“Are you Alsandair Farrell?”
“I am he,” Alsandair said, stepping forward. He was staring hard at the newcomer.
Renaud swung his gaze to Alsandair. “Compliments of Captain Corsair, Sir,” he
said. “Your presence has been requested on Wicklaw Cay.”
“You’re not here to rescue us?” Bonny asked, his face full of despair.
Renaud glanced at the sailor. “That wasn’t my intention when I left the Cay but if
any of you are of a mind to leave Clare Island, you are more than welcome to
accompany us back to the Cay.”
“Have you any word of my ship?” Andelton asked.
Renaud reluctantly turned his attention to the other captain. “I believe she’s being
taken good care of, Captain.”
“And my lady?” Alsandair asked, gritting his teeth. “Is she being taken good care of
as well?”
Knowing there was a lot more involved here than he really wanted to know,
Renaud held his hands palm up. “I don’t know anything about your lady, Farrell. I was
merely sent here to fetch you.”
“I’m not sure this is wise, Sandair,” Kyle said, glaring at Renaud. “You could be
walking into a trap.”
“Better than spending my life on this godforsaken hunk of coral,” Alsandair said,
“and that bastard has my wife.”
Renaud’s eyebrow shot up. “Your wife? The lady in question is legally Joined to
you?”
“I married them myself,” Andelton reported.
The frown that marred Renaud’s handsome face boded ill for whoever had caused
it. He swore under his breath then looked to the heavens. He seemed to be trying to
make a decision and when he spoke, he seemed to be doing so against his better
judgment. “I imagine your Joining has been put aside by now,” he said.
Alsandair’s face turned harder than flint. “She is still my legal wife and she belongs
to me. Andre Corsair can—”
“Keep her according to Brotherhood law since you’re not one of us. Of course that
could be remedied.”
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“Hell no!” Kyle shouted, putting himself between Alsandair and Renaud. “He’s not
going to do that!”
“Do what?” Alsandair asked.
Renaud and Kyle were toe to toe, glaring into one another’s eyes.
“Don’t answer him,” Kyle said in a low, deadly voice.
“Do what?” Alsandair repeated. He put a hand on Kyle’s arm but the gambler
shrugged it off.
“I’m merely the messenger,” Renaud said. “And believe me if I’d known the
particulars of this, I wouldn’t have gotten suckered into being a part of it.”
“A part of what?” Alsandair demanded. “What is he talking about, Kyle?”
“Kyle?” Renaud repeated. “Kyle who? I like to know the name of my enemies.”
“Striker,” Kyle stated. “Brother of Khalid al-Rashid.”
“Never heard of him,” Renaud lied. He looked away from Kyle’s belligerent glower
and locked gazes with Alsandair. “I was told to bring you back so you can either go
willingly or I’ll take you there in chains. It’s up to you.”
“Don’t threaten me,” Alsandair said. “I’ve already told you I’ll go with you. What
of the other men?”
“I said they could come along.”
“As prisoners?” Andelton wanted clarified.
“Not on my ship,” Renaud said. “They come as free men.”
“We have your word?” Andelton pressed.
Renaud put out his hand. “I pledge on my honor they will be going to the Cay as
men free to do as they please once they get there.”
Andelton took his hand. “I will hold you to your word, Captain.”
“And what happens when they get there?” Kyle questioned.
“Well,” Renaud said, “that’s up to these men. They’re sailors. I imagine they can
find billets if they are of a mind.”
“On a pirate ship?” Briarly asked, shaking his head. “Not this old salt. I’ve no desire
to end my life hanging from a crosstree.”
“Then take the next neutral ship to whatever harbor suits your fancy,” Renaud said.
“You won’t be prisoners on the Cay any more than you are here.”
“Can Widget come too?” Ataa asked.
Renaud looked down at the boy and smiled. “And who are you?” he asked.
Ataa thumped his thumb against his bare little chest. “I am Ataa, son of Farrell.”
Renaud glanced up at Alsandair. “I see, and is Widget your furry little friend
there?”
Ataa bent over and picked up the cat. “Aye,” he said.
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“Well then, where your father goes, you go, and where you go, Widget goes, eh?”
Renaud said, reaching out to tousle Ataa’s head of sleek black curls. He stood up. “Do
all you men wish to return to the Cay with me then?”
A loud chorus of ayes rang out.
“I want to know what I can do to get my wife returned to me,” Alsandair
demanded, and when Kyle would have protested, he shouted the gambler down. “Stay
out of this! It doesn’t concern you, Kyle!”
“Only another pirate can petition the Brotherhood for the return of his woman,”
Renaud said. “They most likely won’t grant the petition since she’s already been given
to Andre but that’s a chance you’ll have to take.”
“And be branded a pirate ripe for the hanging if he agrees to such a stupid thing,”
Kyle insisted. “Sandair, think of your life back in Anlusia!”
