the nearest ladderway, stumbled her way to the poop
deck. Mr. Khan was there, and without a word, he
handed her the lead.
She put it to her eye, scanned the horizon, and her
breath hitched in her throat. With shaking hands, she
lowered the spyglass. Bastien took it from her. She
hadn’t even heard him come up behind her.
He didn’t say a word, but she knew he recognized
the vessel as the Regal. It was still miles away and
would take a day, possibly more, to catch them. The
Shadow was fast and sleek, and the wind was in their
favor. But that would not matter. It might take weeks,
it might take years, but her father was nothing if not
dogged. Now he had found them, he would pursue
them to the ends of the earth or the ends of time—
whichever came first.
Bastien was looking at her, the question in his eyes
clear. What did she want him to do?
She bit her lip, knew they could continue running.
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They could run for months or years. But eventually
her father would catch them. Eventually Bastien
would tire of running, turn and fight, and she might
be holding his hand in the infirmary when he took his
last breath.
She looked at Mr. Khan, at Ridley, at the other
men. She did not want to be responsible for their
deaths. She did not want to see them in Mr. Leveque’s
infirmary, their blood staining the sand on the floor.
She looked at Bastien, and she wanted to wrap her
arms around him, close her eyes, and pretend the Regal
was still some distant problem they might encounter.
But even as she met his gaze, their plans for a wedding
in Brest, the search for his family, their life together
began to sink to the bottom of the ocean floor.
His cobalt eyes were steady, the question burning
in them.
“Signal them,” she said, coldly, decisively. “When
he’s close enough, I’ll make sure he sees me. He won’t
fire if he sees me.”
Bastien held up a hand, and the men stepped back.
He took Raeven’s arm, steered her to the taffrail. “We
can run. I’ve outrun a man-of-war before. I have the
wind, so with a little luck…”
She shook her head. “And how long will you run?
Weeks? Months? Years? He won’t stop, Bastien. He’ll
keep coming after you—after us. Think of your men.
How long will they tolerate running from a man-of-
war when they could hand me over and resume more
profitable ventures? Give it one week, maybe two, and
you’re looking at a mutiny.”
He looked away, but she knew he agreed with her.
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She wished she wasn’t right this time. She wished they
might have made it to Brest.
“When my father catches us, I won’t go aboard
without conditions. For my safe passage, I’ll make him
promise to let you and your ship go.”
Bastien gave a bark of laughter. “And do you think
once you’re aboard he’ll keep his word?”
“Yes. He’s a man of his word. If he makes a promise,
he’ll do it. He may not like it, and he may come after
you another time, but…” She looked down. “I’ll try
to dissuade him. I’ll protect you.”
Bastien’s finger notched her chin up, and she
looked into his eyes. He was smiling. “I can take care
of myself. You, on the other hand…” He shook his
head. “I don’t want to let you go.”
Her breath caught in her lungs. For a long moment,
she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t do
anything but stand on the deck of the ship with him.
The pain in her chest intensified until she had to
all but close her eyes against it. She wished with all
of her being, with everything she was, she had more
time with Bastien. Another day, another week. She
would take another moment if that was all she’d been
given. She wanted to curse her father for finding them
so quickly, but she knew he searched only out of love.
She was in love, too, and the temptation to flee her
would gain together was not worth the consequences.
She thought of Percy, and she knew for once she
couldn’t be selfish.
“Maybe we’ll meet again.” Her voice sounded
weak, breathy.
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He nodded, but she could see he wasn’t convinced.
“This is what you want?” He gestured to the Regal,
just a distant speck on the horizon at the moment but
growing larger.
“Signal them,” she said.
He turned away from her, all formality and business
now. “Mr. Khan, set a course to intercept the HMS
Regal. Jack”—he gestured to one of the deckhands—
“run up the colors. Mr. Ridley, when we’re close
enough, hoist the signal for parley. Miss Russell will
make herself visible on deck. Hands to your stations
and beat to quarters. I want you ready for battle.” He
glanced at Raeven. “I’ve dealt with the British Navy
before. I’m sure your father’s a man of his word, but I
don’t want to take chances.”
