smacked Lilbit on the back of the head.
Blowfish sighed. "Ye'll have to excuse the lad. He's as strong as a winch, but his mechanism is wound a little loose."
"It's all right," she said to Lilbit. "After a long sea voyage, I'd worry if you weren't interested in women."
"See?" Lilbit smacked Dead Bob right back.
Cate smiled at him. She wanted information about Taran and she thought Lilbit was the man to provide it. She told herself it was good to know your enemy, especially when you were to work closely with him. She told herself that knowledge was power. Most of all, she told herself that after her ordeals, she had a right to her curiosity. "You're so young. This must have been your first sea voyage."
Lilbit straightened his shoulders. "No, ma'am. I first put to sea outta Boston Harbor when I was nine."
"An American! That explains so much." She scrutinized him. Strong, virile, with blond hair that flopped in his bright blue eyes and the kind of wide open smile that made a woman want to hug him. "You must be … eighteen or nineteen now."
"Nineteen, Miss, that I am." Then he had been aboard when Taran had arrived.
"Did you first ship out with the Cap'n?" she asked.
"This Cap'n? No, we had a different cap'n then. This Cap'n was a fellow we were supposed to dump as soon as –" Nobody hit Lilbit on the back of the head this time, no one made a motion or said a word, but he stopped. He glanced around at the censuring faces, and the whites of his eyes showed. Ducking his head, he mumbled, "I forgot."
The silence that fell was ponderous, embarrassed, and filled with sidelong glances and disconcerted nudges.
Oh, no. Lilbit couldn't fall silent now. Not when she was on the verge of discovering how Taran had come to be the captain of a pirate ship. "So the Cap'n came on board as a sailor, too?"
"No." Lilbit jumped as if he'd been kicked. "Dunno."
Cate pressed the matter. "Is he related to one of you?"
Blowfish snorted. "Not 'ardly."
"How long ago did he come on board?" Cate insisted.
Quicksilver looked at Cate from the corners of his eyes. "Years ago."
Men were louts. They banded together to keep her in the dark about a matter that was surely of no consequence to any of them – and was a matter of much curiosity to her.
Then Blowfish roared, "Look lively, Cap'n's on board!"
As they had done when she walked in, the men rose in unison, but this time their respect was real and reverential. The Cap'n was their leader; they honored him as such.
From the stairwell, Taran said, "Be seated."
With a clatter of boots and a scraping of benches, they obeyed.
He bowed to Cate, a great, sardonic obeisance. "If you want to know how I came to my present position, Miss MacLean, ask me."
Actually, she wanted to ask him how, with a mother like his, he had come to be such a cheating betrayer of women and all-round snake in the grass. But last night she had resolved she would do her job with dignity and honor, and that meant she could not fight with the big liar, at least not in front of his men. "Certainly, Cap'n, I'm glad to ask you," she said. "Would you like to have this conversation now or in private?"
Blowfish chuckled, then sobered and cleared his throat. With his gaze on Taran, he pulled the single thin wisp of hair that hung over his forehead. "Sorry, Cap'n. Not funny at all."
Taran wore the somber black jacket and trousers of an English businessman, and the dark material contrasted with his pallid complexion. His white shirt was crisply pressed. His arm was in a sling. His boots were polished to a shine.
When she scrutinized him, she clearly saw the differences nine years had wrought.
His body had been honed to hard muscle held in coiled power. His cold gaze and stern lips were those of the Cap'n, leader of a pirate ship and of a mission that could end in death for all of them. His youth had been burned away in some great, harsh crucible of command, leaving only a hard man untouched by compassion or generosity.
And
Blowfish sighed. "Ye'll have to excuse the lad. He's as strong as a winch, but his mechanism is wound a little loose."
"It's all right," she said to Lilbit. "After a long sea voyage, I'd worry if you weren't interested in women."
"See?" Lilbit smacked Dead Bob right back.
Cate smiled at him. She wanted information about Taran and she thought Lilbit was the man to provide it. She told herself it was good to know your enemy, especially when you were to work closely with him. She told herself that knowledge was power. Most of all, she told herself that after her ordeals, she had a right to her curiosity. "You're so young. This must have been your first sea voyage."
Lilbit straightened his shoulders. "No, ma'am. I first put to sea outta Boston Harbor when I was nine."
"An American! That explains so much." She scrutinized him. Strong, virile, with blond hair that flopped in his bright blue eyes and the kind of wide open smile that made a woman want to hug him. "You must be … eighteen or nineteen now."
"Nineteen, Miss, that I am." Then he had been aboard when Taran had arrived.
"Did you first ship out with the Cap'n?" she asked.
"This Cap'n? No, we had a different cap'n then. This Cap'n was a fellow we were supposed to dump as soon as –" Nobody hit Lilbit on the back of the head this time, no one made a motion or said a word, but he stopped. He glanced around at the censuring faces, and the whites of his eyes showed. Ducking his head, he mumbled, "I forgot."
The silence that fell was ponderous, embarrassed, and filled with sidelong glances and disconcerted nudges.
Oh, no. Lilbit couldn't fall silent now. Not when she was on the verge of discovering how Taran had come to be the captain of a pirate ship. "So the Cap'n came on board as a sailor, too?"
"No." Lilbit jumped as if he'd been kicked. "Dunno."
Cate pressed the matter. "Is he related to one of you?"
Blowfish snorted. "Not 'ardly."
"How long ago did he come on board?" Cate insisted.
Quicksilver looked at Cate from the corners of his eyes. "Years ago."
Men were louts. They banded together to keep her in the dark about a matter that was surely of no consequence to any of them – and was a matter of much curiosity to her.
Then Blowfish roared, "Look lively, Cap'n's on board!"
As they had done when she walked in, the men rose in unison, but this time their respect was real and reverential. The Cap'n was their leader; they honored him as such.
From the stairwell, Taran said, "Be seated."
With a clatter of boots and a scraping of benches, they obeyed.
He bowed to Cate, a great, sardonic obeisance. "If you want to know how I came to my present position, Miss MacLean, ask me."
Actually, she wanted to ask him how, with a mother like his, he had come to be such a cheating betrayer of women and all-round snake in the grass. But last night she had resolved she would do her job with dignity and honor, and that meant she could not fight with the big liar, at least not in front of his men. "Certainly, Cap'n, I'm glad to ask you," she said. "Would you like to have this conversation now or in private?"
Blowfish chuckled, then sobered and cleared his throat. With his gaze on Taran, he pulled the single thin wisp of hair that hung over his forehead. "Sorry, Cap'n. Not funny at all."
Taran wore the somber black jacket and trousers of an English businessman, and the dark material contrasted with his pallid complexion. His white shirt was crisply pressed. His arm was in a sling. His boots were polished to a shine.
When she scrutinized him, she clearly saw the differences nine years had wrought.
His body had been honed to hard muscle held in coiled power. His cold gaze and stern lips were those of the Cap'n, leader of a pirate ship and of a mission that could end in death for all of them. His youth had been burned away in some great, harsh crucible of command, leaving only a hard man untouched by compassion or generosity.
And
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