“I have no life without Rylee. I’ll do whatever it takes,” Alsandair said.
Kyle threw his hands into the air. “This is wrong,” he said. “Wrong!”
* * * * *
Andre was restless, his ribs bothering him and the still, tropical air making him
sweat. He was lying outside the covers, his white cotton pants sticking to his legs with
the heat.
“Can’t you sleep?” Rylee asked him. She too was uncomfortable in the humid air.
“Want some lemonade?”
“Aye,” he said.
She got up from the bed and padded over to the table where she had placed a
pitcher of iced lemonade earlier. The ice had all but melted as she poured him a tumbler
and brought it back to him.
“Remind me not to go shooting at one of Louis’ ships ever again,” he grumbled as
he pushed himself up on his elbows.
“I’d think you’d remind yourself not to do so,” she quipped, holding the tumbler
for him to take a sip.
“By the gods, it’s hot as hell in here,” he said.
The windows were all open but not a speck of a breeze was coming through the
screens. Off in the distance the low rumble of thunder gave evidence that it might be
bringing some relief.
Rylee put the tumbler on the bedside table and went over to wet a washcloth. She
wrung it out then came back to run it over Andre’s chest.
“You make a wonderful nurse, bébé,” he said, lying down again. Though his bruises
were agony, he was enjoying having her smooth the wet cloth over his chest.
“You make a poor patient,” she countered, running the rag down his arm. “All
you’ve done is complain.”
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“I know,” he agreed, “but you can’t help but love me.”
He said it with a cocky grin
meant to be teasing but Rylee saw the truth in his eyes.
“That’s true, Andi,” she said softly.
Despite the broken ribs and aches and pains that made his body a throbbing, aching
mass, Andre Corsair shot up in the bed as though he were attached to a pulley.
“What?” he questioned, searching her face, his breath held.
“Don’t do that!” she snapped. “Your ribs—”
“What did you say?” he asked, cutting off her words.
“I can’t help but love you,” she said, bowing her head to hide the moisture
gathering in her eyes.
His hand trembling, Andre lifted it, held it out to her. “Rylee…” he said, his voice
breaking.
She shook her head. “I tried so hard not to love you,” she said. “I know it’s wrong
but…”
“Why is it wrong?” he asked.
She looked at him, tears coursing down her cheeks. “Andi, I am legally Joined to
another man, a man I also love.” She got up from the bed, her hands in the air, the wet
rag flapping against her wrist as she spoke. “What’s wrong with me, what kind of slut
am I that I can love two men and want to be with the both of you? It’s a sin, Andi, and
I’m going to hell for sure!”
Andre couldn’t move as the woman he loved, the woman he would gladly give his
life for, sank to her knees on the floor, her face in her hands, her shoulders quaking
beneath hard sobs that completely unmanned him. “Bébé, don’t,” he pleaded with her,
struggling to get off the bed.
“Oh no you don’t!” she said, seeing what he was trying to do. She sprang up and
intercepted him before he could swing his legs from the mattress. She pushed him
down flat on the bed none too gently. “You have broken ribs, you idiot! You stay put!”
“Rylee,” he said, taking her hand and holding it, bringing it to his chest. “You aren’t
going to go to hell for loving me. I’m not a demon to whom you’ve sold your soul.”
“It’s wrong, Andi,” she said with a whimper.
He could hear her heart breaking and it tore his from his chest. He pulled her down
to his shoulder and let her cry until the tears were nothing more than hitches impeding
her breath. His palm smoothed her hair and he crooned to her—saying nothing but
merely trying to quiet her sobbing. When she at last settled down, he placed a gentle
kiss on the top of her head and bid her come back to bed.
“What am I going to do, Andi?” she asked, lifting her head to look down at him. “I
want you both.”
“I’ll send Gaston to fetch him in the morning and we’ll sit down and discuss it
between the three of us,” he suggested.
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She thought of the talk she, Alsandair and Kyle had had in Midworld about their
situation and groaned. This time was vastly different from then. “He will fight you,
Andre. I know him. He will—”
“The Brotherhood will uphold our Joining,” he interrupted her. “As far as they are
concerned he has no rights on Wicklaw Cay. He can take the Oath of the Brotherhood
and petition them to set our marriage aside, but the Council won’t do it. They will never
remove you from my care.”
“Leave him where he is,” she pleaded with him. “If he comes to the Cay, tie him up
and take him back to Anlusia.”
“He’ll only keep coming back, bébé,” he said. He took the washcloth from her
clenched fist and used it to wipe her tear-stained face.
“Then you’ll keep carting him off again until he gives up,” she said.
“I have a notion that won’t happen, but if you don’t want me to send for him, I
won’t.”
“Thank you,” she said, hiccupping.
“Come lie down, precious,” he said. “The storm is moving closer to us.”
