“Oh.” The girl gave her a satisfied nod. “Well, why didn’t ye say that in the first place?” She thunked the tankard down on the table, foam from the ale sloshing over the rim and splashing onto Emmaline’s gown. “Sorry about that, Sister. But if ye come into a place like this, it’s to be expected that ye’re going to leave with somethin’ spilled on ye.” She giggled and took off for the next table, leaving Emmaline alone.
Emmaline slowly reached out and picked up the heavy tankard, taking a big drink of ale. Her eyes closed and she let out a sigh. She’d been so thirsty that she could barely swallow. After chugging half the brew, she placed the mug back down on the table. The sounds of the men laughing and talking weren’t so threatening now. Instead, with the ale relaxing her, the noises lulled her into a half-slumber. Leaning her head back against the wall, she felt so tired from not sleeping for the past few days that she immediately drifted off to sleep.
Emmaline was transported back to France, back to a time and place that she wanted to forget more than anything in the world.
“Take it off, Emmaline. All of it,” commanded her new husband, Lord Jean Philippe.
Emmaline clutched her clothes tightly to her neck, afraid of what was to come next. This wasn’t her wedding night. That, thank God, was over. The consummation of their vows had been bad enough and she never wanted to couple with the wretched man again. He’d told her it was custom, and had invited all of his friends to watch. Then, when he drifted off to sleep, the men tried to bed her as well. That night was horrible, but this was the day that really changed her from a lady of stature to being a lady of shame.
“Nay, I won’t,” she told him, eyeing the other man in the room sitting behind a pallet with a paintbrush in his hand.
“Ma chérie, do not be shy.” Her husband chuckled and walked over, placing his hands over hers. “All you need to do is get naked and lie back on the bed.”
“I don’t understand. Why are you making me do this?”
“It’s something I wish to have to always remind me of you, ma chérie. I’ll be the only one of my friends who has a naked painting of his wife.”
“Nay! I can’t do this. It’s wrong and horrible and will ruin my reputation of being a lady.”
“I’ll tell you a little secret.” He leaned over and whispered into her ear, “I actually do it with all of my mistresses, so I want you to do it as well.”
“Your – mistresses? You do what?” This was the first she’d heard of this.
“Oui, I have many that are to my liking.” He clapped his hands and the door opened. In walked five women, all curtseying to him and bowing their heads. “Girls, undress my wife and show her what to do.”
“Leave me alone!” cried Emmaline, but it did no good to fight. Before she knew it, she was naked and the girls were pushing her down on the bed into a prone position.
“Now, try to look sultry,” commanded her husband. “I want every man who sees this to desire you and every one of them to long to be me.”
“You’ve already managed to do that by inviting half the castle into our wedding chamber. I had to fight off men all night long.”
“Hush! I want this painting of you to be most desirable.”
The painter eyed her naked body, putting his brush to the paint. “Qui, my lord, this one has a body that every man will lust for.”
“Do you want her?” asked Emmaline’s husband, obsessed with this oddity that belittled her and made her feel no better than a whore.
“I do, my lord. I envy you and know that men will pay dearly to see this painting of Lady de la Croix as soon as I am done.”
“Pay?” She tried to sit up, but with a nod from her husband, the girls pushed her back down.
“Don’t move, Emmaline, or I will take a switch to that lovely ass and make you cry out,” warned Jean Philippe.
“What does he mean men will pay to see me naked?”
“Not you, the painting,” explained her husband.
“It’s the same thing!”
Her husband chuckled again, as if this whole idea amused him “I’m going to hang this painting in my cabin on my ship. Then I’ll fill my ship with men and charge them each time they lust for you.”
“For my painting, you mean.”
“Nay. You’ll be coming with us, Emmaline,” he explained. “They’ll see the painting and then they’ll see you. Their desire will be grand. I’ll have every man in France eating out of my hand just thinking they have a chance to bed you, knowing exactly what they’ll miss out on, since they’ll have already seen you naked. They will pay me whatever I ask just for a glance, and hopefully a chance with you.”
“I’m not a whore. I won’t do it. I won’t go to bed with these men.”
