Raven Saint by MaryLu Tyndall Page A

want to admire her. He wanted to hand her to the don as planned and get his money. Why could she not have been pompous, churlish, and deceitful like the women to whom Rafe had grown accustomed among high society?
    The ship rose and plunged over a wave, drenching him with salty spray. He opened his eyes and shook it from his face. Spyglass pressed against his boots. He picked her up and laid the damp cat across one shoulder. She purred her approval, and he ran his fingers through her fur.
    Zut alors, why was the mademoiselle always in his thoughts? He flexed his muscles as if strengthening his defenses. He must. He must hand her over. The money she would bring would save hundreds of lives. What was the fate of one pretentious girl compared to that? And pretentious she was, full of the same religious banalities he had been beaten with all his life. She was more like his father than he realized. He must look beyond his reaction to her, beyond her admirable qualities, and remember that fact.
    A slap on his back startled him from his thoughts. “What brings you here to the fo’c’sle, Captain?”
    Rafe turned to see his friend, Monsieur Thorn, smiling at him. He had been a good friend, Rafe’s only friend this past year. “Clearing my head.”
    â€œAh, the lady is quite enchanting.”
    â€œMy thoughts were not directed toward her.” Rafe grimaced at his friend’s discernment.
    â€œIndeed?” A coy grin lifted the lad’s thin lips. “Has she recovered from her illness?”
    â€œOui.” Rafe laid a hand on Spyglass and braced his boots on the deck as the ship plunged over another swell.
    â€œCaptain.” Thorn cleared his throat and adjusted his hat. “Has the lady’s family laid some unpardonable insult upon you? For I’ve yet to see you barter in human flesh.”
    A spark of shame seared Rafe, but he drowned it under his rising ire. Had his whole crew gone soft? “She is a woman, and her father is an admiral in the British navy. Need I say more?”
    â€œI was in His Majesty’s service, Captain, as were several of your crew. And yet you do not despise us.”
    Spyglass ceased her purring, and Rafe began caressing her again, resurging her soothing tones. “You quit the navy, as did they, because your conscience could not bear their cruelty. How can I fault you for that? Instead, I applaud you.”
    Monsieur Thorn rubbed the scar on his neck and gazed across the choppy sea. “We should be coming alongside Inagua Island soon.”
    â€œBien. Only a few more days to Port-de-Paix. I could use some time ashore.” Where he could seek comfort in the arms of one of the town’s many willing females. And distance himself from Mademoiselle Grace.
    â€œWhat of the men? They haven’t been paid since we sank the Dutch merchantman and delivered her crew and cargo to Monsieur Franco.” Thorn fingered the feathery whiskers on his chin. “We wouldn’t want a mutiny on our hands.”
    The sprinkle of glee in Thorn’s tone bristled over Rafe’s nerves, but he shrugged it off. They had all been on board this ship far too long. “The crew never complains about enjoying les plaisirs de Port-de-Paix. Besides, we will be there only a few days.”
    Dropping his hands to his sides, Thorn began clenching and unclenching his fists. He shifted his stance then gripped the railing.
    Rafe frowned at his friend. Thorn was usually the essence of unruffled composure. “What has you so skittish, mon ami?”
    His first mate’s gaze darted over the horizon as if searching for something. He gripped the hilt of his sword, then scratched his chin before dropping his hands again. He shook his head and turned to Rafe. “What did you say?”
    â€œYou are jumpier than a cat on hot coals.”
    â€œMe? No. Just anxious to get to port.” Thorn rubbed his hands together.
    Rafe shook his head. As long as he