The Mercenary Pirate (The Heart of a Hero Book 10) Page 6

  Selina groaned inwardly. The captain’s choice of words could only mean he knew exactly who she was. And based on her physical reaction to him, a man she barely knew, she was in danger of being seduced by him.

  Oh, this would not do. Not at all. Had she jumped from one fire into another?

  “Why are women a lot of trouble?” Think like a boy, Selina. “Because they need paint?”

  He burst out laughing, which was absurd given everything they’d been through at the Wasp. Killing was no laughing matter. “You don’t know much about women, do you?” he asked.

  She bit her tongue lest she give herself away. And even if she did admit the truth, he was right. She knew absolutely nothing about women because she’d wanted to be the complete opposite of her mother in order to earn her father’s love.

  Before she could form a response, someone hailed the captain. “Ready to shove off whenever ye are, Cap’n.”

  The captain raised his hand to shield his face against the glaring sun as he inspected the quarterdeck. A shadow fell over her as sunlight haloed the hat on his head. The differences between him and her were unsettling, though she didn’t know why. She had been well aware of her smaller stature since the kidnapping, but his build stirred her in a way no one else had. She’d never been aroused by anyone before.

  “When the rest of the men are aboard, we’ll make way,” he told the crewman as he cast a glance down the wharf where smoke continued to billow, a disastrous black cloud following the southern breeze. “I suspect they’ll be arriving without delay.” Then he looked down at her. “You,” he said, “have much to learn. Are you prepared to be educated by sea dogs and pirates?”

  What kind of education did he mean? She swallowed hard and clenched her fists to hold back her unease. “I do not have a choice, do I?”

  “No,” he said matter-of-factly. “You do not.”

  Selina turned away to gather her thoughts, fearing the precipice she straddled. Either she chose to live or she’d lose her life by failing to choose. If she didn’t board the captain’s ship, he’d leave her. And if he left her, Cuvier and Robillard had a greater chance of recapturing her. She did not intend to be left on the docks when the Sea Wolf cast off. She simply had to take the risk and have faith that this man would deliver her to Portreath. Once there, she’d be free to organize a rescue for Owen, perhaps even persuade this stalwart captain to sail her to Cadiz and hunt down the very men who’d sold her brother into slavery.

  Or was that another false hope?

  It didn’t really matter. She had no other options. If she stayed in Saint-Malo, Robillard would be forced to make an example of her for setting fire to the tavern and endangering the inhabitants of Saint-Malo. There was nothing for her here but death. And sneaking aboard another ship offered no better assurances that she’d reach Portreath without delay. At least aboard the Sea Wolf she had a chance to earn her passage and the captain’s trust.

  Her decision made, she prayed silently that the pirate who had bought her for fifty boxes of cigars was an honorable man.

  The captain boarded the gangway and crossed the makeshift bridge to his ship. When he breached the entry port, a crewman announced, “Cap’n on deck!”

  “Cyrus.” He nodded and touched the brim of his hat to acknowledge the men who saluted him. What was it about the captain’s intriguing charisma and the respect he garnered from his crew that she reluctantly approved? He looked back over his shoulder. “Come along.”

  Selina’s feet moved of their own volition, as if piloted by another master. She placed her hand on the guide rope, a fire pulsing inside her belly, and straightened her shoulders. If she was going to board his ship, she had to do something to stop the maddening attraction she felt for this pirate before things got out of hand. She was betrothed and had been on the verge of getting married, even if she’d had no desire to do so.

  “I’ll come,” she said, “if you agree to take me home.”

  “You owe me a debt. Or have you conveniently forgotten I exchanged my figuerados for you?” His not-so-gentle reminder dug deep into her pride. He wiggled the fingers on his right hand as if willing his beloved tobacco to appear. “Are you aware how far a man has to go to get a good cigar?”

  She shook her head.

  He rolled his eyes heavenward. “Has it escaped your notice that we are at war? Now I must sail back to Portugal. That is the only place I can get them.”

  “Isn’t that where you just came from?” she asked, after overhearing him owning up to it while conversing with Jolie in the tavern.

