an angry reply, a pirate appeared at the open door. He was young and muscular, with gold eyes and a long shock of dark hair that fell halfway down his back in a glossy ribbon. Garbed in the disturbing attire—or half-attire—of the other pirates, somehow it seemed to fit him. A sleeveless leather vest hung loosely over his bare chest, and snug-fitting buff breeches ended in knee-high boottops. His amber-gilt glance moved from the women to Saber.
“Begging your pardon, Cap’n, but Mr. Buttons says you wanted to see me.”
Saber nodded. “I do. I have a task for you.” He straightened and indicated Emily. “Dylan, please escort this young lady to the mess and see that she is fed. I will depend upon your gallantry to see that no harm comes to her.”
The pirate brightened, and looked at Emily with a friendly smile. “It will be my pleasure, sir.”
Emily didn’t protest when he gave her his arm and drew her up to escort her from the cabin, but she shot a doubtful glance at Angela. Her lower lip trembled.
“Captain Saber,” Angela said immediately, hoping to prevent more hysteria, “we do not wish to be separated.”
“But you do wish for Emily to be fed, do you not? While she is eating, I have something to discuss with you.”
There was nothing she could do, and Angela watched dismally as Emily was led from the cabin. Saber looked back down at his ledger, apparently absorbed in it. Minutes passed, and still he had not spoken or even seemed to recall that she was in the same cabin with him. She stirred restlessly, hoping that she could remain on her feet without losing her balance.
At last he looked up at her, and she felt an odd lurching in the pit of her stomach. Instinctively, she met his gaze with a steady stare. He would not see her cower, no matter how frightened she really was.
Saber did not seem to admire her courage, or perhaps he did not notice it. He moved to the front of the desk and leaned back against it, crossing his arms over his half-covered chest. His gaze was hard, with no hint of sympathy or mercy.
Angela’s nerves grew taut when he continued to stare at her so coldly. She almost jumped when he finally rasped, “A woman aboard ship is considered unlucky by most crews.”
She calmed her jittery nerves. “Really? I thought only barge fishermen were prone to such superstition.”
“While I do not encourage superstition, neither do I proscribe it,” Saber growled. “I much prefer having a calm voyage, with no complaints brought before the mast. If I hear complaints about our new passengers being too much trouble, or causing problems in any type of manner, I will be forced to take—distasteful action. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes. You intend to discipline any sailor prone to complaining.”
He straightened. “No. I intend to rid myself of the problem’s cause with little delay. As we are at open sea, my only option may be to jettison the source. One piece at a time, if I must. Now am I clear?”
She clutched the chair back more tightly. “Very clear.”
“Excellent.”
His gaze rested on her face, making her think of a wary wolf. His long, lean frame looked relaxed, almost indolent. Yet beneath that careless facade lay a ruthless purpose that she had only briefly glimpsed on the main deck of the Scrutiny. Captain Turnower was fortunate to have been given at least a chance to escape.
She swallowed, and hoped her expression did not betray her. For a long, tense moment, there was only the sound of creaking timbers and vague ship’s noises in the cabin, then Saber’s boots scuffed over the thick pile of the carpet as he moved toward her.
She tensed, expecting the worst. When he stopped in front of her, she noticed once again how tall he was, so tall he seemed to blot out the light streaming dustily through the high gallery windows across the cabin stern. He made her feel small and helpless, and she hated the feeling of inadequacy and fear that shot through her. To
“Begging your pardon, Cap’n, but Mr. Buttons says you wanted to see me.”
Saber nodded. “I do. I have a task for you.” He straightened and indicated Emily. “Dylan, please escort this young lady to the mess and see that she is fed. I will depend upon your gallantry to see that no harm comes to her.”
The pirate brightened, and looked at Emily with a friendly smile. “It will be my pleasure, sir.”
Emily didn’t protest when he gave her his arm and drew her up to escort her from the cabin, but she shot a doubtful glance at Angela. Her lower lip trembled.
“Captain Saber,” Angela said immediately, hoping to prevent more hysteria, “we do not wish to be separated.”
“But you do wish for Emily to be fed, do you not? While she is eating, I have something to discuss with you.”
There was nothing she could do, and Angela watched dismally as Emily was led from the cabin. Saber looked back down at his ledger, apparently absorbed in it. Minutes passed, and still he had not spoken or even seemed to recall that she was in the same cabin with him. She stirred restlessly, hoping that she could remain on her feet without losing her balance.
At last he looked up at her, and she felt an odd lurching in the pit of her stomach. Instinctively, she met his gaze with a steady stare. He would not see her cower, no matter how frightened she really was.
Saber did not seem to admire her courage, or perhaps he did not notice it. He moved to the front of the desk and leaned back against it, crossing his arms over his half-covered chest. His gaze was hard, with no hint of sympathy or mercy.
Angela’s nerves grew taut when he continued to stare at her so coldly. She almost jumped when he finally rasped, “A woman aboard ship is considered unlucky by most crews.”
She calmed her jittery nerves. “Really? I thought only barge fishermen were prone to such superstition.”
“While I do not encourage superstition, neither do I proscribe it,” Saber growled. “I much prefer having a calm voyage, with no complaints brought before the mast. If I hear complaints about our new passengers being too much trouble, or causing problems in any type of manner, I will be forced to take—distasteful action. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes. You intend to discipline any sailor prone to complaining.”
He straightened. “No. I intend to rid myself of the problem’s cause with little delay. As we are at open sea, my only option may be to jettison the source. One piece at a time, if I must. Now am I clear?”
She clutched the chair back more tightly. “Very clear.”
“Excellent.”
His gaze rested on her face, making her think of a wary wolf. His long, lean frame looked relaxed, almost indolent. Yet beneath that careless facade lay a ruthless purpose that she had only briefly glimpsed on the main deck of the Scrutiny. Captain Turnower was fortunate to have been given at least a chance to escape.
She swallowed, and hoped her expression did not betray her. For a long, tense moment, there was only the sound of creaking timbers and vague ship’s noises in the cabin, then Saber’s boots scuffed over the thick pile of the carpet as he moved toward her.
She tensed, expecting the worst. When he stopped in front of her, she noticed once again how tall he was, so tall he seemed to blot out the light streaming dustily through the high gallery windows across the cabin stern. He made her feel small and helpless, and she hated the feeling of inadequacy and fear that shot through her. To
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