Page 67 of Kidnapped by the Pirate
Nathaniel shrugged despite his shoulders’ protest. He was unable to keep the bitterness from his tone. “I am a prisoner, after all. Just a thing to be bartered. He saw fit to remind me.”
O’Connell sighed. “Well, don’t fret. It’ll be over soon and you’ll be home safe.” He gave Nathaniel a smile.
Home. Safe. The two words rattled around Nathaniel’s mind. He had no home, and the safety he’d felt in Hawk’s arms had evaporated. Had he tricked himself to think that Hawk cared, even a little?
God, was he really that stupid? And truly, what had he expected? That he and Hawk would sail off into the sunset together? He didn’t even know the man’s true name.
He jolted when Mr. O’Connell clasped his arm, kneeling beside him. “Truly, I’ll do everything I can to see you home safely.”
Nathaniel nodded gratefully, then asked, “Where is your home, Mr. O’Connell?”
“Alan.” He shrugged, sitting back and crossing his legs. “And it’s the ship. Wherever the wind takes us.”
“But originally? Was it Ireland?”
He smiled. “I tried to get rid of the accent, but aye. County Clare. My family died when a fever swept through our village. I came across the sea to try my luck in the New World. Never planned on becoming a pirate, but here I am. Life is funny that way.”
“How did you end up on The Damned Manta?”
“I was on a merchant ship in port in Tortuga. Captain Hawk was recruiting. I knew I might die sooner than I’d like as a pirate, but the conditions on the merchant ship were even more deadly. Scurvy was rampant. We had no freedom. No respect. Captain Hawk offered both. He’s a harsh taskmaster, but he’s fair.”
Nathaniel toyed with his food. “I’m sorry about your parents. How old were you?”
“I was nineteen, but my parents survived. ’Twas my wife, Nuala, and our daughter who perished. She’d only just been born. Aileen.” His gaze went distant, and his shoulders lifted with a deep breath in and out. “That was her name. She had a wisp of red hair, just like her mother’s. Would have been freckle-faced too, I reckon, if…”
He took another labored breath. “We didn’t have a chance to baptize her.” Looking down, his Adam’s apple bobbed. “But at least I know my Nuala is safe in heaven.” He shook his head. “Christ, I don’t know what’s gotten into me! I suppose they’ve been on my mind more than usual since that day in the rigging. Facing the sudden end of your life, it…”
“Has an effect.”
Another small smile. “That it does.”
“I’m so very sorry about Nuala and Aileen.” He wished there was something he could say or some gesture to make. He took Alan’s shoulder gently.
“What the fuck is this?” Hawk roared, storming into the tent, reaching for his pistol.
Leaping to his feet so quickly he almost toppled over, Alan backed away with hands raised. “Nothing, Captain. I swear. I just brought his rations.”
Between gritted teeth, Hawk ordered, “Get the fuck out.”
Alan practically leapt for the door, away in an instant. It was Nathaniel’s turn to jump up and demand, “What is the matter with you?”
Fisting the loose neck of Nathaniel’s shirt, Hawk glowered down, hot, harsh blasts of air skimming over his face. “Did you think you’d work your charms on him? Turn the men against me?”
“Well, I am a whore, according to you.” Nathaniel leaned in, going up on his toes, their noses close to touching. “But no. I was simply listening to him tell me of his dead wife and child.”
“Why should I believe you?” Hawk shoved him back a step, looming over him with his bulk.
Nathaniel unclenched his hands and grabbed Hawk’s shirt, digging in his heels, determined not to give another inch. “You know what I think? You’re jealous. But most of all, you’re afraid.”
Hawk shoved him away and made his escape. Nathaniel staggered but stayed upright. He paced around the tent for long minutes, blood rushing in his ears, the urge to punch something nearly overwhelming.
Finally the fight drained away, and he sank back to the nest of blankets. Determined not to weaken himself, he had a bite of fish but almost hurled it back up, his stomach too knotted to eat.
Of course that reminded him of when he’d vomited all over Hawk, and Hawk hadn’t been angry at all. He’d tended to Nathaniel so kindly and brought him into his bed for comfort.
Why had he done that if Nathaniel was nothing but a hole to fuck? Why had he taken such care later to bring Nathaniel pleasure with his mouth and hands? Read to him for hours even when his voice became hoarse?
Putting his bowl aside, Nathaniel curled atop the nest of blankets again. Burying his face, he inhaled deeply despite himself. He’d become accustomed to Hawk’s smell—a woodsy scent and the salt sea spray that clung to his skin. Accustomed to the sounds he made—low grunts and groans, but also small sighs when he thought Nathaniel was sleeping.
