Page 89 of Scourge of the Shores
“They call ye ‘The Ruthless’ Jaymes,” she whispered, breathless against his lips, “but ye’re a good man under it all.”
Robert cradled Danna’s cheek, his thumb brushing her skin. “I made ye a vow on this very rock; I’ll keep it.”
His eyes searched hers, commitment unwavering. “If ye live on me ship and sleep in me bed, I’ll work every day to ensure ye wanna stay mine.” He pressed his forehead to hers, letting his lips brush hers. “Will ye come away with me at first light? Will ye be me Sea Queen?”
For a heartbeat, the world stilled. The question hung between them—not just a promise of escape but a future, a life neither had dared hope for.
Danna’s lips curled into a smile—not sly this time, but sure. A smile built on the pain, the waiting, the knowing. Three years she had waited for him to return. Three years he had fought for her. And now, at last, the sea gave her what it had taken, what the DeepMother could never have: love returned.
She turned to kiss his palm, letting the warmth of his touch ground her. Then, leaning in, she pressed her lips to his again. It wasn’t a kiss of reunion. It was a beginning.
Her voice carried the weight of every moment that had led them here.
“Aye, Captain,” she whispered.
The stars stretched above them, endless and full of promise. His arms wrapped around her, and she lost herself in his embrace as the sea breeze whispered what they already knew: some treasures weren’t gold, but they were worth the wait—and worth the fight.
Epilogue
TWENTY-FIVE YEARS LATER
Robert set foot on Rogue’s Isle and tipped his hat to a merchant leaving for the day. He scanned the neutral place and made his way to the tavern, The Drunken Sailor. A second figure joined him—Danna, her coat smelling of sea spray and conquest. She didn’t need an introduction. The room knew. The North Sea bowed to them. Two Pirate Kings, two thrones, one ship, united by fate, passion, and the prophecy of a sea dragon spike.
Nothing had ever come of Cain’s relic. Despite Danna’s protests of keeping it in the beginning, Robert had kept it bolted to his mast as a sign of power and reverence. They saw how ships stayed away, knowing it had the relic. It kept his fleets safe on the lawless waters. Perhaps it was all just a myth from ancient times, but the relic held importance, reverence, and respect; it would protect anyone tied to it, until the world’s beliefs changed.
“Spiced rum,” Robert ordered, and the keeper slid two bottles across the worn wooden counter. Robert popped the cork of one and threw his head back, taking a swig. It burned good all the way down, reminding him of battles won and promises kept. He ran a sleeve across his mouth and licked his lip.
“Good one,” he told the keeper with a nod.
“Only the best for Captain Jaymes and Captain Chadwick,” the keeper said, before he gestured to the corner of the room. “And Captains, there be a man waitin’ for ye at yer table.”
Robert lofted an eyebrow, changing his speech to match the keeper’s. “At me table?”
“Aye,” the keeper said and threw his gaze toward the dark corner of the tavern.
A man sat cloaked in shadow, his fingers tapping the rim of an untouched mug. The hood of his cloak obscured his face, but sand-colored curls peeked from beneath it.
“He ain’t moved since he came, ain’t touched his drink either. Only watchin’. Waitin’,” the keeper said low.
Robert’s instincts flared to life. A man who sat too still, drank too little, and stared too long was either desperate—or dangerous.
A shiver of intrigue raced down his spine. “Waitin’, ye say?”
“Aye.” The keeper nodded. “Human. Pirate. No name. Hid his face from me. Wears a cloak.”
“In the summer?” Danna whispered, shifting her gaze.
“Methinks he ain’t wanna be known,” the keeper whispered.
Danna gave Robert the nod for him to approach alone. She’d be there if there were trouble. Robert took another swig before shifting off the stool.
Loosely grasping the bottle’s neck, he spun around and walked straight toward his table.
He stood at the head of it. “Who are ye, and what do ye want?”
The man leaned forward under the light. Sand-colored curls peeked out from underneath his hood before he tugged it. “Captain Jaymes, Pirate King of the North Sea, I’m a South Sea pirate, and I’ve got a proposition for ye.” He dropped a flat palm atop a worn scroll. His hand was that of a youth. Barely twenty, if that. The man had refused to tell his name, which unsettled Robert’s stomach. But Robert’s name had traveled even into the harsh South Sea.
Hiding the surprise, Robert leaned over to look at it and scoffed. “A map?”
