The Pirate Captain - By Kerry Lynne Page 0,270

the likenesses always elbowed their way to the surface.

Nathan slumped and looked to the ground between his feet. “Oh.”

“My grandmother always said to marry a tall man. They were the most gentle, is what she used to say. She was right,” Cate said, with a faint smile.

The firelight flared on tendons of Nathan’s arms, now gone rigid “So, you do fancy him.”

His shoulders rose and fell, and then he looked up with the expression of a man commending himself to the gallows. His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “I could put a word in for you,” came in a tight rasp.

It was tempting, so very tempting.

For a moment, Cate allowed herself the luxury of that fantasy, but instantly saw it for what it was: a hopeless snatch at regaining a life long lost. And yet, she had not made mention of the resemblance to Thomas for that very reason. “You remind me of my dead husband,” was hardly the way to initiate anything. She hadn’t made mention to Nathan for the same reason: so that she could pretend. And pretend she did, to the point that it was both a startlement and irritation, when Thomas did something out of character. To use Thomas in such a way was reprehensible, and she despised herself for it. She only need think how she would feel if Nathan was to use her the same way: as a replacement for his precious Hattie.

Ah, but would it be so terrible if he was to have you for just a little bit?

She batted down the voice. To chase ghosts was to throw her heart away. She had surrendered one heart—one long gone—in exchange for another.

She looked at that very heart sitting next to her just then, dejected and miserable.

“No.” Regrettably, the word didn’t come out as definitively as intended. Cate cleared her throat and tried again. “No, it wouldn’t be fair.”

She stiffened as another thought occurred. “Are you hinting to be rid of me?”

“No!” Nathan burst out, eyes bugging with alarm. He checked himself and softened. “No, most definitely and adamantly, no.”

She dipped her head to intersect his gaze. “Then why even ask the question or even suggest it? Is this because of the other night?”

“No, upon me word! Just intuitive insertions, idle observations.” Nathan lifted a shoulder, as if to dismiss it, but it still pressed his mind. “I thought…perhaps—”

They were interrupted by Thomas’ hail as he strode toward them.

“There you are!” he boomed. “You children lurking about in the dark, I see. Shame, shame!” He waggled a warning finger at them. “People will talk.”

“Only about the overbearing pestilence what keeps storming up and down the beach like a pillaging Cossack,” Nathan grumbled.

“Then c’mon over to the fire and sit. One of my men finally brought a chessboard. Are you ready to get beat?”

“Certainly,” Nathan declared eagerly, handing Cate up. “Except, I do suffer a bit of remorse at the prospect of demeaning and humbling someone so grand as yourself…again.”

“Willing to put your money on that?”

Nathan swept a mocking bow that finished with an inviting arm toward their fire. “I’m your man.”

Nathan and Thomas settled into what some might call “a friendly game.” It was a far cry from any chess match Cate had ever witnessed. Customarily associated with long pensive silences, interspersed with quiet murmurings of appreciation of a move, Nathan and Thomas’ version lacked all manner of gentlemanly restraint, bearing more resemblance to a tavern brawl than a parlor game. A player’s selection of his next move was made under a barrage of taunts, bawdy jeers, and derisive challenges. The move was immediately followed by a tirade of swearing and name-calling—in several languages—heavily mixed with punches, slaps, and generalized fist-brandishing.

Familiar enough with the game of chess to understand, but not proficient enough to pose a challenge, Cate had been goaded into a game by Nathan now and again. She had learned at her father’s knee, with further tutelage from her brothers. Brian had spent innumerable winter evenings attempting to broaden her game, and ultimately she became accomplished enough to delay defeat for almost an hour. Her successes against Nathan had barely been better. Her matches with him had been nothing like this.

Cate sat on a cask between the two pirates and watched. There were no classical moves, no familiar gambits. This was based on nerve and cunning, bravado and bluff. Their familiarity with each other bred congenial contempt, but also an advantage, often seeming to know the other’s next move before it was