The Care & Feeding of Pirates Read online

He lifted the cup to his lips and took a drink. Honoria traced the swallow down his throat, watched his Adam's apple move behind his tanned skin. Christopher took another mouthful, and Honoria's mouth quivered with envy.

  Christopher put his thumb under her chin, turned her face up to his, and kissed her. Water, lovely and soft, caressed her tongue. They shared the sip, then he eased away. They shared the next one, and the next.

  Christopher held the cup to her. "One left."

  "You have it."

  "Back to heroics, are you? Drink it, damn you."

  Under his stern gaze, she did. Before Honoria swallowed, she kissed him. Christopher grinned, dipped his tongue into her mouth once more, then withdrew.

  He settled her back against him, setting the empty cup on the deck. The air had cooled a bit already. Despite the hot days, the nights could be chilly.

  Honoria snuggled against Christopher's chest, already glad of his warmth. She slid her bare feet to his leg, nudging her toes along Christopher's calf.

  If the entirety of her marriage could be like this, she thought, she could be happy. Sailing on the open water, Christopher by her side, he lying with her every night. She twined her fingers through his and trailed her foot up his leg.

  Through her drowsy lassitude, she heard Christopher say, "This life is hard for you."

  True, Honoria thought. She had calluses on her palms for the first time in her life, and her hair was dry and tangled. She very much needed her rosewater cream for her hands and a lavender rinse for her hair.

  Christopher was speaking again. "We'll go to Charleston soon."

  Would they? Her home in Charleston seemed very far away and unimportant. She turned her head on Christopher's shoulder to look up at him. "There's no wind. Will we row there?"

  He chuckled. "If we have to."

  "I don't want to go back to Charleston." The words sighed from her lips. "Not just yet."

  "You belong there, love. You'll have featherbeds and gardens and all the water you can drink."

  "I belong with you."

  Christopher looked down at her, his head silhouetted against the fading twilight. "You must have sunstroke."

  "It's dark," Honoria pointed out.

  Christopher closed his arms around her, breathing into her hair. "I don't want to be the death of you, sweetheart."

  "I come from sturdy stock, Mr. Pirate. Look at my brother."

  "Mmph. That doesn't inspire confidence."

  Thinking of James, as usual, brought a mixed wave of sorrow and anger. "James went a little mad with vengeance I think, before he met Diana. Paul was mad with it too, and the saddest thing is, Paul never got his revenge. He died before he could discover the identity of the man who'd killed his wife. James had to finish the quest for him."

  "I know," Christopher said.

  "I suppose the story is all over the Atlantic." Last year, James had at last tracked down a pirate called Black Jack Mallory, who'd confessed to murdering Paul's wife and daughters. James had met Diana on this hunt, and she'd had much to do with it.

  Christopher said, "I know because I was the man who told James who killed Paul's wife."

  Honoria remained still for a full minute, not quite certain what she had just heard. Christopher's words vanished against the quiet of the night, the muted speech of the men in the bow, the soft lapping of waves.

  She sat up, her dry throat slow to find words. "You . . .?"

  "That was why James saved me from the hangman's noose. Gratitude for the information." Christopher frowned. "You didn't know this?"

  Honoria's eyes burned, a tight ache twisting inside her. "No, of course I didn't." Her voice rose, and sailors lifted their heads, looking their way. "James never tells me anything. Neither do you, apparently. How the devil did you find out?"

  "I learned the information by chance while I was looking for the Rosa Bonita. The man who told me didn't realize what he was telling me, or what he knew. I put the pieces together, and gave the information to Ardmore when he arrested me."

  Honoria clenched her fists. "You bargained for your life with it? He bargained with it?"

  "I didn't bargain," Christopher said. "I just told him. James never said a word, not even a thank you. I had no idea he was going to save me until they put me into the boat instead of taking me to the scaffold."

  Honoria faced him, fists pressed to her abdomen. Despite her rage, she believed him. It would be like James not to tell Christopher he'd saved his life until after the deed was done. She could imagine her brother taking in Christopher's story, green eyes empty of everything, then walking away without a word.

