjoyment in trying to irk her. He was good at it, but she was learning to control the constant challenge and anger he sparked in her. “The weight of his blade strengthened his arm over the years. If ye pay closer attention to yer man, ye will see his gaping mouth, his puffing chest, the slower reflex to a blow. I fear if ye dinna’ call an end to this soon, Kyle will take Mr. Bonnet to his knees.”

The captain smiled and her lungs quit working. “Ya’re sure about that?”

“I am.”

She was stunned when he called an end to the contest, declaring it a draw. The crew booed and complained but Mr. Pierce reminded them that it was against the articles to hold contest aboard ship. They had allowed it because a guest and a stranger issued the challenge. If any had issue with the results they could take watch for the next five nights. None did.

With the contest over and feelings spared on both sides, the crew opened kegs of rum and sang songs to the setting sun in the western sky. Even Jacques was released and set on his feet to live another day. Trina watched while Kyle accepted a cup from Mr. Bonnet and they toasted in celebration of each other’s skill. She felt a bit queasy and refused to drink, determined not to spend a moment hanging over the side of the ship. This was what she wanted, what she’d ached for for years. To sail across the ocean, to feel the sea spray in her hair, to breathe in the briny fragrance of a world unknown to her. To sail upon a ship beneath a full moon and the heavens bathed in stars. She
longed for adventure and excitement. She wouldn’t spend her time aboard the ship, too sick to enjoy it.

With that thought settled in her mind, her eyes found the captain across the lantern-lit deck, reclining on the stairs alongside his cabin, laughing with a group of his mates. He looked ridiculously sexy just sitting there with a cup clutched in his hand and one knee bent on the step below. She was tempted to go to him by the traitorous skip of her heart, compelled by nothing more than the eruption of his thick laughter and the sight of him beneath the stars. She should go over there and give him back his hat since the sun had set and its heat was no longer painful. But he looked so sinfully appealing in his bandanna, with his shoulder-length sun-streaked hair pushed away from his face and his golden loops dangling from his ears. She guessed countless other women thought the same thing when they saw him.

She knew of the desires of men and what woman did to please them, not from fulfilling any of them, but from banter spread around the table at Camlochlin, mostly about her brother Malcolm and some of her cousins. There were brothels and taverns, and even some stately halls where women flung themselves at virile men, tossing virtue to the four winds. Trina didn’t judge them, but she certainly wasn’t one of them.

The captain’s piercing dark eyes caught and held her gaze across the deck. Heavens, but he was the epitome of masculinity, a mixture of darkness and golden light, smoldering smiles and infuriating grins. Perhaps it wasn’t the best idea to stay aboard. Not with him. On another ship, mayhap, with a short, plump captain with one eye and no teeth. With a captain who didn’t tempt her to think about kissing his full mouth or running her hands, perhaps even her tongue, down his whipcord-tight belly.

“Good thing the captain didn’t fight your brother.”

Trina turned to look up at the giant Gustaaf. “My cousin,” she corrected. “Kyle is my cousin. And why is it a good thing that the captain didna’ fight him?”

“Your cousin would not have gained a draw, but more likely enough bruises to set him abed for a day or two.”

She smiled out of the corner of her mouth, about to set this man straight about how Highlanders fought.

“No one finds victory over the captain. He was taught to fight by the dark-skinned warriors of the West Indies. He’s quicker on his feet than any man I’ve ever seen fight.”

“Pity ye could not remain in Camlochlin longer to have seen our men practice. Yer mind would have been changed.”

The tall Dutchman laughed and shrugged his shoulders, blocking out half the dark sky. “I’m not speaking about practice, lady. Just before we set sail to your land, we took a ship off the coast of Boston. It got bloody when we boarded. Their captain foolishly did not surrender and decided instead to battle us. Captain Kidd cut men down like an angel of death bringing the wrath of God down on them. On some, he didn’t use a weapon.”

“Gustaaf.”

They both turned, startled to find the captain standing before them.

