The Pirate's Revenge Read online

  He could not admit his knowledge did not come from mere observation so he remained silent. Then, when it seemed she would not go on unless he spoke, he indicated the seashell.

  “Does it have a name?”

  “Doesn’t everything?” She grinned, and the sun, which was beginning to set, looked less impressive than the sparkle in her eyes. Holding it aloft, and pointing to the flat edge, she said, “See this? It is where the other side, the matching piece, was attached. And, see how it arcs around, with these lovely ridges coming out from this point? It is definitely something worthy of a name, don’t you think?”

  Now he saw more than he had before. She was right, there looked to be a point where another bit attached. The alabaster hue was nearly iridescent as the sun’s rays shone onto its surface. Watching her finger trace each ridge in slow, reverent fashion, his mouth went dry. She nearly caressed the seashell, her touch was so soft and tender.

  It was difficult to speak, but he forced himself to do so. His curiosity was so intense he could not wait another moment to learn the truth.

  “So, Miss Sweet, what is the thing called? Please do not keep me in suspense any longer, I beg you.”

  With wide eyes and a kind smile, she met his gaze. “Why, it is aptly named. You have found an angel’s wing. And, it is said that whoever finds a matching wing…”

  His heart stopped while he waited for her to finish. She stared into his eyes, and he thought he might fall into them, they were so astonishingly attractive. When he could not wait another second, he leaned closer and asked, “Please…what happens then?”

  She looked out to sea. Shrugged. And, this time twin blooms of color appeared on her cheeks.

  “It is said that when two people find matching angel’s wings, they are being pulled together by the angels themselves. It is said that it is…well, it is a match made in heaven.”

  Chapter 5

  Mary leaned down, grabbed the greenery peeking from the dark, rich soil, and tugged. The weather had been so perfect, warm enough that the ground had heated and stayed that way, and the root crops were larger than they tended to be under lesser conditions. So, although she tugged, the carrot did not budge.

  “Come on, now, don’t be that way.” She wrapped her fingers tighter around the soft, feathery carrot top and pulled a second time. This time, harder. And, she muttered as she felt the vegetable begin to come loose, “That’s right—get out here so we can eat you for supper!”

  A voice, from behind. One belonging to someone she’d rather not witness her speaking to vegetables. The carrot popped free and she sat back onto her heels with a small grunt. Another thing she wished wasn’t witnessed, but none of it could be helped.

  “Do you always speak to your food before it sees the dinner plate?”

  She turned, and when she met Henry’s gaze, she arched an eyebrow in a futile attempt to look unperturbed by his amusement. It was, of course, ridiculous. His grin was contagious, so she smiled.

  “Always. Don’t you?”

  He chuckled, the sound so wonderfully masculine and unexpected, it sent her heart skittering in her chest.

  “I am not in the habit of addressing my vegetables, although now that I have seen the effect of doing so, I just may give it a try.”

  “Effect?” The carrot held a few clods of dirt against it, so she gave it a shake before placing it alongside the others in her basket. She did not wear a bonnet, as it was still early in the day and the sun was not high. And, she had not expected to see anyone. With the back of her less-dirty hand, she pushed a strand of hair off her forehead. “Whatever do you mean by that?”

  He gripped a tool in his left hand. It was not without some weight, yet he held it so loosely it appeared to weigh nothing at all. He shrugged, raising the tool almost waist high. It passed through her mind that he was much stronger than she had realized. Beneath the work shirt and breeches, there must be some very impressive muscles.

  “Well, while I realize this might get me a slap on the cheek, I have to confess I rather like the way your own lovely cheeks turn pink from…is it exertion? Or the excitement of speaking with your garden’s occupants?”

  She had no mind to slap the man. Quite the contrary. His compliment—roundabout as it was—lifted her spirits higher than they had been in some time. She smiled, shaking her head and sending the errant lock of hair she’d just pushed back tumbling onto her face again.

  “You flatter me with your kindness.”