  "You didn't tell me," she said.

  "At the time I learned the information, I was a long way from you, and I had many other things to worry about. I assumed James would tell you after I was dead. But he never did?"

  "No." She breathed heavily, surprised fire didn't shoot out of her mouth. "He never told me you knew about Black Jack Mallory, and he never told me he'd set you free."

  "I suppose he didn't want to scare away his prey."

  "Well, I wasn't his prey," Honoria said. "I'm his sister."

  The rising moon laced silver through Christopher's wheat-colored hair. "I feel very sorry for Ardmore when you catch up to him."

  "You still might have told me," Honoria said, wanting to be angry with him. She couldn't reach James, but Christopher was right in front of her.

  "When you walked into my cell, I had other things on my mind." Christopher pulled her back down into his arms, his body warm even through her chill anger. "I wanted my last memories to be very, very good. I remember what you said to me before you left. I hung on to that, to take to my grave."

  Honoria remembered too. Her heart in her throat, still feeling the bite of his seed inside her, she'd said clearly, I love you, Christopher.

  Christopher now wrapped his arms around her and smoothed his hand across her belly. "I love you too," he murmured.

  Honoria swallowed, hot tears pricking her eyes. Emotions swirled inside her--anger, grief, heartache, gratitude for Christopher and his warm comfort, rage at James.

  Honoria might be able to forgive James for not telling her he'd saved Christopher's life--he'd had no idea what Christopher was to her--but she could not forgive him withholding anything concerning Paul.

  As she closed her eyes, images of Paul came all too vividly--his infectious laugh, his crisp dark hair that gleamed blue-black in the sunshine, his drawling voice as he teased the life out of his sister. She and Paul had been partners in crime against big brother James, mocking him behind his back, standing in a united front against his fury.

  That had been so long ago. And yet Honoria felt as though, if she stretched out her hand, she'd find Paul at the end of her reach.

  Honoria had watched Paul change in the space of a day from carefree young man to grieving, empty shell. She'd been with Paul when he'd received the news that his wife and children had been killed on their voyage between Charleston and Virginia.

  Honoria had held Paul while he'd cried and cried. She'd cried too, for the gentle brown-haired lady he'd married, and his two little daughters, her nieces, the joy of their lives.

  James had learned of the murders and returned home, stone-faced and grim. When Paul had declared he would find the man who'd done this, whatever the cost, James had nodded in quiet agreement. Both James and Honoria had stood firmly beside Paul when he'd decided to turn pirate hunter, a decision that had ultimately led to his death.

  A delicate breeze ruffled the curls on Honoria's forehead, soothing her aching head. After Paul's death, James had shut Honoria out of his life, not sharing his grief, his need for vengeance, anything. James had never understood that after Paul had died, Honoria had needed James the most. Grief had driven them apart, and though things had improved since James had married Diana, he and Honoria hadn't yet reconciled.

  The breeze strengthened. Honoria closed her burning eyes and tried to put aside her hurt, tried to think only
of the cool wind lifting the hair on her neck . . .

  Her eyes snapped open at the same time Christopher shoved her aside and leapt to his feet. The ship rocked heavily, the topsails of the foremast, always ready, catching the gust.

  "Wind's up!" Christopher shouted, the strength in his voice touched with joy. "All hands, get those sails aloft, now!"

  The ship exploded with happy activity. Sailors threw off blankets and boiled up from the hold. They whooped and laughed, scrambling up the masts.

  Honoria held on to the bench and breathed the sweet wind. She forced herself to focus on the heady relief of the breeze and the movement of the ship as the sails filled again. Movement meant hope. They would not die here.

  Christopher joined his men at the windlass, the muscles on his bare back playing as he bent to turn the huge wheel. Colby moved next to him, his deep baritone rumbling in a song, badly out of tune.

  Manda was not with them. St. Cyr had taken the tiller, and Manda was not with him either.

  Honoria's eyes narrowed as she scanned the deck. The lady was nowhere in sight.

