James strolled along the bustling upper decks of the Lion the next morning no more rested than he’d been before he slipped into bed beside Samantha last night. They’d kissed and whispered in the dark half the night. The other half he spent trying to ignore the pale tipped peaks of her breasts he desperately wanted to taste, or the way her navel dipped into a tiny spiral, or the silken feel of her hair against his shoulder as she slept against him.
“Good morning, Captain.” Stitch met him standing at the bow. The sun already burned bright over the waves. James had only just noticed.
“How long can a man survive without sleep?” Perhaps a better question would be how long could a man walk around with a wooden cock in his breeches.
“About eleven days. Why?”
“Curiosity.” He turned away and began another sweep.
“Have you tried counting sheep?” he suggested.
I’ll lay beside you as quiet as a lamb. “No, but I’ll give it a try.”
“I could give you something to help.”
He shifted the ache in his trousers. “I’ll be fine.”
“How’s the patient?”
Still naked in my bed. “Doing well. I think she’s in a lot less pain.”
“Good. Her stitches can come out soon, then it should be safe for her to resume regular activity. Slowly at first.”
“Slowly?” Lusty images ran through James’s mind…slowly.
“Right,” Stitch continued. “Being impatient and rushing these things is always a great concern.”
“I couldn’t agree with you more.” He slapped Stitch on the shoulder and checked to make sure his waistcoat covered his impatient erection.
“Could be as early as tomorrow. I’ll stop by your quarters later and check on things.”
“Make sure you knock,” he muttered under his breath.
Ducky fell into step. “What happened to you last night? I thought you were finally going to get some sleep after you finished with the logs.”
“Decided to stretch out somewhere else.”
“Least you got some rest.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “Did you get a chance to talk to Samantha?”
No, I was too consumed with keeping her quiet. “Some.”
“Good, good. Speaking of prisoners, I’ve just come from the brig. Tensions are running a bit high down there. I’m not sure what’s happened. They’re quiet, but there’s something in the air, and it isn’t the stench of unwashed bodies. Although there’s one Scotsman…man would make your eyes water.” Ducky ran a finger under his nose. “They’ve made another request for some deck time. Might be a good idea to air them out a bit.”
“Don’t see what harm it would do. Gather enough men to discourage any unruliness.”
“Shackles?”
It was bad enough to see Tupper sitting in a cell. Clapping her in irons seemed unnecessary. None of her men fought their arrests. Hadn’t she mentioned the man, Bump, would be seriously affected by shackles? “Let’s see how it goes without. Just see there are three men to their one. No one takes their eyes off them for a second.”
“Aye, aye.” Ducky frowned. “Are you sure you got some sleep? You still look like shit, old man.”
“Maybe I could use a little more time in the sack. Stitch thought counting sheep might work for me.”
“A bit of physical activity might help, as well. Couldn’t hurt. The strain is written all over your face.” He swept a hand. “Everything is running smooth throughout. Go. Take a few hours. Do a few pushups, and you’ll sleep like a baby.”
Entering his quarters, James found Samantha as he’d left her—asleep and bare beneath the sheets. He stripped down to nothing but his breeches, considered another moment, before removing them as well before climbing in alongside her.
At his touch, she started, shrunk back and cried out in pain and fright. A look of utter panic crossed her face before instinct had her cowering and covering her face.
“Samantha, it’s me. Oh, God, I’m an idiot. I’m sorry.”
“Oh…James…I-I thought.” She held a shaking hand over her heart. The other reached out to touch him, as if to assure herself he was real or keep him at arm’s length, he wasn’t sure which. She pulled the blanket up to cover her naked breasts.
“Samantha, I’m sorry.” He watched her throat work as she tried to still the panic that raced through her and pulsed visibly at the notch of her throat.
“No, I’m the one to-to be sorry.” She closed her eyes and pulled a deep breath into her lungs. “Y-you surprised me is all.”
James reached out a tentative hand. He smoothed his palm over the curve of her shoulder. Beneath his touch, she trembled. “I didn’t think. I’m sorry. Are you all right?”
She gave a quick nod, but he could tell she was lying.
“You have to believe I would never hurt you.”
She nodded again. This time it wasn’t a lie.
James didn’t move, giving her time to gather herself. Inside, he recoiled in disgust and white-hot anger. What had that monster done to her? He wanted to turn around this instant and sail back to Virginia for the sole purpose of beating the life out of one Damian Wessler. Of course, that would come after he finished beating up on himself for being an insensitive bastard.
He didn’t know all the gory details of what she’d endured, but he knew enough. Bloody hell, the evidence still shook in his bed.
