Page 4 of A Pirate’s Pleasure (Cameron Family #2)

II

B efore she knew it, Skye was standing again upon her own feet. He had drawn her up against him. Contact with his hard muscular body caused her eyes to widen, and he smiled satanically at her betrayal of alarm. Furiously, she tried to squirm from his hold. The sea even seemed to play to his dictate, for a swell took hold of the ship, careening her ever more tightly against him. He held his stance well, riding the sea as an accomplished horseman might ride a wild mount. He laughed aloud, seeing the combination of fear and anger in her delicate features.

“Why, milady! You met my steel with such admirable courage. Would you meet the man himself with anything less?”

“I would not meet the man at all,” she retorted, which only served to amuse him further and bring out a burst of laughter from his rowdy crew. He laughed, too, as he held her. Then another bolt of lightning lit up the heavens as if it threatened to strike the main mast. Thunder burst in a furious roar, and the pirate quieted his laughter to a curious smile. “Alas, milady, but you will have to wait, I fear. The gods of wind and water seek to keep us apart.”

“May the gods let you choke—” Skye began, but she never finished, for she cried out as she found herself lifted and cast over his shoulder with determined force. He had played with her, she realized, but he played no more. The day had made him sober. She struggled against him, but he ignored her, holding her firmly with ease, and striding across the deck, shouting commands. “Fenwick, you will captain our prize—”

“Let me down!” Skye screamed, pummeling furiously against his shoulders. “Let me—”

“Milady, shut up!” he commanded, and she discovered herself choking out a humiliated cry, for his hand landed upon her rump with a fearsome power, bringing tears to her eyes. She was momentarily silenced, and he continued speaking to his men, striding for the rigging as he did so. “Take care with our prisoners, for we will demand ransoms. One-Eyed Jack’s men to the brig if they choose to surrender. Take the guns and any prizes from his ship, then send her to the bottom of the sea.”

“Aye, aye, Captain!” came a dozen replies.

“Get your hands off me!” Skye swore, straining against him. It was a futile effort. With his left hand he caught hold of the mainmast rigging and crawled upon it. The ship pitched and swayed violently again. He was a madman, she decided. The sea was a whirlpool, the wind was vicious, and he ignored them both. Like a wraith he took his ease with the rigging. Rather than fighting him, Skye suddenly discovered herself clinging to him as he crawled high upon the rigging to catch hold of a free-swinging rope. She screamed in sheer terror as she realized his intent.

“Relax—Lady Kinsdale. Relax, and hold tight,” he advised her, but otherwise he gave her fear no consideration.

Then a moment later, it seemed that they were flying. They fell against the coolness of the wind and the soft gray of the sky. She didn’t know if she was plunging to her death or soaring to the heavens.

She did neither, for in seconds he had made an easy leap to the deck of his own ship. Dizzy, Skye struggled to see around herself, and became aware of more of his crew, most of them barefoot, clad only in cotton shirts and knee breeches and many of them whiskered and bearded. They seemed to be of all ages, and to a man, they smiled and waved at her with good humor. It seemed they were loyal to their captain. A cheer went up as he landed nimbly upon the deck with her. Skye thought that they would both tumble at last upon the wooden decking, for the ship swayed starboard as if it would capsize.

Silver Hawk did not fall or falter. His men, too, held their ground, and raised their voices once again in a loud salute. Their captain lifted a hand to acknowledge them, then swung about with her, his prize, in his arms still.

Skye pressed against his back, seeking to plead with his crew of cutthroats.

“I’m worth a fortune!” she cried suddenly. “See that he leaves me be this instant, and my father will reward you greatly!”

“Will he now?” a graybeard called pleasantly.

“Good night, milady!” said another, and they all bowed to her deeply, ignoring her plight.

She cried out in rage again, once more struggling to free herself from her ignominious position upon the pirate’s shoulder.

He spun around again, seeing her eyes as she raised herself upon his shoulders. “What is this!” he said in mock protest. “Why, gents, I swear to you that just seconds ago, she held on to me like an adoring mistress. Women are fickle, are they not?” He did not desire a reply, nor did he get one, and the humor fell from his voice as he spoke again. “I’ll be at the helm, me lads. The wind is howling ever louder. Like a woman.”

“Which is more deadly, Cap’n, do you think? The lady wind that rages upon the sea, or the Lady Kinsdale, shrieking upon your back?”

