Page 45 of Maggie and the Pirate’s Son

“Ah, but your pleasure is my pleasure, darlin’,” he said.

If she wasn’t already a widow, he’d have liked to make her one, ending whatever worthless sot had failed to see the perfection lying next to him night after night for a year and a bit and failed to worship her with everything he had.

She snuggled against him, but he could sense her turmoil as though his own restless soul were drawn to hers like magnetite.

“What is it?” he whispered, nosing the back of her neck and running a hand over her belly.

“How did you learn to do that, if you never leave the ship?” she asked.

Oh, was that all? He kissed her neck again to make her shiver. “I’m a very good listener.”

“Oh, aye?” she teased.

“Aye. You’ve a sister called Ellen who wed the big Laird MacKenzie and has two mischievous bairns. And you’ve a cousin, Jory, who fell for the Shaw Wretch. No children those two, but you reckon they tup every chance they possibly get.”

He pinched her bottom and she wiggled it against him, setting him on fire anew, so he had to run a hand over her hip to still her.

“Jory studies medicine disguised as a man. The women in your family must enjoy wearing breeches.”

She shook with laughter and then said with a prim and proper air, “It was you who ordered me into the breeches. And I have more than one cousin.”

“None who matter,” he guessed. “While the breeches certainly suit you, I must confess I like you best out of them.” He gave her a light smack and she wiggled against him again. Christ.

“Cousin Lennox would’ve married me, if my father had let him.”

“Why’d he refuse?” Bash asked, not sure he wanted to hear the answer.

She was silent for a moment. “I suppose because he thinks he’s better than everyone else. My father, not Lennox. Well maybe Lennox too, I don’t know. Do you really never go ashore?” She stroked a lazy finger along his forearm, causing his mind to judder.

“Alone? Once. A decade back. Dutch will take me now and again if he needs help with something.”

“But the others all come and go freely?”

“Aye.”

“Then why?”

Bash sighed. “When I was a boy, I think Mad feared I’d find his lost gold.”

“Were you so good at solving puzzles?”

“Suppose he thought I’d have beginner’s luck.”

“And now?”

“Now it’s about power. And the illusion of power.”

She paused her idle stroking, and he wondered if she saw similarities between their situations.

Rolling onto his back, he crooked an arm under his head and considered. “He’s afraid I’ll leave,” he explained, “and there won’t be anyone left to navigate this old wreck.”

“Why don’t you?” she whispered in a small voice. “Will he beat you with that whip if you try to go ashore?” She shivered, and he wrapped his arm around her once more.

“Possibly. But I submit so he thinks I accept his authority. That way, when the time is right, it’ll be easier to slip away. Keep your enemies close, as they say.”

She snuggled against him and murmured, “Maybe he’ll get struck by lightning.”

“Lightning?” he asked. What a very specific notion. But her breathing had changed to the soft, slow rhythm of sleep, so he kissed the top of her head and closed his eyes, determined to steal every last possible moment of peace until dawn.