Defying a Pirate Page 16

  This place may be paradise, but Gemma knew that heaven or something very close to it was being here in this bed, just the two of them with no worries and nothing drawing them away. But it wouldn’t last, he would go and she would worry—until he came back and this cycle would start over again—unless he returned her to England. She knew that she may well be past the point where she could be parted with him and not suffer. But being sent back, parted from him was better than the bigger worry of him being caught and hung. If she could make a bargain with God that his life would be spared, she would take the suffering of being returned to her cold and miserable existence in England.

  Her life in England was miserable, she conceded. If she hadn’t perceived it before, she would know now that she’d been here with him. She could never imagine herself lying like this in complete acceptance and stillness, with a man she cared as much about as she did this pirate—her James.

  “What are you thinking?” he asked.

  “That I would give anything to make sure you were safe.”

  “I will try my best to keep my neck intact.”

  “You promise you will return?”

  “Yes.” He pulled her body up along his and kissed her. It felt like coming home. Sighing, Gemma welcomed his tongue with her own. She suspected she could never get enough of this. She constantly tried to imagine what the upmost perfect moment was, and this must be close—made even better when he rolled her underneath him and she felt his weight come down on her. This was definitely a more perfect moment than the last. The ache for him to come inside her reasserted itself with force. Goose bumps spread across her entire body and she parted her thighs to draw him closer, to welcome him inside her.

  He pushed into her smoothly and she gasped with the immediate pleasure of it. There couldn’t possibly be a more perfect moment than this. She was his and he was claiming her, and that was perhaps the most perfect thing in the world. She wanted him to have absolutely everything of her. She longed for him as he withdrew out of her, only to be rewarded by being filled until he fit inside her fully.

  His eyes sought hers as his need grew more frantic and he pushed up on his arms to claim her more forcefully. Arching with her own need, her body started to pulse around him and the thrusts which were taking over her entire existence. His mouth sought hers as he shuddered into his release, the force of it pulling her along into the depths of pleasure.

  She was completely undone by the waves of sensation that shot through her body. Sated exhaustion took over and she slipped into an equally sweet dream.

  James sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Turning back, he watched Gemma’s sleeping form next to him, looking divine as she lay with the bed sheets tangled around her lithe and wonderful body. He couldn’t really fathom how beautiful she was and he felt like a god lying in her thighs. There was a divine spark in her and it pulled him into its powerful presence whenever he pushed into her.

  Staring at her made his heart ache. He hadn’t been sure he’d had a heart, but he felt it pound in his chest now. It constricted painfully when she looked at him. He’d never intended for this to happen—he hadn’t known it was even possible. His life had grown to revolve around the woman that lay in his bed in a fairly short length of time. Before, he’d lain with her and it had been wonderful, but this had snuck up on him silent and deadly, and it made his heart twist in pain—an ache he would bear, because there was no alternative. Even watching her sleep was painful, because in sleep they were separated.

  This heartache was the thing that in its ultimate cruelty left him with certainty that the life he had here wasn’t enough. He’d brought her here because he wanted her in his bed. Even as she ran from him, he wouldn’t let her go. She’d seen the trap laid and she’d run; he saw that now—it was he who had done this, pulled her back and brought them to this state. This change had come on like a shift in the wind—sharp, powerful and unforeseen.

  She would stay, she’d accepted him. A bittersweet spear pierced him. This was no right future for her. She was meant for more than this life, but there was no way he could twist his life to suit what she needed. If she stayed, her belly would over time fill with child. He felt pressure and pain saturate him at the thought. He’d accepted that he would never have a family; that this life didn’t suit families. He’d tried his best to make a life for his men, but it was an illusion—a temporary bandage on a festering wound. They had money to support their lives, but many here, including himself, had no other skills if they were to attempt to turn to another life.

  He could not guarantee that he would come back from this trip or any other that would come. Despite his promise to her, his profession came with extreme risks—the gallows or being killed in fighting was his fate and he’d come to accept that. It wasn’t a fate that was right for a family, and certainly not what she deserved—to live like a fugitive, hidden away from the world and dependent on someone who likely had a short lifespan.

  She could not be aware what she was taking on, or she was too lost in the wonder of the thing between them to make good decisions. Her instincts to run had been right. It wasn’t something he wanted to face, but he was a pragmatic man and could only ignore the truth for so long. He could ignore it for a while, however. He would sail and he would come back—maybe while he was out at sea, a tolerable solution to his predicament would come to him. He doubted it, but he wasn’t ready to give up hope yet.

  The days passed in absolute bliss—perfect long days and even better nights. There was nothing Gemma would change, except perhaps the serious look that came over James’ features every now and then when he looked at her. Other times, he would smile and the whole world seemed to light up with it. And he would kiss her, long and slow kisses when the mood would strike him.

  But she knew the days were passing and now it was time for him to leave. The men were preparing and the women were gathering supplies for them. Gemma knew there was nothing she could do to stop him going; this was a part of the bargain. She could have him on the terms that he had to leave. But he would return and she was already looking forward to that, even as he hadn’t left yet.

