How odd, given that she craved it. Cherished it, even. Especially since Kalder was the only man who’d ever seemed to notice that she was a woman and not a mate or ugly hag. “And I’m a grown woman, not a child.”
“You’re still answerable to me.”
Those words set fire to her temper and caused her to laugh in his face that he’d dare to say such to her, as if he were her lord and master. “I answer to no man, Patrick Jack. You’d best be getting your head on straight there, boyo. Make no mistake about it. You went out to sea long ago, gallivanting about what with no cares of home, and left me behind to fend for meself. If you wanted to keepme under your boot heel, you shouldn’t have abandoned me in Williamsburg to me own means. So don’t think for one heartbeat that you’re going to come back now and put a saddle on me like some old nag you be owning and left stabled up with your neighbors waiting patiently for your return. Not going to happen, brother dearest.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying what I’m saying. And you’d best be turning your ears to hear every syllable of it.”
He stiffened as fury darkened his cheeks and turned his blue eyes icy. “And I’m the one what loves you, Cameron Amelia Maire Jack. Been looking after you the whole of our lives. There’s never been a day in your entire existence when me morning hasn’t started with your welfare coming up as the first thought on me mind and your safekeeping being the prayer I whisper before sleep wrestles me into oblivion. So don’t you be taking that shrewish tone now and giving me none of your impertinence in this matter. You think that fish-man loves you? Think again. I know his type. ’Deed I do. All he sees is a fertile, unplowed field he wants to sow and leave planted with his seed as soon as he can. And I’ll be the one what’s left to dry your tears while he’s off on his merry way with another, and you’re long forgotten to him.”
Those words stung deep. Yet not nearly for their indictment against Kalder’s character so much as for her brother’s low opinion of her intelligence. Or her feminine wiles. “Mayhap what you say is true, but few are the knaves what’ll let their own throats be cut open for a mere piece of trim. Virgin, fertile, or other. Believe me, brother,I’m not that big a fool and I’m under no delusion to think meself so precious as all that, to any man. Even you. Especially a maid a man has yet to taste, never mind plow. I knowyourbreed better than that. Ain’t no woman held in such high regard but the most beautiful of our kind, and me looking glass don’t lie whenever I care to look at it. I know exactly who and what I am, and what me true value is. Not a great beauty by any measure or quaffing of beer. Seldom am I even passable. And God knows I don’t lactate ale, nor are the walls of me womb lined in gold. So have no fear that I be blinded by any sort of guile on his part or any other species of male. Me head has never been turned by any man’s honeyed words. But I do know what I owe that man and what he sacrificed for me when he had no reason to, and for that I am grateful, and will always be so.”
And with that said, she stepped around her brother and headed topside to put distance between them before she spoke words towardhischaracter that couldn’t be undone. Or worse, slapped him for the pain he caused her at the reminder that she wasn’t a comely lass. She knew well enough that she didn’t inspire men to forget themselves around her.
Rather, she inspired them to run for the door or into the arms of a more fetching bosom.
It was why she was virgin still, even though she’d worked in a tavern with disreputable rakes and blackguards. Why she was able to pass herself off so easily as a man. She wasn’t the type of woman men wrote sonnets for or that inspired them to forget themselves, not even when they were neck-deep into their cups.
Sadly, she’d had far more women come after her, thinking her aman of prospect, than men trying to get into her knickers. Even some of the boys in her tavern had had a better record of men chasing after them than she had, and that was truly a blow to her ego.
Aye, Cameron Jack wasn’t a head-turner in any sense of the word.
Never had been. Never would be.
But Kalder…
He was exceptional. There wasn’t a woman on board this ship what wouldn’t agree.
And a few of the men, too, for that matter. He had a backside for days. If ever a muse were born to be male, it would bear his face.
Every part of him was the perfection of male beauty. Masculine and strong, he rippled with refined grace and confidence. With swagger.
And that lyrical accent of his…
She could listen to it all day long. He could read a ship’s manifest and make it sound like poetry. Never mind the way his voice carried whenever he hummed or sang in a low tone the ditties of the crew.
If only she were more comely.
Damn you, Paden! Damn your rotten hide straight to the Locker and then some!
“Are you all right, Miss Cameron?”
She paused at the other glorious accent that never failed to lift her spirits. Only this one was sweet and motherly.
Belle jumped down from the mast rigging to land beside her on the deck.
Cameron scowled at her nimble grace. “How is it you do that, woman, without breaking your neck or leg?”
Belle laughed. As a rigger, she was one of the best they had among the crew. “I think nothing of it. It’s like breathing. You should try it sometime.”
Cameron wrinkled her nose as she imagined herself tripping and falling to her death—and that while merely walking over the regular decks. “Nay. You’ve never seen me sorry attempts at sewing. I’d just tangle the sails and then the captain would have me…” Her words trailed off as she glanced up and a weird whispering sounded in her ears. Like rushing fire. Her hair fell loose from its queue and turned stark white at the same time as her wings unfurled from her back.
Writhing from the unexpected attack, she cried out in pain. Normally whenever the Seraphim blood took over, it didn’t hurt, but this was excruciating. Agonizing. It felt as if the flames of hell were engulfing her.
Worse, she could hear the screams of the damned begging for mercy. The voices of those torturing them with their sins, reminding them of the evils they’d done. Loudest of all were the demons who taunted them, and the ones after more victims, promising them the world if they’d sell out their souls.
It was more than she could take. Pressing her balled fists to her eyes, she tried to blot the horrific images. She wanted to claw out her eyes to do away with what she saw. What she heard. To stab out her eardrums. Anything to make it stop.
