Page 25 of Scourge of the Shores

He leaned back against the wall, stretching his legs out. "On yer ship,” he emphasized. “But we ain't on yer ship, are we?"

She glared, her eyes flicking toward the ladder.

He knew that look. She was considering leaving to spite him, to get away. But this wasn’t just about space—it was about rank and reputation, a few of the only things that kept pirates in line.

He softened. Just a bit. “Ye walk down that ladder, and ye know what happens. My men’ll think ye ran. They’ll wonder if ye’re fit to lead at all.”

Her lips parted slightly, like she was about to argue, but she didn't.

Reluctant tension eased from his shoulders like a ship settling in quiet waters. “Ye ain’t got to like me, Danna, but don’t let ‘em think ye ain't their Captain.”

She paused. “Another threat?”

“This is where captains sleep per the port master. They heard it, you heard it. Don’t make yourself less in their eyes. You already are because you’re a woman.” He crossed his boots at the ankle, waiting for her to decide.

A long silence.

Then, without a word, she sank back onto the wooden planks opposite him. Crossing her arms, she lowered her chin, her eyes narrowed.

He pitched his voice higher. “Thank ye, Robert,” he said, mimicking her voice.

Her silent stare was all he received in response, so he chuckled. “I know you ain’t happy about it, but it’s going to be a long night if you just sit and stare at me.”

The raindrops pelted the roof and soon pounded like war drums.

She pulled her arms across her chest tighter.

He grabbed the blanket and pulled it over his legs.

She didn’t flinch.

“And it’ll be a long, cold night without a blanket,” he said.

Still, she didn’t move.

“I’d give it to you outright, but I know you’d rather freeze than take a favor from me. So let’s call it a trade. You talk, you stay warm,” he said.

“Why do ye wanna talk?”

"Maybe I just wanna hear your voice." The words left him before he could catch them.

She blinked with suspicion in her eyes.

“I’ll take me chances,” she said.

“Suit yourself,” he said, lying on the wooden planks, clutching the blanket atop his belly with the other arm behind his head.

The rain pelted overhead with a distant roll of thunder while a peal of lightning illuminated the small space.

“I always loved listening to the rain while the ship rocked in the waves.”

His focus lingered on the ceiling. “There’s somethin’ about bein’ surrounded by water. It’s like the DeepMother herself is hummin’ through the waves. Soothing, if ye listen.”

He shifted his gaze to her, catching the way her arms slowly loosened. “You were born for the sea, you know. Maybe even carved from her breath, same as it.”

“I was born to lead me island,” she retorted.

“Could’ve fooled me,” he said with a grin. “When was your first time on a ship?”

“I was three,” she said.

“And?”

“And what, I was three. Me father took me on our Chadwick galleon, the one I command to this day.”

Robert let out a slow breath at the defensiveness in her voice. “Three, huh?” He stretched his arms behind his head, looking at the roof beams. “You’re lucky. Your father took you to the sea like it was sacred.”

He closed his eyes, remembering. “I was born on Storm Rider . I barely remember my first time realizing I was on a ship. I was too young. But I do remember the first time the sea made me feel alive.”

He slit an eye open, tilted his head toward her, catching her silhouette in the dimming light.

“I was six. Storm hit us outta nowhere, nearly tore us in two. Thought I’d drown in me mum’s arms. Wind howled so loud I couldn’t hear the crew shouting.

Water stole the deck clean out from under me, and for a moment, I wasn’t on a ship at all—I was in the sea, gaspin’ for air, feelin’ the DeepMother’s tears, saltwater chokin’ me breath. ”

She stirred with her gaze intensely on him.

His chuckle erupted. “Funny thing was, I didn’t—I didn’t panic.

I floated there, ridin’ each wave, starin’ up at the black sky streaked white, listenin’ to the rain hammer the water around me.

And for the first time, I felt somethin’ like peace.

Like the sea didn’t want me dead. Just wanted me to listen, so I did.