“Of course not.” He chuckled lowly. “But they won’t know that until it’s too late. They’ll be too embarrassed to ask for their money back once I threaten to expose what they wanted to do. That would ruin their reputations.”
“But what about mine? What about my reputation?”
“You’re naught but a wench. It doesn’t matter.”
“I’m a lady! Of course it does. What will people think?”
“I don’t care what they think. They’ll never say anything to my face. So, like I said, it doesn’t matter.”
Emmaline sprang out of bed and ran for the door. The sound of a cracking whip split the air and she stopped with her hand on the door latch.
“Turn around and get back in bed and don’t move again until the painter is finished,” Jean Philippe warned her.
She looked over her shoulder and her eyes opened wide. There stood her husband, the cur, with not a switch in his hand but a whip!
“You wouldn’t hurt me,” she said through gritted teeth. “You’ve made an alliance with my father back in England. If I tell him you touched me in this manner, he’ll send his army to kill you.”
“You’re never going to see him again, and neither will I ever let you out of my sight. I don’t fear your idle threats. Now turn around.”
When she turned back to the door and tried to leave, she felt the sting of the whip against her buttocks. She jumped and cried out in pain. His maniacal guffaws almost brought her to tears. No man should ever treat his wife this way. He truly did mean to hurt her and had no qualms about it. With no other choice, she made her way back to the bed and lay down to let her husband’s evil plan pan out. She swore to herself she would find a way to destroy this painting afterwards, and then she would kill him for what he’d forced her to do. Somehow, she’d find a way to erase all this, because she refused to live in shame.
It might have been a good plan if the painting hadn’t been stolen by pirates. She had almost died that day on her husband’s ship along with him. That was the day Emmaline made a deal with the devil, offering her body in exchange for her life.
The pirate who stole her painting was a man she would never forget. He had started to take what she’d offered, but in doing so, he’d never forced himself on her. Nay, he was gentle as he kissed her and undressed her, and even seemed as if he cared. His hands caressed her naked body instead of pulling, pinching and grabbing, the way Jean Philippe did to her. The pirate’s kisses actually made her weak in the knees. For some odd reason, she felt safer with him than she’d ever felt with her bastard of a husband.
Slowly, gently, the dark-haired pirate guided her to the bed and laid her down upon it. As frightened as she was, the way he treated her made her feel as if he cared. Then his hand went to the waistband of his trews.
She had half a mind to actually let him bed her but, instead, she’d pulled out her hidden dagger from under the pillow and stabbed the man on his arm.
“God’s eyes! What did you do that for?” he spat, pulling back and looking at her as if he couldn’t believe what she’d just done. Blood dripped down his arm.
“I’m not a whore!” she cried.
“Then why did you offer yourself to me?”
“Because you’re
a bloody pirate and I know that’s what pirates want and do. I only did it so you wouldn’t kill me.” Tears dripped down her cheeks. He reached out and with one swipe, knocked the dagger from her grip. It slid across the floor of the ship.
“I never intended to hurt you. Your first mistake was to assume I would.”
“I’ll fight you until I die, I swear I will,” she warned him, holding her arms out in front of her.
“I’ll have you know I’ve never taken a woman by force, no matter what you think.”
“You’re a pirate! I don’t believe a word you say.”
“Mardon, come on,” shouted another man from the door to the ship’s cabin, who looked younger than Mardon and had long, blond hair. “Tristan said another ship is coming to help this one. Take what you want and get back on the Falcon fast. We’re no match for all of them.”
“I’m not ready yet, Aaron,” said Mardon, his striking blue eyes drilling into her. She pulled the blanket up to hide her nudity from the men.
“Oh, I see,” said Aaron with a slight chuckle. “Just bring her along.”
“Nay, Brother, I won’t do that. You know as well as I that a woman on board is bad luck. Now, come here and help me.”
“You want him to help you?” Emmaline’s heart about beat out of her chest. “B-but you just said you don’t take women by force.”
“I don’t.” He grabbed her hand and yanked her wedding ring off, holding it up to inspect it.