More laughter rose. “Why,” replied the captain, “the lady upon my back, of course!”

He turned about and strode with her now upon his own ship, past the mainmast and forward. A set of handsome, intricately carved double doors lay before them. He set his hand upon a brass knob and pushed inward. Barely a moment later Skye found herself falling hard upon the large carved bunk in the far starboard corner of the cabin. She gasped for breath, realizing suddenly that the remains of her petticoats and gown were rising precariously to her hips and that she was lying before him nearly naked. She had no doubts as to his intent, but she planned to fight him to the very death if need be. She might lose, but she would fight.

He stood above her, shadowed by the sudden darkness in the cabin, and she rolled as best she could against the wall, pulling the fine-knit bed covering over her exposed limbs as she did so. She tried to meet his eyes in the sudden shadow to dare him to protest, but she could read nothing of his gaze, and fear set into her once again even as she assured herself that she would fight forever.

If she could only see his face now!

But she could not. She could see only the hard, lean length of the man, a silhouette before her. He would pounce upon her, she thought. He was like a hawk indeed, circling his prey, waiting only for the precise right moment to pounce down upon her.

Fear seized her, and in panic she thought to bolt, not knowing where she would run. She tried to leap from the bunk, but landed instead within his arms.

“Bastard!” she hissed, near tears as his arms wound around her.

“Alas, lover, I do apologize!” he said, pressing her back. “That you are so eager to consummate this affair, but I must leave you, milady!”

“Eager! I loathe you, I long to skewer you through—”

His laughter cut her off. She could see his eyes suddenly, or something of their deep blue flame and searing humor. “Take care!” he warned her, and there was a razor’s edge to the sound of his voice. “Lest you be the one…skewered through!”

She knew not if he meant that he would slay her, or if his words carried a more intimate meaning, but his laughter and the soft touch of his breath against her cheeks made her tremble once again, and she braced hard against the steel power of his arms and chest. She could never fight this man, she realized. He was in the prime of life, muscular, powerful, and skillful. She could not best him with a sword, and she would never best him with her fists. She waged her war with a vengeance, and he merely smiled at her futile efforts. He laughed. He gloated. He was completely assured of his triumph in all things. He held her steady against the continual rock and sway of the ship.

“Let me go!” she cried, and she sought to rake her nails over his bearded cheek, but he caught her hand, and the pressure he grimly set against it caused her to cry out, and give up, sagging against him. She became acutely aware of him then as a man, for the black material of his shirt and breeches was thin, and her own clothing gave her no barrier. He was strikingly warm and alive, vibrant. Energy as hot and powerful as the lightning that lit up the heavens beyond them seemed to surround him. To leap from him.

To touch her.

“Please!” she gasped out.

He pulled her closer, and his words curiously seemed to caress the softness of her face. “Where would you go, milady? Would you race out and join the crew, and entertain them, one and all? Or had you thought of the sea? A watery tomb, cold and eternal? I think not.” He released her suddenly. She fell back upon the bed, and his eyes were captured once again by the shadows. She did not think of fighting. She did not think of anything. She did not even think to shrink from his gaze as she lay in dishevelment, her shirts and bodice torn, so very much of her flesh bared to him. She lay back, barely daring to breathe.

She did not even move when he reached out to touch her. His fingers brushed lightly over the rise of her breasts as they spilled from her corset.

She did not even scream, for the touch was brief and gentle, and so quickly gone it might not have been.

“Do not fear, Lady Kinsdale, I will be back.”

She came up upon an elbow then, a certain courage returning to her as he whispered out her name.

“You will pay for this treatment of me!” she cried. “My father will see that you pay, my fiancé will see that you pay—”

“Will he, mam’selle?” he inquired. Hands on his hips, he cocked his head to the side.

“Of course!” Her voice only faltered slightly. “I am to marry Lord Cameron. He will see that you hang!”

“How intriguing. Well, I hope that he is a man of selfless honor, lady, for all of Williamsburg knows that you have spurned your betrothed and sworn that you will not marry.”

Skye gasped, amazed that such gossip could have reached the colony before she had arrived there herself. Then she was furious with herself because her reaction had given away so very much.

“He—he is a man of honor!” she swore quickly.

“And then again,” the pirate captain mused, ignoring her words, “I have heard that Lord Cameron is no more eager for this marriage than you are, but out of respect for your father he has not—as yet—opposed the promises made by his father when he was but a lad of ten and you were within your cradle.”

