Dunham

Chapter 9

9

The rising sun crept under Celia’s eyelids and she stirred against the big, warm male beside her. She opened her eyes and turned her head to see Judas there, lying on his stomach angled away from her, one arm under his cheek and the other dropped over the side of the bunk. His hair, black and silver, mixed with her sun-bleached strands and fanned out across the pillows.

He was snoring.

That he trusted Celia enough to sleep that soundly, alone on what might have been an enemy ship for all he knew, pleased her more than it should have.

… that’s a greeting I didn’t expect.

Not for a heartbeat did she believe his claim that he knew her men would not kill him before he got to her, yet he had taken the risk. From stealing a kiss to stealing her figurehead to stealing into her bed, he had more than demonstrated that he wanted her and would do whatever he had to do to have her.

Rafael had taken advantage of her youth and impressionability, then proceeded to take her love and loyalty for granted. Celia’s husband had nursed an infatuation from afar and feared her rejection of him so much he had had to be coaxed to meet her.

But this man … 

She smiled sleepily and turned until she lay half atop him, inserting her knee between his legs and raising it so it just brushed his soft sac. She caressed one dark, brawny shoulder and kissed the other.

An almost-purr began to vibrate from deep inside Judas’s chest when she stroked his scarred ribs, but otherwise he did not move, leaving her to marvel at what a powerful man he was, both physically and as a commander.

The Silver Shilling was a British ship of the line, with a roster at least four hundred men strong, of whom a third would be marines. There were no pirate vessels of that size. Ships such as his were built for war, not speed or stealth; the number of men needed to sail and defend one was not conducive to cohesion or loyalty; and the number of prizes they could expect to take would not be enough to feed and pay that many people.

I doonna know where ye’ve been in the last year that ye’ve’na crossed paths with Judas … 

His actions during the blockade spoke to his long experience as a commander, because he could not have gained it in one year of pirating on a ketch, much less a ship of the line.

Judas was, in fact, not a pirate and everything about him betrayed it. He was a well-educated and well-seasoned British officer bent on the destruction of the very navy that had trained him. Moreover, she thought he might be from somewhere near Yorkshire, though his accent was far more refined than any she’d heard, and was overlaid with a heavy Oxford polish.

Celia could not fathom commanding four hundred men under any circumstances, nor could she imagine any pirate or privateer commanding such a large contingent, much less leading them into a one-man war against the most powerful nation on Earth. That there were four hundred men who would follow him into that war spoke volumes of his leadership.

She would wager her last farthing he was from landed gentry or a wealthy merchant family. The possibility that he was of noble lineage was too slight, given that the repercussions for such would destroy not only him, but his entire family and the title.

Mrow.

Dindi arose from her place at the head of the bunk and sought to nuzzle her way between them, butting and pushing at Celia’s face and shoulder. Celia shooed the cat away (though not without many protesting meows), but the animal would only obey so far as to hop up on Celia, walk down her body, and perch at the foot of the bunk in a huff.