I jumped at the growl in my father’s voice and found him standing a few paces away, watching me.
The hounds bounced around his legs and nipped at his fingers, but he paid them no heed. Prowling toward me, he searched my eyes, and what he saw there made his expression grow dark, overcast, heavy like rain clouds.
I knew that look, and it hurt my heart. “Don’t say it.”
“It’s uncanny how much you resemble her.”
“Please, don’t—”
“It’s true, lass.”
I released a sigh. The truest truth was that he still loved the countess. It was an eternal love, as deep and ungovernable as the ocean.
But she wouldn’t have him. Not when she was carrying his child. Not after fourteen years of letters, in which he offered her marriage, wealth, and undying devotion.
“Do you still write to her?” I curled my fingers around his callused hand.
“Aye.” His gaze slipped to Charles and shuttered before returning to me. “Naught has changed.”
“Maybe she’s not getting your missives?”
“She’s getting them. My courier waits as she reads them, shreds them, and hands back the pieces without response.” Pain flashed in his eyes. “Has she still not given you my identity?”
I shook my head.
She never mentioned his name. Not once. Whenever I asked who fathered me, she punished me with her silence. If she knew about our visits… God’s blood, would she have him marched to the gallows and hanged? I didn’t know and couldn’t risk it.
So I never begged him to stay. Instead, I voiced my usual demand.
“Take me with you.”
His expression blanked, and he released my hand. “No.”
“Please? I can’t go back. Not after what I’ve done!”
“Listen, Bennett. Stealing a horse is one thing. In time, Abigail will forgive you. But pillaging the king’s ships is something else entirely. There’s no forgiveness in my business, and the sea is no place for a child.”
“I’m fourteen!”
“She needs you.” He brushed a springy curl from my face. “I would not steal you from her.”
“Steal me? She’s trying to get rid of me.”
He went eerily still. “You say?”
“She’s arranging a betrothal. If she succeeds, you’ll be visiting me in England. And that’s if I can sneak away from Lord Grisdale.”
His nostrils pulsed with a furious snap of breath. “Who?”
“A marquess of the realm. Deep in the pockets. Gray under the wig. I stole the old lobcock’s horse and—”
“Slow down.” His hands flexed, and the vein in his forehead looked ready to pop. “Did you say gray?”
“Well, I haven’t confirmed that detail because I missed our introduction. But the rest is true! He’s a whole decade older than you!”
In a blink, his eyes lost their humanity, the depths sinking into an abyss of malice and ice.
A shiver rippled down my spine as his entire demeanor took on that coldness. Rigid shoulders, white-knuckled fists, uncompromising scowl—he no longer stood before me as my father, but rather as the infamous captain of an eighteen-gun warship.
His blade-sharp eyes cut to the tree line behind me. “That’s his horse?”
“Yes.”
“You stole it?”
“I was in a hurry.”
He glanced at Charles, and a hint of pride softened the edge of his anger. “Already pirating, this one.”
“And thrusting blades at devilishly good-looking rogues.” Charles arched a brow at me.
I winged up mine in return. “Careful, Mr. Vane. One might think you enjoyed it.”
“She makes a point, Charles.” My father’s voice grew quiet. A deep, bone-chilling kind of quiet. “Around my daughter, your eyes are for decoration only. If you use them on her, I’ll carve them out and feed them to the gulls.”
Charles looked away with a grimace. “I’ll head back to the ship and give you some privacy.”
“Good plan. Return for me at dusk.”
The bothersome yet curiously droll quartermaster ambled toward the south side of the inlet. When he vanished beyond the outcrop, presumably where the jolly boat waited, I turned back to my father.
He stared out at the sea, his eyes a turbulent aqua green. The line of his jaw was so unyielding I could’ve sharpened a blade on it.
“You’re angry with the countess,” I said.
“Rightfully so.” He scraped a hand through the thick tousle of his red hair. “She’s stubbornly ambitious, stubbornly independent, stubbornly beautiful…” He blew out a breath. “Just flat-out stubborn.”
“If I stay here, her stubbornness will send me to England.”
“Don’t concern yourself with that.”
“What does that mean?”
“I’ll deal with her.” He paced toward the woods and picked up a fallen branch from the ground. “Your skill with the cutlass needs work.”
He tested the weight of the stick and tossed it away to grab another.
With my thoughts still whirling around his plan with the countess, I wasn’t prepared for his attack.
He lunged, wielding the stick like a sword, and swept my feet out from under me. I landed on my backside and rolled, all flailing limbs, tangled skirts, and curse words. He swung again, and I dodged, flinging myself toward the cutlass.
With the hilt in my grip, I rose into a strike. He blocked. I slashed, and for the next hour, his training distracted me from stolen horses and betrothed marriages.
As the fire-orange sun hauled itself across the sky, sweat pooled beneath my stays, and the wind blew knots of curls across my face. I clawed the wild tresses out of my eyes until my tangles had tangles.
My father went through multiple sticks, each one hacked away by the blade of the cutlass.
“You’ve been practicing.” He dropped another broken branch and wiped the sweat from his brow.
“Only with wood.” I gestured at the chopped twigs around his boots. “If I had my own cutlass…”
“I would give you my finest blade, lass.” He tapped my nose. “But Abigail would discover it.”
“How are you going to deal with her?”
A strange expression creased his face, and he looked away. “What I have planned for her isn’t proper for your ears.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Would you like to hear about my latest prize?”
“Yes!” I bounced on my toes and dropped the cutlass. “Was there a battle?”
“Many battles.” He laced his fingers through mine and led me to the shade of the woods.
Lowering to the ground, he gathered me on his lap and told me every heart-pounding detail of his attacks on the king’s warship, a French brigantine, and numerous merchantiers.
“Then, two months ago, I encountered a Spanish treasure fleet. Twelve ships in total.” His eyes lost focus. “We were outgunned and would’ve never attempted something so dangerous, but there was a deadly storm on the horizon. We waited in safe waters for the tempest to take its toll. Then we moved in, attacking the battered ships and claiming their salvage.”