“How dare you—” she began, her voice low and shaking.

“Oh, mam’selle, I am afraid that you will soon discover that I am a man to dare anything. But for the moment, if you will be so kind as to excuse me—”

“Sir, there is no excuse for your vile existence, none at all!”

He merely smiled. “Adieu, milady.”

“Wait!” she cried.

He paused, arching a brow. “What, mam’selle?”

“You can’t—you can’t leave me in here!”

He gazed at her in startled surprise. “Lady Kinsdale, it is the finest cabin on the ship, I assure you. You will be safe.”

“Safe!” she screeched.

He grimaced at her with casual humor. “Safe—from the storm, milady. Until later,” he said. He bowed with courtly gallantry, and then he was gone. Skye heard his long strides take him to the doors. They closed behind him, and she heard the sure sound of a bolt sliding home. She was locked in, alone and wretched, and surrounded by darkness, and by fear.

She couldn’t bear it. The darkness pressed in upon her. The walls seemed to press closer and closer.

She had been trapped within the cabin on her own ship, she reminded herself.

But there had been light then. Not this terrible darkness.

It seemed that endless moments passed in which she just lay there, listening to the wind. It shrieked, it groaned, it screamed. It rose over the sounds of the slashing rain that had begun, and like a woman, it seemed to cry. The ship did not stay still for a second, but rolled and tossed and pitched and spun, and in time Skye realized that she was clinging to the sheets and knit coverlet. She lay there quaking, and when she wasn’t fearing the awful darkness, she feared the man. She shouldn’t be fearing the man, she told herself, not at that moment. She should be praying that they survive the storm, for she had never seen a night so savage.

Lightning flashed, illuminating the cabin. It was a vast space, she thought, for a ship, set high upon the top deck of his fleet ship. The cabin! She needed to think about the cabin. It was large enough for his bunk and shelves and tables and chairs and a stove, trunks, and a built-in armoire. The high square windows probably looked out on the churning sea by day, Skye thought, but now they were covered by rich velvet maroon drapes.

The glow of lightning no longer illuminated the cabin, but Skye continued to register in her mind the things that she had seen. The shelves were lined with books, the desk was polished mahagony, and the chairs were heavy oak, upholstered in brocade. It was an elegant cabin, a cabin for a captain of prestige and means and manners, not the cabin of a savage pirate.

He’d seized the ship from some poor suffering fool! she reminded herself. Indeed, he was a thief of the vilest sort, a rapist, a murderer, a scourge upon the seas.

And he would come back to this cabin.

Unless she lay trapped forever in the darkness.

Growing more and more agitated, she tried to rise. The sway of the ship sent her flying back down to the bunk. She tried again. She moved carefully this time, holding to the wooden bunk frame, then plunging toward the doors. She slammed against them, and nearly gave way to a flurry of tears. They were bolted tight. There was no way out for her.

She sank against the doors, fearful that the ship would sink, and that she would be caught within the cabin.

Skye brought her fingers pressing against her temples. Fear came against her in great, suffocating waves then. It was worse than facing the pirates, it was worse than facing ruthless steel. She could not stand darkness; she could not bear it. Ever since she had been a child, on the awful day that her mother had died, she had feared being locked away in the darkness.

She leaped back to her feet. She beat against the door, screaming, crying until she was hoarse. Tears streamed down her face, and her voice rose higher and higher, rivaling the cries of the wind. She beat against the wood until her hands were raw. Her voice grew hoarse, and she sank to the floor, nearly delirious.

Then suddenly the door was thrown open. A man, young, dark-haired and clad in nothing but knee breeches, stood there. Rain dripped from his features and sluiced down his chest.

“Lady, what ails thee—” he began, but he was never able to go further for she sprang to her feet and leaped past him, straight into the riveting rain, into the tempest of the wind. She heard the shouts of the men as they fought to stabilize the ship. She heard the waves, lashing hard against the bow. The force of the wind seemed terrible. She didn’t realize its strength until it whipped her bodily about, and she was cast to the deck as if by a heavenly hand.

An oath was suddenly roared out above her. She moved her hand over her eyes, shielding them from the onslaught of wind and rain. Hands were reaching for her and she was plucked back up and sheltered by broad, strong arms.

“What is she doing here?” Silver Hawk demanded.