  He sat on the bench just outside their cottage more fully clothed than he’d been since they’d arrived. Men were already ferrying supplies out to the ship, and the children shadowed their every move.

  “Where are you going?” Gemma asked and sat down next to him.

  “North.” He seemed a little distant and preoccupied.

  “How long will you be gone?”

  “Three weeks.”

  “And if I run away while you’re gone?” She had no intention of going anywhere, but she wanted to tease him, and perhaps punish him slightly for leaving her behind.

  “Well, there is nothing to run to around here, so I wish you wouldn’t try.” He looked out across the ocean, a frown on his face “If you wish to leave when I come back, I will find you a ship to take you back to London. I will sail you myself if you wish.” She could see the muscles in his jaw working. It struck her that she might have hurt him, that he didn’t understand her teasing.

  She took his face gently in her hands, “I don’t wish to leave. I want to be here with you, and I will wait for your return. Don’t make me wait too long.” The frown returned to his face and she kissed him tenderly on the lips. She hated seeing that frown mar his lovely features—she wanted him to be happy. “I want to be yours.”

  He pulled her to him and she let him, accepting the embrace. She would miss his touch, his body, like an ache while he was gone. They stayed there for a long time before they broke apart again. His smile had a bittersweet quality and she knew that he wasn’t looking forward to the separation either.

  “I must go.”

  Gemma wanted to say no like a petulant child. “I will worry every minute you’re gone.” She couldn’t bear to think that this could be the last time she’d ever see him; it was too difficult to consider such thoughts.

  “Don’t worry, I will return.
If you need anything, ask one of the other women. I wish I had shown you more of this place, but you are far too distracting for me to consider such practical things.”

  He stood and she followed as he walked toward the steps leading down to the sand. He turned on the last step and pulled her into his arms again. She loved embracing like this, where the stair step made them the same height. She felt a flash of panic at him leaving, but suppressed it.

  “James?” she asked. “I have to know, am I yours now? Am I your wife?” She couldn’t go on without this question fully answered and time was running out.

  “I was joking when I said I could just claim you as a wife and you would be. We are not quite that heathen. The church must be paid its due.” He put his hand on the side of her head and kissed her forehead. “But you have me in a way I didn’t think possible, and it’s not something I think will ever let.”

  She liked the idea of having a wedding. She would like to give vows to this man in front of God and a priest. She would have accepted it just as readily if he’d said yes, but a proper marriage was better.

  He pulled away and she had to let his fingers slip out of hers. She loved him; she knew it as he walked down to the water’s edge, where the gentle waves pushed the dinghy from side to side in the shallow waters. With James’ arrival, one off the crew members pushed the boat off the shallows and the two of them jumped in. Gemma saw James seek her out as they started rowing toward the ship.

  Chapter 27

  It was a strange feeling being left behind. Standing on the beach, Gemma didn’t know what to do with herself. She noticed a little girl standing crying not far away, until a woman came and picked her up.

  “Dada will be back, don’t worry,” she assured the child who clasped to the woman’s neck for comfort. “Why don’t we go play in the stream.” The woman turned to Gemma. “You might as well come too, there’s no point staring after them; it don’t make them come back.”

  Gemma tentatively followed the woman. She knew she had to find her place with these women now—they would be her community. Perhaps she wouldn’t be so nervous if she knew what to expect, but she didn’t. She didn’t really know what kind of women they were; they certainly were not the kind of women who would normally be amongst her acquaintances.

  She kept pace behind the woman as she walked in between the cottages where the sand gave away to greenery. The little girl was watching her over her mother’s shoulder. Gemma hadn’t walked behind the houses yet where the jungle started. They arrived at a stream where children were floating down the water on little rafts. This must be the fresh-water stream that James spoke about.

  “They like playing in the stream.” She continued walking until they got to a place where the women were gathered and the children started their journey down to the stream. “My name is Lizzie.”

  “Gemma. I am pleased to meet you.”

  “Oh, listen to her voice,” one of the women said. “You a proper lady?”

  “My father was a gentleman.”

  “Oohhiee, very fancy.”

  “Leave her alone, Martha.”

  “Just pointin’ out that Jack’s found himself a bit of fancy. Just like him, ain’t it? Where’d he pick you up from?”

  “London,” Gemma responded to the direct question.

  “How’d Jack meet a woman of quality in London?”

  “She’s the one from the man-o-war,” one of the others said. “The one that damaged Jack’s ship.”

  “You know how to sail?” Martha said with astonishment.

  “No, but I know how to conduct a naval battle.”

  There was silence amongst the group, then laughter.

  “He didn’t take the loss well, apparently,” Gemma continued. “So here I am, pleased to make your acquaintance.” Gemma didn’t know how they would receive her, but she knew that this moment would likely set the tone for their on-going acquaintance.

  “He’s quite smitten with you,” a woman with long streaming blonde hair said. Gemma couldn’t help but blush.

