The Pirate Captain - By Kerry Lynne Page 0,206

reclined position to observe. “Yours, I think.”

“Aye, so it would seem,” Nathan said disinterestedly. “Hold off. Those two what just jumped in are yours. No,” he said, directed to her inquiry. “Pirates.”

The single word was offered as an all-encompassing explanation. Still, as uninterested both men posed to be, they suffered that male characteristic of being unable to tear their eyes from a fight.

“If we were aboard, I’d be obliged to put them ashore and settle it there. Saves time all around, I’d say,” Nathan explained.

He glanced toward Thomas for affirmation, who readily concurred.

“Only a fool would wade into that,” Thomas added with conviction and took a drink.

As one would imagine, a pirate fistfight was a nasty, brutal affair and not limited to fists. In point of fact, anything that came within reach was employed, the combatants bludgeoning each other with everything from buckets to sticks of blazing firewood. Distance spared Cate the full visual effect of the damage inflicted, but she could still hear the meaty smacks, the crunch of bone, and pain-laden grunts.

“Maybe I should go see if anyone needs help,” she said.

“Not bloody likely!” Nathan and Thomas said in near unison, with a glare that pinned her in her place.

As predicted, such combat could be sustained for a brief period of time. The fighting stopped with the same suddenness as it had begun. It ended with handshakes, brotherly pats on the back, and toasting each other through broken teeth and spitting blood.

“So, tell me, Nathan,” Thomas said from across the fire during a lull. “Just what exactly are you doing here? How did you just happen to be anchored at the Straits?”

“We needed water and firewood and—”

“No, no, no!” Thomas waggled a finger. “Let’s cut the bull. This is no water and wood stop. You're up to something. What is it?”

Nathan glanced to Cate, and then leaned back on his elbows. Crossing his ankles, the tips of his braids sketched random patterns in the sand behind him.

“Always the nosy one, weren’t you?” Nathan said with grudging good humor. “We are awaiting the arrival of a most important newcomer to the Caribbean. But, before arriving, said newcomer shall be visiting her aunt’s home in Hopetown.”

Thomas sat up with interest and loosely draped his arms on bent knees. “Really?”

“Said newcomer,” Nathan went on, situating himself more comfortably, “arriving from Boston, is betrothed to one of the finest and most upstanding members of these waters.”

“And since she's coming from Boston, she would just happen to pass through the Straits. And, by some miracle of happenstance, the Ciara Morganse will just happen to be there exactly at the same time.”

“Exactly!” Nathan declared, jabbing a victorious finger skyward.

The firelight sparked on the amusement in Thomas’ eyes. “And to whom, pray tell, is this lovely creature betrothed?”

“Lord Breaston Creswicke.”

Thomas’ smile fell, the blue eyes sharpening. “Nathan, are you sure you want to do this?”

“Absolutely.” Nathan returned a level gaze across the flames.

“Well,” Thomas conceded, chuckling softly. “You never were afraid to ram the stick in the hornet’s nest.”

Thomas’s amiability faded as he studied Nathan over the flames. The shadows on his features sharpened, making him more like a marauding Viking. The backdrop of music had diminished by that hour. The low whine of a distant fiddle and the chortle of a hornpipe filled the long silence.

“He destroyed you once. Are you willing to risk that again?” Thomas asked gravely.

“I've been waiting for this opportunity for a very long time; a very long time,” was Nathan’s even response. “Would you care to join us?”

“As what?” Thomas shot back, intrigued.

Nathan tipped his head considering, his bells glinting in the firelight. “We could use a bit o' help. A consort could assure they shan’t break to open sea when the Morganse makes her move.”

“You'll have the entire Royal Navy and every privateer in these waters after you.”

“More is the reason two ships be the better.” Nathan watched as Thomas considered. “I'll give you twenty-five per cent of me plunder.”

A wry lift of a sandy brow came with, “Used to be fifty.”

“I've more important needs to consider these days,” Nathan said, cryptically.

Thomas laughed loudly to the night sky. “For that small cause, I’ll consider it a donation. You’ll allow me to consult with my men, but so long as there is a profit at the end, they are babes. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

Nathan rose and faded into the nearby shadows to relieve himself. Weary of sitting, Cate stood, groaning with stiffness. As she shook the sand from her skirts, Thomas appeared