Page 66 of Scourge of the Shores
“No?” she asked, lifting her chin. “Could’ve fooled me.”
“Really?” he asked, tugging her head back and nuzzling her neck with his lips in play.
Danna laughed and swatted at him, but he only chuckled before capturing her lips again. She melted into him, fingers in his hair. He was intoxicated, addicted to Danna Chadwick. When she pulled back to breathe, he cupped her face.
With his voice hushed and raw, he whispered, “Until ye’re on me ship and in me bed, yer not mine to keep,” he murmured. “But if ye ever were, know I’d spend every day makin’ sure ye’d always wanna stay mine.”
She searched him—the shimmering crested waves in her eyes calmed to a still, crystal blue. The weight of unspoken words filled the space between them. The wind tugged strands of her ebony hair across her face, but neither moved to brush them away.
Something shifted in her gaze, as if she saw him—not as Robert “The Ruthless” Jaymes, Pirate King of the North Sea, but as the man beneath it all. The one who had given her his heart without knowing if she’d take it. The one who, for the first time in his life, was terrified of losing something he couldn’t steal back. It was then that everything felt unbelievably real.
“Is that a vow?” she whispered, barely audible over the wind.
The space between them felt thin, fragile, but precious and true. The wind seemed to hold its breath. The sea stilled, waiting. Her hand lingered on his chest, right where his heart already betrayed him. He ran his thumb over her cheek.
“Aye, love.” His voice was raw, a vow spoken not just to her—but to the gods, the sea, and to whatever cruel fate had brought them together.
Her fingers curled around his shirt’s collar as she pulled him into a slow, knowing kiss to seal at least one of their possible futures.
Robert strode back into camp, forcing himself to move with purpose. But the weight of his captain’s coat felt heavier on his shoulders than ever before.
The scent of burning wood and salt filled the air, but it wasn’t enough to drown out the memory of her—the feel of her in his arms, the way her lips had yielded to his. He had spent his life chasing the wind, but for the first time, he wasn’t sure he wanted to keep running.
He heaved down on the makeshift log with the fire out in front. Otto, Thane, and Larc had nodded in greeting but left him alone. They knew better than to ask. Pirates didn’t talk about burdens. They either carried ‘em or threw ‘em overboard. They walked off to their tents, leaving Frank beside him.
"Ye look like ye’ve seen a ghost," Frank muttered, tossing a scrap of bread his way. Robert caught it without thinking, but he didn’t eat. The campfire crackled, casting shadows, but the warmth didn’t touch the cold settling in his chest. He hadn’t seen a ghost. He’d just held something he was never meant to hold.
"Tell me, Captain, what’s got that storm brewin’ in yer eyes?" Frank’s voice cut through the camp noise.
Robert didn’t answer. He glanced at Frank before returning his gaze to the fire. He ripped the bread with his teeth.
If he spoke, Frank would either see weakness or the stupidity of youth. He told Danna his greatest doubts, and she’d reassured him he was more than he thought. But in the camp, the pirates: they didn’t care. They went with the best and knocked the least overboard. He was alone.
“Just thinkin’, Frank,” he said.
“About the pretty one, aye?” Frank mumbled and went back to digging into his can of beans.
Robert’s gaze shifted to his Quartermaster. “What makes ye say that?”
“Ye two shared a mighty long gaze this mornin’, and then ye walk into the jungle when ye’re supposed to be sleepin’,” he said before placing a spoonful of black beans in his mouth.
“Just needed to clear me head,” Robert said, and grabbed a stick of salted meat and ripped it between his teeth as well.
Frank scratched his graying hair beneath his scarf and set the empty can down. He peered around before dropping his voice low.
"Ain’t the first time I seen that look in a man’s eyes."
Robert scoffed, trying to put his kingly facade back in place. "What look?"
Frank smirked, though there wasn’t much humor in it. "The look of a man with an anchor he don’t know what to do with. It’ll drag ye under if ye don’t handle it.” He dusted off his hands. "Had a lass once—smart, fierce, stole me heart clean from me chest. But the sea don’t let go easy. Turns out I ain’t the only one with a knife.”
Robert studied him. Frank never talked about his past.
"Let me give ye a piece of advice, Captain." Frank met his gaze. "If ye want her, fight for her. If ye don’t, then let her go."
Robert swallowed hard, the weight of the warning pressing against his ribs.
Frank tossed a pebble into the fire, watching the embers spit. “But I tell ye this: there’s only two kinds of pirates, lad. The ones who fight, and the ones who wish they had."
