Kidnapped by the Pirate

Bile surged into his throat at the thought of Hawk suffering, and he gripped his teacup so tightly he might have shattered it if Susanna hadn’t covered his quivering hand with her own, guiding the cup back to its saucer.

“Are you well?” Elizabeth asked, leaning toward him, then shaking her head. “But of course you aren’t. It must distress you terribly, knowing that monster is so close at hand.”

“It does,” he agreed, struggling to keep his tone even.

Elizabeth sighed. “I can’t wait to leave this place.”

“Nor can I,” Nathaniel added truthfully. “I think soon we shall let nature reclaim Primrose Isle.”

On his feet, grimacing through a wave of pain in his belly, he gave Elizabeth a stiff bow, then leaned over Susanna to kiss Grace’s plump cheek, clenching his fingers to keep from trembling. Susanna watched him intently, and hot tears pricked his eyes.

He kissed her forehead and tore himself away, counting the minutes as the day ticked away more slowly than any he could recall.

There were preparations to be made.

In the end, he wore his funeral suit.

It was somehow fitting. Buttoning the black coat over his dark shirt, forgoing the waistcoat, he regarded himself in the tall mirror in the corner of his chamber.

His hair was longer than when he’d left England, curling over his ears now, face dotted with a few new freckles. Any tan he’d acquired had faded during his convalescence, but the freckles remained.

Somehow he appeared older, although he wasn’t sure when he’d be able to grow a proper beard. He was too thin, and his weakened, soft muscles cried out for activity. They’d soon have it.

He wished he had trousers instead of breeches, and boots rather than the silly black stockings and buckled shoes, but they would have to do. The most important thing he did have was his father’s pistol, liberated from his study when Walter had been busy in the drawing room shouting at Bart to see to the hasty construction of a gallows. Walter was determined to have his spectacle for the few dozen people left on Primrose Isle. For his lunatic pride.

Carefully tucking the pistol into the back of his breeches, Nathaniel reached for his long dark cloak and wrapped it around his shoulders. It made him think of Hawk’s coat. The burning to see Hawk again, to smell and taste and hold him, set his head spinning.

He hadn’t wanted food at all, his stomach knotted with the wound and nerves, but he’d forced himself to eat bread and a cold chicken leg. He’d need every ounce of strength he could muster.

Staring at himself critically in the flickering candlelight, he weighed whether he was at all capable of appearing intimidating. The cloak helped, but he needed… Ah! He knew just the thing and went in search of a sewing kit.

A short time later, Nathaniel held the needle to the hiss of the candle’s flame. Leaning close to the mirror, he tugged down his right earlobe and winced as he carefully impaled it. A spot of blood appeared, and he squeezed the pierced flesh for a minute, then sucked the blood from his fingertips.

The metallic tang tasted of his first kiss, and he closed his eyes, remembering their desperate coupling against the palm tree; how they’d almost devoured each other when their mouths had finally met.

As night fell, he forced himself to stretch out and rest. Waiting. He had a satchel prepared with clothing, medicine, silver candlesticks and cutlery, and a golden snuffbox. He wasn’t sure how much Walter had promised Captain Taylor, but surely some gold and silver was better than nothing.

It was near midnight when Nathaniel slipped into Susanna’s dressing room with a letter, his candle cutting a swath through the shadows. He placed the letter carefully on the table and opened her jewelry box.

While she hadn’t had any jewels of worth left when they’d traveled to the New World, she’d mentioned Walter had insisted that on Primrose Isle, his daughter’s ears and throat would gleam with gems and pearls. Lord knew how he’d acquired them.

Nathaniel’s heart skipped as her chamber door creaked open. Glancing over her shoulder, she crept in and closed the door behind her. “I’ve been waiting,” she whispered, looking between him and the dresser, face creasing. “You were only intending to leave a note?”

“I thought it might be easier.” The ache in his belly from the wound pulsed, and his chest and throat tightened, threatening to choke him. “How did you know?”

“That you would attempt to rescue your…pirate? I know you, Nathaniel. You have always been brave and pure of heart.” She frowned. “Yet… Are you…stealing from me?”

“No! Well… Yes.” He nodded to the letter. “I explained it. I need an earring. And a few of your jewels as payment to the privateer.”

Her hair was loose, nightgown slipping off one shoulder. Barefoot, she trod quietly toward him. “An earring? What on Earth are you talking about? You know this is madness. What if you get yourself killed?” She glanced behind her, then to Nathaniel, and back again.