Page 25 of Maggie and the Pirate’s Son

“You climb very well for a beginner,” he said when she and her dangerously round bottom were well within earshot.

“For a—” she started crossly but cut herself off.

“For a beginner,” he repeated, close to her ear after grasping the boom on either side of her and pulling himself up to stand behind.

“I don’t need help,” she snapped, and he was ashamed of how his body responded, rising to follow even as she leaned away. He swung himself to the left of her, as she scooted further to the right.

“You requested it.”

“Merely instruction. Up close, I’ve lost track of the tangle.”

She scowled, and Bash doubted she really wanted instructions either. What had it cost her, to call down to him when she’d clearly prefer to muddle about on her own and figure things out?

“It’s here,” he said, pointing out the loose line which had wound itself around the mast and rigging like the warp and weft of a loom. “Night watch will have to answer for not keeping the lines tighter after you went to such trouble patching the sails.”

“What’s to be done? Cut it?”

“No, no,” he said, showing her how to gently twist the rope back around to where it belonged.

They worked in silence, as the wind whipped their shirts and ruffled her short-cropped hair. Standing close enough to count her freckles in the bright sunshine, he was suddenly conscious of the grotesque scar adorning his own left cheek. She must think him a hideous ogre, and he couldn’t blame her. She was like the heroine of a fairy story, trapped aboard a monster’s ship.

“I didn’t say you were afraid of the wind. Only relayed the message as you told it to me,” she finally confessed, drawing him back from his wallowing and perking him right up. Bash knew the captain well enough to guess he’d put words in Maggie’s mouth, but for some reason he also liked knowing she cared what he thought.

“ ’Tis no matter,” he said.

“Was he testing you? Ought you have shouted at me? Or,” she swallowed, “or taken me below again? You could have. I wouldn’t mind.”

“I’m not sure testing is the word. In any event, I don’t shout at my crew or punish them when I know they’ve done no wrong.”

“Is that what I am? Part of your crew?” She seemed to hold her breath, anxiously awaiting his reply.

How could he explain that she was and she wasn’t? That he protected the crew as a whole but kept himself apart from individuals aside from Dutch? That he didn’t care to know most of them in the way he felt drawn to her, or care what they thought of him in the way he desired her good opinion? How could he explain that his crew never drove him to distraction, never made his heart beat too fast, never gave his prick a mind of its own?

“Of course you are. I’m giving orders and you’re following them, aren’t you?” he asked gruffly, and she bristled—a good thing, because a rough-edged wench was far safer than a soft one.

“Aren’t you?” he couldn’t help goading, and she set her jaw and turned her face away towards the ocean.

“Look!” she gasped, letting go of the rigging to point but Bash saw only her, as he reflexively leaned out to grab the line she’d released, just in time to catch her when she lost her balance and stumbled.

Her back fit perfectly into his chest, her bottom against his groin, and he was instantly hard once more.

Now she gasped for a whole different reason, and his left hand went to her waist to steady her as she resecured her hold and her footing.

“No,” she said.

“My apologies,” he murmured, removing his hand from her person and easing back just a little.

“No,” she repeated. “I’m not very practiced at following orders, it would seem.”

“We’ll have to remedy that,” he growled, and she swallowed hard.

“Yes,” she whispered. “It is I who should apologize. Though I’m not very skilled at that either. I was just overcome by…” She trailed off, scanning the water with a furrowed brow, then pointing more sedately, she sighed, “There.”

This time Bash turned to follow her finger, but there was nothing, only the telltale frothy surf.

“What was it?” he asked, studying her rather than the ocean.

“Dinnae ken,” she whispered, childlike excitement dancing in her bright eyes. He could happily watch her study his ocean for hours, but he forced himself to turn his attention outward.