The sun burned into his brain through the painful cracks of his eyelids. Ric didn’t dare move. Bloody hell! How much had he drunk last night? Maybe if he sat perfectly still, he could die right on this spot and never have to fully open his eyes again.
“Well, look what we have here. Captain?”
Knives pierced his skull. Why were they screaming? And why did it feel like his clothes were made of lead?
“Ric?” The screamer kicked his boot. “Captain Ric?”
Captain Ric? He was too hungover for games. Ric tried to kick back, but his leg was pinned.
“Go away,” he managed to mumble. Good Lord, his mouth tasted like it was full of dead barnacles. Captain Ric. Suddenly it all came rushing back. The horrible events of yesterday weren’t a gruesome nightmare. They were real. Gavin Quinn and most of their crew were dead, and by some form of insanity--and a barrel of rum--the rest had made him captain.
Ric groaned. The last thing he remembered was--the weight holding him down shifted and moaned in return. Jocelyn.
He peeled open one eye. The woman was spread across his chest like honey on bread. Dark curls hid her face. Her skirts were hitched high allowing a pale bare thigh to rest over his hip, and her knee…well, her knee was precariously placed.
“Don’t ya two make fer a cozy couple?”
Damm. Attempting to lift his hand to shield his eyes from the flaming arrows of the sun, he released the grip he still had on his bottle. The glass toppled from his hand and rolled away.
MacTavish stopped it with his boot and bent to pick it up. He tipped it over. Not a drop remained. “Dinna leave a tipple for a tosspot.”
“Jocelyn,” Ric mumbled. The word blasting through his skull.
“La lumière. Couper la lumière.” She moaned, curling tighter into Ric’s side, her knee crushing into his balls. “Please turn out the light.”
“Jocelyn.” He shoved at her hip. “Get off me, woman.”
She shifted back and sat up while battling out from under her riotous hair.
“What? Where?” She peered at him from beneath a fall of tangled curls. “Oh…” Jocelyn pushed away while tugging her skirt into place, then leapt to her feet. Immediately regretting the sudden movement, she staggered and held the sides of her head. “Oh…Sacré Bleu, I’m dying…” She grabbed for the rail to steady herself.
MacTavish chuckled. “What ye be needin’ is a hair of te dog. Bit o’ te drink wit yer breakfast will fix what ails ya. Hornbach’s got another feast laid out. Fried us up some fresh squid.”
Jocelyn clamped a hand over her mouth and turned away.
Ric made a slow rise to his feet. If he held tight to his forehead, perhaps his brains wouldn’t fall out onto the toes of his boots. He tried to recall what happened last night.
They’d been in the galley. Somebody’s mother was a rat? No. That’s wrong.
He closed his eyes and pulled in great gulps of fresh sea air hoping to clear his head.
“Ye got any orders fer te men there, Capt’n?”
Ric scrubbed at his eyebrows. “Orders?”
“Don’t ya remember? Ye be Capt’n now.”
Ric did remember. There wasn’t enough rum in all of Jamaica to let him forget. “Aye.” He gave a sloppy salute and glanced back at Jocelyn. Rum or no, she’d spent the night in his arms. Had they done anything else? Somewhere in his liquor-soaked mind, he recalled telling her how beautiful she was. He’d wanted to kiss her. Had he been foolish enough to act on his desire? No, he’d not have forgotten the feel of her lips, or the taste of her mouth. He doubted he’d forget that.
His first order of business had to be getting her off this ship and headed back to her bastard father before he did something truly stupid.
“Let’s head for the north side of the island,” Ric ordered. “We’re goin’ te need every set of hands to raise the main sail.” He rubbed at his aching head again. “Anyone seen Bump?”
“No.” MacTavish shook his head. “Tupper, neither.”
“I’ll see if she won’t let me in.” Ric frowned.
“I could try again,” offered Jocelyn, looking back over one shoulder.
“Are you feeling up to it?”
Her face tinted a pale green in the morning light. “Better that than fried squid for breakfast.”
“Good point. We’ll go together.”
Jocelyn followed Ric below deck as the men disbursed to follow his orders. “May I ask a question?”
The dim light below deck was a relief to his swollen head. “Sure.”
“My English may be confusing me, but I’ve heard it spoken a few times now, and I cannot figure it out. What is bump? You keep asking for it as if it is missing.”
“Bump isn’t a what. Bump is the boy.”
“The one with the odd hair? His name is Bump?”
“Aye. It’s a nickname.”
“What is his given name?”
“Don’t rightly know for sure. William, I think. Came aboard when he was no more than a babe. Was always getting knocked about. We called him Bump.”
“He’s very quiet, I’ve noticed.”
“His whole world be quiet. The boy’s deaf.” Ric explained. “Doesn’t speak. Least not with his mouth. Uses his hands to make the words he needs. Capt’n Quinn found a book to teach him how to spell words with his fingers.”
“That explains it. Poor thing.”
