Chapter Two
James rested his wearyarm on the bar. His hook often added to the ache as the day progressed. He’d only had it a month, and still the circumstances surrounding its acquisition plagued him. It had only been pure dumb luck the croc hadn’t taken his sword hand.
On the other side of that coin, the loss of the Jolly Roger, had been a damned curse, forcing him to crawl to the pirate council in misery. His father would never let him live it down, though he had given James another ship. The Raven was not as swift or as feared as the Jolly Roger, but it was better than a life confined to land. He would sacrifice his pride twice over if it meant he could stay at sea. A pirate without the sea was a sad spectacle indeed.
The bartender placed another pint on the bar in front of him, before scuttling away and leaving James to nurse his ale in peace. A lively melody played on the piano. He tried to ignore everyone milling around the seedy tavern. ’Twas close to the docks and granted the anonymity a pirate desired. While Mr. Smee and the rest of his crew gathered supplies and readied the Raven, he’d stolen these few coveted moments of peace to drown his sorrows.
The infamous captain brought low. James cursed his bad fortune and stared into the bottom of his glass.
Laughter and merriment bubbled around him, burrowing beneath his skin. His irritation was growing to combustion when a man took residence on the stool beside him.
James barely spared the man a glance and took in the dusty, faded garments with a sneer. A dark hood shielded the man’s face, probably scarred from the pox. What did James expect from a tavern like this? Even his own weathered black trousers and tunic indicated more wealth than the rags on the man beside him. Perhaps he should have stayed on his ship and indulged in his own stash of rum.
When the man tapped his knuckles on the bar, James snapped.
“Get lost,” he growled.
Jerking his hand away, the stranger mumbled something unintelligible before sliding from the stool and ambling to the door. James plucked his mug from the bar, then noticed a slip of paper on the faded wood where the stranger had just been. He turned, scanning the tavern for any sign of the man, but the hooded stranger had vanished.
James snatched the paper and opened it.
Meet me in the alley.
No signature, only five words in delicate cursive.
He stuffed the note into his waistcoat pocket and picked up his mug. Whoever this stranger was, he obviously wanted a word with him. James snorted and took another gulp. He wanted to drink himself into a stupor, not talk. After a few moments, he finished the ale and tapped his hook on the bar.
“Ah, damn it all to Poseidon.” James dropped a few coins on the bar, pushed himself off the stool, and strode to the exit. “I hope to hell this ain’t another of Smee’s brilliant ideas to earn coin. I would rather die than hire out my ship,” he muttered as he stepped into the street.
The sun blinded him for a moment. He pulled on his worn tricorn hat and swaggered over the cobblestones. The docks lay dead ahead through a narrow alley.
He inhaled the sweet sting of salty air and rubbed his grizzled chin as he turned down the winding street. The rickety buildings blocked out the sun, casting deep shadows along his path. The sweet lull of alcohol steadied his swaying steps. Too long at sea left one shaky on land, and ale often helped balance the difference. The sound of booted heels on the stones soon echoed behind him.
Hastening his steps, James turned the corner and ducked into a small, alcoved doorway. Shielded from view, he waited.
As the steps neared, he took a deep breath. The figure stepped into his line of sight, and James grabbed the man by the arm. Spinning the interloper around, James pinned him to the wall and pressed his hook to the man’s throat.
“Care to die today?”
The hook threatened to break skin. A sharp intake of breath echoed from beneath the dark hood.
James recognized the stranger from the tavern and eased the pressure. “What do you want?”
“Are you always in such foul humor, Captain?”
James’s blood turned to ice. He pulled the hood back and a tumble of riotous golden curls fell free. “Yer a woman?”
“Aye.” She wrapped a hand around the hook but held his gaze. Her eyes shimmered, green with flecks of gold, stars in a sea of tangled moss. She arched her brow. “Are you going to release me, then?”
He eased the hook from her throat but remained pressed against her body. The rags concealed her well, but with her snugly fit to him, her dangerous curves and soft hollows were clearly evident. A sweet combination of honeysuckle and jasmine teased his senses, making it hard to ignore this tempting siren.
Swearing under his breath, James gritted his teeth and stomped down the desire coursing through his veins. It had been weeks since he’d bedded a woman. Before the accident. He hadn’t even considered looking for a willing wench since that horrible day.
He looked at her hand wrapped around his silver hook and imagined it wrapped around his cock.
A wicked smile curved his lips.
“Nay. What kind of pirate would I be if I let treasure such as yourself go free?”
“And who’s to say I am treasure worth keeping?” She licked her lips.
“Dressed in rags. Hiding your face beneath a hood. Slumming in a dockside tavern.” James let his gaze drag lazily down her form before drifting up again. “Methinks you know exactly how valuable you are.”
“Confident, are you?”
“’Tis the finest trait in a pirate.” He grinned, inhaling her sweet scent once more. “Now, care to tell me what a tasty morsel like you wants with a brigand like me?”
“I wish to hire your services.”
A throaty laugh bubbled up from deep in his chest. “I am a pirate, love. Not a merchant.”
“If I wanted a merchant, I would hire one.” A scowl marred the smooth lines of her face. “I need someone who is not loyal to any sovereign.”
“Then find yourself a mercenary, love.”
