The Pirate's Daughter

by Helen Dickson

  Cassandra smiled, tending to agree with her. With his dark looks and wicked smile, Stuart Marston only needed a ring in his ear and a cutlass in his hand to be a swash-buckling pirate—like Nat.

  John glanced up at the sky, where fitful drifts of dark clouds were being blown restlessly along on an easterly breeze. ‘A pleasant morning for a ride,’ he commented, ‘though I suspect there might be rain later. Best not go too far.’

  Cassandra’s gaze was constantly drawn to Stuart, who rode a little way ahead with John. Mounted on a huge bay, and clad in black from his boots to his wide-brimmed hat that shaded his powerful shoulders, he was the most overpowering figure she had ever beheld—a stranger bent on making her his wife. She could think of little else. Her resolve to stand firm was set, but in some naïve, gentle part of her heart, she had an uneasy feeling that she was becoming his victim, as he had all the time intended that she should.

  The track they followed through the fields of swaying sugar cane was cool in the early morning hour. Entering the parish of St Thomas, winding paths led them through dense green shade of palms and ferns, past brightly coloured flowering and herbal treasures. Exotic butterflies fluttered by, and overhead, singing their hearts out, was an orchestra of brightly coloured warblers and mocking birds.

  They encountered several people out riding. Julia was acquainted with most of them, and they stopped to speak to one group. After introducing Stuart and Cassandra, Julia and John stayed on chatting, while Stuart and Cassandra rode on side by side at a leisurely pace.

  They entered a gully that was awash with shadows and a tangled overgrowth of trees. The sudden quiet and seclusion sent a trickle of apprehension down Cassandra’s spine. Glancing across at her companion, she wondered why he hadn’t stopped to wait for John and Julia to catch up with them before entering the gully. There were any number of tracks they could have taken, which would certainly confuse John.

  They had ridden some considerable distance when she turned, hoping to see John and Julia close behind, but something inside her told her they wouldn’t be. She was right: the track behind them was deserted. All her instincts bade her turn her horse around and gallop back the way they had come, but Stuart was close enough to stop her.

  ‘Don’t you think we’ve ridden far enough?’ she dared to venture. ‘John and Julia will never find us if we don’t go back. Does that not concern you?’

  Stuart said quietly, ‘Not particularly. But there is no cause for alarm. You are quite safe.’

  She tore her eyes away from his sombre smile, unable and adamantly unwilling to be charmed into believing such an implausible lie when she recalled their conversation of the previous evening. He had told her in no uncertain terms that he would make her his wife—that he would win her by fair means or foul. The memory brought a stirring rush of excitement searing through her, and her own need was there to answer him, but the sudden intrusion of Nat into her mind quelled the onslaught. She looked ahead, her cheeks ablaze with the ferocity of her own ardour. He was set on a course in which she was to play a part, she could see that—and he seemed completely assured of finishing it.

  ‘You have brought me here deliberately, haven’t you, Stuart?’

  He challenged her with a mocking grin. ‘I can see you have read my mind.’

  ‘You tricked me. You must think me a stupid, gullible fool.’

  ‘Nay, Cassandra, never that. I sought you out to get to know you better, and in the course of that venture your fairness seized my heart. You entrapped me as surely as any sea siren. When you turned down my offer of marriage your refusal chilled my hopes, and yet I glimpsed in you a chance that you might in time yield to me. When your cousin and Lady Julia hung back, I realised an opportunity had been presented that could aid me in my desire, and allow me to court you at my leisure.’

  Cassandra’s voice was ragged with emotion as she struggled desperately to ignore the sensual pull he was exerting on her. ‘You have a nerve taking such liberties. You will certainly incur John’s wrath if you continue to indulge in such foolery.’ Her rebuke only seemed to amuse him, for his grin deepened, making her doubt that she would be effective in discouraging his arduous tendencies.

  ‘When you know me better, Cassandra, you will realise that when I set my mind on having something, I am not easily dissuaded from that end.’