  “I am merely telling the truth, and taking a chance I may have gotten a reddened cheek of my own for my being so bold. However, you do not look about to slap me…”

  “And that is because I am not inclined to do so.”

  It hit her then that the garden implement he held looked very much like one Father owned. Or, had owned, before his passing. Henry shifted, moving the tool from left hand to right. Then, he held out his free hand.

  “Were you going to rise? It looks as if you have enough vegetables to feed a small battalion. Or, a ship full of ravenous pirates.”

  She considered briefly before she raised her hand to him. He grabbed it, and the touch of his skin against hers sent a tingle along her fingertips and up her arm. His fingers were not strangers to hard work, but she did not mind the callouses that touched her.

  Before she knew it, she was on her feet and Henry released her. When he did, she missed his hand on hers instantly. A peculiar sensation, she thought. It had never been thus with anyone, the feeling that attachment is far preferable to standing on one’s own.

  “Pirates? Not tonight, I’m afraid.” She grabbed the basket handle and tried to lift it. He was right; there was a lot of food in it and it was heavier than she intended it to be. With both hands, she picked it up off the ground and rested it on her hip. “Although it feels as if we could feed at least two pirate ships filled with starving men.”

  He quickly placed the tool on the ground and relieved her of the burden. He held it with one hand, again making something heavy appear featherweight.

  “On the steps?” He motioned to the wide wooden steps leading up to the back door. “Or inside?”

  “The steps will be fine.”

  They crossed the lawn. He put the basket on the highest step, just below the door. Then, he turned.

  “So are you in the habit of feeding pirates?” His mouth turned up at the corners but there was a seriousness in his gaze. When she did not answer straight away, he broadened his smile. Still, the expression did not reach his eyes. “I am only teasing, Miss Sweet. Certainly I do not believe you entertain unsavory types in your home, let alone welcome them to your dinner table.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. At the far end of the property, a spreading oak tree shaded the family burial plot. And, a secret.

  It would not do to give herself away, so she met his gaze with feigned nonchalance. Truth be told, he’d struck a nerve, but she could not let on.

  “Oh, quite the contrary, Mister Titchell. We are very much in the habit of entertaining less savory types in our home. Mother is particularly fond of pirates, as long as they don’t bring their parrots into the house.”

  He’d retrieved the tool from its spot on the grass. Now, he shouldered it and walked back to where she waited. It was near impossible not to giggle at the startled look on his face.

  “You must be joking,” he said with a puzzled frown. “Surely you cannot abide pirates? No one can—can they?”

  “Why, pirates are just ordinary men who pillage and plunder. Why wouldn’t we welcome them into our home?” She crossed her arms across her middle, hoping to hold the laughter bubbling up at bay. Their silly conversation came naturally, and she was enjoying every moment of it.

  “Now I must admit I am sure you are having a bit of fun at my expense.” He shook his head, and the hair he’d tied into a tail with a length of brown leather bounced on his shoulders. “I would sooner believe you would have the King of England to dinner than a rogue pirate!”

  She
laughed, and the sheer joy of it made her laugh still harder. It was not perfectly ladylike, she knew, but she did not care.

  Mother appeared at the doorway. She looked from one to the other, then settled her gaze on Mary. “It is a good thing, indeed, to hear my sweet daughter’s merriment again. It has been silent far too long.”

  Henry flashed an agreeable grin. “I am not sure there is a more pleasant sound than the tinkle of a woman’s laughter.”

  “You are a wise man.” Mother came out of the house and stood on the top step. She seemed better rested than she had in weeks. Her eyes were bright and the smile she gave him was not forced. “I heard something about having pirates for dinner. Were they to be the main course? Or our guests?”

  “They were to be guests.” Mary followed her mother’s example, and folded her hands properly at her waist. She might have laughed like a schoolchild but the time for silliness was past. Almost. “I told Mister Titchell that we welcome pirates at our dinner table. After all, someone must do it, or the world will be filled with starving pirates.”

