you’ll have plenty of time to unburden yourself and
make all of your apologies.”
She smiled because it was exactly the sort of thing
she would have done in the past. But this time she
didn’t feel the need to apologize. She was twenty years
old and no child. Her actions might have been careless
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in that they caused worry to her father, but she didn’t
regret them.
Except for the part she’d played in Percy’s death.
That she regretted more than she could ever express.
And as they neared the ladder, she felt tears prick her
eyes. The purser wouldn’t be returning with them.
He had been given a burial at sea along with the other
casualties of the battle with Jourdain. He would never
see the Regal or English soil again.
As they neared the spot where Mr. Carter, her
father’s second lieutenant, waited, she scanned the
group of men, hoping to spot Bastien. To her surprise,
he wasn’t among them. To her further surprise, most
of the men were scowling at her. Ridley had his arms
crossed over his massive chest and his mouth turned
down in a frown. Mr. Castro was glaring at her, and
even Gaston—whom she rarely saw outside of the
infirmary—was on deck and frowning at her. Raeven
did not think she had been any of the men’s favorite
person, but she had thought most of them bore her
no ill will.
But judging by their looks now, she would have
sworn if she wasn’t leaving this instant, they might throw
her into the sea as food for the sharks. Where was Bastien?
And what exactly were the terms he’d negotiated?
Her father took her arm. “Let’s go.”
She nodded, scanned the ship one last time. Was
Bastien really not going to see her off? She hadn’t
expected any grand gestures, but was a wave or a
simple good-bye too much to ask?
Her father began to shuffle her toward the side. She
would have to climb down the rope ladder and take
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her father’s gig back to the Regal. But she wanted a last
glimpse of the pirate. “Where is…?”
“Let’s go, Raeven,” her father ordered, his tone
one of unquestioned authority. She knew she was out
of time, but she couldn’t leave like this. She couldn’t
leave without seeing him one last time.
“Bastien!” she screamed, her voice echoing over
the vast blue seas. “Bastien!” She scanned the deck but
saw only the stern faces of the Shadow’s men.
“Where is he?” she demanded. “Bastien, you bastard!
I don’t care what my father told you. Show yourself!”
Nothing. No movement. No sign of Bastien.
“Raeven!” Her father gripped her arm and pulled
her hard against his side. “You’re making a scene.”
“I don’t care. Let me go!” She struggled, but it
was futile.
“He’s not coming out,” her father hissed in her ear.
“You’re wasting your time. Now come quietly, or I’ll
have you dragged across.”
She met her father’s eyes and saw he meant every
word. She was breathing heavily, but now she caught
the breath and fought for control. She’d made a fool
of herself already. Did she really want to be dragged
unceremoniously aboard her father’s ship?
With a shaky nod, she stepped onto the rope
ladder and began the descent. Her father and Mr.
Carter followed. Once they were back on the Regal
and her emotions were under control, she angled
for the deck rail. She had thought she would stand
and watch as the two ships raised sails once again
and went their own ways. She might have caught a
glimpse of Bastien, but as soon as she stepped on the
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Regal’s deck, the ship’s first lieutenant took her arm
and escorted her to her cabin.
It was locked behind her, and when she picked the
lock and opened the door, she saw a guard was posted.
It seemed no matter which ship she was aboard, she
was going to be locked away.
So as the men worked above, she sat on her rumpled
berth and stared at her cabin. It seemed years had
passed since she had last sat here, last paced the small
space. Unlike Bastien’s cabin, hers looked as though
a hurricane had torn through it. Clothes were strewn
over the trunk, and others peeked out of the sides.
She never quite managed to fold everything so the
garments would be contained and free of wrinkles. On
her small desk, maps and charts were strewn about, pen
and ink lay where she’d left them—the ink staining a
paper she’d begun to make notes on—and one of the
three pictures she’d hung on the walls was crooked.
All of the pictures were of ships and the sea, and she
wondered now why she didn’t have any of land.
Bastien had paintings of fields and flowers and houses.
She pushed thoughts of him aside, went to her desk,
and slid open the drawer. Inside, buried under more
maps, several books, and a hairbrush, was a dark frame
containing a miniature of Timothy. She stared at the
picture, at the man she had loved so much. He looked
youthful in the portrait, though at six and twenty, he
had been seven years her elder when he died. But it
had never felt as though he were older or wiser. She
suspected Bastien to be closer to her age—she guessed
he was at most five and twenty—but he seemed more
experienced in every way.