  There was a sudden change in the light as the dark clouds became an indistinct mass, blocking out the sun. The air had grown increasingly chilly and an occasional heavy droplet of rain struck at Cassandra’s face. Reining her horse to a halt, she glanced across at Stuart, who looked remarkably unperturbed by the forces of nature gathering overhead.

  ‘We must go back. There’s going to be a downpour any minute and, besides, John and Julia will be frantic with worry.’

  Stuart merely glanced at the frenzied sky and cocked a handsome brow. ‘There’s no time. We’ll be soaked before then.’ As if in collusion, the rain chose that moment to fall in big, fat drops. ‘We must find shelter until the rain’s passed over.’ He smiled leisurely as he gave her a lengthy inspection, and even through the material of her dress his eyes burned her and her cheeks grew hot.

  ‘I can’t. I can’t stay here alone with you. It—it wouldn’t be right.’

  The black eyes sparkled and danced with unbridled humour. ‘This is no time to argue. I happen to have a well-developed instinct for self-preservation, and even you must see the logic of seeking shelter. Come, I know the perfect place.’

  Cassandra was too alarmed by the prospect of being alone with him to stop to wonder how and when Stuart Marston had become so familiar with the highways and byways and the secluded haunts of Barbados. ‘No, I can’t,’ she said in a shaky, breathless voice, knowing she was being completely irrational, but even she was not naïve enough to ignore what might happen if she were to be alone with him.

  Cassandra’s panic stirred and rapidly grew as Stuart calmly ignored her pleas to turn back and led her towards what looked like a curtain of vines on the rocky wall ahead of her. He told her the long green vines, wrapped and interwoven one into another, covered the mouth of a series of caverns, which would offer them protection from the storm. By the time they reached them lightning was streaking across the sky and thunder rumbled over the low hills. The rain had become a steady downpour and they were quickly becoming soaked. Dismounting with the agility of an athlete, Stuart dragged a still reluctant Cassandra from the saddle. Pulling back the vines of the nearest cave, he gave her a gentle push inside.

  ‘Wait there while I tether the horses beneath that rocky overhang.’

  Half blinded by the rain and her own hair, Cassandra stumbled through the yawning mouth of the cave. Adjusting her eyes to the dim interior, she had enough light to see the size of the limestone cavern. It was large, large enough to hold four to five hundred people, she thought, and there was more than one cavern, carved by the slow but steady work of underground streams over the centuries. She stared at the fascinating rock formations and at the huge stalactites hanging from the roof. The caverns tapered away into a dark, brooding stillness, and somewhere from the interior could be heard the sound of rushing water.

  Removing her hat, she shook the water from the brim before setting it down on a rock. A footfall behind her swung her round to face Stuart. Legs slightly apart, tall and wide, he filled the narrow entrance, and with the light behind him, his presence seemed to invade the whole cave.

  ‘We’ll be safe enough until the storm has passed over.’

  His voice was soft and rich with resonant strength, reminiscent of sultry nights beneath open skies. To allow more light inside the cave he pulled back some of the vines and secured them with a rock. Removing his doublet, he threw it down along with his hat. With her breath locked in her throat, Cassandra watched him. Beneath his loose shirt his muscles flexed as he moved. Her gaze took in the sheer male beauty of his wide shoulders and narrow waist. Something in the sombre way he was looking at her as he walked towards he
r made her tremble.

  ‘H—how did you know about these caves?’

  ‘I’ve been to Barbados several times. They were pointed out to me by an acquaintance, who was showing me the island when I had some time on my hands four years ago.’

  ‘I see. What is it?’ she asked, meeting his inquiring frown. She watched him warily, dwarfed by his towering height. The very air bristled with the energy sparking between them.

  ‘Take off your dress. It’s soaked through.’

  In a sudden panic she grasped the neck of her gown, shaking her head and stepping back. ‘Certainly not. I prefer to keep it on,’ she said quickly, aware that she must look a sight, with her hair hanging down her back and clinging in wet strands to her face.