“First ya risk yar life to save me hat and now yar singin’ praises about me fightin’ skills.” Alex looped his arm as high as he could get it around Gustaaf’s shoulder. “Yar a true asset to me crew.”

“It’s the very least I can do after what you did for my family, Captain.”

“Hell, that was nothin’. Let’s not discuss it further.”

“Aye aye.”

Trina watched Gustaaf leave in favor of another cracked keg. When she stood alone with the captain, she turned to him. “What did ye do fer his family?”

“’Tis nothin’ that would interest ya. Are ya ready fer bed?”

Her heart fluttered, making her cough. “It would interest me and nae, I’m not ready fer bed.”

“If ya want to discuss things, then discussin’ me prowess in battle is more pleasin’ to me ears than me good deeds.”

“Are there many then?”

“There are enough.” He slid his gaze to her and smiled.

Trina knew she probably shouldn’t, but she couldn’t help it and smiled back. Mercy, but the man was as prideful as a Highlander. Was it dangerous to like him? Of course it was. She wasn’t here for some tryst with a sexy, swashbuckling pirate. She didn’t need a man to love in her life. Her poor father could attest to that by all the suitors he had to turn down on her behalf. She loved her father for considering her wishes for as long as he had. She longed for the thrill of the unknown rather than the thrill of a man’s body. But Captain Alexander Kidd could change all that. She still wanted to dive into the unknown, but now the thrill of a man’s body sparked a whole new interest in her.

“Let’s discuss this ship ye took near Boston.”

“Proceed.”

He held out his arm, offering Trina an unobstructed path to the stairs.

“Why did ye attack it?”

“We were low on supplies.”

“What kind of ship was it?”

He turned to smile at her as they reached the quarterdeck. “English schooner.”

“Ah.” She swept her gaze at him from beneath the spray of her lashes. “A smaller ship.”

“But faster”—his grin grew all the more sexy as he held out his hand to escort her up the rest of the way to the poop deck—“as I’m certain ya already know.”

She looked up at the stars, trying to keep her head clear of the warmth and firm strength of his hand. “Ye assume too much aboot me.”

“Ya don’t know what that is then?” He pointed to the wheel and drew in closer to her—to intoxicate her with his scent.

She could have pretended ignorance, but why the hell should she? She didn’t care if he thought her odd in her affinity. “The helm.”

Still close, his smile washed over her and made her feel drunk with rum, though she didn’t touch any. “Want to steer?”

Her knees nearly buckled beneath her and she would have gone straight to the floor since he left her to take the wheel from the man steering.

“I’ll take her fer now, Cooper.”

Trina managed to stay upright while watching Cooper leave and the captain turn to her and offer her the wheel. The wheel! Did she dare? What if she steered them into a rock or another ship? It was dark. She shook her head, hating that she had never studied navigation. “I canna’ read the stars.”

He pressed his palm to the small of her back and drew her closer to the wheel. “I can.” He stepped around her and from behind, he closed his arms over hers. He took her hands and placed them on the wheel, then covered them with his.

“We can return in the day and ya can use the compass to yar right. Fer now though, I’ll lead, aye?”

She nodded, knowing she should run for her life. Jumping overboard was safer than standing with him at the helm in the middle of God knew where, his body pressed to her back, his breath warm and scintillating against her ear. Lead? Hell, she was beginning to feel powerless against her own thoughts and desires. It was adventure, excitement, something more than a life of cooking and cleaning and sewing for a husband she didn’t even love. Alexander Kidd made her desire something more. She should have fled, but she didn’t move. She never wanted to move again.

She wasn’t sure which was more hypnotizing, the power beneath her fingers and at her back as the ship rocked and rose or the sound of his voice and the scent of his rum-sweetened breath while he told her about plundering
The Devil’s Grin
, the English schooner, and having to kill most of her crew. He didn’t sound repentant, but Trina didn’t care. She grew up in a world where men killed one another over less than supplies. Last year in Torrin, for instance, when Lachlan MacDonald killed John Frazier over a sheep.