Maybe that’s why the DeepMother let me live. ”

He turned to look at her. She glanced up at the rafters. “So, Danna, tell me. The first time you were on a ship—was it just another day? Or did the sea whisper to you, too?”

She shrugged, a story clearly in her eyes, but whatever it was, it never left her lips.

“I saw the peace in your eyes while you were on the gunwale lookin’ over the waves,” he began, testing the ache of her heart. “What if ye don’t want the legacy yer father left? The island. What if ye want somethin’ else? Somethin’ more? What if ye want to be on the sea?”

Her arms tightened, and she rocked a bit as if an answer was about to burst through her tight, full lips. Finally, she scoffed and muttered, “Enough mush. Why don’t ye just go to sleep? ”

He drew in a deep breath. He had offered her two chances to open up to him again, like she did with her story about Ma, but she wasn’t budging.

Offered her a story about his childhood that had much more to it if she wanted to know, but she didn’t.

Maybe he was wasting time and risking standing with his men for nothing.

Maybe he really was making her uncomfortable, and she felt nothing for him.

“I ain’t goin’ to sleep ’til I know ye ain’t gonna kill me while I’m sleepin’,” he muttered.

She huffed. “I ain’t gonna kill ye unless ye touch me.”

His eyelids drooped. “I ain’t gonna touch ye, lass,” he muttered. “Ye wanna lay down and listen to the rain with me?”

“No,” she said.

Maybe he had deceived himself, seeing what he wanted to see rather than what was. His confidence finally caught up to him. But he was usually a good judge of instinct. Maybe his longing had blinded him.

His breathing fell into cadence with the rain, and sleep had almost claimed him until the wooden planks creaked. His eyes popped open, realizing she lay beside him, but not too close. She put her hat on her chest.

“If ye lay closer, we can share the blanket,” he mumbled.

“I ain’t laying close to ye; stop askin’,” she said.

She rolled so her back faced him.

“Pirates say never turn yer back, else ye might find steel in it.” He shifted his focus to her.

She rolled and faced upward, her glare fixed on the rafters. “Ye’d put steel in me back, Jaymes?”

“Would you?”

“Go to sleep,” she ordered.

He’d try one more time. Poke her resolve and see what lay beneath. He turned on his side, facing her and resting his head in the crook of his bent arm.

He studied her profile. Perfection. The ultimate woman. A woman who’d never let him slack. A woman who’d keep him at his best, striving for greater things. And if she didn’t feel the same, he had no doubt his heart would twist and break.

Her cheeks flushed under his long, silent gaze. “I don’t understand ye, Robert,” she finally said with a sigh.

His eyebrow lifted.

Not Jaymes.

“Robert?” he asked.

Her eyes grew wide. Her jaw went tight, her lips pressing together like she could swallow the mistake. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped her hat as if she could take it back by sheer force.

He let it sit, let the moment breathe.

The slow upturn of his mouth revealed a grin. A knowing grin. A joyous grin.

Because she didn’t just think his name, she said it aloud, and only realized it when he pointed it out.

“Jaymes,” she gritted through clenched teeth.

He wasn’t going to dwell on it; he let her have her mistake.

He didn’t want to push the crack open too much.

Not tonight, but her mistake gave him all the hope he needed to know she was worth the risk.

It was a dangerous thought to let himself hope, but following his father’s advice, he decided to fight the first fight first. And the first fight was seeing if she even liked him and how much.

“So, what don’t you understand, Danna?”

Her fingers drummed the brim of her hat as it sat atop her chest. Her eyes searched the rafters.

He feared she might clam up after her slip.

But finally, after a bit of patience, she said, “I just—I don’t understand why ye’ve set yer eyes on me?

And who are ye really? Are ye this trickster on me ship, the man who called me a cheat, or the man who saved me life and walked with me on the shore? What do ye want? Why are ye different?”