Raeven knew it would be several hours yet before
the Regal reached them. She spent the time in Bastien’s
cabin, mostly pacing but also rehearsing the words she
would say to her father. She had to ensure he would
allow the Shadow to go on her way, and she was not
at all certain she could do so.
Half a dozen times, she heard a sound and turned
to the door, expecting to see Bastien saunter in. She
wanted him to come, wanted him to take her in his
arms one last time, kiss her and touch her until she
was too dizzy to think of anything but the feel of him
pressed against her.
But he didn’t come, and as the hours ticked by, she
knew he would not.
Finally, she went on deck. She still wore Bastien’s
breeches and shirt, but she’d left her hair down, made
sure it would whip in the wind. She stood on the
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bow, watching as the Regal drew closer. Her father
approached cautiously, even after she saw Mr. Ridley
himself hoist the signal for parley.
She stood tall, holding her head up as the Regal
drew nearer. She could not see her father or make
out anyone on the decks, but she knew their
spyglasses were trained on the Shadow. She knew
they could see her.
“Now’s the time we all hold our breath,” Bastien
said beside her.
She glanced at him, trying to memorize his features.
A
t some point, he’d found time to change clothing.
He knew how to dress the part of the pirate. He wore
shiny black boots up to his knees, tight black breeches,
a cutlass at his waist, a pistol tucked in his waistband,
and a stark white shirt dripping with lace and open at
the throat. His long black hair had been pulled back
in a simple queue, and the style accented his strong
cheekbones, straight, proud nose, generous mouth,
and the impossible blue of his eyes. Hard eyes now,
all business as he watched the Regal’ s approach. “Close
with him amidships,” he ordered. “Gunners be ready.”
“He’s not going to fire with me standing in plain
view,” she said and hoped she was right.
Of course she was right, but she held her breath,
seeing the Regal’s gun ports were open and the men
at their stations. All was ready on the Shadow as well.
One wrong word, one wrong move, and the whole
situation would explode.
Finally, the two ships came alongside one another.
Raeven couldn’t stop a smile when she saw her father
on the deck. She moved to the quarterdeck so she
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might be opposite him. The admiral didn’t smile back
at her, and even at this distance, she could see he
looked older, tired.
She raised a hand, and he nodded. But his eyes were
cold as they looked past her and studied Captain Cutlass.
“Your flag indicates you want to parley,” he called.
“If this is some trick to lure me close so you can attack,
I’ll warn you we are fully armed and ready.”
“It’s no trick, Father,” Raeven called before Bastien
could answer. “The Shadow wants a peaceful exchange
of words and terms.”
Her father didn’t blink. “Terms for what?” he
yelled back.
“My return.”
The admiral shook his head. “No terms. Send her
over now, and we’ll consider not killing the whole lot
of you.”
“I can’t do that, Admiral,” Bastien said, his voice
carrying across the two ships. “If you want her back,
you’ll have to negotiate. Otherwise, she stays with
me.” He wrapped an arm about her waist and pulled
her possessively against him. Raeven knew it was no
affectionate gesture but a move calculated to anger
her father.
It worked. The admiral’s face turned as red as the
horizon at sunset, and he whirled to converse with his
lieutenants. After several minutes of discussion, the
admiral stomped back and called, “Cutlass, you and
one of your crew have my permission to board the
Regal. You will not be harmed and are guaranteed safe
passage back.”
Bastien still had his arm about Raeven, and she felt
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the anger course through him. “Thinks I’m that much
of a fool, does he?” he muttered in French. “I don’t
think so,” he called. “Your ship has more guns, more
men, more firepower. I might have outrun you, but
the time for that is past. You and one of your lieuten-
ants have permission to come aboard the Shadow. I
guarantee you safe passage back.”
The Admiral scowled. “And if I refuse?”
Bastien shrugged as though it mattered not to
him. But he stroked Raeven’s hair possessively.
“She’s your daughter.”
Another conversation between the admiral and his
lieutenants ensued, and finally he called, “Agreed.
Have your men throw down a ladder.”
Raeven watched as the men went about their tasks,
and her father and his first lieutenant moved away
from the deck rail to converse. On board the Regal,
the men began to lower her father’s gig. She turned
to Bastien. “I want to be included in the discussions.”
His eyes never left his crew members. “Of course
you do.”