“Why did ya board me ship, Caitrina?”

Her name never sounded so good. “I wanted an adventure,” she confessed. “I love Camlochlin with all my heart but I craved something more.”

Perched behind her, he remained quiet and for a moment she thought he had fallen asleep. Then she heard him inhale a great breath, as if he were readying himself for something. “So,” he said, his voice a husky whisper against her ear, “I don’t tempt ya?”

“Ye?” Her heart pounded in her head.

She could hear the smile in his voice when he spoke. “Me treasure. It doesn’t tempt ya?”

“Nae, well…”

“Cooper!” He shouted so suddenly that he startled her. “Take the helm,” he ordered and pulled her away.

“Where are we going?” she asked, feeling panic settle over her. He either didn’t believe she didn’t want to steal his map and was going to toss her overboard or…

“We’re goin’ to bed.”

… that.

T
rina wanted to sleep and the thought of a soft, fur-covered bed after her first night on the damp hard floor belowdecks tempted her to hasten her steps. But the captain had promised to sleep in the bed with her. She couldn’t let him! If her father ever found out, he would kill the captain first and question him later. And saints help her, what if the captain touched her, kissed her, in the bed? What would she do? She’d never slept with a man before, save for the one time when they visited her aunt Anne Stuart in her convent in France and Trina had to share a bed with her brother Cailean. He snored and she was awake all night. This was different. Captain Kidd was a man, a virile, irresistibly attractive man who oozed sensuality from every pore. He drove her to distraction just standing behind her. She couldn’t climb into bed with him and expect an innocent night of slumber. Already her thoughts were drifting toward the primitive. His face above her, his hair, free and falling onto her cheek while he whispered how she felt beneath him.

She patted her cheek and shook her head to clear it.
She had to think of something before they stepped into the cabin. She searched the faces for Kyle. He had to help her. Perhaps there was another bed in the mate’s quarters… Nae, Mr. Pierce already warned her of the dangers of being around the men with only Kyle as her escort. They would likely kill him and take her.

She found her cousin slumped beside a barrel beneath the main mast, passed out, either from rum or exhaustion. She bit her lip. No help there.

And then, just when all hope seemed lost, help came from Mr. Pierce in the form of a jug of gunpowder rum, which, according to the ship’s quartermaster, could grow hair on a young lad’s cheek and render a wolf helpless.

“Share a drink with me before ya retire to bed, Alex.” Mr. Pierce looped his arm around his friend’s shoulder and tried to lead him away from Trina.

“I’ve had me fill, Sam,” the captain refused. “Besides, I have a guest.”

Trina looked away from the slight provocative curl in his smile. It was clear that his intentions were not honorable.

“Yar guest will remain,” Pierce insisted. “She can bolt the door from the inside to keep trouble out.”

Alex laughed and set Trina’s nerve endings aflame with the sound of it. If his intentions were to “plunder” or “pillage” her, how would she stop him? Would she even try?

“And what if she considers me the trouble and locks me out?”

He’d likely kick down the door. She needed a weapon, something better than a dagger. It wasn’t easy but she managed a smile and moved closer to him. “I wouldna’ do that, Captain. Not after yer kindness.” She patted his arm and
lifted his pistol out of his sash with the other hand, unbeknownst to him. She had the weapon, now she needed time. If he drank Mr. Pierce’s gunpowder rum, chances were likely that he would come to bed as helpless as a puppy. “I hate thinking that I am such a burden that ye canna’ share a drink with yer friends fer fear that I might—”

His smirk, lazy as the summer afternoon, settled on her and rattled her bones. Unable to help herself, her gaze took in the sight of him full on. Beneath the light of the low moon the nuance of strength and grace in his movements reminded Trina of a supremely lethal wolf.

“Ya have me wrong if ya think I fear anything, Miss Grant.”

She didn’t have him wrong. She smiled, familiar with his kind of pride and how to stroke it. “God ferbid I should suggest such a ridiculous possibility. Yer valiant heart is apparent. I meant nae offense.”

