The Pirate Ghost Page 5

  “The voyage did seem cursed,” he continued. “We made landfall in the Bahamas in mid-July but the British were there...a lovely little welcoming committee when we arrived. Of course, they couldn’t know about the ship in Africa, but we had reputation enough in Caribbean waters to give them cause to fire on us. We fought gamely, and God was kind enough to allow for a misty night in which we could slip away.”

  Tess sat enthralled by the tale this man had to tell. He’d traveled the world and fought for his place in it, and now he’d come to an underfurnished bungalow to tell his story to a woman three hundred and fifty years after his death. How this miracle had come to pass, and why, was beyond any reason. But the longer he talked, the more she was sure it wasn’t her imagination.

  “What happened then?”

  “We finally put on provisions in Haiti in August,” he said. “But the storm season was on us then. We wanted to find a port in which to hide, but the fleet was ever in our wake. We set sail again, landing at Jamaica and then running north through the Yucatán Channel past Cuba and on to America where fate dealt us a cruel blow.

  “We thought to be sheltered by the peninsula, you see, but a hurricane curled up behind us, driving us toward shore just at the point where you were swimming the other night. I’ll admit, it did seem that the storm was following us, but to say it was my doing was foolishness pure and simple. Yet that’s what they did.

  “I think it was my booty they really wanted,” he said knowingly. “They accused me of taking a greater share of the spoils since assuming my first mate’s duties. Incidentally, that wasn’t true. Cheating a shipmate was a good way to get killed. I resented the implication, and told them so, but they persisted, saying I was a cheat and a Jonah and they’d have a look in my kit to make certain. I’d have none of that, and told them I’d sooner throw my booty overboard then let them paw through it.”

  Gabriel paused, reflecting, and then said, “I think now that it was probably a foolish thing, what I did. I was angry and not thinking right. I just threw the leather satchel in which I’d kept my share over the years right over the side of the ship.”

  “You threw your money over?” Tess was shocked and confused. It seemed that the point of everything had been to gain money, yet he threw his away on a point of honor among thieves. “Why?”

  “I could read the storm well enough to know we wouldn’t be long on the surface,” he explained. “I couldn’t swim a stroke, myself, and surely wouldn’t have gotten far with a bag of gold in my hand. No, I threw it away just to make them cry for it. I think now it probably made me look the more guilty that I wouldn’t let them see what was inside the bag. I should have handed it to them and thrown my fancy amulet over instead. But they angered me, and I don’t think too well when angered.”

  “That’s when you went over the side?” Tess asked.

  “Yes, immediately after my gold. I went down like a rock and never even bobbed to the surface. It’s not really so bad a way to go compared to some ways I’ve seen people die.”

  “What about your ship?”

  “Thirty miles due north of my bones lies the wreck of the Maria Louisa,” he said quietly. “She went down with all hands and all her stores and fittings, and every man of the crew took his gold down with him.”

  “It must be worth millions now.”

  “Aye, I suppose that it would,” he agreed. “If a fellow knew where to look, he could have a king’s ransom.”

  He didn’t need to point out that he knew where to look; his broad grin said that quite eloquently.

  TESS ONLY WENT TO BED that night because she couldn’t avoid it. She had no desire to quit talking to Gabriel. She kept looking for some magician’s trick to give him away as an imposter, but every word the man said, every movement he made, proclaimed that he was telling the truth. From his accent and quaint manner of speech to the rolling way he walked, he was what he said he was—a sailor from the era of mainsails and mizzenmasts.

  Besides, there was no earthly reason for anyone to want to convince her that he was a seventeenth-century ghost.

  The possible reason for his presence was unclear, however, as was any explanation as to how he came to return. But it seemed to Tess that none of that made any difference since he was obviously here regardless of the cause.

  She had to admit to herself that she did harbor a small wish that he had returned in order to retrieve his pirated gold. She could well imagine the bounty of the ship that still lay buried in the sand beneath the gulf off the coast of Florida. He would obviously need a living partner to help bring it up, wouldn’t he?

