The Pirate Captain - By Kerry Lynne Page 0,24

careful to strip all emotional inflection from her voice.

Blackthorne stopped with the taper suspended over a wick. “Certainly. Why not? We have what we came for, or so it would appear.”

His same brow arched, this time with suspicion. “What interest is it to you?”

“Nothing. I was led to believe you…pirates,” she struggled with the word. He noticed and smirked. “That you always forced captives to join your crew, and then destroyed the ship.”

He genuinely laughed, a flash of white splitting the black abundance of beard, and blew out the taper’s flame. “Aye, that can be the case. Forty more hands can make duties lighter. But,” he cautioned, wagging a finger, “Twenty souls here under protest can be even more burdensome. So, we take what we can,” he went on, tucking the book back into its place on a shelf, “And let them go, assuring of course, that their gratitude doesn’t come in the form of shooting us in the ass. With any luck and fair winds, we’ll be leagues away before they can make port and report us.”

“That’s very generous.” She was afraid to hope the same compassion might be extended when it came to the dispensing of her final fate.

Blackthorne shrugged off the compliment as he flopped down in his chair once more. “Generosity will get you killed, darling. Practicality: now there’s a friend you can count on.”

Mindful of the quilt, she sat across the table from him. “So, you…pirates…share…everything?”

“Aye,” he said affably, amused by the break in her voice at the word “pirate.” “We’ve a plunder book what lists all what’s taken; ’tis open for any man to see. The bosun and gunner get a share and a half. The quartermaster gets a share and three-quarter, and Captain—that would be me,” he pointed out, with a teasing glint, “receives two. But everyone gets a share of everything, no exceptions. ’Tis the Code,” he added with an underlining sweep of his hand.

“How…” She gulped, the words not being where she had expected. “How many are there aboard?”

Leaning his head back, he closed one eye in calculation. “A hundred and twenty-four now, but we’re still a bit short-handed.”

“That many,” she said faintly. Struck by a wave of queasiness, she raised a hand to her head. Seeing it shake, she tucked both underneath her legs.

“Are you well?” He lurched up and came around the table.

“Yes,” she stammered, shying. “Why?”

“You just turned the color of spoilt custard. You need rum!”

“No! No! Please…!”

Her protests were too late; he had already seized the bottle and was refilling her glass.

“Can’t have you falling out on me deck.” He cast a worried eye toward her that suggested said “falling out” might occur before he could finish pouring.

A cold sweat prickled her forehead. It wasn’t as if she wasn’t under enough of a massive strain without having to keep drinking the vile stuff, she thought moodily as she took the glass. The thought occurred that he aimed to render her insensible, in order to take advantage of her, but she could handle her drink far better than that.

Once confident that she wasn’t about to “fall out,” he pulled up a chair and sat. Their knees nearly touching, he hunched interestedly forward.

“What did you say your name was?” he asked. A taunting smile grew at her hesitation. “Trying to remember, eh? They do say the less you lie, the less you are required to remember. Let's have a real name this time, luv.”

She hung on to the glass as if it were an anchor, needing something solid to hold on to, a weapon, if necessary. He wasn’t a large man, but his nearness was disquieting, nonetheless. Clutching the quilt tighter, she inched sideways in her chair.

“Catherine Harper.”

“As you said before.”

“No, I only said Cate, before. Can’t we just accept that and move on? What difference does it make, as long as it’s not Littleton?”

He leaned back. Tenting his fingers to his lips, the dark eyes were keen as a predator’s. “And does Cate Harper have any family?”

In desperate need of fortification, she drained the last bit of rum from her glass and glared at him over the rim. “Fishing for someone else to ransom, Captain?”

Her bravery held but for a few moments. The urge to flee surged again. She was on her feet before realizing it, only to discover there was no place to run. Trapped, she turned to the window.

“No, Catherine Harper has no one, absolutely no one,” she said to the night.

“Any slab-sided dolt can see