Chapter Twelve
Try as he might, Jamescould not smother the grin upon his lips. Thank Poseidon it was dark and they were keeping to the shadows as they returned to the ship through the winding streets of Tortoluga. Seeing the princess engaged in hand-to-hand combat had left him with an ache in his chest and another decidedly lower.
It had been dangerous, taking Celeste to the Devil’s Heel. Rosy had once been his paramour, when they were quite young and quite stupid. When he first gained captaincy of the Jolly Roger, he swore off establishments that expected payment in exchange for companionship. If he could not find it given freely, he would abstain.
How that decision haunted him from port to port. Even Madame Tinker scoffed at his stance, teasing him for being a prude. He never begrudged his men their entertainment, however they may find it, but such entanglements led to nothing but trouble. As the evening’s violent turn had adequately demonstrated.
What amused him the most was the veritable demonstration of restraint Celeste had displayed. There had been several moments he half expected to see Rosy dead at his feet. The princess certainly had more experience than he’d given her credit for. She could have had the wench easily with the blade, but she refused to use it.
His words came back to him. Do not draw unless you intend to use it.
Interesting she’d chosen to heed his warning. Or was it purely in her nature, to not use excessive force when it was clearly unwarranted? In this instance, it would have been warranted, for Rosy would have shown no hesitation to gut Celeste had she not defended herself. At least she had a modicum of self-preservation and quickly adapted as the situation demanded.
Perhaps she was cleverer than he realized.
He chuckled, earning a glower from his companion. James sobered instantly, turning his attention to the dock as it came into view.
With the map in their possession, they could sail for Port Royale and plan a stealthy advance upon the cursed caverns. He prayed that between the map and Celeste’s knowledge, they would find the easiest path to the treasure.
Interesting how Celeste had chosen not to divulge that bit of information to the Mapmaker. She’d masterfully negotiated a trade for the map without his intervention. Had she lied to gain the map? Or did she truly intend to reclaim Nevarro from her uncle? He eyed her curiously as she stepped onto the gangplank, her lips pressed firmly together, her brows furrowed, her jaw set. Anger radiated off her in waves. Drawing any truth from her now would be quite the task. From the look of her, she would rather gut him than reveal secrets.
And who could blame her?
James followed her onto the ship, noting how she gripped her left arm.
“Captain.” Smee snapped to attention the moment his boots hit the boards. “Your orders?”
“Aweigh anchor, set course for Port Royale.”
“Aye, Captain,” Smee replied with a glance at Celeste. He turned, barking orders to the crew, who scuttled like crabs to take their positions and make ready.
James crossed to where she stood looking out at Tortoluga. His fingers itched to reach for her, but he remained steadfast, making a fist at his side.
“Come with me,” he muttered the command, just loud enough for her to hear him.
“Is that an order?” she snapped.
“If you would rather bleed all over the deck and suffer from a festering wound, then by all means, remain here.” He wanted to shake her. Stubborn wench.
With a sigh, he relented. “Let me take a look at it...please.”
Her shoulders sagged, and she finally turned, brushing his arm as she walked past him. When she disappeared into his cabin, James raked his hand over his face. He had done this to himself—playing her as though she were a chess piece, seeking the most strategic and advantageous move. Was this penance for his brash actions? For stealing her coin and taking her prisoner? Negotiating with an octopus seemed wiser than attempting to find common ground with the princess.
With a growl, he stalked after her, determined to somehow show her he was not the heartless brigand she believed him to be. He’d brought this all upon himself.
Ignoring Smee’s curious stare, he followed her to his cabin and closed the door behind them.
Celeste stood in the center of the room, the cloak draped unceremoniously over the table. Lantern light flickered across her features. She grimaced as she attempted to peel the red-stained fabric from the wound on her arm.
“Let me.” James approached her without invitation.
“The shirt—” She gasped when he took the sleeve and pulled, tearing it free from the seams along her shoulder. “You’ve ruined it.”
“Nothing that cannot be repaired with a bit of thread and a needle.” He pushed her gently until she stood beside the lantern, allowing him to inspect the wound. She hissed at his grip on her arm, and he turned it gently. “’Tis but a scratch.”
