The Pirate Captain - By Kerry Lynne Page 0,83

that time, she and the Cap’n were, well, let’s just say no woman can resist his charms and she had her own charmin’ ways. So, bein’ the good-hearted soul that he is, he took ’er in, she ’n’ what was left o’ her crew, havin’ in his mind the next prize would be hers.”

Pryce glanced to assure Nathan was still in the tops. A raucous chanty had broken out on the forecastle, involving a lonely sailor and bow-legged whores. Nathan’s graveled tenor rang from above, enthusiastic, if not a good bit off-key. It was rare to hear his ravaged voice raised in song. He must have been in high spirits, indeed.

“’Twas a fiery mix: they fought like cats and dogs, and made love like rabbits…Hmph!”

He made a half-strangled noise and buried his nose in his drink. “Beggin’ yer pardon, sir. I think she fancied treasure and prizes, but d’ye see, the Cap’n’s not in it for the plunder. He’s in it fer his ship. Piratin’ is just a means.”

The last carried an air of warning. Cate bristled at the assumption she only sought fortunes, but to deny it would only serve to strengthen his point.

“You were on the Morganse then?” she asked.

“Nay. We’d had a partin’ o’ the ways a bit afore. I tried to warn ’im to go to windward o’ Maubrick, his First Mate, but the Cap’n wasn’t of a mind to be a listenin’,” Pryce said wincing.

“Do you think they loved each other?” It was a question that screamed to be asked, but an answer she didn’t desire to hear. She was suddenly cold and tucked her hands under her arms.

“Love? Hmm…?” An uncomfortable notion, he leaned heavily on the binnacle to ponder. “Ehh, admiration, fer sure. Common goals, lust, aye. But no, ’twas not my notion Hattie had it in ’er.

“Well,” he said, resuming his tale, “the first ship didn’t suit ’er. The second was too slab-sided, and the third too slow in stays.” Pryce shook his head. “She had ’er claws in ’im deep, by then. A women can lead a man ’round, if’n she knows how.”

He arched a brow, the sharp grey eyes measuring the cut of her jib, as to whether she was of the same breed.

“Hattie musta tired o’ waitin’, ’cuz she threw in with Maubrick. Belike, he filled her full o’ ideas, a-promisin’ the moon. Some say the Cap’n shoulda knowed. Others say she ’n’ Maubrick were too smooth, but the day finally come…”

Pryce let the suggestion in his voice finish the thought. He glanced once more to the foretop. He was telling far more than Nathan would have desired, and no small wonder. No one appreciated dirty laundry—misfortune and mishap—to be bandied about. But then, he was Nathanael Blackthorne, a legend in his time. Fame had its price.

“And?” Cate prompted.

“Shot ’im.”

The words cracked the air. Beatrice ruffled and croaked, “Flog the bastard!”

“The Cap’n has two holes in ’im: one in the front…” he said, pointing to just below his right breast. “And one in the back.”

“Which one—?”

“Which one looked him in the eye and pulled the trigger, whilst the other spineless scut shot ’im in the back?”

Pryce took another long drink and smacked what was left of his lips. “There be only three souls a’-knowin’ that, and the Cap’n ain’t a-sayin’. Cast him off, they did. ’Ceptin’ they figgered ’im to be dead straight away, so the mutinous dogs didn’t even oblige him the honor of a pistol.”

Nathan had alluded to something having happened before, another subject he preferred not to broach.

Cate gulped, sickened. Betrayal was never a pretty thing, but this one was particularly ugly. “But how…? I mean, obviously he lived, so how…?”

“No one knows, but ’im, and he ain’t sayin’. He claims he died, if yer inclined to believe that sorta thing. There be a pouch at his belt with two shots, one flattened, kinda like when it has hit bone. The other is all scratched, like it was dug out. Carries ’em with ’im, he does, at all times, just a’-waitin’ for the day when he can give ’em back, if ye get me meanin.’”

“But, he has the ship, so he must have—?”

“They both still breathe, if that be yer meanin’. But aye, that be the interestin’ part of it. With the Cap’n gone, the Morganse was broken-hearted and would sail for no other man.” Pryce lovingly stroked the surface before him. “First chance, threw herself on the rocks she did, impaled on a spire, right