The Pirate Captain - By Kerry Lynne Page 0,356

She hates dirt; the least sight sends her into a cleaning frenzy. And you’ll have to start washing that shirt more…and yourself. She the bathingest person you’ll ever meet, and expects the same of everyone near. Shave closer, too; she’ll like that.”

“Did you ever wash for her?”

Elbows braced on the rail, Nathan hung his head between his arms. “No, never did.”

“Listen for her,” Nathan said quietly, as he stared sightlessly across the water. His throat moved as he swallowed. “She cries, at night…for him. It’s enough to tear your heart out. She won’t remember come morning, but you’ll need to be there for her.”

Thomas found his throat had suddenly gone so tight he could barely squeeze out, “I’ll try to remember.”

Nathan’s smile grew distant. “Wait until you kiss her. She’s like a hot coal; she comes alive in your arms…” he murmured, checking himself. He cleared his throat and looked away. “Sorry.”

Surrender. Thomas knew its cost on blood-slickened decks, but never this. He had seen Nathan in his lowest, knocking on death’s door and hoping it would open. Beaten, flogged, stabbed, shot, starved, fever-wracked, scurvy-riddled, half-frozen, and half-dead from heat and thirst: none had been like this.

Thomas shifted again, telling himself this wasn’t betrayal. This was picking up the pieces. If anything, he was doing them both a favor, a grand favor…

Then why the hell doesn’t it feel that way?

Nathan nodded a vague appreciation. “What’s your course to be?”

Thomas narrowed his eyes as he considered. This was the painful part; he’d sailed an ocean in hopes of resuming a lost friendship. “I had thought we could sail in consort for a bit. All things considered, I suppose that might not be the best idea now.”

“Not bloody likely,” Nathan said, with restrained vehemence.

“Probably north,” Thomas said finally, looking in that direction. “Might try along the coast off the Colonies. Heard there’s some good prospects along there; lots of heavy merchants and authorities willing to look the other way, for a small price, of course.”

Nathan nodded interestedly. “She might fancy that. She’s from the Colonies, you know; she’s kin of some sort or another there. It might be a chance for her to see home, finally.”

Nathan leaned closer. “She’s with child,” he said, as if he was divulging the great secret of the ages.

Nathan pressed his fingers to his lips while glancing over his shoulder, oblivious to Thomas’ gape. “’Twould be ill-advised to speak of it. She’s a mite crank on the subject. You know how they are,” he added, with a conspiratorial wink.

“No, I don’t,” Thomas said, barely tolerant. “That would be more in the way of your expertise. Are you the—?”

“Hardly!”

“Then who…?”

Nathan slid a cutting look from the corner of his eye. “One never knows, does one?”

Thomas flinched at the barb. It was surprising how much restraint Nathan had exhibited on the matter, truth be told. Thomas had preferred to think it was all by the board, but apparently not. Contrary to all hopes, Nathan hadn’t changed one goddamned bit, to the downfall of everyone around him. The outside might have changed, but the man inside was still the same bungling mess.

Nathan straightened, shook off his mood like a great dog in the rain. “’Tis a grand friend you are for taking her off me hands,” Nathan said, considerably louder than was necessary, probably for Cate’s benefit, by Thomas’ judgment.

“At a loss, I was,” Nathan went on, “as to what the bloody hell I was to do with her. Nothing worse than a meddlesome, clinging woman on your hands.”

Skepticism was Thomas’ only reaction. The smile a bit pasted, the levity a bit forced, the gestures a bit stiff: it was another of Nathan’s poorer performances.

“Damned annoying,” Nathan went on, oblivious to Thomas’ disgust. “Blabber, blabber, blabber. Never puts a stopper in that gob. No peace. No freedom; freedom is what it ’tis, you know. Me ship, the sea, and the horizon: what more could a man desire?”

Several answers came to mind, but it was a question not intended for one.

“Then you’re done with her,” Thomas said, straightening.

It was more a statement than a question. Nathan symbolically dusted his hands and held them up in exhibition: empty.

“Very well, then.” Thomas snatched Nathan up by the front of his shirt and gave him a solid shake. “Lay hands on her again like you did yesterday, and I’ll snap you like a twig.”

Gazing up, Nathan went very still. “Go ahead,” he said dully. “Put me out o’ me misery.”

Thomas let go and regarded