“She raced by me. I’d no idea, Captain—”

“Get to the helm!” His eyes lowered to her. “I’ll take you back to the cabin.”

“No!” she whispered, but he had already brought her there with his long, determined strides. He shoved the door open with his foot and cast her down to the floor with a vengeance.

“Fool!” he swore to her.

She ignored him, and sat there in a spill of tattered, damp clothing and wind-tossed hair, cold and wet and shivering..

Lightning scorched the night and created a golden backdrop for the darkness of his form. It shone in upon Skye where she knelt upon the floor in her tatters of velvet and lace, her hair free and tangled and spilling all around her.

He stood before her and she stared upon his black boots. They glistened with the glow of the rain that had drenched him. She looked up slowly. His shirt and breeches were skintight against his body, plastered to his form.

Skye drew in a quivering breath that sounded like a sob.

“No! Don’t go!”

She was hurt! he thought, and he strode quickly toward her, hunkering down by her side and lifting her chin. She trembled. From head to toe she trembled. But as he looked at her he saw that though her eyes were wide and dilated, she showed no injury.

“What in God’s name are you up to?” he demanded.

“Let me out of here!” she told him.

“Nay, lady!” he said harshly. “You’ve seen the storm!” Her words were a ploy. The fool girl meant to flee him at any cost.

“Please!” she whispered, and despite his better judgment, the curious plea tore at his heart. He had never seen a woman fight as she had earlier. Perhaps she was as good at acting as she was at swordplay.

He shook his head with impatience. “Lady Kinsdale, the storm is lessened, but it has not ended. You must remain here.” He stood, and headed toward the doors.

“No!” she cried, leaping to her feet. She caught his hand. “Take me with you! Please, take me with you—”

“You are mad!”

“No, I—”

“The winds nearly swept you over, Lady Kinsdale. And you are worth far too much for such a fate.”

“Don’t leave me!” she pleaded.

He paused, looking at her hands, small and delicate, upon his own. They were as pale as cream and as soft as velvet. Her nails were long as were her fingers, and they spoke of a genteel elegance. Amazed, he looked into her eyes.

She wasn’t looking at him. She was, but her eyes went through him, and beyond him.

He took her hand, freeing his own. “I cannot take you out there.”

“Then give me a light.”

“Milady—”

“Please!” He stared at her, trying to fathom this woman, and she took his hesitation as a denial. “Please!” she repeated. Her voice lowered and cracked. “Leave me with a light, sir, and I swear that I shall…”

Intrigued, he paused, watching her carefully. “You shall what, mam’selle?”

“I shall—” She paused, but went on then. “I shall repay the kindness.”

“You shall repay…the kindness?”

“Yes!” she screamed.

He arched a brow, inclining his head, taking his time. “Milady, my apologies, but I would that you be a bit more specific. We pirates are known for being dim-witted.”

She wanted to kick him. She might well have done so except that he seemed to sense her intent and carefully caught her by the shoulders, drawing her against him. His eyes bored into hers. She felt his breath once more against her cheeks, against her lips. Curiously, his breath was sweet. It smelled of mint. His teeth were good, his own, and clean and white and straight and handsome, flashing with his every dangerous smile. His beard covered most of his face, but she thought that it was probably a striking face beneath the dark mat, ruthless perhaps, and formidable, but striking nonetheless.

She was thinking this of a pirate. A man who intended to rape her, and barter her back to her father or fiancé.

And worse, she was ready to promise him anything, just so long as he didn’t leave her in the darkness again.

“What are you saying, Lady Kinsdale?” he demanded softly.

“I will do anything you want!” she lashed out. “Just so long as you don’t leave me again in the darkness.” She hesitated again and then whispered desperately, “I promise!”

He stared at her long and hard. Rather than being pleased by her promise, he seemed to be furious. He shoved her away from him. She stumbled, but she did not fall. He strode across the room to the bookcase and she saw that there was a lantern there, protected from falling off the shelf by wooden laths, just as the books were protected from being thrown about the cabin.

Watching her with that same curious fury, he found a striker and flint and went to the stove first, lighting the coals. As the glow rose around him, Skye realized just how cold she had been. He must have been freezing, too, she thought, for he was drenched. Despite herself, she found her eyes wandering over him. Muscle and sinew were delineated clearly.

His eyes fell upon her and she found herself shivering. With great deliberation he found a length of match and lit the lamp from the fire in the Dutch stove. He set the lamp back in its place. “Don’t touch it or the stove,” he said harshly. “I would not survive the storm to burn to a crisp upon the sea.”