  The vision of gold doubloons and sparkling jewels shimmered just beyond reach as sleep claimed her that night. Gold doubloons and Gabriel’s wonderful green eyes...

  AFTER TESS WENT TO BED, Gabriel experimented with this new physical world for a while. He wasn’t tired, hadn’t been for over three hundred years, and he was just as perplexed by his circumstances as Tess was.

  He tried picking things up—books, small bowls, various other objects—all without success. He found that he could grasp Tess’s coat and a glass from which she drank, but not her books and writing implements. This puzzled him for a moment. She had obviously touched the books and printed matter, or else they wouldn’t be in the house. They must be hers by right of ownership. Why couldn’t he touch them, as well?

  Then he knew. She had had intimate contact with the coat by wearing it, and the glass had felt the touch of her lips on its rim. The thought of her lovely lips touching the glass made him smile.

  It was the intimate contact that made the difference. He put his hand on the ribbon that held his hair in confirmation of that thought.

  His dear Camille had tied the strip of red ribbon around his hair as a gentleman’s adornment when his hair was only at his shoulders. She had taken the ribbon from her dress. Though he hadn’t worn it exclusively over the years, he had kept it and used it often when his hair wasn’t cut short or braided. It was Camille’s ribbon, and after her death, it was all he had besides her memory.

  Still touching the ribbon, Gabriel looked toward Tess’s door, wondering why her contact should be as strong as his departed wife’s had been. She was a beautiful woman, that was true, but he hadn’t known anything about her before the sounds of her floundering in the sea brought him to her rescue. He hadn’t really expected to be able to touch her any more than he’d been able to touch other swimmers who’d come near his resting place. He’d expected to watch her drown, yet he’d gone to her rescue, hoping things would be different.

  When he had actually been able to help her, he had been pleasantly surprised. And, when he carried her to land and she opened her eyes to look at him, he had felt a surge in his heart that he hadn’t felt in ages. Perhaps he’d never felt that surge except...except with Camille.

  Gabriel walked to Tess’s door and reached for the knob. His hand slipped through it as though it was nothing more than a shadow in the mist. He smiled wryly. A rented house. Then he shrugged and walked through the equally insubstantial wall.

  He was stopped abruptly, his torso and arms snapping forward into Tess’s room and then out again. He stepped back in wonder. Why on earth...? Of course. He was wearing her trousers and they were not designed to pass through solid matter.

  Thinking that it was a foolish whim to want to look at her, he returned to the couch and sat idly waving his hand to and fro through the arm of it. Then he slapped his palms on his knees, enjoying the solid feeling of their impact and the thwack of sound that went through the air.

  It might not be gentlemanly, but he just had to have another look at the face he’d carried up from the deep. Gabriel stood resolutely and stripped off the sweatpants and then walked through her wall.

  He stopped just inside the dark room and waited to see if she had noticed his arrival. She didn’t stir, but continued lying on her back and breathing with the slow rhythm of peaceful sleep.

  Gabriel approached her bed now, his ga
ze focused on her face. Though her eyes were shut, the lids flickered now and then with her dreams, and her lips pursed slightly with each outward breath. She was a fine woman, that was evident. And he remembered the look of honesty and forthrightness that shone in her eyes when they were open. Surely, a beautiful woman.

  He could feel again the surging of blood in his veins as he watched her sleep. He knew then that he wanted to always be there to protect her and watch over her. Perhaps she needed his help, and that was why he was allowed the grace to touch her. But perhaps he needed her help. Or maybe the need was mutual. He sighed. Maybe there was no real reason for his presence here. He was just here and that was all there was to it.

  Teresa Miller, he thought. It was an English name, but he had the feeling that she didn’t hold any special feeling for England. No, he thought now, she explained that she’s American. Besides, there was no real harm in her being English. No, even if she were as English as a tankard of ale, he wouldn’t care.