He drew away, completely removing the hook from her throat. Her hand fell to her side.
“I do not want a mercenary.” She grasped his tunic. “Are you not Captain Hook, the most feared pirate in the southern seas?”
“I was...until I lost my ship, half my crew, and my bloody hand.” He let the repressed rage simmer inside him.
She stepped back and pressed herself flat against the wall. Eyes wide. Delicate, plush lips parted.
“What could you possibly want with a jaded pirate?” He leaned against the wall, caging her in. “Life at court a little too tame for you? Wanted to see if you could sate your lust for adventure?”
Her eyes narrowed, but he marked her rapid breath and the flush of color in her cheeks. There was something familiar about her, something he could not quite place. It burrowed beneath his skin and itched like a sand flea.
“Do you wish to see if the legends are true?” he murmured, teasing her.
“I will pay handsomely if you agree to help me.” Fire burned in her green eyes, fluttering like the aurora over northern winter seas.
“Help you?” He pushed away from her. “Why would I do that, love?”
She reached into her pocket and removed a leather sack as big as her fist. “Because the only thing a pirate believes in is gold.”
James arched a brow as she dropped the sack into his hand. He did not need to open it to know it was full of gold coins.
“Where did you get this?” he asked, his voice low.
“Does it matter?” She straightened, smoothing her too-large tunic with her hands.
“Nay.” He tucked the sack into his waistband. “Come along, then.”
Without waiting for agreement, he retreated to the dock where the Raven waited. She fell into step beside him, her hood up, her identity shielded.
Whoever she was, she wanted no one to see her. Not that he could blame her—with such a fair complexion, she would shine like the brightest star in the heavens in such a dark place.
“Do you have a name?” he asked, offering his hand to aid her up the gangplank to his ship.
“Estelle.”
Of course it was. He smothered a smirk behind his hand. If there were only one thing he could do, it was unravel lies and deceit. He was a pirate, after all, and those things came as easily as breathing to a heartless cur such as himself.
He stepped onto the deck, savoring the steady sway of the boat, and turned to regard her. “Welcome to the Raven, Estelle.”
The crew had not yet returned, which suited him perfectly. He led her to his cabin and opened the door. “Shall we discuss the details of this arrangement?”
With a wary eye, Estelle stepped into the cabin and slipped the hood back to reveal her golden locks once more. She turned to face him, and a fleeting memory surfaced from the deepest, darkest depths of his mind.
The palace. Four years earlier. A celebration for the princess. A vision in emerald green, her hair the color of finest gold, spun on the dance floor in the arms of a suited wastrel. Her laughter had rung as clear as birdsong through an open meadow, calling to him.
It had been the perfect opportunity to pillage Nevarro’s wealthiest families as they engaged in revelry. James, Smee, and a small band of crewmen had disguised themselves as servants and infiltrated the castle. They stole a king’s ransom that night—one of their more lucrative, and foolhardy, ventures.
There was no mistaking it. This woman before him was no common wench, no wealthy lady looking for adventure. Nay. She was the crowned princess, Celeste D’Larte, the jewel of Nevarro.
No longer was she wearing finery and glittering jewels, but the rags of a vagabond. Why hide her face? Why come to him for help?
“Tell me, Princess.” James leaned against the door, his hand on his sword hilt. “Who are you running from?”
Color drained from her cheeks, casting her in a sickly pallor. “What did you say?”
“Princess Celeste.” He grinned as she squared her shoulders, clearly bracing for a fight. “You must be truly desperate to come to me for help.”
“I’ve already paid for your aid.”
“You did.” He nodded. “But I am certain your father will pay dearly for your return.”
“My father is dead.”
“Interesting.” James ignored a flutter of dread in his chest. “Why, then, are you here, enlisting the aid of a pirate?”
“Perhaps I was wrong.” She pulled her hood up. “I will take my leave.”
James blocked her escape, his body forming a solid wall. “Not so fast, Princess.”
“What do you intend to do?” she growled. “Auction me to the highest bidder?”
“A tempting prospect.” He pressed the curve of his hook to her jaw and lifted her gaze to meet his. The pull of desire coiled around him and settled like an anchor in his gullet. He would be a fool to let such a treasure out of his sight.
“You cannot keep me prisoner.” A tremor shook her voice, though her eyes glittered with rage. He longed to stoke it brighter.
“I do as I please, Princess.” He chuckled. “Another admirable pirate trait.”
She stumbled back, as though desperate to put distance between them. “Damn you to hell.”
“Too late.” James grasped the door and pulled it closed, ignoring the twist of regret in abandoning their banter so soon.
“Bastard!” Her curse echoed through the thick boards between them.
He managed to stifle a grin. How he managed to acquire the rarest gem in all Nevarro, he couldn’t reconcile in his mind. Fortune had smiled upon him, making up for the streak of poor luck chasing him through the Endless Sea. Yes, she would be quite the prize...if he could figure out what in damnation to do with the spirited wench.
James turned to see the curious expressions of his crew as they stepped onto the ship.
Mr. Smee folded his arms across his chest. “Something you wish to tell us, Captain?”
Behind him, James heard the unmistakable cacophony of his cabin being torn apart by the raging tempest he’d captured.