“Give that back to me,” she snarled.
“Nay, I don’t think so. This looks like it’s worth a lot of money.” He slipped the ring into his pocket, then reached over her to the wall, taking the painting next. “I might not take women by force, however, I do take everything else by force. After all, I’m a pirate. I want this naked painting of you to remind me what I almost had before you reneged on your offer.”
The pirate named Aaron rushed into the room to help his brother. For some reason, Emmaline felt insulted when he let her go so easily, opting for the damned painting instead. Feeling weak, her grip slackened and she dropped the blanket, exposing herself to the two men.
Aaron whistled, and almost dropped the painting, but Mardon scowled.
“Stop it, little brother,” snapped Mardon. “Now, let’s get this painting back to the Falcon before Tristan starts bitching that we’re taking too long.”
With their backs to the door, Emmaline saw Jean Philippe sneak into the cabin with his sword raised. He rushed right toward Mardon, meaning to kill him.
“Nay!” she cried. “Mardon – behind you.”
The pirate named Mardon unsheathed his sword with one hand, turning halfway around and thrusting his blade through Jean Philippe’s side in one move, never dropping his end of the painting.
Her husband’s body crumpled as he fell to the floor and dropped his blade. Emmaline saw the blood and screamed.
“Sorry about that,” said Mardon. “I hope he didn’t mean anything to you.” He wiped the blood from his blade on her husband’s back and stuck the sword back into his scabbard. When he did, she noticed the blood dripping down his forearm from where she’d stabbed him as well.
“God’s eyes, didn’t you two hear my command to get back on the ship?” Another pirate stood at the door. His long hair lifted in the breeze around him. She guessed he was the captain. “Oh,” he said, his eyes settling on her naked body. She suddenly realized she was still naked, and fell to her knees, holding the blanket in front of her.
“Let’s go,” spat Mardon, carrying his half of the large, heavy painting as they headed out the door. He turned and looked over his shoulder as they left. “I never did get your name,” he told her.
“What does it matter?” she asked him.
“I’d like to know what to call the painting. It’s a beautiful image and looks just like you. I don’t know why you sound so upset.”
“If that was a painting of your mother, would you be upset about it?”
“My mother is dead.”
“Then what if I were your sister? What would you do about it then?”
“Sister?” He chuckled. “If I had a sister who was stupid enough to pose for something like this in the first place, then I’d say she deserved whatever she got.”
“And what if she had no choice?”
“There is always a choice, my lady. It’s called the word no.”
“If only it were that easy.”
“There are two ships approachin’,” called out one of the pirates. “We have to leave now!”
“Well, good luck . . . Sister,” said Mardon with a grin, making fun of their conversation, since he didn’t know her name.
“Sister? Sister?” came a voice, rousing her from her sleep. Emmaline’s eyes popped open. At first, she thought she was still dreaming. There, right in front of her, stood the handsome pirate and his blue eyes were looking directly at her!
Chapter 3
“Sister? Are you all right?” Mardon looked down at the nun sitting half-hidden in the shadows in the Fish Head Inn. He and his crew had arrived just moments ago and it was very crowded inside the tavern today.
“Oui,” she said, clearing her throat. “I mean, yes. I am fine.” The woman seemed flustered. Mardon supposed it was because she was in a tavern, drinking. Not to mention, this was probably the first time a pirate had ever talked to her. This innocent dove didn’t belong here and he wondered what in the hell she was doing here. He was curious to know, but was almost afraid to scare her by asking.
“Is this seat taken?” He motioned with his eyes to the chair across from her.
Her eyes darted upward but quickly looked away. “Nay,” she answered softly, grabbing her tankard and taking a fast, deep swig of ale. Mardon chuckled under his breath. He’d been known to cause women to do many unexpected things in his presence, and he’d prided himself on that fact through the years. However, causing a nun to drink was a first for him. He wasn’t sure what to think about it.
“Good,” he said, looking up and motioning with his finger to his grandmother across the room. “Nairnie, here is a seat for you.”
