Chapter Eight
James trailed the tipof his hook across the wooden railing as he stared over the moonlit sea. He could still taste the sweetness of her. Devil take him. What in the blazes had he been thinking, bringing her on his ship? Using her...to what purpose, he did not even know.
Leading her to the Raven had been a rash decision. Truth be told, he wanted to give his aid, but he could do nothing that did not grant him and his men adequate incentive. Gold worked. Treasure worked even better. But there was something about her beneath the tattered clothes—aye, she was a princess—and his nature won out. She was a prized treasure ripe for the plunder.
Curse his conscience. He didn’t even realize he had one until he stumbled upon her in the narrow alley near the docks. Perhaps his encounter with the croc and the loss of his ship and half his men had left him floundering in open sea. His father had warned him of such weakness, but he’d waved it away like a sail fluttering on the wind.
The princess had been nothing but a nail in his boot since she’d set foot on his ship. He ran his hand over his face, the scruff of his stubble rough against his palm. How could one woman be so bloody vexing and so damned intoxicating?
She was right not to trust him. He was a pirate. He could bloody well take what he wanted. There was no reason to negotiate. She was his captive. If he wished to sell her to the highest bidder, he could do so without a moment’s regret. So why the hell was he fighting his nature?
His parting words had been a threat as much as a challenge. He wanted her to fight, to push.
The wench had drawn a blade against him, then tried to knock him senseless with a tray in order to get away from him. How she’d planned to escape a ship, he could not possibly imagine. Did she intend to swim to Arrenmore? The strumpet packed a wallop, and even after he disarmed and pinned her against the door, her spirit never faded.
But it was the stolen kiss that left him hard and aching. His body burned at the memory of her pressed against him, molded to him like a wet sail to the mast. He could have taken what he wanted, drunk his fill...yet, he offered her the choice. What a damned pathetic fool he was.
“You better have sense if you wish to keep your head above water,” he mumbled to himself as he looked across the dark sea. The moon hung low on the horizon, its light reflecting in the waves.
“What the devil am I to do?” he whispered to the sea, half expecting a response. None came.
The gentle rocking of the ship gave little comfort or direction. James needed to sleep, but he feared another confrontation with the woman locked in his cabin. He could sleep beneath the stars easily enough, or crammed below deck with his crew.
Shaking his head, he made for his chamber. The men would have far too much to say if the captain allowed a woman to commandeer his cabin...and his pride. He prayed to Poseidon she was asleep.
As he slid the key into the lock, he paused, fearing to wake her. After he closed and relocked the door behind him, he searched the room. A lantern swayed beside his bunk, illuminating the woman sleeping in his bed. James heaved a breath of relief and sat in the chair at his desk.
His body thrummed with need at the memory of their heated kiss, but his ardor cooled at the fleeting thought of her parting glare. She would not hesitate to run him through, even more so now she knew he would return her to Nevarro to collect the ransom.
With a twist, he removed his hook and set it atop the desk. His stub ached, and James rubbed it as he stood. He focused on divesting himself of his hat, coat, and boots. A few hours of sleep would set him right.
The bed seemed remarkably small with a cursed woman splayed across it. Her arms were thrown over her head, her hair tangled on the pillow, the blanket drawn to her waist. His silk garments clung to her breasts, leaving little to the imagination.
With a muttered curse, he tugged the blanket up, ensuring it covered her and would not move before climbing into the bed. As he settled beside her, she shifted, stretching out. Her movement parted the folds of silk, giving him a tantalizing glimpse of her breast. James inhaled sharply as his body inflamed with lust.
“Oh, Princess, you are testing me.”
He laid his head on the pillow beside her. A small mark on the inside of her arm caught his attention. Propping himself up, he leaned closer. A raised, dark scar? No, a tattoo. He grinned. It was obvious she hid secrets. Part of him longed to tease them free, to use them as a bargaining chip. But if he were honest, it was truly to sate his own curiosity.
Her scent, the sweet allure of jasmine, seized his wits. Watching her sleeping face, he rested his fingertip against the mark.
Her eyes flew open. Instead of screaming and flailing her arms, she remained deceptively calm, those bewitching eyes digging into his very soul.
“Have you decided to take advantage of me after all?”
“Never underestimate a pirate.” He traced the tattoo with his finger, then trailed it to her chest. “X marks the spot, Princess.”
Celeste sucked in a breath and her eyes widened.
James removed his hand. “Sleep.”
“With you here?” She scoffed. “I would rather sleep with the sharks.”
“Tempting as that may be, you are worth more alive.” He forced a grin before sobering again. “Sleep.”
With a grunt of irritation, she rolled to her side, away from him, and pulled the blanket up to her neck, using it as a shield.
James lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. The sway of the ship lulled him into a restless slumber where he found the princess in his dreams, tormenting him with biting words and hidden secrets.
“Captain!” Shouts echoed through his head. “Captain!”
Thunder pounded around him. He jolted awake.