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She supposed he was; she supposed Timothy
possessed more life experience than she, as well, but
she’d never felt so when she’d been with him. Not like
when she’d been with Bastien.
And why, exactly, was she thinking of Bastien anyway?
She heard the scrape of rigging, felt the Regal begin
to catch the wind, and knew the two ships were
parting. Bastien was gone… or would be within the
hour. She should stop thinking of him.
And she should definitely not compare him to
Timothy, though looking at the portrait again, she
saw there was little to compare. Timothy had been fair
with light brown hair, doe brown eyes, and a round
face. He was handsome but not striking. His gazes had
never taken her breath away, the way one look from
Bastien’s cobalt eyes could.
Bastien is gone. She shook her head, willing her
mind to put him away as easily as she placed Timothy’s
picture back in the drawer and closed it tightly.
Ten days passed, during which Raeven was largely
confined to her quarters. For once, she
didn’t mind
the confinement. She wanted to be alone. Her father
came every day to visit her, and after the first three
days, had stopped lecturing and scolding. Raeven
didn’t have the fire to argue with him, and she
supposed he grew tired of berating her when she did
not fight back. There had been times she wanted
to argue with him, justify her actions, but now that
she’d spent time away from him, she saw how ill he’d
become. His cough was worse, and he’d lost weight.
He told her they were bound for England again, and
she was grateful. A few months on land, eating good
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food and resting, seemed just the thing for her father’s
ailing health.
And then one night she couldn’t sleep. She tossed
and turned in her berth, unwanted memories of
Bastien plaguing her dreams. Finally she rose, dressed,
and opened the door to her cabin. She expected to
see the guard posted there, but no one stood outside.
The deserted companionway invited her, and without
a backward glance, she stepped outside and within
moments made her way on deck.
The wind blew strong and cool, and she stood in
the shadows and allowed it to slap her face and toss
back her hair. The salt spray of the ocean splashed her
arms and face, and she closed her eyes and tried to
banish unwanted dreams and memories.
“What d’ye think will ’appen to the poor bastard
once ’e arrives in London town?”
Raeven turned at the sound of the voices. She’d
known she was not alone on deck. It was late, but
the men of the watch were on duty. Undoubtedly,
some of them had seen her, but she did not think they
would rush to tell her father if she only stood and
looked at the water. Still, she’d kept in the shadows,
and these two seamen must not have seen her. She
had no intention of making her presence known. She
turned back to the rail and leaned her elbows on it.
“’E’ll be ’anged sure as my name is Tom Skippy.
Tried and ’anged. I’d pay a farthing to see it.”
“They say ’e ain’t said a word since being brought
on board. Just sits in the brig, like ’e’s some sort of
fancy gentleman.”
Raeven’s breath caught in her throat, and she had
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to stop a gasp from escaping. As far as she knew, there
were no prisoners in the brig. When had one been
brought on board? They’d had no interaction with
other ships since they’d left the Shadow.
“Some say ’e’s a fancy gentleman,” the first seaman
said. “But I say ’e’s a pirate, and ’e should be ’anged
for his crimes.”
“No.” She gripped the rail tighter then pushed
back and ran for a companionway that would take
her all the way to the lowest deck and the brig. She
scurried down the steps, feeling her way past decks
dark and crammed with men sleeping in dozens of
hammocks. She didn’t need a lantern. She knew the
ship as well as she knew her own body. She could find
her way blindfolded.
It’s not him. It’s not him. It can’t be him.
When she reached the orlop deck, the smells
of rotting wood, vinegar, and oakum assaulted her
nostrils. They were familiar scents, almost comforting.
She arrowed straight for the brig and was met by a
large sailor, who stood blocking her path. Beyond
him she could see the small cells. The Regal had three.
She stared hard at the dark cells, her heart pounding
in her throat.
“Your father said you might run down here,” the
sailor said, grabbing her arm when she tried to push
past him. Raeven shook him off and glanced at him
long enough to place his face and name. Everyone
called him Rummy because he could drink any man
under the table, and his beverage of choice was—what
else?—rum.