“I won’t let anything burn. I promise.”

“You are quick to hand out promises, Lady Kinsdale,” he commented.

She shrugged, staring at the warmth of the fire, ignoring him. He kept watching her. She shivered anew with the warning tone of his next words.

“You will keep any promises you make to me, milady.”

She nodded, playing only for the moment. Light and warmth flooded the room, and courage began to seep back into her along with the warmth. Then he took two steps toward her and she knew that he meant to touch her then and there. Despite herself she screamed. He ignored her, catching her shoulders, dragging her close. “No!” she gasped, seeking to stop his hands as they fell upon her bodice. Little was left of her gown; he found the ties of her corset and tugged upon them.

“Wait!”

“Your promise, milady!”

“You said you were going back out! The storm! The wind, it still rages, stop, please, you must—stop!”

“Be damned with the ship, mam’selle!”

“We’ll drown!”

“Happily shall I die in your arms!”

Her bodice came free and her breasts spilled forth. Color bathed her face, but he barely glanced at her, swinging her around and plucking her torn wet gown over her head. Desperately she flailed against him, but managed only to entangle herself in her clothing. Then suddenly she was naked, shorn of her gown and corset and even her shift, and left only in her stockings and garters. She stared from the pool of her clothing cast upon the floor to his face, and his eyes so cold upon her, denying his taunting words. He took stock of her in a calculating assessment. His gaze was so icily cold that she did not even think to cover herself, to draw her arms about her. He did not in the least seem to appreciate what he saw; indeed, it was almost with disdain that he swept his eyes over her body. He hated her, she thought. But then he took a step toward her again and she screamed with pure primal dread.

He did not touch her. He wrenched the knit coverlet from the bed and tossed it upon her nakedness. She stumbled to her knees as she caught it, sweeping it around her shoulders and hovering there, her eyes lowered.

“You’ll die of pneumonia and be worthless to me, mam’selle, if you do not dry off,” he said curtly. She did not answer him. She saw his boots before her lowered eyes. His gleaming black boots. She did not look up.

The boots moved. He turned around and strode toward the door. He paused there and spoke very softly. “Don’t deceive yourself, Lady Kinsdale. I have not forgotten your promise. You do give your oath freely, mam’selle. And with little meaning, so it appears. What you promise to me, you will give.”

She heard the slam of the doors against the wind, and then he was gone.

Skye pulled the cover more tightly around herself. The cabin slowly became warm, and it was bright and comfortable.

And she slowly ceased to shiver, and when she did, she hated herself. The fear! It was so awful, and so ridiculous. She had humiliated herself before the very dregs of the earth because of it. She had made a promise to a pirate!

Suddenly she was shivering again, remembering the way that he had looked at her, as if he hated her. As if he knew her, or knew something about her, deep inside, and hated her for it. What?

Why should she care?

She should cling desperately to every moment that kept her away from him.

He teased her now. He taunted her. He would come back, and it would be all the worse for her because he hated her, too.…

At least he had all of his teeth. And he didn’t smell bad. His husky whispers carried the scent of mint.…

What was she thinking?

Skye bolted to her feet and raced to his desk. She tore open drawer after drawer. He was a pirate, wasn’t he? He had to be carrying about some kind of grog.

But his desk was empty. As she stood there perplexed, the ship took a sudden harsh keel and she landed flat upon her derriere. She swore softly and wished heartily she were back in London. London! Suddenly she loved it. There was so much there! Not the struggling new city of Williamsburg. In London there were balls and there was the theater and the opera and the elegance of court. In London there were rakes and rogues, of course, but they were of the civil kind, and a lady could not fall from virtue unless it was her choice. In London, there were no pirates!

She had loved her home in Williamsburg before she had left it. She had loved the beautiful streets, so carefully laid out when it had been determined to move the capital of the Virginia Colony from Jamestown to the place that they had previously called Middle Plantation. She had loved the College of William and Mary, and the capitol building they had built. The homes were clean and bright with white picket fences, and sometimes it seemed a raw place, and sometimes it seemed incredibly exciting to watch it grow. When she had been a child they had begun the grand mansion for the governor, and now, so father had written, Governor Spotswood was moving in. At one time, it had been so beautiful to her.…

But now she was being forced to return home to marry a stranger who lived out in one of the godforsaken plantations.