  She shifted in her sleep, pushing away the sheet that covered her on this warm night. Gabriel noticed then that the first three buttons of her cotton top were unbuttoned. When she changed position on the bed, pushing her covers away, he could see her left breast in the gentle moonlight with the darker flesh of her nipple blending into the shadow beneath her garment.

  Gabriel tried to be a gentleman and look away; he had no business in her room to begin with after all. But he couldn’t force his eyes to move. He knew that if he chose to reach down right now, he could kiss her, as well. He could...

  No, he could not. Gabriel stepped away and backed through the wall to the safety of the darkened living room, his heart pounding. And, though he had neither heart nor blood in his insubstantial veins, he felt himself turning crimson.

  Was this his punishment for leading a pirate’s life? No more fiendish punishment could ever be devised! In this day and age, he could follow his most base instincts with a woman without fear of retribution, but he was of such a mind that he could never do such a thing. By the standards of the social system in which he’d grown, Gabriel Dyer was no gentleman, but by any other standard he was.

  Well, if this was his punishment, he would make the best of it.

  He chuckled quietly now. Tess would probably think him odd to have willingly killed men in his time, yet blanch at the idea of kissing a sleeping woman, catching her unaware. He slipped into the sweatpants again and sat on the couch. After a moment, he stood, feeling restive in his new surroundings. He felt, well, he supposed that he felt a bit hungry. The feeling bothered him, for he hadn’t been hungry in all his years beneath the waves. Neither hunger nor sleep had assailed him, but he was definitely hungry now.

  Of course, there was the small problem of feeding himself since he didn’t suppose he would be able to touch any of the food in her larder. He didn’t even know where she stored her food. He had heard mention of a kitchen, however, and he remembered what door she’d come through earlier with her glass of juice. He walked into that room and looked around him.

  It was harder to see in this room. Its one window was shaded from the moonlight by a tree in her yard. His eyes landed on a square metal thing painted white. There were many cupboards, too, all closed, and a tall white item matching what he now assumed was the stove. It looked to be only a big box with two doors. Perhaps she kept her fresh food in there. He’d have to find a way to open it.

  He remembered that there had been a scarf in the pocket of her coat. If he was able to touch the coat, he could surely touch the scarf. That, in turn, could be used to open the door of the mysterious box.

  Gabriel hurried back to the living room and returned with the scarf. He was about to slip the scarf through the handle of the white box when a sound behind him stopped his movements. He turned slowly. A man was looking through the window of the back door!

  Gabriel froze, ready to repel the intruder but unsure whether Tess knew the man or not. And could the man see him? Apparently not. He set to work, trying to unlock the door.

  If he was having this much difficulty, then he couldn’t have a key, so Gabriel concluded that he was no friend of the household. He stepped to the side and stood ready. The man finally opened the door and peered into the dark house. He took a step inside, pausing to listen, and Gabriel swung his fist at him with all his might.

  But his fist flew unseen through the intruder’s face, and Gabriel stifled a curse at his stupidity.

  The man seemed to notice something wrong, however. He cocked his head as though sniffing the air for trouble. He took another step. As he lifted one gloved hand, something in it gleamed.

  Gabriel kicked out his covered leg, catching the man at knee level. The man jumped back, startled by the unseen block to his movement. When he looked to see what had stopped him, Gabriel hit him with his fist, which he’d wrapped with Tess’s scarf.

  The man flew back through the door, landing on his rear end on the flagstone patio. He stared without comprehension into the house. Then he bolted to his feet and ran from the yard, with the sound of Gabriel’s laughter giving speed to his feet.

  “I don’t know what business you thought you had here,” Gabriel said aloud, “but you’d be better served to do your calling in daylight from now on.”

  Then, pleased with his work, Gabriel used his knee to push the door shut against future intruders.

  Chapter Six

  “You had a caller last night, lass.”