  Her mother cleared her throat, but she knew it was not an indication of dismay in her daughter’s behavior but an effort to keep her amusement controlled.

  “Well, that may or may not be the case.” She turned her attention fully on the man who still held what Mary now knew was one of her father’s favorite tools. “You are new in the village, aren’t you?”

  “I am, ma’am. Just here a few days, and I already like the place.” He glanced at Mary. “Lobster Cove has many points of interest, and the people have all been very welcoming. I have a job with the smithy. In fact, he sent me to deliver this. He said your late husband wanted it repaired—and it has already been paid for so all you need do is tell me where to store it. And then, I’d best be getting back to the shop.”

  She realized what her mother was going to do an instant before she did it.

  “Would you please leave it in the shed by the side gate? That is where my husband kept it. Thank you for the delivery. And, I wonder if you are free to join us for dinner? My Mary seems to have picked enough vegetables to feed an army…or a boatload of pirates.”

  He did not hesitate. With a tiny nod, Henry said, “I would like that very much, thank you.”

  Chapter 6

  Jeremiah and Joseph were so strikingly identical in their outward appearances they had often been confused for one another, even their own family. That is, until either spoke. Then those who knew them could easily discern one brother from his twin.

  It is said that twins share much more than facial features, and the Sweet sons were no exception. Often one would begin a sentence, and the other would finish it. They rarely disagreed and even had similar dreams, something that began in childhood and had carried them to the present. If ever there were brothers who resembled each other in mind as well as body, it was the two men.

  Joseph was the more restrained brother. When his twin leaned forward, stared at the newcomer, and opened his mouth, the end to peaceful eating was at hand. He put his fork down, glanced at Mary, and raised an eyebrow to alert her.

  Jeremiah looked at Henry for what seemed like a lifetime. Then, he asked, “So how exactly did you learn about Lobster Cove? Doesn’t seem like our spit on the sand village would attract outsiders, does it? Yet you found us without a problem. And, you’ve found your way to our dinner table—and my sister, it seems. Mind telling me just how that happened?”

  “Not very subtle, are you?” Joseph’s words were out of his mouth even as his brother’s left his lips. “Why don’t you just ask the man if he’s a grave robber or pirate, and be done with it?”

  Mary shot Joseph a warning look. It was bad enough one brother interrogated their guest; having the other call him names seemed entirely unsuitable.

  Thankfully, their mother put an end to the conversation. Or, tried to.

  Turning, the matriarch of their small family said, “I do apologize for my sons, Mister Titchell. It seems they have grown accustomed to the sound of their own voices, and have no regard for keeping silent when it comes to things that are not their concern. Please, do not think harshly of them.”

  Mary watched as their guest considered the conversation. He had been mid-chew, so he placed his fork on the edge of his plate and swallowed the carrot in his mouth. She wondered if his words would be harsh, as he had been insulted by her overprotective brothers, but if he felt the slap he did not let it show.

  He favored her brothers with calm looks, then turned to their mother. With a dismissive shake of his head, he said, “I would not think badly of brothers whose only thought is for their family. And, of course, their neighbors. Jeremiah and Joseph are correct. I am an outsider who popped up suddenly in your midst. Why, if I were in their shoes I would most likely pose questions to a stranger.”

  It was impossible to hold her tongue any longer. “No, do not excuse their bad behavior. My brothers should know better than to question a guest at the table. Why, Father would never approve of such goings-on.” She turned to the two men she’d known every day of her life and gave each a disapproving glare. “You know it is true; Father would not be happy you are putting this kind man on the spot. Why, he has recently suffered a grievous loss, as we have done. We should extend every hospitality to him, yet you pepper him with questions. Shame on both of you!”

  Jeremiah sat back in his chair. He glanced her way, but his attention was on the man across the table from her.

  “Is that true? What Mary says about your loss?”

