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He gave a deep, bitter laugh. “Greed. Once I found out how much money there was to be made as a pirate, I couldn’t resist. I had tried honest labor and all I had to show for it were blistered hands and a striped back. But as a pirate…”
At least he looked embarrassed about it, she thought.
“In less than six months I had enough money for my own ship.”
“And you became the Marauder.”
“The scourge of the seas,” he said with a hint of humor in his voice.
“How can you joke about that?” she asked, aghast.
He sobered. “It’s not a joke. I know that. But I consoled myself that I wasn’t lining men up and killing them either. I preyed solely on the Brits and Isaiah Winston’s ships. To me at the time, it was all justified. Especially once I found my sister.”
Serenity thought about what horrors his sister must have faced. “Barney told me what Winston had done to her.”
His eyes tormented, he looked away. “You can’t imagine what she looked like when I found her. The things that had been done to her. I pray God that you never know the terror she was subjected to.”
Serenity reached out to touch him. He covered her cold hand with his warm fingers and gave a light squeeze that sent a chill up her arm.
“I went after any Brit I could I find,” he said with a sigh. “I goaded them into fights, forced them to face me even when all they wanted was to flee. I’m not proud of what I did. At the time, I couldn’t see past my rage.”
Shaking his head, he continued. “I know now that each one of them had a family as well. A family I pray to God every night didn’t suffer as much as Penelope because of my actions.
“But Penelope was so broken by the experience,” he whispered. “All I wanted from that moment on was blood. I blamed the Brits for buying me and keeping me from protecting her. I blamed Winston for his selfish greed, and I blamed myself for not finding her sooner. You can’t imagine how much hatred I carried with me. The weight of it was enough to crush every decent or merciful impulse I’d ever had. And it was then, in that instant of my rage, the Marauder you’ve heard of was born.”
She took a deep breath to fortify herself. So, the storiesweretrue.
“Then you did—”
“Yes, I was ruthless,” he said, cutting her off with his lethal, hate-filled tone. It felt as if he were trying to impart his feelings to her, as if he were reaching out to her in a way that was alien to him.
Her fingers tingled from the pressure of his hold. Still, she didn’t withdraw.
“When did you stop?”
“During the war. By then I had made a sizable dent in Winston’s company. My anger and hatred had been dulled by the uselessness of my personal quest, and I began to crave freedom from my past. I wanted to bury the Marauder and so I petitioned the Colonies for a letter of marque against the Brits.”
He fell silent, his hand still crushing hers. Emotions played across his face and bitterness burned bright in his eyes.
“It’s ironic really,” he said, his voice hoarse. “In the end, I didn’t change my actions, just the reason. Instead of attacking ships for my own personal gain, I split the profits with the new government.”
“But I thought—”
“I know what you thought.” He reached up and gently stroked her cheek. His gaze softened as he looked into her eyes, and she noted the hint of admiration in the hazel depths of his eyes.
Something hot flickered deep in her stomach, an ache in a part of her she’d never before known existed. She wanted something from this man—something she didn’t even know how to define or explain. It was just a deep, soul-wrenching ache.
“You, my dear Serenity, are a dreamer. Reality is a far cry from the legends you write. The only difference between a privateer and a pirate is that a pirate makes more money.”
“Nay,” she said with a shake of her head. “The difference between a pirate and a privateer is modus operandi. A pirate takes no prisoners, leaves no survivors.”
“Not from what I’ve seen, and I don’t think you’ve known enough of either category to make that judgment.”
“Maybe, but still—”
He placed a finger over her lips to silence her protest. “Listen to me, Serenity. You can’t go around holding people up to some kind of imaginary measuring stick. No one could live up to the man you wrote about in your story. Especially not me.”
In that instant, he seemed more like her Sea Wolf than ever before. This man, haunted by his past and searching for…