  “What?” When Tess came into her kitchen, she found Gabriel seated on the floor. He was unsuccessfully trying to eat an apple, which he held with the aid of her good scarf. She frowned, not expecting his first words to concern company at her door.

  “A burglar, I would assume.” Gabriel stood and rather reverently placed the apple on the countertop. “He managed to open your kitchen door, but I sent him packing.”

  “Maybe I missed something here,” she said, “but are you telling me that someone tried to break into my house last night, you stopped him, and then you didn’t tell me about it?”

  “That’s the size of it, to be sure,” he said. “I didn’t see where I should disturb your sleep when the miscreant was well on his way. It was too dark to tell, but I would imagine it was that fellow who assaulted you earlier, miss, and so he was basically harmless.”

  “Yes, Darrell would try breaking in, wouldn’t he?” she mused.

  “That was my assumption, lass.”

  “Gabriel,” Tess said, scratching her head tiredly, “let’s get one thing straight right away. My name is Teresa, or Tess, so you don’t have to call me miss, and for God’s sake, don’t call me lass. Calling a grown woman lass could land you in a heap of trouble in some quarters.”

  “I’ll take that point to heart,” he said.

  “Now what about this burglar?” Tess filled her coffeemaker as he told her what had happened, aching for her first cup of coffee.

  “How did you manage to hit the man?” she asked as she sat at the table, waiting for the coffee to brew.

  “I made use of your scarf,” he said, smiling. He wrapped the scarf around his hand to demonstrate. “I couldn’t have hit him tremendously hard, however, for I see I didn’t bloody the cloth.”

  “Good thing you didn’t. That’s my good one.” She yawned, wondering if she could afford to call in sick today. “I can’t see why anyone would break into my house. I don’t have anything of value, that’s for sure.”

  “You’ve got yourself,” he said earnestly. “And I don’t suppose people have changed so greatly in the past three hundred years that some men wouldn’t break down a door to get at you.”

  Tess smiled at the roundabout compliment. Except for Charles Dumont, it had been a while since a man had expressed thoughts of that kind about her.

  “I wish you would have woken me up,” she said. “We could have called the police.”

  “Police? Do you mean the law now? Lord, girl, why would you want them interfering in your affairs?”

  “Ga
briel, don’t call me girl, either. Okay?”

  “I’m confused by your language. Bastard is fitting enough to say, but girl has become a bad word.” He shook his head in wonderment.

  “It’s not a bad word,” she said, rubbing her eyes. “But I’m twenty-nine years old. I’m not a girl. I’m a woman. Fully developed and everything.”

  “Well, I can see that much,” he said. “It’s the word I wonder about.”

  Tess could see him reddening beneath his saltwater tan, and marveled at finding a man who could blush. “Calling a woman a girl is seen as an insult, that’s all. What if I called you boy?”

  “If you were my mother, I wouldn’t mind. And if you were of the upper class, I’d expect it,” he said, nodding. “And so I see what you mean, for I surely wouldn’t like it coming from the likes of them.”

  “Right. So, when you say girl, it implies you think you’re better than the woman you’re talking to,” Tess said. “I guarantee she won’t like it. Of course, I realize you come from a different time and country. You were raised to think of women as inferior, I suppose.”

  “Now who gave you that impression?” he exclaimed. “Is that something they teach in books these days? That we thought of our women as inferior?”

  “Our women?” She arched an eyebrow. “Well, yes.”

  “Physically, of course. I could whip you with my good arm tied behind me, and you can’t deny that. But no one can outthink a woman, and any man could tell you as much. It wouldn’t have been natural for the good Lord to have made women with lesser strength and not given them the intelligence to avoid a fight. And what of the household? My mother ran the house for eight children and my father drunk half the time. She kept us clothed and fed on an amount of money an English noble wouldn’t stoop to pick up from the street. My father could earn the money with the sweat of his brow, but he couldn’t keep hold of it without my mother. He’da drunk all of it up if not for her.”