Page 74 of Maggie and the Pirate’s Son

Dance a waltz, then dance again…

Beyond exhausted, he was hearing his mother’s favorite song on the wind, almost like a message.

Dancing was exactly what Maggie should be doing—waltzing alongside hordes of polite admirers. She should be in ballrooms filled with naval officers in pursuit of courtship, not here with the likes of him, who could offer her nothing but heartache, an empty belly, and an ocean of naval ships in pursuit of their destruction.

Too tired to risk falling asleep standing-up or climbing the taller mast which would forever remind him of his and Maggie’s lovemaking, he tethered himself to the foremast, so he might continue his vigil for the return of Constantin’s ship.

Bash couldn’t be near her right now. To go near Maggie was to want her, and wanting her was a distraction he couldn’t possibly afford. He needed to save her, not maul her. Like his mother, she deserved so much more than a grizzled pirate lover full of sweet words and empty pockets.

Hear the bells but not the sea…

That was another line of his mother’s song. It came rushing back to him as the bells were rung for shift change, but Bash had nowhere else to go, so he sent Samson away when the young man tried to relieve him. Besides—he needed to be right here in case the ship turned up again, as it had briefly done in the noon hour. They had doubled the men at the oars after that. Everyone was all used up.

The scratching sound of ropes on wood alerted him to someone’s approach, and soon Dutch heaved himself onto the platform and stared down at Bash, hands on his hips.

“You’re no good to anyone dead, son.”

“As you can see, I’m not dead.”

Dutch sighed and squatted down beside him, noting the rope he’d secured himself with. “Really?” Dutch asked. “How many fingers?”

Bash blinked, counting six swimming before his eyes.

“How many shifts have you been up here?”

“Just one, I’m sure.”

“Four.”

Bash refused to look at his friend. “If I go to sleep and the Pursuit returns⁠—”

“She’ll return whether you’re asleep or awake, and when she does, you’d best be in top form. You think Mad’s going to figure a way out of this on his own?”

Bash laughed. They were out of food. Hadn’t slept in days. Even their top form would be no match for the Royal Navy.

How many times had he played out this exact scenario as a lad? He’d line up his laundry peg sailors and let them blow the corsairs to smithereens, taking no prisoners. The navy of his youth were the good guys, and the bad guys didn’t deserve to win. It was only adulthood putting him on the wrong side of things.

“What’s on your mind?” Dutch asked.

Bash swallowed. “I fear for the crew.”

“All the crew? Or one in particular?”

Bash turned away, his breath speeding up as he scanned the ocean.

“We’ve been in tough spots before, had to outsmart and outrun the Pursuit more than once. You’ve always kept a cool head and trusted us to wake you if the situation changed.”

Blast the man for being right.

“You cannot protect anyone if you’re not rested.”

He couldn’t go to her, either, for his own sake as much as hers. He’d already broken his promise to back off and not take things further, scaled that fortress as easily as the rigging. Normally the most disciplined of men, around her he lost his self-control. He lost all sense of self entirely and became nothing but consciousness entangled in her scent.

He couldn’t trust himself to be alone with her, but especially not now, when danger was courting their every move. If the Pursuit snuck up on them because he was below deck drowning in the swirls and eddies of her eyes, he could never forgive himself—though it likely wouldn’t be a long period of loathing before he was dancing on the coals of hell.

But what would become of her? Mad would never let the ship be taken. He’d sooner send Auldfarrand’s Revenge to the bottom of the ocean along with every soul aboard. His only chance to save Maggie was to outrun the navy long enough to see her safely ashore.

Except this time, he couldn’t seem to shake Constantin.