Whatever her motive for offering her submission it fell apart at the seams when she raised her gaze to meet his and felt the intimacy of his smile like a tender touch. No! There was too much at stake! At the last instant she reined in her feelings and regained her wits. The struggle made her breathless. “Of course ye fear nothing. Not even the notion that I might be a thief come to steal yer treasure, and that is why ye are afra… er… cautious aboot letting me enter yer cabin withoot ye. Fergive me.”

He stared at her for a moment, then, clearly coming to some conclusion that genuinely pleased him, his smirk softened on her.

Mr. Pierce tugged on his arm when Alex drew a step closer to her. “Ya would have me drink alone, brother?”

Trina saw the regret in the captain’s expression when he turned to his friend. “Nay, old friend. Come, let’s drink.”
He flung his arm around Mr. Pierce’s shoulder and turned to leave her. He paused after a step and turned back to her. “Nicely played, me lovely. Ya’ll be safe fer tonight.”

She couldn’t help but be pleased that he knew her scheme and let her play it. His veiled threat about tomorrow night earned him a dark look, but she had until tomorrow to worry about it.

“Don’t bolt the door from me, Caitrina,” he called out as he left. “If I have to break it down, the cost will come out of yar cousin’s hide, savvy?”

It took more strength of will than she knew she possessed not to pull out his pistol and shoot him.

Why did he have to go and threaten Kyle’s hide? She should keep the pistol and shoot him while he slept just for saying it. Just when she decides she might like him, he threatens her kin, her dearest friend. She reached the quarterdeck on her own and stormed inside the cabin.

She bolted the door while she undressed, swearing to herself that she wouldn’t shoot him if he began kicking. In her shift, she tossed her clothes over the back of a chair, unbolted the door, and leaped into bed. If not for Kyle’s hide, she would have left it bolted and let Alex kick it down if he wanted in.

She pulled his fur blanket over her and sat up, waiting for him to return, his gun cocked and ready for him when she made her demands that he sleep on the floor.

When Alex began to see two of each of his mates sitting around him in the galley, he knew it was time to go to bed. If he were going to see double, at least let him be looking at Caitrina. He stood to his feet, surprisingly steady against the gentle sway of his ship. He’d been drinking gunpowder rum since he was a boy. Its potent effects on
him had grown stale. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t suffer the drink’s consequences in the morning… and tonight. He’d done it for her, because she’d molded refreshing sincerity into her clever manipulation to get rid of him for most of the night. He’d agreed to temporary impotency from gunpowder as a favor to her. He would worry about why he did it tomorrow. Now he wanted sleep and nothing more. He made it to his cabin without falling over the side or slipping on his arse.

He was somewhat surprised to find his door unlatched. He entered quietly and looked toward the bed, visible in the candles she’d left lit. He stepped inside, pulling off his bandanna as he went.

The curse of gunpowder rum was that while he was drunk he functioned with pure clarity but would forget everything come the morning. He had threatened her cousin’s well-being to gain her obedience. Of course, he hadn’t meant a word. He liked Kyle MacGregor and would kill him only if he had to.

Stepping toward the bed, he remembered how she had looked like she wanted to kill him just before she marched away. He remembered how she felt in his arms while she steered his ship. Tomorrow he would forget the thoughts of lifting her skirts and taking her at the helm. Tonight, though, he remembered.

He stood over the bed and her sleeping body and smiled at the sight of her and his gun in her limp hand.

How the hell had she gotten it? He had it on him, didn’t he? Was she a pickpocket as well as lock picker? And he was supposed to believe she wasn’t a thief? She tempted him to believe it. And therein lay the problem. He had to get rid of her. He was glad Sam had taken him away from her and got him drunk enough to fail at anything he
attempted with her. When they reached France, he would bid her a fond farewell, just like he had to other women in the past.