  His lips thinned, and the creases between his brows implied that he did not like being interrogated. “My business is no concern of yours. But what should concern you is this: I nearly got killed in Portugal while getting those figuerados, and I nearly got killed again here, today, sticking my nose where it didn’t belong. How can I expect to be rewarded?”

  Rewarded? What did he mean?

  “I will arrange something, if I can, Capitaine.” Selina was at sixes and sevens. How could she promise this man anything? She didn’t even know him, and his motives for purchasing her still were not clear. He had said it was to save her life, but what if he’d lied?

  “Good,” he said, his stare making her further doubt her ability to compensate him for his trouble. “The sooner you get to work the better, for I am needed elsewhere.”

  Her heart sank. “If I may be so bold . . . where are you needed?”

  Nothing was more important than saving her brother’s life.

  “As I said, my affairs are not your concern.”

  Whether intentional or not, the snub hurt. She had no idea why the man’s opinion should mean anything to her. She had no ties to him, except that she owed him her life and fifty boxes of figuerados, which was an exorbitant sum. Oh botheration! That alone meant she was bound to him more than she cared to admit.

  She cleared her throat gently. “What name should I call you, Capitaine?” she asked as she narrowed the space between them and stepped onto the Sea Wolf’s quarterdeck.

  “Captain,” he said. “What else?”

  That was not an acceptable answer. Selina tamped down the fury that boiled within her. By all that was holy and good, this man was incorrigible!

  “What is your name?” he asked, a mischievous glint to his eyes.

  In retaliation for his previous direct cut, she decided not to answer.

  He looked at her strangely. “I need it for the logbook.”

  “My name is to be added to the list of your crew?”

  He nodded.

  “In that case . . .” She swallowed back the curses she’d learned from the depraved corsairs and gave him a taste of his own obstinacy. She crossed her arms over her chest and said, “Boy will do.”

  He might learn her name eventually, should she decide to disclose it, but for now, he would not uncover her secret.

  Chapter Five

  I am double-damned. How could a mere slip of a woman be so stubborn?

  The situation Wolf found himself in was anything but ideal. Joanna had disappeared with Green, and Wolf had no idea where she’d gone. No doubt a contingency plan had been put in place to transport Joanna and Green to London. Or perhaps she’d been ordered to round up another member of the Legion before returning to Hartland Abbey. Whatever the case, her convenient exit did nothing to cool Wolf’s anger over being denied information about his brother once again.

  Bollocks. He’d been ordered to return to London, but he’d gained a new charge with an obstinate streak twenty fathoms deep and just as many leagues wide. That stubbornness would surely get them all killed, if Robillard didn’t do the honors first.

  Mr. Savage, his first mate and a former lieutenant in the Royal Navy, arrived to confer with him. It was a most welcome distraction. “The tide is with us, Cap’n.”

  “At least that’s one thing working in my favor,” Wolf said, well aware that the girl was still standing beside them. “Mr. Savage, we’ve acquire
d a new member of our crew.” He gestured to her. “Allow me to introduce you to—”

  “Boy,” she finished for him.

  “I’ve got eyes, sir. What’s his name?” Mr. Savage asked, addressing Wolf instead of the girl.

  Wolf glared into her stormy eyes. “Still refusing to give me a name?”

  He could almost see the wheels spinning in her mind as she opened her mouth to speak.

  “Deck there!” Crowle, one of his most agile and reptilian topmen, shouted from the main top, denying her the chance to speak.

  “Aye?” Wolf gazed skyward until he located Crowle perched on the crosstrees.

  “Our men, sir,” Crowle replied. “They be running toward the Sea Wolf as if they be escaping the gallows.”

  Wolf moved to the portside of the ship and grabbed the rail, surveying the scene before him. Everything was just as Crowle had described. His men were hotfooting it across the wharf, the black plume of smoke a backdrop to their anxious expressions. Within moments, they arrived and climbed the gangway.

