Page 51 of Maggie and the Pirate’s Son

So deep inside the ship that even the noisy chaos of battle preparations couldn’t reach them, Bash didn’t try to swallow her whimpers, but instead, buried his face in her neck, kissing everywhere as her panting grew more desperate until she shook, body and soul, and he finally released her wrists and held her in his strong arms, keeping her upright despite her legs having turned into jelly.

Slowly Bash eased her to the floor, where she sat like a puddle, and pressed one last kiss to her forehead.

“I will come back for you,” he swore.

“You promised to teach me the rules of Ruff,” she rasped.

He nodded, and as he closed the door, a shadow slipped in and settled, warm and purring, in Maggie’s lap.

“Mrow?” Custard asked, licking her arm with his rough tongue, and Maggie held the cat close and waited.

Leaving Maggie behind was the hardest thing Bash had ever done, and his regret was only tempered by his self-loathing. Had even an hour passed since he swore to Dutch he wouldn’t touch her again before his control had fled like smoke on the wind?

His only intention had been to stow her in his secret hiding place, safe from dangerous orders as well as ruthless men. But then she had kissed him like she knew there was no tomorrow, like she, too, felt the heavy cloud of dread that this would be the last time they’d meet in this life, or certainly the next. He couldn’t leave her down there with any doubt about his feelings—feelings that were almost too big and too powerful to name.

Back on deck, he tried to push her from his thoughts. These next few hours would be fraught, requiring every ounce of his attention. He must be at his best in order to make good on his vow to return for her. By God, he’d do it or die trying, and that meant no lingering lust nor guilt nor regret, there wasn’t space or time.

The Revenge drew within firing range, but the Whale gave no sign of concern. She gave no sign of anything much at all.

Indeed, when Bash peered through his spyglass, he could make out not a single soul on board. The sloop seemed almost adrift, and his nerves jangled like alarm bells sounding a fire.

They raised the Jolly Roger, but no white flag was hoisted in response, nor did the ship attempt to flee.

“Anything?” Dutch asked.

Bash shook his head. “She looks like a ghost.”

“You don’t believe in ghosts.”

“I don’t.”

“But?” Dutch asked, reading his mind or his mood. Maybe both.

“But if I were a certain naval captain, I would think this a mightily clever lure to catch old Mad MacLeod.”

“Now you believe in his persecution fantasy.”

Bash put his spyglass away and turned to Dutch. “I don’t know what I believe. Six years ago, when we made the run up to New Orleans?”

“I remember.”

“The Pursuit came out of nowhere. Like she was waiting for us. Like she knew where we’d be.”

“Could have been waiting for anybody,” Dutch reasoned. “We were just the anybody who happened along.”

“Aye. If it had been the French navy, I might agree with you. But a British ship right there? So far into French territory? Mad’s paranoia didn’t seem so mad to me after that.”

“And now?” Dutch asked.

“Outside New Orleans, I stood at the railing and looked through my glass, and I’ll swear to my last breath I saw the bastard Constantin staring back at me. He lifted his cap like he was saying hello. Maybe he’s as mad as the captain. Maybe he just enjoys the chase.” Bash’s words voiced a line of thought which had haunted him for half a dozen years, finally given form as he spoke them out loud.

But Dutch didn’t look at him like he was crazy. “You think it’s a trap.”

“It would be a brilliant strategy, would it not? Especially if Walsh took the pardon as we always believed. And these rumors floating around like sardines? Send him out on his own. Reel us in. Hell, maybe Constantin started the rumor about Walsh finding Mad’s gold in the first place.”

“You put a great deal of faith in the navy man,” Dutch said, taking Bash’s spyglass to have a look of his own.

“Maybe. Could be I’m as mad as old Neil, but I’d believe it’s a trick before I believe there’s a single coin on board that sloop. And you know as well as I do what’ll happen when there’s not,” he mumbled.