She put her hands on her hips. “Are you going to
argue with me?”
“No.” He raised a hand, and Ridley stepped
forward. “Take her to my cabin. Lock the door and
post a man outside. Then ready the ward—”
“What?” Raeven screamed. “You do not honestly
propose to lock me up while you and my father discuss
my future. You cannot honestly believe—let me go!”
Ridley had her about the waist and was pulling her
toward the nearest ladderway. “I’m not going to be
locked up! Cutlass! Bastien, you bastard!”
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Ridley lifted her, hoisted her over his shoulder,
and lumbered down the ladderway. Once they were
below deck, she stopped fighting. She knew she wasn’t
going to win, and Ridley was simply following orders.
“You can put me down,” she ordered. “I won’t fight.”
Ridley did so, but he kept one hand firmly on her
arm. Raeven balled her fists and seethed. How like
a man to pretend to listen to her advice, pretend to
respect her opinion, and when the crucial moment
came, send her away.
They reached the captain’s cabin, and Ridley
deposited her inside, closed the door, and locked it.
A few moments later, she heard him speaking to the
guard outside. There were plenty of windows in the
cabin, but all faced the stern, and the two boats were
floating side by side. Still, she stared out at the blue
sky and the churning waters and wondered whether
her father had come on board and what was being
discussed in the wardroom.
She still wore Bastien’s shirt and breeches, and
she wondered now if she should return them and
don one of the dresses in his trunks. After all, this
would be the last time she would see him for some
time, possibly ever. She knew they had talked about
meeting again, but those were only words. Once he
sailed away, he would find other adventures, other
women. She hoped one of those adventures was
locating his family.
She supposed she could find other adventures and
other men, as well, but she knew she wouldn’t. She
knew no man would ever measure up to Bastien,
no adventure would ever compare to those they had
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shared, simply because no adventure would have the
excitement of sharing the risks with him.
Now that she was alone, she could admit she was
well and truly in love with him. She wished she had
told him more of her feelings. She wished she hadn’t
stuttered and stumbled. She’d been afraid he wouldn’t
reciprocate. Yes, he’d spoken endearments during
their lovemaking, but did he really mean she was his
heart and his love? Those might have bee
n just words.
She wished she knew for certain. If he didn’t love
her, at least their parting would be easier.
She glanced at herself in the mirror and decided
against changing clothes. In a very short time, these
garments would be all she had left of Bastien. And he
certainly had plenty of replacements.
She paced back and forth, impatient, playing
dozens of potential conversations over in her head,
before she finally heard the sound of boots in the
companionway outside.
Bastien! She turned to the door and tried not to
look too eager.
The door swung open, and her father stood in it.
She supposed her face must have fallen, because he
scowled. “Don’t look so pleased to see me, Raeven.”
“Father!” Though she’d been expecting Bastien,
she was happy to see her father. She hugged him
fiercely, noting with some alarm he seemed thinner
and frailer than before. He hugged her back, but his
voice was gruff when he said, “You’re coming with
me. Now.”
She nodded. She had expected this, only she
thought Bastien would bring her the news. There
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would be no private farewell for them, she realized
as she followed her father into the companionway.
She would see him on the deck of the ship, and that
would be all.
“Did you come to terms?” she asked her father.
“Yes. And don’t ask what they were. One of the
conditions was you were not to know the terms.”
Raeven frowned. “That seems unusual. Why
wouldn’t you want me to know the terms?”
He glanced back at her as they started up a ladderway.
“Why do you assume it was my condition?”
Raeven felt her heart kick slightly. Just what had
Bastien negotiated? “Surely you agreed not to destroy
this ship,” Raeven said.
“This ship will leave my sight unscathed,” her
father commented as they stepped on deck. “Much to
my regret. But if I ever see her again— ever—I’ll blow
her out of the water and use her hull for toothpicks.”
She reached out, put a hand on his arm. “I wasn’t
hurt, Father. I was treated well.”
He glanced back at her, shook his head. “Don’t
think I don’t know what went on here. I may be an
old man, but I’m no fool.”
“I didn’t mean to imply—”
He held up a hand. “We’ll discuss it on board the
Regal. You’ll be confined to quarters, so I imagine