“I’m sorry.” Wide eyes captured his before she forced a small smile. “I startle far too easily.”
“I’m the one who’s sorry. Would it be all right if I held you?”
She pulled in a shaky breath. “Of course.”
He moved nearer, ready to retreat should she begin to panic again. Slipping his arms around her, he tucked her beneath his chin and kissed the top of her head. He held her close but not as tight as he would have liked. He was afraid if he tried, she’d shatter like crystal.
After a while, she softened in his arms and leaned her head against his chest. He stroked her back and reclined, still holding her firmly to him. James pulled a blanket over them both and slowly counted the beats of her heart.
* * * *
The sun kissed Tupper’s face for the first time in days. She pulled in great gulps of fresh air as she and the rest of the Scarlet Night crew were given a short respite. Their request for a bit of deck time had been granted. Her once fearsome crew stood squinting in the bright sunlight like a labor of motley moles.
Armed British sailors flanked an open area, giving them no question as to what would happen if any of the crew were to make a misstep.
Allan and Butler glared in her direction. Several others joined in their superstitious grumblings. Let them. She’d explained herself once; she wouldn’t do it again. If they needed someone to blame for the state they were in, she might as well be the scapegoat. It wouldn’t change a damn thing, and she couldn’t give a rat’s arse.
Tupper skirted around them and found Bump. She signed the words, “Are you all right?”
He nodded.
She pointed to her head, asking about his injury. He nodded again, but was distracted, scanning the ship in both directions. A frown darkened his glare. Tupper tapped his arm to get his attention. “What is it?”
‘S.’ ‘A.’ ‘M.’ He made the sign of a question.
Tupper shrugged and shook her head. “I don’t know. Last I heard she was alive.” With thumbs up, she tapped her waist, then her chest, with her fists. “I would have heard if something happened to her.”
Bump moved away. Tupper watched his retreating back. She sat in the shade of one of the masts. Twice. In the entire lifetime she had spent with Bump, she had never lied to him, and now she’d done so twice in as many weeks. The reasons now were as valid as the reasons then. All she wanted was to keep him safe. Shield him from the ire of the crew for being her accomplice in bringing Samantha aboard, and now she wanted to protect his misguided heart. Wherever Samantha was, Tupper was sure James Steele was close by her side. What faced them at the end of this journey was enough. Bump shouldn’t have to meet his maker with a shattered heart.
“He’s been as chatty as ever.” MacTavish dropped down beside her and jerked his head toward Bump.
Tupper sent him a side glance. “I didn’t think you were speaking to me.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Just my luck,” she snorted. “You’ve forgiven me.”
“I ken why ye lied.” He shrugged, knocking his shoulder against hers. “Ye could’a told me the truth, ye ken.”
“So then they’d be hatin’ you now.” She jerked a chin toward Butler and Allan. “Best not spread their joy around. I was the captain. The biggest share comes with the biggest risk. I knew I was taking a chance. Better it be all on my head.”
“Still. I thought we were mates.”
“We are, ye hairy troll.”
They were both quiet for a moment. MacTavish broke the silence. “Ye ken the worst part in all this?”
“Beside the hanging?”
“Aye, there’s that. Nay, it be too much time te think.” He scratched at his chest. “I ain’t had so much time te woolgather in me whole life.”
“Sorting through regrets?”
“I got none o’ those. Nay, it’s the ‘whatif’s.’ Wondering if ye’d stepped wit yer left foot one day instead of yer right, would ye still have reached where ye sittin.’ Not regrets, really, but if ye said ‘yes’ instead of ‘no,’ ‘no’ instead of ‘yes.’” He dropped his head back against the mast. “Where would ye be now?”
“Maybe it’s a good thing ye never know. Not like ye can go back and do it over again.”
He turned to look at her. “Anything you’d do different?”
Tupper shook her head, then stopped and shrugged. “There was that week-long bender a few years back, where I ended waking up face down twenty miles from where I started, with Gavin’s name entwined with roses tattooed on my arse.”
MacTavish snorted. “I remember it well. Tuk four days te find ye. Coulda been worse. Coulda been my name on yer arse.”
“Both halves and down one leg.” She laughed.
“Ye had a good man there. Tattoo or no.”
Tupper nodded. “I’ve been thinking about him a lot the last few days. I’m glad he ain’t a part of this.”
“Ye did ‘im proud, taking over like ye did. Ye can’t think ye didna have a good run of it.”
Her hands swept the deck. “We’re still sitting here with these tea swillers waiting to swing.”
MacTavish knocked against her again. “But blast an’ go blind, ye bloody stripe-haired bitch, admit it, we’ve had one hell of a ride.”