“Nairnie?” asked the nun, seeming surprised and confused. It seemed as if she had thought he’d meant to sit with her. She almost looked a little disappointed that he hadn’t.
Mardon chuckled again. “Aye, I hope you don’t mind if Nairnie – my grandmother, sits with you, Sister.”
“Y-your grandmother?” The corner of her lips turned up as if she were amused. “Of course not.”
“What is your name?” he asked her.
Once again, her eyes darted over to him and then back to her drink so fast that he was surprised she didn’t become dizzy. “Emmaline,” she finally answered under her breath, her voice sounding like the beautiful song of a bird. Then she squeezed her eyes shut and made an expression as if she’d spilled some kind of deep, dark secret by revealing to him who she was.
“Well, thank you, Sister Emmaline,” said Mardon, pulling out the chair for his grandmother, helping her to get seated.
“You’re pulling out the chair for her?” asked Emmaline, looking astonished.
“Aye. How else is she supposed to sit down?” he answered, thinking it an odd question.
“B-but aren’t you a . . . a pirate?” He almost expected her to bless herself next after saying pirate as if it were blasphemy.
“I might be a pirate, but I’m also a man,” he told her. “That is, a man who knows how to treat a woman, no matter what her age.”
“Well, isna that sweet of ye, honey,” said Nairnie, reaching up and kissing him on the cheek before she sat down. The nun’s jaw dropped and her eyes widened.
“Nairnie, stop it,” mumbled Mardon with a roll of his eyes, hoping to hell no one saw what she’d just done. Helping an old woman to sit was to his liking, but being kissed by her in public wasn’t going to fare well with his reputation at all. He quickly scanned the room. Thankfully, no one was paying any attention to him and didn’t seem to
even notice. His crew was either busy drinking and eating, or finding pleasure with the whores. Aaron was across the room, talking to the proprietor. No one but the nun saw Nairnie kiss him, and she didn’t matter at all. He was certain she’d never repeat such a thing since he didn’t figure nuns would be talking about meeting pirates.
“Hello, I’m Nairnie,” said his grandmother with a smile, eyeing up the nun curiously. “Who are ye and why are ye here?” Mardon’s grandmother wasn’t one for subtlety. If she wanted to know something, she just came right out and asked.
“Her name is Sister Emmaline,” Mardon told her in a low voice.
Nairnie’s head snapped around and she scowled at Mardon. “Thank ye, but I’m talkin’ to her, Grandson. It’s no’ polite to answer for her,” scolded Nairnie. “Where are yer manners?”
“Aargh!” Mardon threw his hands up in the air. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to Nairnie’s act of mothering him and his brothers. He hadn’t had a mother in a long time now, and wasn’t used to being scolded or disciplined like a child. When Nairnie did this, he swore he wanted to dump her back into the sea where he’d found her in the first place.
He wouldn’t take this kind of treatment from anyone, not even if she were his own grandmother. He’d have to talk to her about it later he decided. Right now, he had a much more important mission at hand. “You stay here and talk to the nun. I’m going to find Aaron and look for the – look for the – you-know-what,” he said, his eyes flashing over to the nun who was intently listening to every word he said.
For a brief second, Sister Emmaline’s eyes interlocked with his. When they did, an odd feeling ran through him. He felt as if he knew her somehow, but this wasn’t possible. Shaking off the feeling, he ran a hand through his hair in thought. Hell, he didn’t even know any nuns, so there was no way he’d ever met her before. He surely would have remembered a nun with a face as pretty as hers.
Her skin was smooth, lit up with an orange glow from the flame of the candle burning on the center of the table. She had a long, regal nose and high cheekbones. Her lips were full, and looked like they’d be good for kissing. It oddly excited him, and he cursed himself inwardly for feeling lusty around a nun. Why the hell did she have to be so beautiful? After all, weren’t all nuns old and wrinkled? It had been too long since he’d bedded a woman, and he decided he needed to make a quick visit upstairs with one of the whores while he was here. If not, he’d most likely be dreaming about bedding the damned nun next! Aye, he needed to get away from Sister Emmaline fast.
Mardon (Pirate Lords Series Book 2) Page 3