  “Ah Christ, he’s going around stealing children now.”

  “Hardly a child,” Lizzie said.

  “Must be to blush like that.”

  “Don’t pay any attention to her,” Lizzie said to Gemma. “She’s just a cantankerous old cow.”

  “I’ll give you cow in a minute,” Martha said tartly.

  “Come, I will show you where we gather fruit.”

  The women had quite a good working order, and Gemma learnt that the teasing banter was normal and not aimed at her exclusively. They had no qualms about pointing out things that should for propriety’s sake be ignored and overlooked. They even talked openly about their intimate relations with their men, saying shocking things that even Gemma could keep a straight face at no matter how shocked she was.

  They included Gemma, but she stayed quiet at the edge of the group while the natural hierarchy prevailed. The married women had higher regard than the unmarried women like herself. The outside world’s rules had some sway here too, it seemed.

  There was also a collection of accents. One woman was definitely Spanish, another Welsh, while others had accents that she couldn’t place—rough accents, even rougher than the maids Gemma was used to. She wondered how small was the world she knew. She’d never even met women like this—with the exception of Rosie in the pirate tavern—and they made up the bulk of the women in England, also the world.

  She was tentatively accepted into the group, even as they teased her about her accent and some of the words she used. She was grateful that they didn’t reject her; it would all be much more difficult if they ostracized her.

  The older children dived for the bounty of the sea, while the women placed nets with the little dinghy they had. This was work that the men did when they were here, but it turned out the women were perfectly capable of doing it themselves.

  Gemma joined the women when they came together to cook or to organize. They had a plan for each day and everyone was given tasks to feed or better the community. Gemma was normally on gathering duty; gathering fruit or flammable materials for the fire. She also had to help guard when the children were sent up the coconut trees. So far, no-one had fallen down as they climbed up—limber as monkeys up the tall, skinny palms. It sent Gemma’s stomach hurtling with fear, but to her amazement, they always managed.

  Other times, she stayed on her own in the little cottage, missing James. She studied all the things he had there, treasures and other things of some kind of meaning to him. She sat on the bench and watched the children playing. She couldn’t stop herself from wondering if she would watch her own children the same way. If that turned out to be the case, her children would grow up outside the bounds and confines of society—they would be wild. The thought sent a frisson of nervousness through her. She couldn’t quite get her mind around it and the disadvantage that would prove to them as they approached adulthood. But they would have had a loving home and an idyllic childhood, and that mattered, she told herself.

  James felt the comfort of the wood underneath his hands; he always felt at home on his ship. He missed its movement and noises when he was on land. He missed Gemma, but his ship had a sedate comfort all its own. He also felt the excitement grow at the prospects ahead of them. They were after a Dutch ship that they’d heard had been commandeered by the crown. Commandeered ships often carried interesting things—valuable things.

  It had been a while since he’d been this excited about pursuing a target. He’d lost the joy of it for a while, but it had returned. Perhaps his ambition had returned because he wanted to prove to Gemma that he could provide for her—material things if not acceptance in any society around the world, particularly her own.

  “There’s darkness on the horizon,” Smithie, the weathered quartermaster said. “I don’t like the look of it.”

  “You think it will turn into something?” James asked, surveying the horizon. Dark, ugly clouds were forming in the distance—the kind of
clouds that could spell trouble. He knew his quartermaster had an uncanny eye for bad weather.

  “Mark my word, the winds’ll pick up.”

  “If it does, we might have to find somewhere sheltered to anchor down.” Anchoring down may mean letting go of the Dutch ship—an opportunity he didn’t want to lose. But storms killed ships and the sailors on board, and in these parts, ships disappeared without a trace. It was his call in the end. “Let’s watch it for a while.”

  “If we head out from here, there’s only open water between us and Hispanola.”

  James considered his quartermaster’s words. Sailing on would be a risk as they would move away from possible shelter and they would never reach Hispanola by the time the storm developed, if one did.

  “Alright,” James said. “We’ll stay close and see how this pans out before heading off.” With any luck, the storm would make the Dutch ship seek refuge as well. Or they would sail out into the Atlantic to avoid it. If they had a day or two head start into the trade winds; it would prove difficult to catch them. But he didn’t like risking his men’s lives unnecessarily. There was always other quarry.

  They stayed close to the scattering of islands they’d reached. It was a safe spot, clear of any naval bases or law-ruled towns. James knew there was a good bay a few hours sail away—in the wrong direction. It lacked big reefs, which was important when sitting through a storm. Getting torn apart on a reef was a stupid and deadly mistake.

  The storm clouds gathered making it apparent that a storm was indeed on its way, but as they watched it, it became clear it was not advancing as fast as expected—which meant it wasn’t coming straight for them. Which left the question of where it was heading, and James didn’t like his suspicions.

  Pacing up and down the quarterdeck, he watched as the drops of rain started darkening the wood. Smithie slowly climbed up the stairs, encumbered by his injuries from a lifetime of piracy.