Sunlight streamed through the windows. He glanced at the woman beside him, still sleeping...or feigning sleep.
“Captain! You’re needed on deck.”
Cursing under his breath, he tore himself from the bed and dressed, feeling frustrated as he attempted to pull on garments with one hand. Functioning without his left hand often proved more cumbersome than he liked. Once he put on his coat, he twisted the hook into place.
Upon ripping open the door, he found Smee standing in the doorway, his jaw set, his blue eyes narrow. “There is a ship on the horizon.”
James swore, closing the door behind him and locking it. Best to keep the princess out of sight regardless. Whoever approached, it was wise not to reveal his captive.
“Who is it?” James asked, leading the way into the morning light.
“Your father.”
James snatched the scope from Smee’s hand and held it up to inspect the oncoming frigate. His father’s flag flew, bold as brass, in the sun.
“What shall we do, Captain?” Smee asked, keeping his voice low.
“Nothing.” He pocketed the scope with a snarl. “Make no mention of our captive. Mind you tell the crew.”
Smee arched a brow but nodded. “Aye aye, Captain.”
As Smee shouted orders to the crew, James stood at the rail, watching the swift approach of his father’s ship, the Falcon. His hook dug into the wood as his hand gripped the rail.
What in the devil did he want? Unease skittered down James’s spine.
When the ship finally reached them, Hook and Smee ventured across the narrow gap in a dinghy to board the Falcon.
Admiral Hook stood before him wearing a red coat, the matching red feather in his hat fluttering in the breeze. “James. How fares the Raven?”
“Father,” he said, forcing a neutral tone. “You did not come all this way to ask about my ship. What brings you to these waters?”
His father’s eyes narrowed, and his beard twitched. Many did not believe the familial tie between him and the admiral. He took none of his looks from his father—his dark hair and sea-green eyes had been his mother’s, along with the sharp features and angles of his face. The admiral, handsome in his own right, was broad with hollow cheeks and dark eyes.
Eyes now fixed on him with amusement.
“Surely, you’ve heard of the missing princess and her traitorous sister?” He stepped closer to James, his hand resting on the pistol at his waist.
“Aye, we have heard. There is a reward for their capture and return.”
The admiral nodded, his whisker-covered lips twitching. “Have you found them?”
“And why would I go in search of trouble?”
“Trouble?” The admiral laughed. “I hardly think finding yourself in the good graces of Nevarro would be trouble.”
“And what if we arrive with this precious cargo, and instead of payment, they offer to hang us from the yardarm?”
“I would expect you to find a way to negotiate terms, if it came to that.”
“We are pirates. Nothing will change that.” James cocked his head. “Or has this band of buccaneers finally decided to burn their black sails and turn merchant? Bartering for safe passage and legitimate coin?”
“Watch your tongue, boy. Or I shall cut it out.”
“I am the captain of my own ship. I shall do whatever I damn well please.”
“The Raven belongs to me.” His father glowered. “You would do well to remember that.”
“Aye.” James’s hand clenched in a fist. He fought the pull of retaliation, knowing if he crossed his father, the old man would seize his ship and leave him marooned on an island somewhere in the Endless Sea.
“Find the princesses. Make the exchange.” His father’s eyes glowed with greed. “Once you have a foothold in Nevarro, we can chip away at their defenses until they reveal their riches. And then we take it all.”
James bit his tongue and gave a curt nod. So that was his father’s plan. Find a way inside the castle, into the good graces of the court of Nevarro, then rob them blind. He nearly scoffed at the absurdity.
“Now go. I have matters to attend in Hispanola.” The admiral turned without another word, leaving his son to stare after him.
James fumed all the way back to the Raven. When he reached the safety of his own ship, he snatched the nearest bottle of rum and drank deeply.
The sails of the Falcon drifted on the distant horizon. He took another drink, ignoring Smee’s presence beside him.
“Your orders, Captain?” Smee asked finally.
“Set sail for Tortoluga,” James ground out.
Smee balked, eyeing him curiously. “Captain, forgive my impertinence, but why in the devil are we going to Tortoluga? Port Royale is in the opposite direction.”
“I have a plan, Mr. Smee.” He turned to his longtime friend and first mate.
“Of course, Captain.” With a salute, he retreated to join the rest of the crew, his orders echoing in the distance.
There had been a time when he would have agreed with his father. His gaze drifted to the door to his cabin on the opposite side of the ship. He heaved a sigh.
He knew something no one else did.
The princess was neither a traitor nor a murderer. She had run away from the castle alone, and now she bargained for them to help her save her sister’s life. This story was quite a departure from the one circulating through every tavern and cathouse along the coast.
A grin curved his lips. He could use it to his advantage. The only people who knew the truth were his first mate and his crew. They were loyal to him and only him.
The wind caught the sails as Smee turned the ship toward Tortoluga. He had until they reached port to convince Celeste to agree to his bargain.
Then he could possess both of Nevarro’s treasures.