“Ye think I’m different?” he asked, voice slow, measured. He let a pause settle, let her feel the weight of her own question, though her focus remained on the ceiling. “Then tell me, Danna, which part of me did ye want to be real?”

She tensed, but he didn’t let her answer, not just yet.

“Was it the trickster?” His lips ghosting a grin. “The man ye love to hate?”

His voice lowered. “Or was it the pirate who called ye a cheat? The one who made ye fight for yer name?”

He shifted closer, just enough to catch her faded moonflower scent in the space between them. “Or maybe,” he murmured, “you liked the man on the shore—the one who didn’t have to prove himself to you at all.”

She swallowed. A little too hard. He saw the muscles in her throat work before she set her jaw again.

He saw it. Felt it. He was peeling back her hard exterior, but she was too smart to play into his hands.

So, he grinned and let the tension hang before stretching his arms. He knew she wouldn't answer.

“Trouble is, Danna, I’m all of ‘em.” He let that sink in before adding, “Ain’t that what a pirate does? Become what he needs to be to survive?”

Her fingers curled around the edge of her hat. “So it’s a trick then,” she said, voice edged with steel. “Ye ain’t got a real face at all.”

Robert chuckled. “Aye, maybe. Or maybe ye just ain’t figured me out yet.” He propped up on his elbow and looked down at her. “Would it matter to you if I were one or the other?”

“Aye,” she whispered.

“It would?” he asked with surprise, not expecting such an answer, but it gave him all the insight he needed. She wanted to like him.

“No,” she cut back. She started to roll away from him but pressed her back flat to the floor, eyeing him as if he remembered the pirate saying. “I’m tired, mind’s not thinkin’ straight, obviously,” she said, covering her mouth with a forced yawn.

“Then maybe ye should get some shut-eye,” he said as he lowered to his sleeping position.

“Ye too,” she said, but she kept her eyes open until he closed his eyes.

* * *

The shift of her warmth left him during the night, waking him before the cold did. He blinked at the rafters, feeling her absence like a ship missing its anchor.

Then he felt the pull. The slow, careful drag of the blanket being taken from him.

He let her have it for a moment.

“Danna, you took the blanket,” he whispered, but there was no answer, no change in her rhythmic breathing. She had done it in her sleep. He propped himself on his elbows to see Danna rolled away from him, the blanket pulled over her body.

He thought about letting her have it. He should have. Let her think she won, let her be comfortable.

But then the cold set in.

The need for warmth warred with something deeper, something far more dangerous to toy with. If he took it back, would she fight him? Or would she let him have it?

Before he could think better of it, he tugged the corner back toward him and rolled facing away from her, leaving the remainder of the blanket on her legs.

She stirred, letting out a small, breathy sigh. The wood creaked. He heard her sit up and rub her face, felt her glance, and then she shifted, pressing her back firmly against his and pulling the blanket tight over their shoulders.

His muscles went taut. Her back pressed against his spine, heat bleeding through the thin fabric between them. With each breath, her ribs shifted against him. If he moved, he’d wake her and alert her to what she’d done in her half-sleep.

So, he didn’t move. Every muscle stilled.

Nearly afraid to breathe, a slow grin pulled at his lips.

Not because he won, but because, for once, she wasn’t fighting him like she’d always done before.

She didn’t even hesitate. That’s what got him.

She could’ve fought for the blanket, yanked it clean off him, but instead, she pressed into him, back-to-back, and shared the warmth without hesitation.

As if she didn’t mind his touch, maybe even thought it felt right.

He forced his breath to stay even to pretend to be asleep, pretend it didn’t matter. But it did. He wished he could turn over and hold her in his arms, but he wasn’t a fool. He’d end up with steel in his belly. It had to be enough for the night.

When the morning revealed her decision, she might curse him, but a fear lingered in the back of his mind.

If she woke up and didn’t pull away, he’d have to face what he already knew—that he wanted her, and maybe she wanted him too. And what if she admitted it? What if she gave in?

Then he’d have to face what it would cost them both.