He shot her a stare that would have most men dropping their weapons and tossing their hands high in surrender.
“We listened to the lad in the Harbor Master’s employ. His name is Liam. He’s sweet on Gertrude, our scullery, and he told us the Scarlet Night was leaving that night and would be the only ship heading to Port St. Maria for weeks.”
“Wait, did you say we? Are there more of you in my hold?”
“No.” She paused and glanced away from him. “It’s just me.”
“I can’t tell you how happy that makes me.” His head began to ache again. “Go on. What’s so urgent that you were fool enough to stow away aboard my ship?”
“We needed to leave London, immediately. Separately. If we could both make it to St. Maria. Meet there. We’d be safe.”
“Every answer you give me only stirs up more questions.” He went to his desk and pulled brandy from its drawer, poured two pulls into glasses, and brought her one. “Try not to spill this.” Retrieving the bottle, he sat on the low trunk again. “Why the rush to get out of London?” Jaxon tossed back his drink and poured himself another while Annalise sat staring into hers.
“I was in danger.”
He snorted. “Foolish girl, don’t you know you’re in danger now?”
She met his gaze. “At least aboard your ship, I have a fighting chance.”
Something in her reply or the look upon her face brought him up short. She held his stare. The golden sparks in her eyes gave way to a gilded determination. Who was this woman? And why did he feel the sudden need to protect her? The fierceness of that need surprised him. For a moment, it blotted out all the rest.
His anger softened. “What about your family?”
It took her a moment to answer. “I’m currently without.”
Jaxon studied her closely, watching for any evidence of guile. No need to guess at her feelings. Her emotions were clear upon her face. Whatever happened had wounded her deeply and sent her racing into a desperate move.
She lowered her gaze and stared back into her glass.
“You keep saying ‘we.’ Clearly, there is someone missing you. Couldn’t they have protected you?”
“They did.” She tossed back her drink, put the back of her hand to her mouth, and coughed. She looked at him with shining eyes. “They found me your ship.”
* * * *
Jaxon paced the length of his deck. The polished gunwales and rain-scrubbed ruby cedar under foot shone in the sun. Three masts of white sails bowed against the deep blue of the sky. Aye, she was a beauty, his ship. He passed a row of cannons strapped into their holdings and a steaming pot of tar to paint the rigging before the salt air and seawater destroyed their strength. Standing in his favorite spot, the farthest point of the bow, Jaxon stared out past the bowsprit toward the endless depths ahead. The strident rush of the water past the prow was music to his sailor’s ear.
With the storm behind them, the day burned bright and promised a fine stretch of good weather. Daily chores occupied the crew. The boatswain ordered the polish of the brass top of the capstan and the sail maker repaired a torn topsail. Other seamen coiled ropes into barrels and tightened lines. Those few with hearty voices kept a lively tune.
Everything as it should be. Nothing seemed amiss. Below deck, however, was another matter. Bloody hell. He was getting soft. Why did he care what happened to this chit? The first sign of womanly tears and he’d given the wench quarter, for Christ’s sake. He was forgetting she’d end up getting him killed.
Cookie appeared at his side with a tall leather tankard of ale and passed it to him.
“Capt’n.” The grizzled seaman leaned close. “How is she?”
“She’s come to and seems intent on living.”
“Good to hear. Learn who she be?”
“Her name is Annalise Gatherone. Insists she isn’t a guest of anyone on the crew. Said she’s running from some kind of trouble and looking to make it to Port St. Maria.”
“Ain’t she heard the news? Ye’re a dead man if you set foot there?”
“Makes no difference which way we head. If anyone finds her aboard, I’m a dead man no matter what.” Jaxon drained the cup and handed it back. “That’s all I’ve learned. Dammit to hell, she’s as forthcoming as you are handsome.”
“Mayhap this’ll give ya a better clue.” Cookie opened his hand. The white of pure silk was blinding next to the dirt of the man’s palm. “I set to cleanin’ the hold. She brought along food and water, but the rats made short work of the food, and she done lost her water to the bilge. Found this in what be left of her sack.”
Jaxon reached for the bit of silk. The weight surprised him. A crested gold ring slipped into his hand. He looked at Cookie in question. “A lord’s ring?”
Cookie bobbed his head. “That there’s a gentleman’s handkerchief. Got the initials HCG stitched in the corner. Mayhap our little miss be a thief runnin’ from the law?”
Jaxon shook his head. “She’s no thief.” He couldn’t explain how he knew, he just did. Pushing the ring and its wrapper into his pocket, he scanned the deck. No one seemed interested in his discussion with Cookie. Certainly, there were men about too curious for their own good, but they looked to be minding their business.
“Anything else?”
“Robbins swears there’s a spirit aboard. Come to me, twistin’ his hat. Boy swears he heard screams during the storm. His mates are givin’ him one hell of a ribbin’, tellin’ him he’s daft in the head and sayin’ maybe his rum be tainted.”
“See to it he gets a deeper ration.”
“Aye, aye.”
“Seems she has more questions to answer.” He scanned the crew again. “I’ll be below.”
* * * *
Jaxon’s gaze took in the sight of his lovely captive sleeping soundly in his bed when he returned to his chambers. A warm woman in his bed should be a most welcome sight. Not this time.
Moving to his desk, he took the ring and handkerchief from his pocket, then studied them both. The silk appeared new, but the ring told another story. The gold had thinned from generations of wear. An elaborate crest graced its face with small rubies and sapphires set into the engraving. He slipped it onto the third finger of his left hand. It fit as if made for him.
He watched her sleep, his mysterious Annalise. The ring was just another piece of the puzzle surrounding her. Would he ever get the whole story? And why did it even matter to him?
Anna lay on her side. The wide neck of the chemise she wore allowed one pale shoulder to peek above its lacy trim. He imagined the petal-soft feel of her skin. Her delicate collarbone set off the shadowed hollow of her throat. He had a decided urge to bury his nose
