Scuttle (The Pirate King Series, Book 2)

Chapter 2: Insubordination

Cade's fast asleep when I lie down next to him, and for this, I am glad. Although Charlie's words continue to weigh heavily on my mind, they have failed to sway my resolve. I'm still against hastening the marriage just to calm my husband-to-be's own apprehensions, no matter how much I love him. If I were to give in now, our union would be forever overshadowed by the circumstances it started under.

 If God wills it, we will be married. But it won't be tomorrow.

 When I wake, the spot beside me is empty. Straining my eyes against the sunlight shining through the glass panes, I find Cade standing at the foot of the bed with his naked back to me. The occasional splash of water and his telltale movements make his actions clear.

I wait for him to finish shaving and keep quiet, unsure if he's still cross with me from last night. We haven't had a proper quibble – certainly not one that involved shouting – since long before leaving the Caribbean. However, I also made it clear he shouldn't get rid of his beard just for me, so his actions right now are puzzling.

I'm hoping it means he wants to forget the whole affair. I'm certainly ready to act as if had never even happened. In spite of knowing what to expect, when he finally turns around I'm still momentarily taken aback.

As he wipes the last of the water and soap off his skin, I recall that night in an island hut when I stitched his handsome face together. That scar – a thick, jagged line running down his cheek – is now prominently visible. Although its ruggedness suits him and does little to diminish his attractiveness, it also serves as a harsh reminder of the brutality of war.

"Put some clothes on, Ana." His words snap me out of my reminiscing. "And none of that lad's get-up. You'll have to settle on a dress, and while you're at it, pack a bag."

I wrinkle my brows in confusion. "A bag? Am I going somewhere?"

"Aye." He throws the towel on the bed before reaching for his shirt. "At midday, every captain in the fleet is meeting on the commander's ship one last time before we reach the French blockade. If you were anyone else, I'd just take you with me and leave quietly. However, given the circumstances, I feel it's best if I told you of my intentions beforehand."

I jump to my feet as he pulls the white, cotton garment over his head. "I realize you must still be cross with me, but—"

"I made this decision well before last night." He cuts me off. "You'll be much safer on the HMS Bedford under Rear Admiral Graves' command."

This directive catches me off guard, and I'm not ready to argue. Instead, I rush toward him. "What about the hours until then? I can help with preparations—"

"There's no need. It's best if you just stay out of the way." He steps back and crouches before the large trunk. Opening the lid, he pulls out my sword and hands it to me. "Don't forget this."

I take the grip and squeeze it tight. Extending my arm, I hold the exquisite piece parallel to the floor. Made of the best metals and encompassing the finest details, it's dainty enough for a woman, but sharp enough to kill.

"What use will this be to me? I don't even know how to wield it."

"Through no fault of mine." He stands. "Perhaps you shouldn't have refused my offers to teach you."

Frowning, I throw the weapon on the bed. "I didn't think I'd ever be exiled from your side, now did I?"

He doesn't argue, knowing my real aversion stems from neither using the sword, nor from battle itself. Rather, it's because of what the object represents.

The crew of the Phoenix Rising gave me the weapon after I helped them steal a great deal of gold from Panama's treasury. Although I appreciate the gesture, I am not prepared to rise to their expectations. I'm woefully unqualified for any leadership position, much less the laughable title of Pirate Queen.