Celeste scowled. “It’s more than a scratch. Look.” She cleaned the area with the torn sleeve. Fresh blood oozed from a superficial wound, no deeper than the nick of a razor’s blade.
He studied it thoughtfully for a moment before lifting his eyes to meet hers, then he sighed. She huffed when he stepped away for a clean scrap of cloth to tie around her arm to staunch the bleeding.
“Hold this.” He held the edge of the fabric against her arm. When she took it, he wrapped the scrap around her well-muscled limb before collecting the other end from her and tying a knot. Unable to pull it tight with one hand, he took one loose end between his teeth and pulled it snug.
She inhaled sharply.
“Tell me, Princess.” He drew back, studying the flush upon her cheeks. “What made you fight for my honor?”
Celeste growled. “I defended myself against your jealous lover.”
“Aye, Rosy was my lover, once upon a time.” He smirked. “But I gave her no indication you were a woman. That was all you.”
Realization lit her eyes, but it only further fanned the flames. “Are you telling me this is my fault?”
“Had you remained silent, I would have convinced her of my disinterest, and we could have walked out of the tavern without an altercation.”
Celeste recoiled as though he had struck her.
Crack.
The jolt of her palm against his face sent him reeling.
He pressed his hand to burning skin. When she drew back to hit him again, he grabbed her wrist.
“One, I will tolerate.” His tone remained deceptively calm. “Two is quite unnecessary.”
“You deserve worse.”
“Why is that?” He purred. “Because I am a pirate? Because I lied to you? Stole your coin? Forced you to be my captive?”
She attempted to pull her arm from his grasp, but he held firm.
“I propose a stalemate...a truce, if you will.” He demurred, still keeping his tone calm. “From this point hence, I will uphold my bargain without trickery or deception if you vow not to run me through and fight me at every turn.”
Uncertainty danced in her luminous eyes. Her lips parted when he released her.
Instead of backing away, he remained firm next to her, as steadfast as the cliffs against the sea. “What say you, little star?”
“Why do you call me that?” she asked, cocking her head.
“Is that not what your name means?” He licked his lips. “From the heavens, celestial one.”
“Aye, but it does not mean little star.”
Her breathless response made his heart race. How he longed to claim her lips again.
“To a man of the sea, the stars rule the heavens and chart his path.”
Celeste blinked twice, her lips forming a small round O of surprise before curving in a sinful smile. “What are you saying, Captain? ’Tis I who charts your path?”
“Since the moment you left a scrap of parchment on the bar in the tavern.” He took her chin in his hand, smoothing his thumb along her jaw.
Her lashes fluttered at the gentle touch. “You called me a fool for trusting you.”
“Aye.”
“Yet you are asking me to trust you.”
“I am.”
“And why would I do that, Captain, when you so clearly disdain me, to the point where you would barter my body in exchange for compliance?”
“What else do you have with which to barter?”
“My vow.”
He chuckled and brushed his thumb across her lower lip. “I would rather have your body than your vow, little star.”
Her tongue darted out, skimming the tip of his finger. “Care to make a wager, Captain?”
James drew a breath between his teeth, as though she’d burned him. “What kind of wager?”
“If you can make me beg...”
His heart thundered behind his ribs.
“I will surrender...right here. Right now.”
“Easy enough.”
“But if you fail, I will have you on your knees in front of your crew, and you will surrender to me.”
The briefest hesitation flew past him like a gull soaring above the ship, vanishing into the clouds. He wrapped his hand around the back of her neck, smiling at her soft gasp.
“You have yourself a wager, Princess.”
His kiss sealed the bargain, but the soft allure of her lips drew him down like quicksand. She grasped his lapels in her fists, then snaked her hands around his neck to draw him closer. When she opened for him, it was like a tsunami pulled him out to sea, threatened to drown him as it came rushing to shore.
She was his doom and his salvation, everything he did not realize he needed...or wanted. With a muttered curse, he threaded his fingers through her hair and plundered her mouth, the sweet taste of her as intoxicating as the strongest rum.
Man overboard, he thought as he dove headfirst into a raging storm. James loved nothing in the world so much as a challenge, and this princess of Nevarro was nothing if not a challenge.