  In fact, she noticed that, although the entire ship's complement was present, including Mrs. Colby who tied lines like the best of them, Mr. Henderson and Manda Raine were notably, and interestingly, absent.

  *** *** ***

  They ran before a fair wind the next three days, making fine time west and southwest. They still rationed water, but the rations grew larger as they drew closer to their destination.

  Despite Christopher's revelation of James's perfidy, Honoria thought herself closer to happiness than she had been for many years. She awoke to sunshine and air and Christopher snoring next to her, spent a companionable breakfast with Mrs. Colby in the galley, did her watch under the supervision of Carew, who'd recovered from his fever, dined with Christopher and the other officers in the chart room, and leaned on the stern rail to study the stars until Christopher led her below to bed.

  Then Christopher would remind her, with his mouth, hands, and body, that he was her husband in all ways.

  Christopher refrained from talking about the treasure, Charleston, and choices. All fine with Honoria. She wanted to enjoy the now, being with Christopher in the sunshine and freedom of the ship.

  She never had the chance for a talk with Manda, though Honoria kept a close eye on her and Mr. Henderson. She noticed that Christopher kept his sister constantly busy, and away from Mr. Henderson. When Manda dined with them, Mr. Henderson was on watch, and vice versa. If the pair ever appeared on deck together, Manda worked in the stern while Henderson was given a task in the bow.

  Honoria tried to bring up the subject of Mr. Henderson and Manda several times with Christopher, but he only growled and wouldn't talk about it.

  Christopher's tireless energy rather overwhelmed her at times. He was focused on finding his gold, which would complete what he'd begun when he'd started his journey back to life from the other side of the world. He was letting nothing stand in his way, not his sister's growing interest in Henderson, not his muttering crew, not his wife.

  And certainly not the ship that the lookout sighted behind them to the north at the end of the fourth day.

  *****

  Chapter Eighteen

  They all piled on deck at the lookout's cry. St. Cyr watched in his quiet way, and Manda worriedly peered through her spyglass. Henderson leaned on the rail not far from them, his spectacles glinting under the harsh sun.

  Christopher knew damn well who followed them. Honoria, at his side, shaded her eyes and squinted against the glare. He watched her flush as she made out the outline of the ship and realized who it was.

  Christopher said nothing until the sailor sang down from the top of the mainmast. "It's him, sir! It's the Argonaut!"

  "You sure?" Colby growled upward.

  "He's unfurled his flag. Midnight with a gold slash."

  "That is James, all right," Honoria said grimly.

  "Damn near the fastest ship in the seas," Colby said.

  Only St. Cyr betrayed no emotion. "Our ship is nearly as fast, Captain. Our modifications made it so. Do we run?"

  Christopher watched the faraway sail for a long time. On that ship, no doubt, sailors were congratulating themselves on catching up to them. He imagined Ardmore standing on the deck, watching in his cool way. Perhaps his wife stood at his side, her red hair shining in the sun.

  "No," Christopher said abruptly. "We don't run."

  Colby stared. "What? Has the heat touched you?"

  Christopher shrugged. "Why should we run? We sail in free waters, we haven't taken any ships, and we're minding our own business."

  "He will try to board us," St. Cyr said.

  "He's welcome to. One captain can request to speak to another. It's hospitable."

  Colby's eyes narrowed. "What I'd like to know is, how did he find us?" He switched his brown-eyed gaze to Honoria.

  She lifted her chin. "Do not look at me, Mr. Colby. I did not see my brother before we left London, and Christopher didn't tell me where we were going until we were well to sea. James simply has the knack for turning up where he is not wanted."

  Colby looked unconvinced.

  "I told him," Christopher said.

  All eyes turned to him. In the silence, a sail snapped and grew taut again. St. Cyr was the first to speak. "Captain?"

  Christopher lifted his spyglass and studied the outline of the ship heading their way. The Argonaut had much to admire--clean lines, low-riding hull, and square mainmast, fore and aft jibs. Christopher watched for a long time, letting the tension build, before he answered.