No. She was a pirate’s captive. A plaything. And the pirate didn’t think that her fiancé would avenge her honor. Perhaps, the pirate had suggested, Lord Petroc Cameron would not even offer to pay a ransom.

Her eyes fell upon a rosewood caddy, that she hadn’t noticed earlier, by the side of his desk. There was a decanter of brandy and four stemmed glasses there, held in place by brass racks. Skye quickly stumbled to her feet and filled a glass with the brandy. It was hot and it burned, and it was the most delicious drink she had ever tasted.

She coughed and sputtered, and filled another glass.

The light, the warmth, and the alcohol quickly restored her courage. She railed at herself for having been such an awful coward, but the moment was past now, and the damage done. She had to look to the future. Setting her glass down once again, she began to search through the desk. There had to be a weapon here, somewhere.

There wasn’t. All she could find were ledgers and maps. Frustrated, she slammed the drawers.

She paused for a moment. The ship was not swaying so violently anymore. The storm was breaking.

He could come back at any moment.

Inspired with renewed energy, Skye dove toward one of his handsome traveling trunks. She cast it open and came upon an array of stockings and breeches and vests and shirts and coats.

They were in differing styles and fabrics, but they shared one common trait. All were in the color black.

“Damn!” she swore softly, despairing that she could find some help for herself. Then she lifted the last of the shirts and discovered a blade at the bottom of the trunk.

She gasped, for she had come upon a short broadsword, a two-foot weapon honed to a razor’s sharpness on both edges. She held it in her hands, dreaming of freedom. Then the blood drained from her face as she wondered how she would manage once she had slain the captain.

His men would slice her to ribbons.

She could capture him. She could hold him hostage and demand that his men bring them into the Chesapeake Bay, and down the James. Perhaps she could capture the entire ship.

She sighed, shuddering. She would not capture the ship. But neither would this pirate, the Silver Hawk, ever touch her again and live to tell of it.

There were footsteps beyond the door, coming very close to it. She froze for a moment, then they moved away. She heard laughter now. Voices rising over the sound of the wind.

They had bested the storm.

Skye hurried toward the bunk. Wrapping herself, she put the evil blade close within the coverlet, then scurried as close to the wall as she could. Her heart raced furiously. What should she do? If she feigned sleep, perhaps she could buy herself more time. He would have to be exhausted when he returned. He had battled the other pirates, he had battled her, and he had battled the storm.

She heard footsteps again. And again, they paused before the double doors. She had just begun to relax, thinking that the footsteps would move away again, when the doors flew open.

And the Silver Hawk stepped into the cabin.

Skye closed her eyes and hoped that she appeared very small.

And very pathetic. Then she wished that she had not curled so completely toward the wall, for her back was exposed to him.

Every fool knew not to expose his or her back to the enemy!

But she dared not turn, lest he suspect that she was awake. And so she strained to listen, hoping desperately that he would leave her be.

She heard him close and bolt the doors, and she heard the sounds of his boots against the wood as he moved into the cabin. He paused before the stove, and she could imagine him warming his hands. Seconds later, she nearly screamed, for the bunk shifted as he sat down upon it. His boots clunked to the floor. Then she could hear little, but she was horribly aware of what he was doing. His sodden shirt struck the floor to be followed by his breeches and hose. She heard the curious smacking sounds as the wet fabric slapped against the floorboards.

She waited for him to touch her, or to stretch out beside her.

He did not.

He rose and silently padded across the cabin. She heard a tinkle of glass and knew that he had gone for the brandy. His soft laughter assured her that he realized that she had been into the liquor already.

He poured himself a drink, and then there was absolute silence for so long that Skye feared she would scream and slit her own throat with the double-edged blade.

She heard nothing else.

She felt his touch. Soft, light, and subtle. It came against her so suddenly that she barely refrained from jerking away.

His fingers ran over her blanketed shoulder, and down the length of her back. He paused, then ran his hand over the protruding curve of her derriere.

She bit into her mouth to keep her silence, and she waited, praying.

His weight came down beside her, and he touched her no more.

She would wait, she thought. She would wait, and he would fall asleep, and she would have him at her mercy.

But it didn’t work out that way. Skye tried to listen for his even breathing. It was late, and he had worked hard, surely. No, it was no longer late, but early. The sun was rising. The fire in the stove still warmed the cabin, but light from outside glowed against the draperies. It was day again.