“He does fine and wouldn’t want your pity. Works hard. Fights harder. Smarter than all of us. Knows every inch of this here ship. Sometimes it’s like he knows things sooner than most.” As soon as the words were out of Ric’s mouth, he flashed back to yesterday. At the auction. Bump had been tugging on him to leave. His persistence had nothing to do with the auction. And again, when they were on the Night he’d been insisting they wait for Quinn before they pulled away from the docks. Had he somehow known--felt--the quake coming? He couldn’t have understood what was coming, but maybe he could sense it before the rest of them.
He’d tried to warn them, and they hadn’t listened.
Ric’s gut twisted. He had to find him. The lad was no doubt carrying a burden that could crush him. It wasn’t his fault they were all thick as tar. It wasn’t his fault he couldn’t get them to understand him. Still, he knew Bump well, the lad would take on the guilt of this, but Ric wouldn’t let him. He’d find him today if he had to tear the ship apart.
Standing before Tupper’s door, Jocelyn raked her fingers through her hair and smoothed her skirts. “I must look a fright.”
Ric shook his head. He’d never figured out some women, and he certainly wasn’t going to start with this one. “Ye look fine. You’re not going to meet the queen. You’re on a bloody pirate ship.”
She shot him an irritated glare. “I know perfectly well where I am. You needn’t curse at me.”
“Aye, I do…I’m a pirate.”
“And that means you have no manners?”
“Aye,” Ric puffed out his chest. “Tis exactly what that means.”
Jocelyn shook her head. “Odd thing to be proud of.”
“Ye’d be amazed at what I be proud of.” Ric reached past her and knocked on Tupper’s door.
“The trencher I left here last night is gone.”
“Tupper?” He tried the latch. It was unlocked. “I’m coming in.”
Ric was taken aback by the sight before him. The cabin looked as if cannons had blasted through the wall.
The remaining crew hadn’t been the only ones mourning the dead and drinking themselves into oblivion last night. Tupper was curled into a tight knot on the floor. Her face concealed by a battered leather hat of Quinn’s. From what he could see, she wore nothing save one of Quinn’s shirts. Her arms hugged her knees. Clothing, bottles, papers, and what looked like old letters littered the floor around her.
“Tup?” Ric whispered. Tupper Quinn was the toughest, bad-assed woman he’d ever known. Fact is, he barely thought of her as a woman at all. She was one of the men. Yes, she and Quinn did marry, years ago, but he’d never witnessed them behave as anything other than Captain and crew. Hell they fought on a regular basis. Side by side and with each other. Somehow he’d missed seeing the love they obviously had for one another. Kept it to themselves. A bit of treasure they didn’t share. The evidence of the depth of what they had lay in tatters at his feet.
Bloody hell, the woman was wrecked.
Jocelyn turned and blocked the sight from Ric, preventing him from moving farther into the room. “She’s lost in her grief. I’ll stay with her. You go and find the boy, Bump.”
“I-I need a few things from Quinn’s desk first. The ship’s log, charts. Then…I’m not sure what to do here.” Ric hated feeling helpless.
“I am. Get what you need and leave us. Maybe send some water?” She lifted the trencher. The food sat cold and congealed. “She hasn’t eaten more than a few bites. Perhaps some bread.” She reached a hand out and squeezed his arm. “No matter what MacTavish says, do not let him bring her the bloody squid.”
Bloody squid? His gaze shot back to her face. She gave him a small smile. She’d cursed. Beautifully. Only Jocelyn could cuss and have it sound cultured and refined with her sweeping, flowery French accent.
Was she trying to shock him? Make him laugh? Ease his distress? It surprised him she had the power to calm him. She’d done it last night, listening to the ramblings of a miserable drunk. Giving him comfort by allowing him to wrap her in his arms. Lying with him. Calling him a hero.
As much as he’d like to bury his face into the soft halo of dark curls and find that solace again, he couldn’t. He had no right. She wasn’t his, and never would be.
By the time the sun set on this day, she would be gone as well. On a ship back to her father. Who, if he found out how Ric had found comfort last night, would hang him in a gibbet and let the gulls peck out his eyes.
He couldn’t help himself. He traced the line of her jaw with the edge of his finger. A dirty smudge marred the pink of her cheek. He brushed at it with his thumb. As long as he was in command of this ship--and himself--that would be the only dirt he’d allow to touch her. She needed to be off this ship.
Ric lost himself for a moment in her eyes, before nodding. “Take care of her. I’ll send one of the men to bring fresh water and light fare. No squid.”
His gaze followed the curve of her mouth into another gentle smile. The desire to kiss that mouth made him dizzy.
Ric dropped his hand and stepped back. He had no time to dream about kissing those tempting lips. He had a crew to put back together. A ship to sail with six men. A shore to navigate that no longer resembled the shore he’d known his whole life, while keeping the fact the Scarlet Night couldn’t defend herself from a school of minnows if any of their enemies chose to attack.
And perhaps more important than fighting the growing need to kiss lips that had never been kissed, Ric had a broken boy to find.