Page 8 of Pirate's Intent
“I will see you soon, Sister.” Hannah squeezed her hand. “Until then, stay safe.”
Dread kicked her pulse up a notch. “What do you mean?”
“I mean we have to split up for now. We will be far safer that way.” She embraced Rose one more time. “I will see you soon, all right?”
“But...but—”
“No buts.” Hannah met her eyes and spoke with confidence. “We have to shake the beasts on our tail then we will regroup.” She nodded hello to Thomas and narrowed her eyes in warning. “You best take good care of her.”
Then she was gone, fled into the night.
Rose had no chance to stop Hannah before Thomas scooped her up and plunked her in a skiff, saying nothing more than, “I will explain once we board my ship.”
His ship? She peered out at the sea and spied an impressive brigantine seen only by lightning flashes. Unfortunately, the waters grew rougher with the incoming storm, and her stomach flipped several times over on the short row. By the time they were aboard, she imagined she was rather green.
Thomas evidently understood her plight because he urged her to sit once they reached his cabin. From what she could see between lightning flashes, he mixed powder with something he poured into a mug. He handed it over and urged her to drink. “It will settle your stomach.”
She flinched at its oddly pungent spicy aroma. “What is this?”
“A ginger concoction.” He sat behind his desk without lighting a candle. “Drink it down, Rose.”
Like her sister, he had a tone she’d always instinctually listened to. Probably because at one time, she had trusted him as much as Hannah. Yet now he was a pirate and undoubtedlynotto be trusted.
“If I wanted you dead, I would not have saved you,” he pointed out, seeing her hesitation.
“Dead?” Actually, the thought had not crossed her mind, but it certainly did now. “I was thinking more along the lines that you were drugging me.”
His brow swept up. “Why would I want to drug you?”
“Well, I don't know.” Yet a couple of theories popped into her head straight away. “Perhaps you intend to sell me off to someone else and need to keep me quiet until then. Or,” though she shouldn’t give him any ideas, the words rolled right off her tongue, “perhaps you intend to have your way with me and would rather I not put up a fight.”
“It seems the sort of literature you read has changed considerably since last we saw each other.” He eyed her with amusement. The light layer of stubble on his chiseled face made him look roguish. “Rest assured, my dear, I do not intend to sell you off. Nor,” she swore a devious twinkle lit his pale green eyes, “would I need to drug you to have my way with you.”
“So you would force me then?” she blurted.
“No, darling,” he said softly, a sultry arrogance to his voice. “You would come quite willingly, I'm sure.”
“Dear heavens,” she whispered, wide-eyed, unsure what to make of him now. He left her in a flustered state similar to but not quite the same as the gallant lad from her youth. It was a more dangerous state fueled by the dark promise in his eyes. A feeling of overwhelming heat. A blossoming ache between her thighs. “You really have changed, haven’t you?
“Just drink, Rose.” His steady gaze never left her. Thunder rumbled, lightning flashed, and wind howled. Waves tossed the ship about precariously. “You will feel much better once you do.”
Queasier by the moment, she eyed the liquid then him, wanting to see him better lest she need to flee. It was unlikely she would get far drugged, let alone on a ship already at sea, but it would make her feel better. “Might you light a candle?”
“No,” he said. “We must not draw any attention to the ship.” His gaze softened, and a bit of the Thomas she once knew surfaced. “I will not hurt you, love. You have my word.”
“The word of a pirate,” she murmured.
“The word of an old friend.”
“I recall us being a tad more than that,” she whispered, pressing her lips together against a wash of emotion. Against old anger and hurt.
“I recall the same.” It seemed a similar pain flashed in his eyes, but it must have been her imagination or perhaps a play on light through the window. Because surely he cared nothing for her. How could he after what he had done?
More so what he never did.
Setting aside heartache for frustration, and a pressing need to quell her nausea, she finally drank the foul concoction. Thomas watched her with an unreadable expression. What was he thinking? Did he recall their many times together? Or were they not worth remembering? Clearly, he recalled proposing to her. His promise. But then maybe not based on his actions since.
“How are you feeling now?” he eventually murmured. “Is your stomach better?”