And still, he moved restlessly. He did not sleep.

Skye waited.…

At some point she ceased to wait. Exhaustion, perhaps, or betrayal by the brandy. He did not sleep; she did so, in truth.

Moments later—or was it hours?—she awoke. Her eyes flew open and she remembered that she lay in a pirate’s bunk with only her hose and garters and a coverlet and a twin-sided blade. She needed to roll and face the pirate and plan her strategy.

She was already staring straight at the pirate, she realized.

She had rolled during the night, or so it seemed. She lay on her side facing him.

He lay upon his back. His eyes were closed, his deep dark hair was tossed about his forehead. His nose, she thought, was long, and very straight, and his whiskers were far more curly than the hair upon his head. He should shave, she found herself thinking. He probably had a handsome face.

He was a deplorable pirate!

But this morning there was definitely no denying that he was a pirate in his prime. Even in sleep his stature was imposing. His shoulders seemed to stretch the width of the bed, and like his arms they were heavily laden with muscle. He was deeply bronzed from the sun, and his flesh glistened and rippled even as he slept. His chest was furred with crisp dark hair that narrowed at his waist. Below his waist it flared and thickened again and formed a neat nest for…

Her face flamed and her eyes widened and jerked from the grandly protruding piece of his anatomy back to his eyes.

They were open. He was staring at her.

He smiled at her pleasantly. “Ready to keep your promise, Lady Kinsdale?”

She flushed furiously, wishing there were a way to instantly escape life itself. He rolled swiftly to his side and stroked her cheek, and though she tried not to, she slapped his hand away. She tried not to stare into flashing blue eyes, but to keep her gaze fixed upon the ceiling.

His laughter was quick and easy, as if his earlier anger had dissipated. But his face came nearer hers and he caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “You were warned, mam’selle.”

“I am exhausted.”

“Are you?”

“Utterly. How can one possibly fulfill such a promise in such a state?”

“You’re a liar. Why, Lady Kinsdale, I believe that you do not intend to keep your promise at all.”

Her eyes sizzled with a fury she could not suppress. “You are a pirate, sir. You are the scum of the earth. No decent man or woman would begin to imagine that such a vow need be upheld.”

“The very scum of the earth?” he said. “Mam’selle, how offensive!”

“You are offensive!”

“But I am not, milady.…” he whispered softly, his voice trailing away in a haunting whisper. His knuckles brushed over her cheek and his fingers whispered against the length of her throat. She stared at him, unable to move or protest, compelled to silence by the silver-blue command of his eyes. Compelled, perhaps, by more.

“Ah, lady, think! It might have been One-Eyed Jack with his gruesome pitted face, decaying teeth, and lice-ridden body. You’ve done quite well, I daresay.”

“You conceited oaf!” she spat, regaining her composure. He laughed, catching her wrists with one hand, straddling her squirming form. “Conceited, mam’selle? Nay, I offer you cleanliness and sound teeth, and you scoff at the lot of it.”

“Bastard!”

“Ummm!” he agreed, and the touch of his free hand and fingers traveled lower, teasing the mound of her breast. She gritted her teeth, preparing to scratch and rail and fight and find some way to reach the blade at her side. His fingers fell lower and lower, rounding her breast, grazing her nipple. She screamed out with protest, but before she could fight him, he laughed, and his touch was gone.

He had released her. His feet swung over the side of the bed and she lay in ardent misery as he moved about, completely naked and completely comfortable with his state. Skye drew her covers close and felt the cold steel of the blade against her arm. She had wanted to put him at a disadvantage. He was awake now. Awake, aware, and rested.

There was a knock upon the door. With a slight oath he reached for one of the linen sheets upon the bunk, ripping it free and wrapping it about his waist. Skye, aware that he meant to open the door, drew her coverlet more securely over her breasts and bit her lip in consternation.

The handsome young pirate who had encouraged her fight the previous afternoon stood there with a tray. “Coffee, Captain. Sorry that there’s no cream for the lady, but it’s been a bit since we’ve seen a cow. There’s sugar, though, and Cookie’s sent some fine dark rolls.”

“Thank you, Arrowsmith. Have you heard of the lady’s ship?”

“Aye, it’s sailing along behind us just fine. We all weathered the storm just fine.”

“We’ll see that she’s repaired in New Providence.”

“What?” Sky shrieked from the bed. Startled, they both turned to her.

