In the Arms of a Pirate (A Sam Steele Romance Book 2) by Michelle Beattie Page A

named Jacob that, if his moans were any indication, was slowly regaining consciousness. There were two maids, one was slight and appeared to be about Sam’s age. Her whole body trembled in her chair. The other, an older plump woman with steel grey hair, sat tall and glowered at Aidan through coal-black eyes.
    Her attitude bothered him little. He was not there to make acquaintances. Bending forward, he set Sarah down into one of the high-backed chairs.
    “What have you done with Sarah?” the butler gasped.
    “She’s drunk and that was not of my doing. She’ll have a raging headache and an upset stomach when she awakens but, otherwise, she is unharmed.”
    The butler pointed a long thin finger at the woman Aidan had set down. “That woman is Sarah’s maid, Sophia. Where is Sarah?”
    The others, he had to give them credit for their acting ability, all seemed as concerned. He was about to argue he wasn’t going to fall for any ruse, since no maid would dress in such a fine gown, even one with a recent stain, and sleeping in her mistresses bed when he had a feeling, nothing more than a nagging at the back of his brain. If the man was lying it would take little more than another search of the house to prove him so. But if he wasn’t…
    “Lucky, Jack, Billy, grab a candlestick. Recheck every corner of this house, this time with the aid of light. Chunk, you and the others ensure these don’t give us any trouble.”
    “Aye, Cap’n.”
    Taking a light for himself, Aidan pushed open the dining room door. He’d check upstairs. His head had been pounding so badly before it was possible he’d missed something. Besides, he’d thought he’d had the right woman, so he didn’t look further than he needed to.
    Stepping into the foyer, seeing the partially open front door, Aidan knew immediately the butler hadn’t lied, not entirely. He was still convinced Sarah sat drunk in the other room but clearly someone else had been in the house and now they’d escaped.
    Aidan blew out the candle and tossed it over his shoulder as he raced for the door. Even as he reached for the bow he’d left leaning against the pillar, he saw her tumble over the gate and onto the sand.
    “You there!” he called. “Stop!”
    She spun, gasped, and promptly ignored him as she raced away from the house.
    With his bow in hand Aidan ran across the yard, took a running leap at the gate. In two steps he’d climbed it and was dropping over the other side.
    She was running, of course she was, but the sand and her long skirt impeded her progress. Still, she was wise enough not to cut a direct path and veered side to side in the moonlight. Well, it would make it trickier, but what was life without a challenge? At least the moon was in his favor. It reflected off the white sand and her white maid’s bonnet, making her an easy, visible target.
    He took an arrow from his quiver, notched it and raised the bow. Drawing the bowstring back, he looked down the length of the arrow. When she angled left he flicked his fingers and released it. It snapped into the trunk of the palm not two feet from her face.
    She squealed, but it didn’t slow her pace. Steadily marching forward, Aidan readied another arrow. Without breaking stride, he let it fly. This one dug into the sand next to her foot. She screamed, spun, tangled in her skirts and staggered. Only a flailing of arms kept her balance.
    He reached back for another arrow. He’d shoot this one closer. She had little hope of getting away and the sooner she accepted the fact the better. Even as his fingers grasped the arrow he slowed his pace, frowned. She wasn’t escaping. Indeed, she’d turned to face him and simply stood there, hands at her side as he approached.
    Aidan slid the arrow back into its quiver. He wasn’t fooled; nobody surrendered so easily. But he was proficient with his bow and if she attempted another dismal escape, he’d have an arrow flying before she reached full stride. And, failing