  ‘Remove it,’ he insisted quietly. ‘You’ll catch your death if you don’t.’

  To Cassandra’s horror, without preamble he turned her round and began to unfasten the tiny buttons up the back. She struggled to keep the bodice in place, protesting most objectionably, but her gown slipped down over her hips to her feet. With only her shift as protection from his burning eyes, she tried to cover the gentle swell of her creamy breasts with her hands. Stuart picked up her dress and draped it over some rocks close to the entrance of the cave.

  Coming back to where she stood, his hand reached out and touched her cheek tentatively, and before she could put up any resistance his lips claimed hers, warm, passionate and demanding. In the dim light Cassandra caught a flash of steel in his eyes. She pulled back.

  ‘No, Stuart. Stop. Would you dishonour me?’

  He captured her face between his hands, his eyes dark with desire, his voice when he spoke smooth and persuasive. ‘Nay, Cassandra. I would not do anything that is against your will. I will take nothing you do not freely offer when you are in my arms. But you cannot know the torment I suffer of wanting you. How could it be otherwise?’ Caressing her cheek with his thumb, the movement sent shock waves through Cassandra’s body. ‘What we have is too special to deny, but wanting you is torture, my love.’

  Lowering his lips, he brushed the flesh where his thumb had been before. Raising his head slightly, he met her gaze, his look stealing her breath and robbing her limbs of power, his lazy, amorous smile almost destroying her resolve.

  ‘I—I would not wish you to suffer because of me, but this is madness,’ she gasped, desperately hanging on to the fragile thread of her sanity.

  ‘I agree, but ’tis the kind of madness that appeals to me.’ His lips made contact with her face once more, moving to her ear, his breath warm. ‘A kiss, Cassandra,’ he breathed huskily. ‘Just one more kiss. Would you deny me that?’

  Cassandra closed her eyes. Her thoughts were scattered and her heart pounded. One kiss, he said. Just one more kiss. If that was all he wanted, where was the harm in that? Some small, insidious voice inside her head urged her not to do it and she hesitated, torn between right and wrong, between honour and dishonour—but where was dishonour in just one kiss?

  Stuart felt her hesitation. Even then he knew that he could conquer his mounting desire and step back, but he also knew that the triumph he would feel at conquering her rejection would be equalled by the pleasure she would give him. ‘Sweet Cassandra,’ he breathed, ardently placing kisses on her burning cheeks, ‘I want you. You want me.’

  She swallowed nervously. ‘No—no…’

  ‘And there speaks the lie.’

  It was his tone, not his words, that conquered her. She was being drawn by a stronger will than her own—drawn by the heat of his lips and the magnetism of his eyes. Surrendering to the call of her blood, resting her hands on Stuart’s chest, she offered him her lips. The touch of his mouth on hers brought a soft sigh to her throat—the scent of sandalwood hovering like a seductive whisper between them.

  His lips moved over hers with an expert thoroughness, kindling a fire she had not guessed existed. With his hand gently caressing the nape of her neck, his kiss was a masterpiece of passion and persuasion, his lips seeking, finding, provocatively caressing as he proceeded to use every nuance to bring the woman in his arms to submission. His mouth was firm upon hers, infinitely coercive, demanding her surrender.

  Beneath such mastery Cassandra’s innocence was being drawn like a moth to a flame. Inexperienced as she was in the ways of love, she was being lured into a situation she could not control, and so potent was the spell that Stuart wove, she had not noticed how skilfully he had pulled her down with him on the floor of the cave—which was to become a bed softer and more sumptuous than any she had ever lain on.

  Caught in a web of his own desire, impeded by their garments, Stuart quickly stripped them away. As he looked down at Cassandra’s naked form his breath caught in his throat. Her hair was a pale shadow against her flesh, her stomach as flat as a boy’s, and her small proud breasts were tipped with pale pink. The gentleness and yielding in the melting dark blue depths of her eyes nearly unmanned him. She was beautiful, utterly so, and he knew instinctively that no man had ever seen her like this, naked and in the full bloom of womanhood—and he swore that no man other than himself ever would.