“Let go of me, Rummy. I’m going back there.”
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But he blocked her way and grasped her by the
arms. Fury bloomed in Raeven. “Get your hands off
me, and get out of my way,” she hissed.
“I can’t do that, Raeven.”
She glared at him, and he cleared his throat. “Miss
Russell. The admiral said you weren’t allowed down
here. Go back to your cabin.”
She stood ramrod straight and gave him a hard,
direct look. “If you don’t get your hands off me, I
swear by all that’s holy, I’ll cut them off and feed them
to the sharks.”
Rummy took his hands off her.
“Good.” She nodded to the cells behind him.
“Now get out of my way.”
But he shook his head. “I can’t, Miss Russell.
Your father—”
She held up a hand. “I don’t care what my father
said. Move, or I’ll move you.”
He grinned. He was easily two feet taller than she
and weighed three times what she did. “How are you
going to do that?”
In one smooth movement, she extracted the dagger
from her boot and pressed against his throat. “This is
how. Now move.”
But the stubborn man didn’t budge. “You wouldn’t
do that to me, Miss Russell. I’m only following orders.”
She bit her lip. “You’re right. I don’t want to kill
it considerably lower.
Rummy emitted a high-pitched squeal.
“But I’m not opposed to maiming you.”
Their gazes met, and she let him see she meant it.
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“You know I’ll do it,” she whispered. “Run. Go get
my father, if you must, but get out of my way.”
He nodded and began to edge away from the cells.
“Slowly now,” she cautioned. “You don’t want my
hand to slip.”
He stepped carefully away from her, and when
there was enough distance between his body and the
dagger, he turned and went straight for the ladderway.
Raeven knew he would probably fetch her father, but
she didn’t care. She turned and stepped into the brig.
The first cell was empty.
The second cell was empty.
And Bastien stood, arms crossed over his chest,
brow cocked, in the third cell.
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Seventeen
She looked as beautiful as he remembered. Perhaps
more beautiful, standing there, hands on her hips, hair
falling brazenly over her shoulders and tumbling over
her breasts, chin notched high, green eyes blazing.
Bastien couldn’t stop smiling.
Basti
en had told Russell his daughter would realize
he was a prisoner, but Raeven’s father had assured
Bastien he’d keep his presence on the ship a secret and
Raeven away from the brig.
“Ten days,” Bastien said. “I thought you’d find
me sooner.”
Her mouth—that lovely ripe-cherry mouth—
worked silently. “You thought… you thought…”
He leaned a shoulder against the cell bars. “You’d
better speak quickly. Your friend—what was his name?
Rummy? Unfortunate sobriquet. Rummy will be back
momentarily, and he’ll bring your father.”
She moved to the cell, wrapped her hands around
the bars. “What are you doing here?”
He lifted his brows. “Don’t you know?”
She gave him a bewildered look, and he shook
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his head. “Come now, Raeven. I thought you more
intelligent than this.”
“You’re not here for me.” She said it almost as a
challenge, as though she wanted him to argue with
her. He didn’t. He watched her face and could almost
see her consider and discard one idea then the next.
“Your ship.” Her gaze met his. “You traded your-
self to save it. Bastien…” She reached for his hand, and
he gave it to her. “I told you my father wouldn’t fire
on the Shadow with me on board.”
“No, he wouldn’t have fired while you were on
board, but once you’d been taken aboard the Regal, he
would have blown us out of the water.”
“Not if he gave his word. You could have used me
for leverage. You could have—”
“Your faith in your father is touching, Raeven, but
your father is also an admiral. If he left the Shadow
with nothing to show for it and not a shot fired, what
would he tell his superiors in England? He couldn’t
fire because he gave his word to a pirate? Come now.
You’re not that naïve.”
“And so you agreed to go as his prisoner in order to
save your ship. I should have realized before. I should
have known you would have to do this.”
“It wouldn’t have changed anything.” It wouldn’t
have meant he could keep the Shadow. He could either
sit in the brig of the Regal or sit on the bottom of the
ocean floor. There had been no choice, really. He’d
given the ship to Ridley, and after they hanged him in
London, he’d promised to haunt Ridley if the man didn’t
take good care of her. “I have nothing to lose,” Bastien