But something was different about her, something deeper, something he wanted to explore. He was wary of his protectiveness of her, and of the way she tempted him to agree to every demand she made of him. She distracted him. Just like she distracted him while she stole his pistol, and his dagger before that. She was beautiful, fiery, and fearless, and he found his thoughts preoccupied with her, rather than on his voyage and the legacy of his father’s greatest treasure. He looked at his wall and the trapdoor hiding his map.

The ship pitched and rolled over a giant swell and flung Alex forward, onto the bed; he was perched over her when she opened her eyes. He could feel her heart pounding against his chest. The feverish pitch played like a drum through his blood.

“Remove yerself!” she demanded and pressed the barrel of his pistol to his temple.

She looked afraid enough to pull the trigger, so he pushed himself off her, holding up his palms while he went.

“What d’ye think yer doing?”

She looked genuinely terrified, an expression he’d never seen on any woman in his bed. He’d never forced a woman’s affections and he didn’t like that Trina didn’t know it. “The ship bucked and I lost me balance. Fergive me.”

She sat up, bringing the pistol with her. “All right but now that ye woke me, there is something ye need to know.”

“What’s that?”

“I canna’ let ye sleep in this bed with me.”

“Is that so?” Hell, he was sleepy. He tugged at his belt
and let it drop to the floor. He peeled his shirt off next and tossed it on the bed. “Are ya going to shoot me then?”

“I… I will if I must.” Her throat sounded dry while she watched him unfasten his pants.

By the size of her eyes while he undressed, he concluded that she must never have seen a naked man before. Rather than frighten her enough for her finger to click that trigger…

“Why don’t ya put that pistol down and I’ll turn around.”

She blinked and then dropped the pistol onto the bed. He turned his back on her and dropped his pants. He stepped out of them and strode toward the chair. When he reached it, he snatched up her dress and flung it to the end of the bed with his shirt, then took up her plaid and covered himself with it after he settled into his chair.

“That is my earasaid ye have wrapped over yer… naked body,” she pointed out to him.

He closed his eyes. “Well, ya have me blanket.”

“I’m not naked.”

“Pity.”

He heard her mumble something but he was too sleepy to care what it was.

“And what aboot my clothes? Where can I wash them?”

“In France,” he told her groggily. “We’ll be there soon enough.”

She mumbled again. This time she sounded angry. “Ye havena’ thought aboot letting us stay aboard fer a wee bit longer then? Ye already penned a note to my kin…”

“Woman, if ya think I’m goin’ to sleep in a chair fer another fortnight, renew yar thinkin’ now.”

“Fine,” she retorted. “I’ll sleep in the chair fer the remainder of the journey.”

He opened his eyes and saw two of her. He couldn’t help but smile. He couldn’t let her stay. She would drive him mad.

“What d’ye mean I would drive ye mad?”

For a moment he thought she read his mind and almost leaped from the chair to leave the room lest he begin thinking about his treasure and where it was and she hear that as well. Then he realized that he must have spoken aloud. Damn rum. Well, since she heard him, he might as well tell her.

“Ya’re drivin’ me mad right now. Chattin’ on endlessly about keepin’ ya. And trust me, woman, I want to keep ya. ’Tis takin’ all my resolve not to go over there, climb into me bed, and make ya ferget what ya came here fer.”

Finally, she was silent. He closed his eyes again and let the gentle rocking of the ship put him to sleep.

“Ye certainly think highly of yerself, Captain Kidd.” Her lilting voice pulled him awake again. “Nae man—not ye or any other could make me ferget or give up my dreams. I seek adventure and I dinna’ care if ye believe me or not. But dinna’ think fer one instant—”

“Caitrina.” He cut her off. He wanted sleep and he wanted her. He was going to get one or the other. Since he’d likely be done with her in the space of five breaths, given his condition, he thought it better to wait. “If ya don’t stop talkin’ I’m goin’ to make ya walk the plank.”

Blessed silence again, and then, “I’m not afraid of ye.”

He smiled, on his way to dreaming. “I shall make certain to remedy that in the mornin’.”