  The last man to come aboard was his quartermaster, Morning Star, a Cheyenne Dog Soldier who had followed Wolf from the Americas. Morning Star stooped over and grasped his knees to catch his breath. “Set sail soon, Cap’n. Fire won’t give us much time.”

  “Aye,” Wolf said. “Join the others.”

  Morning Star nodded, saying nothing more as Wolf watched him follow the rest of his loyal crew to their stations. “Prepare the ship, Mr. Savage. Loose her moorings without delay!”

  “Aye, sir.” His first mate shouted to the men on deck, “Pipe all hands!”

  The boatswain placed his whistle in his mouth and let it shrill.

  Wolf knew if they had any chance of avoiding another altercation with Robillard, they needed to chart as many leagues as they could between themselves and Saint-Malo before the corsair mustered his fleet.

  “Look lively!” Mr. Savage’s voice carried on the wind, booming with authority and insistence as he pointed to seamen on deck. “Weigh anchor! Heave away!”

  “Aye, sir,” the crewmen replied collectively as they moved forward, their bodies turning the capstan to and cat the anchor. “Heave to!”

  “Hands to halyards!” Mr. Savage’s bellow started another round of action.

  “Haul away!” the crew responded, raising another sail.

  Topmen scampered up the ratlines, unfurling canvas, the halyards chocked up, and clews sheeted home at the yardarms.

  “Unmoor! Unmoor!” Crewmen stationed at the mooring ropes unleashed the vessel from the wharf.

  Wolf laid his hand on the ship’s rail and exhaled loudly. He’d lost another chance to locate his brother. He closed his eyes to mask the sting as the Sea Wolf’s oak and teak beams sang, her deck bucking to life beneath his feet as she got underway. Her steadfast shrouds arrowed to masts overhead, where canvas luffing in the wind as if struggling to catch a vital breath. Her block and tackle creaked to and fro. Her deadeyes watched the crew as they hauled her lines, squealing in protest as each one heaved into place.

  Wolf had lived his life, drifting from one shore to the next, always searching and never knowing who or what he was. This time, he’d been forced to retreat. Joanna could have lost her life trying to help him broker the girl’s release. Even though they’d encountered numerous dangers before and survived each one, the particular skills the two of them possessed weren’t meant to be wasted on local skirmishes. He and Joanna were destined to protect England, not become embroiled in a domestic war.

  Wolf slammed his palm against the rail. Fifty boxes of figuerados! Hell, how much would he have to sacrifice for Wellington before this war was over?

  “Capitaine, is everything all right?” the girl asked, looking up at him skeptically.

  No. It wasn’t. “Brilliant,” he said.

  What good did it do to complain? The longer war waged among England, France, and Spain, the longer his own needs would be shelved and his situation would remain the same. No one cared about what he’d lost. Even fate seemed to conspire against him. And yet, he’d allowed himself to believe that his brother could be found, that the rift between them could be mended. He had no memories of their lives before they’d been separated on the docks in Bristol. He didn’t know who his parents were, where he hailed from, who he was destined to be. He wanted—no, needed—to know these things, felt incomplete without them. Some things were better left in the past, yes. But until he could reconnect with his origins, he didn’t know who he was. There was one thing he did know, however: he was alone. He’d always be alone.

  A tug on his sleeve broke him from his lament. He looked down.

  “I am sorry about your figuerados,” she said. “There are things in this world we can never be prepared for and places we must go before we discover why.”

  Bollocks. The girl was a philosopher, and she was going to set Wellington’s intelligence ring back months! “Why were you at the Wasp? What did they do to you?”

  He regretted his curt tone immediately when her face blanched. “What I have seen, Capitaine . . . what I have witnessed burdens my soul.”

  He backed away from the rail as a tremor jolted through him. She was a helpless female far away from home and forced to disguise herself in order to stay alive. What had she endured at the hands of corsairs? Perhaps they had more in common than he cared to admit.