“Wh—where? We’re not headed for the James?”

They smiled to one another. “Why, nay, milady!” the Silver Hawk assured her. “Would you have me hang so quickly? I dare not sail straight up the James! I have no wish to see Virginia.”

“But I have!”

“And so you shall—when your ransom is met. And frankly, my dear, I am in no great hurry for that.” His eyes roamed over her quite differently. They touched her with a shimmering heat. They seemed to stroke her, as if she were a possession, already known, and cherished.

A cry of rage escaped her and the pirate turned to his man with a shrug. He took the tray of coffee and rolls. “Women. You never can please them, Arrowsmith.”

Arrowsmith laughed and cleared his throat. He inclined his head in Skye’s direction and saluted his captain. Then he took his leave, closing the doors in his wake.

Silver Hawk set the tray down upon his desk. He munched upon a roll and sipped his coffee, black and steaming. “You’ve one hell of a temper, milady Kinsdale,” he noted.

“You made him think—”

“Precisely.”

“You are despicable!”

“Am I? I have merely made you my possession, mam’selle, and that keeps you safe from the others—until, such time, of course, that you do see fit to keep your promise.”

“Never!” she vowed to him, her eyes narrowing.

“Another ‘promise’? Then I’ve little to fear.”

She didn’t reply. She stared at him while he watched her, and she felt suddenly very warm inside, wondering at his thoughts. Then she swiftly lowered her eyes, wondering at his mercy. He had wanted her that morning, and easily could have raped her. He teased, he taunted, but he did not move against her in violence.

But how long would his behavior remain that way?

“We sail…where?” she inquired, gathering her coverlet and the broadsword within it. She came to the edge of the bed, and then she stood, looking at him innocently.

“To the Caribbean, Lady Kinsdale. To New Providence, and beyond.”

“And I?” she murmured, stepping forward.

He smiled and shrugged, then turned and deliberately spooned jam upon a roll. His back was to her as he answered.

“I think that you will remain in my company.”

“And I think not!” Skye cried, leaping toward him. Her strategy had been planned, and before he could turn she had reached him, dragging her coverlet in one hand, slipping the other about his shoulder to bring the broadsword against his throat.

He did not flinch, nor blink. Despite the sharp blade against his throat, he offered her a slow smile.

“I have the upper edge!” Skye hissed. “Cease your silly grin lest you would die with it upon your face.”

“And why not, mam’selle? What better way to die?”

“I do not tease or taunt, sir, as is your way. When I threaten, I carry out the threat.”

“Lady, beware, when I threaten, for I, too, carry out the threat.”

Skye swore with the vengeance of a fishwife. “Cease! Now you will summon your men and order them to make haste for the James River!”

“I think not.”

“What?”

He ducked and swirled with such swift agility that her quick reaction still offered nothing but a scratch to his throat. He caught her coverlet, and as his arm cracked down upon hers, sending the broadsword flying. He jerked upon the cloak she had fashioned for herself, and caught within the folds, she went sprawling down upon the ground facefirst.

She quickly rolled, grasping for the covers again, aware of his bare feet, set firm upon them. He did not release the covers to her fevered grasp.

She did not want to see his eyes, but her own were drawn to them, and she had no choice.

Cobalt and dark, they danced with fury. Beneath the fur of his beard his jaw was twisted and set, his lips were grim.

Slowly, slowly, he crouched down beside her. She gritted her teeth as he caught her chin. She tossed back her hair, defying him.

“That was foolhardly, my love. If you ever bring a weapon against me again, you will pay dearly. That is a threat. Is it clear?”

She hesitated, then she clamped down hard on her teeth and nodded. She didn’t want to shiver or show fear today. Not after her performance yesterday. But her teeth were chattering, and when her mouth opened, she softly spoke words that she abhorred. “You will not…you will not hurt me?”

He shook his head, watching her. She flushed and lowered her eyes.

She raised them again in alarm, for he was reaching for her, lifting her. She felt his arms around her naked flesh, and panic filled her. “You said that you would not hurt me!”

“I said that I would not hurt you. I didn’t say that I wouldn’t touch you…or…er, entertain you!” he whispered.

She cast back her head to scream. She did so and he watched with amusement.

Then he seated her before the tray of coffee and rolls.

“Breakfast, Lady Kinsdale. Do you always scream blue blazes when you are offered a cup of coffee?”