  "His wife saw the marriage license and doubtless figured out what the numbers I wrote on them meant. She's an admiral's daughter, after all."

  More stares. Mouths dropped open, and expressions grew dismayed.

  Manda was the first to realize that Christopher had deliberately let Diana see the license and why. She turned away, a faint twitch to her lips.

  St. Cyr realized a moment after Manda did. He moved back to the tiller, face relaxed. Colby, a little slower, still glared. Henderson asked quietly, "What numbers?"

  Christopher lowered his spyglass. "Manda will tell you."

  Manda jerked around, and Henderson flushed.

  Christopher did not give them time to shout at him, or let Colby splutter more questions. He ordered everyone back to work, even his lovely wife.

  From the look in Honoria's eyes, she still raged about her brother and the feud the two had going. Watching her walk away, Christopher decided that Ardmore would be safer if Christopher kept Honoria away from the cannons.

  *** *** ***

  Honoria hoisted her knife, positioned her victim lengthwise, and brought the blade down sharply. Chop! She tossed the severed head into the pile and started on the body.

  Pieces flew, juices spurted. Honoria stepped back when she was finished, panting.

  "Well," Mrs. Colby said, "That's one carrot won't bother nobody again."

  Honoria gathered up the pieces and tossed them into the pot of water then selected another victim. This carrot was a bit shriveled from days at sea. No matter. She slammed down the knife, neatly decapitating it.

  "Something on your mind, love?"

  "Men!" Honoria snapped.

  Mrs. Colby craned her head to look at the carrot. "Any man in particular?"

  Honoria's knife went up and down. "My brother, my husband, all of them."

  Chop, chop, chop! She threw the pieces into the stew pot and eagerly grabbed another carrot.

  "Tell me, Honoria," Mrs. Colby said, her voice deceptively calm. "When you're hacking like that are you thinking of the whole man or just a certain bit of him?"

  Honoria looked down at the carrot, long, firm, and tapering. She hadn't thought of it, but perhaps there was a reason she'd chosen that particular vegetable. "I don't know," she said. "It's only a carrot."

  "Just asking, love," Mrs. Colby said.

  Honoria stood still, her knife poised.
"Am I a living, breathing human being?"

  "Well, of course you are, dear."

  The knife came down, cutting as Honoria spoke. "Then why is it that my brother and my husband believe that I should not act, or think, or feel without their permission? I should do nothing, say nothing, think nothing that they have not decided."

  Mrs. Colby raised her shoulders in the universal women's dismissal of the oddities of men. "It's their way, I'm afraid. The good Lord told them that they were the masters, and they believed it. When you're first married, they test the waters, but after a while, they start to learn the way of things. You have to be patient with them."

  Honoria viciously whacked off the top of another carrot. "The whole of my life, I've been the perfect lady. I kept our house running for years. Did James ever thank me for it, ever even notice? No. And now, when I've done something for myself, he races after me to fetch me home like a disobedient child. The one thing that marriage has done for me is to make me no longer have to answer to my brother. I am supposed to answer to my husband now, and my brother has no more say in the matter."

  Mrs. Colby watched her for a time. "Are you worried Captain Raine will give you back? Don't worry, lass, he won't let you go. He needs you."

  "Ha."

  "He does. I see it every time he looks at you. He's a man what's found something good, and he won't let go of it quick."

  "I think he simply likes having someone he can order about," Honoria said, selecting another carrot. "He treats Manda completely differently."

  "Well, he and Manda have been together since they were tykes. Mr. Raine raised her himself." Mrs. Colby resumed her more sedate chopping of turnips. "But a lad doesn't know much what to do with a little girl, does he? So Mr. Raine treated her same as if she was his brother, taught little Manda the same he would a boy. They're used to each other. Most like, the captain don't know much what to make of you."

  "I don't know what to make of him either," Honoria said.

  "That's what happens when you're in love, dear."

  Honoria sat on a stool, suddenly weary. "Am I in love?"

  "You wouldn't be so angry if you wasn't. Nor would you blush when you talk about it."