In The Arms Of My Pirate

Kings and Ghosts

Charles sidestepped in front of the Palmer woman to block her from Lefitte's curious gaze.

"You're captain for less than a month and you already lost your ship and half your crew," Lefitte growled, spitting into the sand between them. "I aught to flog your hide and use it as a new flag."

"Lefitte," Charles said, lifting his fingers to his brow in a mock salute. "Wish I could say it was a pleasure."

The Palmer woman stiffened behind him, and he felt her grip the tail of his coat with one hand.

Lefitte's face broke into a genial grin, and he clapped a hand on Charles' shoulder. "Still the only man who dares to treat me with such disrespect," he laughed.

Charles stiffened under the man's touch, gritting his teeth to contain the urge to strike him.

"What happened?" Lefitte continued, turning to stroll along the beach toward the two ships stuck in the shoal just off of the island's shore.

"The Americans broadsided us and pushed us into the shoal," Charles said, walking beside the pirate king. His looked over his shoulder at the Palmer woman, who stood frozen in shock. He jerked his chin for her to follow. After a moment's hesitation, she followed, her bare feet dragging in the cold sand.

"And the dead?" Lefitte nudged the body of a dead pirate the lay facedown in the sand with his polished boot.

Charles recognized him from his torn clothes as one of the newer men they'd picked up in Barbados two weeks before.

"The ghost took care of the rest," Charles said, voice hollow as the memory of Theodosia Alston flashed in his mind again. Her face, so kind and soft in life, had been full of rage, her eyes dark pits of vengeance.

Lefitte swore and kicked at the sand, sending a puff into the air. "That wench continues to haunt me," he growled.

You deserve far worse, Charles thought bitterly.

John Arseneau, Lefitte's first mate, joined them. "Do no' be so soft on him, my king," the man growled, his thick accent making the words sound even more menacing. "Atwell is no' worthy to be a captain under your command."

Lefitte flicked his fingers in the air as if to dismiss his man. "I would agree," he said, then he shrugged and nodded toward the American gunship. "However, he has regained his ship and captured Captain Flemming's gunship."

Although he hadn't recognized the ship, Charles knew the name. Captain Flemming had been instrumental in the capture of Lefitte's brother a few months before.

"But the crew—" Arseneau protested, looking at the bodies that littered the beach.

"The only death that concerns me," Lefitte interrupted, turning to glare at Charles with curious eyes, "is the man you shot right in front of me. You killed your own first mate."

"He wanted to mutiny," Charles shrugged.

The Palmer woman jerked beside him, her mouth opening.

He shifted his weight, using his frame to block her from Lefitte's gaze again. He gripped her arm just tight enough to serve as a warning.

Thankfully, she remained silent.

Lefitte narrowed his eyes. "As was his right, seeing how you lost the ship and the crew," he said, showing his first sign of displeasure.

"Flog me if you wish," Charles said, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "I can't trust a man after he attempts a mutiny."

After a long moment, Lefitte sighed and shook his finger at Charles, as if he were a frustrated father that couldn't bring himself to discipline his favorite son.