Rylee had other things on her mind that were more frightening to her than the
approaching bad weather. She had to find a way to keep Alsandair safe and out of
harm’s way. She got up and walked around to her side of the bed and climbed on,
scooting over to lie in the shelter of Andre’s arm as he lifted it for her.
“Be careful, Andi,” she said, for he had sucked in a breath as he pulled her closer to
him.
A loud shriek of lightning zapped through the air and she jumped, trying not to
come into contact with his battered chest. She put her hand on his hip to keep from
pressing against his broken rib and felt the rise of his shaft beneath the confinement of
his cotton pants. Without conscious though, she slid her hand over his tumescence and
cupped him.
“By the gods, wench, don’t start what I can’t finish,” he pleaded.
He was a good man, Rylee thought, a good and decent man who had taken a brutal
beating because of her. A man who had risked his life to keep safe a man she loved. He
had pried up a little portion of her heart and had slipped inside as easily as the tide
rolled to shore. He was firmly ensconced in her very soul alongside Alsandair and
despite her fears and self-loathing she liked having him there.
Gently, lovingly, she massaged his rigid cock through the material of the pants. She
dipped her fingers between his legs and cupped his heavy sac. She could hear him
breathing heavily and feel the tension in his body.
“Relax, têtu,” she ordered.
“I am not stubborn,” he said.
“You are my stubborn man,” she said, and released him to slide her hand down the
waistband of his pants until she could wrap her fingers around his naked flesh.
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“Bébé,” he groaned.
“Shh,” she whispered, and with her free hand tugged his pants down his hips.
Before he could protest again, she was up and over him, his warm, salty flesh buried in
the sweet confines of her mouth.
She ran her tongue over his oozing slit—lapping away the pearly drop glistening
there—and smiled as he began to gasp. He was gripping the sheet to either side of him,
twisting the material as though she were torturing him. She let her hot breath envelop
him and almost giggled when his hips came up off the mattress, pushing the head of his
cock past her lips.
“You’re killing me, wench,” he panted.
“Be careful of your ribs then,” she warned.
She dragged her tongue down the length of him, across his sac while her thumb
stroked gently at the base of his head.
Andre was not a novice to a woman pleasuring him in such a way but Rylee had
never done so. It both shocked him that she was so good at what she was doing and
that she—unlike a great many women—seemed to be enjoying it. He grudgingly
wondered if Alsandair Farrell had taught her these sultry tricks and decided he must
have.
“If you don’t want me to come in your mouth, you’d best quit that,” he said, his
breath coming in gasps.
She replied by taking him deeper into her mouth, partially down her relaxed throat
and suckling him so firmly, so well, he couldn’t have stopped his release no matter how
hard he might have tried. He came fast and furious, crying out his relief with a loud,
triumphant shout. He could feel her throat working as she swallowed his cum
and that
seemed to make his climax that much more potent. As the last spurt of seed left him, he
sank down into the mattress, his breath heaving, his body completely drained,
shuddering as she licked the last of the moisture from his cock.
“Rylee,” he heard himself whisper, and she came to him like the blessing she had
become.
* * * * *
“And that man is crazy as a loon, Cap’n,” Devin Boucharde, the Perdu’s first mate
complained. He was giving his captain the last report of the day before Renaud turned
in for the night.
“To which man are you referring?” Renaud asked, yawning as he unbuttoned his
shirt.
“That Anlusian,” Devin grumbled. “He’s out there at the rail—in the pouring rain,
mind you—just staring out at the water.” The first mate shook his head. “And with
lightning scratching left and right around the ship. I told him to get his arse inside and
he told me to go fuck myself.”
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Renaud hung his head and spat out a stream of vulgarity. “Go get him and bring
him here,” he ordered. “In shackles if need be.”
Devin nodded once and left, cursing just as brutally as his captain at having to go
back out into the rain. When he brought Alsandair to the captain’s cabin, the warrior
was soaked to his skin and dripping on the highly polished floor as he was shoved
unceremoniously through the door.
Alsandair spun around and would have plowed a fist into Devin’s face if Renaud
hadn’t grabbed his arm and jerked him around.
“You won’t be of any use whatsoever to your lady if you contract lung fever, now
will you, Farrell?” Renaud snapped.
Alsandair shook off Renaud’s hold and ran his arm under his dripping nose. His
hair was plastered to his head and he looked like a drowned rat. “I don’t get sick
easily,” he muttered.
Renaud went over to his sea chest and opened it to draw out a towel. He tossed it to
Alsandair. “You’re ruining my gods-be-damned floor.”
“I didn’t ask to be brought in here,” Alsandair complained as he scrubbed the towel
over his head and face.
There was a smell coming from Alsandair’s wet clothes that was musky and
unpleasant. With another vicious curse, Renaud went searching through his chest for a
clean shirt and pants. “How long were you on the island?” he asked.
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