  Henry drew in a long, steadying breath. The room had grown so silent, they could hear him when he slowly exhaled.

  A nod when words did not come swiftly.

  Jeremiah’s tone was less forceful now. “Truly, I did not know. I am sorry for your loss.”

  “You could not know. I am, after all, a stranger in your midst, as you and Joseph pointed out.” He paused, pushing his plate back a few inches. Meeting the gazes turned upon him, he went on. “I lost my family. My father. Uncle. Grandfather. Brothers. I had no reason to remain where we lived. Where I worked. Where I knew everyone, and where everyone knew me. It was…ah, it was painful to be there without them. So, I left. Headed for the coast. And, I stumbled upon your village. It’s as simple as that.”

  “See? He is not a villain or a pirate. You owe the man an apology.” Mary nudged Joseph’s foot with the toe of her boot. He was seated closest to her, and while his twin was out of foot-poking range, he was not.

  A low sigh. Joseph met Henry’s gaze. “My sister is right. We shouldn’t have put your back against the wall the way we did. I, too, am sorry for your loss. And, I apologize for thinking you might be someone to be wary of. Forgive us, please.”

  She felt their father smile in heaven at the sincerity in those words. Beside him, Jeremiah murmured agreement.

  Henry looked ready to cry. His eyes shone and he did not speak for a long moment.

  “I do not know what to say. I have never been treated this kindly…and, I must confess, I am at a loss.” He cleared his throat. Once. Twice. He looked closer than ever to losing his composure.

  Turning to her mother, she attempted to take the table’s attention from him. “Mother, don’t you think the night is nice enough that we should take our pie on the front porch? Molly and I will clear the table and bring the plates outdoors, if you wish.”

  Her sister chimed in, rising as she spoke. “Yes, that is such a good idea. All too soon summer will be over. We’d best enjoy it while it is here.”

  “An excellent idea, girls.” A mother disregarded her offspring’s ages; they would always be girls and boys in mind and heart, regardless of how they aged. With a smile for the man beside her, she went on, “Mister Titchell, would you mind walking me to the porch? I feel a bit tired this evening.”

  “It would be my pleasure, ma’am.”

  He left his seat, went to his hostess’s chair, and helped her gain her feet. Giving her his elbow, he smiled. “It has been a
long time since I’ve been honored this way. A wonderful dinner. Fine company. And now, escorting a lovely lady. What more could any man hope for?”

  “Oh, Mister Titchell, you flatter this old widow.”

  “Why, I’m the one who is flattered. It is a gift to be treated thusly. Thank you so very much for having me in your home. I am, indeed, honored.”

  Mary paused, her hands full of dishes, and watched the two leave the room. He shortened his stride to accommodate the older woman, and bent his head so their conversation had a companionable air to it.

  How smoothly he fits into our lives. He had a secret, and she suspected it was a tragic one, but that did not hold him back from being thoughtful and friendly. They were two traits she admired in a man, and watching how he treated her mother only made the characteristics more heart-melting.

  Jeremiah stood beside her. He spoke quietly, and she knew him so well that she recognized his earnestness. “I am sorry, sister. I did not mean to act the fool.”

  She turned and met his gaze. “I realize you meant no harm. But the man is wounded, can’t you see that?”

  “I can now. I admit, I did not have a notion that he’s suffered so. What happened to his family? Do you know?”

  She hated knowing something horrible had befallen Henry’s kin. “I do not. And, I am not sure I will ever know. He has not had the advantages we have had. That much is clear, and I do not believe he will share so willingly the details of his life with us. Especially if you and Joseph continue to make him so uncomfortable.”

  “We are sorry, sweet bee. Truly, we are.” Joseph looked so contrite her heart softened. It had never been easy for her to stay vexed with them for any length of time. Not even when they had thought it funny to tie her braids to Molly’s while they slept. They’d all been very young and boys’ sense of humor differed from what she and Molly—and their parents—believed amusing. But even then, she could not hold a grudge against the twins.