  “You’ll get over it,” he said. The lie and the insensitivity of his comment tasted vile on his tongue. Wolf had to hand it to the girl, she hadn’t broken character except for the one slip up in the tavern. Not breaking under pressure was a spy’s greatest weapon. Joanna would be impressed if she was still with them. His mouth went dry as he gazed at his knuckles, heart stuck in his throat. How could he persuade this girl to trust him and divulge the truth about her circumstances without jeopardizing her disguise?

  “There are some things a girl”—she squeezed her eyelids closed, then opened them to cover her gaffe—“a boy can never recover from.”

  Boy. Recover. Panic hit him full force. He couldn’t remember how to breathe. To remedy that, he kept steady contact with the girl’s eyes as voices he didn’t recognize scrambled into his head: You cannot move forward unless you know where you’ve been.

  He didn’t know where he’d been, but he did know that the young woman standing before him wasn’t at fault for his predicament and she didn’t deserve his anger. She deserved compassion for all that she’d endured.

  If she were able to look into his soul with those smoky, hopeful eyes and see what he’d done in Wellington’s name, Wolf was certain she wouldn’t like what she saw. In fact, she’d see a monster.

  “A man can recover from anything,” Wolf said. He’d told himself the lie over the years, but it gutted him afresh. He cleared his throat, hoping to chase away the demons that raised their ugly heads, but he knew it would take more than a cigar and liquor to defeat them. He quickly changed the subject. “You said you didn’t know anything about ships. Is that true?”

  “I know next to nothing,” she said, surveying the Sea Wolf’s length and breadth. “I’ve not been given the opportunity to learn.”

  “It’s time you did.” He nodded and gestured toward the companionway as the deck heaved and salty air clung to his skin. “Allow me to introduce you to the one thing separating you and the locker before you do something from which you’ll never recover.”

  She muttered something unintelligible behind his back as Wolf led her to several men posted at the helm.

  “What be our headin’, Cap’n?” Cyrus asked.

  “Good question.” Wolf turned to Selina. “I promised to take you home. Where are we bound?”

  She gaped openly at Wolf. “Cornwall,” she said with astonishment.

  Wolf turned back to the helm. “You have your heading.”

  “Cornwall?” Cyrus asked loudly. “Where in Cornwall?”

  She glanced back at Saint-Malo’s landscape. He followed her stare, wondering how the smok
e in the distance was affecting her.

  “Portreath,” she said. “Do you know it?”

  Cyrus gave Wolf a brief nod. “Mining district. Know it well.” His eyes twinkled with mischief, the wily man. If anyone could put the girl at ease, it was Cyrus. “What be yer name, lad?”

  “Herding,” she replied without missing a beat.

  Cyrus nodded. “Busiest port in Cornwall if it’s copper and tin ye’re after.”

  “Aye,” she said, staring at the horizon. “Means everything to some.”

  Wolf clasped his hands behind his back. “Is that why you’re accustomed to being dirty?”

  Bollocks. If he wasn’t scaring her to death, he insulted her.

  She craned her neck to look up at him, her brow quirked at his attempted humor. “Aye,” she said. “Pit mining. My father owns a successful corporation.”

  Wolf broke away from the rail and began to pace. Was she Julius Herding’s daughter, then? Herding had made a name for himself as Lord Francis Basset’s partner. The two were well-known mining investors west of Truro, as was Richard Trevithick, the inventor.

  “Is that what makes you so valuable?” he asked.

  “I couldn’t say. You’d have to ask the man who kidnapped me.”

  Wolf turned to Cyrus.

  Cyrus shoved his spectacles up to the bridge of his nose and shook his head. He didn’t have to speak. They both knew corsairs didn’t pirate as far north as Portreath without reason.

  “This way,” he said, narrowing his gaze at Cyrus before leading the girl below. “I’ll show you to your quarters.”

  His frustration mounted as he led her to the companionway ladder. He didn’t want to scare Miss Herding. Fear had been all she’d known since her kidnapping. He wanted to ease her discomfort, offer her safety, and escort her home, wherever that might be. In order to do those things, however, he’d have to earn her trust. And the only way to do that was to make her feel more comfortable on board the Sea Wolf—and around him—and to shower her with the kindnesses she’d been denied by her captors.