  Cassandra gazed up at the iron-hard, bronzed figure looming over her, and in the watery light what she saw made her heart beat harder. Stuart’s face was all angles and shadows, hard and dark with passion, and the dark eyes looking down at her were blazing with it—and yet there was as much tenderness in them as desire. The combination made her body ache with sudden yearning, and when he stretched out beside her and caught her warm, inviting body in his arms, his touch was fire. They clung together, neither of them speaking, losing all sense of time, content to let their bodies touch, but the sudden trembling of her limbs awakened Stuart and he kissed her.

  It was hard and violent, relentless in its demand, and Cassandra felt a burgeoning pleasure and astonished joy that was almost past bearing. She did not draw back as their uncontrollable hunger for each other took command, for she was lifted beyond herself by a desire stronger than fear or modesty. Unashamedly she pressed herself into him and clung to him as he moulded her pliant body to his rigid contours, feeding his hunger, feeling the agonised need in him. The moment was a feverish crescendo of desire and desperation. The pain of ecstasy was increasing, and Cassandra could feel something wild and primitive building deep inside her, racing through her veins. The brief frenzy ended and her lips became soft and pliable and warm as her whole being turned to liquid.

  With extraordinary skill and prowess Stuart’s hands moved over her gently and with deliberate slowness, exploring the secrets of her body with the sureness of a knowledgeable lover, savouring what he found and feeling her skin ripple and come alive under his slightest touch. He reminded himself that this was her first time, that he must be gentle with her, not to succumb to the tempest of the moment. Raising his head, he gazed down at her, seeing her eyes large and dark with need, and when she reached up and dragged his head down to hers once more, the touch of her fired him and he groaned, driven to unparalleled agonies of desire. His breathing quickened against her cheek as he surrendered to a primitive, powerful need to possess her.

  Her lips were soft, her body too yielding, and he responded to their spell with a wild passion, his lips becoming hard, almost cruel in the savagery of his need. He was amazed and delighted by her sensuality as he covered her body with his own, ignoring the moment when she felt pain, which momentarily jerked her out of her passionate haze, her natural instinct compelling her to cry out and try and pull back. But instinctively she relaxed and wrapped her arms around him, lost in coherent yearnings to have this moment continue for evermore.

  Cassandra learned in that single, joyous and irrecoverable moment what it was to become one with another human being, what it was to be a woman. Stuart was implacable, loving her with an ardour that, with his guidance, she became caught up in. Enveloped in the heat of his body, life began to surge anew in Cassandra; never in her life had she believed the act of love could be like this—all consuming, so th
at she became convinced she was possessed by a madness, by a delirium beyond anything imaginable so that there was nothing else.

  With waves of pure physical pleasure washing over her, and lost in the sheer beauty of what Stuart was doing to her—something she believed was unique to themselves—her world began to tilt, and she knew it would never be the same as it was before she had met Stuart Marston.

  In the afterglow of love, their passion spent, they lay together, limbs entwined. It was an enchanted time, a time set in a vacuum of peace, with no end and no beginning, and yet they both knew it could not last, that they could not remain as they were forever. Stuart was in awe of what had transpired as he marvelled in the tranquillity of contentment. He realised it had stopped raining, and that it must have done so some time ago, but he couldn’t remember when. Dappled sunlight streamed through the opening, warming their naked bodies.

  Holding Cassandra close, he clung to the euphoria of the moment as he tried to keep the reality of what he had done at bay, for with his passion spent, there was no hindrance between his brain and his conscience. The sickening truth was that he had deliberately set out to seduce this beautiful, defenceless, virginal young woman, and succeed admirably.

  With self-disgust he decided that seduce was perhaps too polite a word to describe what he had done, for he hadn’t even had the decency to seduce her in the soft comfort of a bed, but had stripped her naked and taken her on the hard floor of a cave like the meanest beast. The fact that she hadn’t fought him and pleaded with him to stop, and that she had given herself to him willingly, did nothing to assuage his guilt.