Prisoner of Desire

by Mary Wine

  Lifting her gaze to his, she glared into his eyes,

  willing him to understand how much she despised him. Darkness swept her away, the last of her strength evaporating and leaving her helpless.

  "I didn't think you cut her that deep." Garrick lifted their sagging hostage up while Warren kept a grip on the wound oozing blood across her neck. Together they took her into his cabin where lanterns could be lit without being sighted by any royal navy ships searching for them.

  "I sure as hell didn't mean to. She's stronger than she looks." But that was only an excuse.

  Warren felt sweat pop out on his forehead. Bright red blood was seeping through his fingers. His impulse was to tighten his grip on the bleeding wound but he couldn't risk suffocating her. Self-loathing filled him.

  "She's a lively one." Ronan entered with his assistant trailing him. Warren was forced to scoot across his own bunk while Garrick laid his hostage down. His hand needed to remain against her throat if he didn't want to see her face in his dreams for the rest of his days. Killing men in battle was something he shouldered when necessary. He'd pressed his blade against her innocent neck, which made it his responsibility to control. She'd put up more of a fight than he'd ever expected from her bonnet-covered, glove-wearing appearance. She'd actually bitten him. One side of his mouth threatened to curve up in response. It was his Achilles heel.. .spirit. In a woman he found it irresistible.

  Which was grossly misplaced under the circumstances.

  "Ease up, Warren, and let me look at it." Ronan leaned over to peer at the wound. Warren felt his gut tightening when he got a good look at the amount of blood spilling down her neck, but

  Ronan's thumb caught his attention too. A deep wound marred the top of it. A gaping hole left by a thumbscrew. The surgeon would be lucky if he escaped infection, especially in the tropical climate rich in insects.

  Warren still battled against guilt as he watched Ronan work. Frustration drew the muscles on the back of his neck tight enough to ache. It was a devil's nest all right. He couldn't help his brothers without hurting an innocent woman. A month ago, he'd have placed his hand on his mother's

  bible and sworn to conduct himself like a gentleman no matter the situation.

  Desperation was more of a pitfall than he'd ever given it credit for. The blood staining his hand a dose of humbleness for the times he'd judged other men.

  "Some stitching and this should close." Ronan gently lifted his patient's neck before shoving the pillow beneath it to tilt her chin up. "I'm surprised she didn't pass out earlier. Tough girl. She'll be causing trouble in no time."

  That was high praise coming from the surgeon. Ronan searched through his instruments without even a wince. His thumb had to be painful but the man was a hardened sailor. Unlike their guest.

  Warren climbed over her because the bunk was set against the hull of the ship to decrease the number of times a man rolled out of it with the pitch of the waves. The sight of his cabin was a sweet one. The last week had felt endless. A measure of guilt assaulted him when he looked at the neatly stored possessions on his desk. Behind the walls of that fort were men who would never get the chance to return to their lives. Some deserved it, true criminals who didn't care for anyone save themselves. But there were also others there who were nothing more than unlucky souls who had the misfortune to look useful. Every one of them dreamed of what he had tonight.

  Freedom.

  But it wasn't free. And it wasn't a sure thing either. Returning to the deck, Warren waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. The deck was dark to cloak the Huntress. No, nothing was certain while they remained so far from America. The Golden Dawn was crippled with her main mast

  shattered. Sailing her back to Boston would take all the skill his brother had and the Huntress running alongside her to ensure no one made an easy conquest of her.

  There was also the very real threat of Mordaunt giving chase. Warren scanned the horizon,

  searching for any flicker of light. The moon cut a path down the ocean, illuminating it. For the moment it seemed they were alone, but that might change on the luck of a good wind. His men and his brother's crew depended on him. Keeping Mordaunt off their bow was his chief duty.

  So their hostage would have to remain.

  He gritted his teeth but didn't falter in his choice.

  "Think Mordaunt will be hunting us come morning?" Garrick emerged from the darkness.

  "If he isn't already. It's a sure bet he didn't choose a bride for her charms alone."

  A soft grunt came from his brother. "The British rarely do. Greedy bastards. Everything is always such a competition with them."

  "Leaving her out in the yard certainly set the tone for their relationship." It also set the stage for her abduction. Warren shook his head. He'd done it. Exactly what he'd sworn he'd do. Reaching out he clamped a hand on his brother's back. Satisfaction washed through him when his hand

  connected with the solid shoulders.

  "I did what had to be done." Warren shot Garrick a hard glare. "I'd do it again."

  Garrick frowned; being helpless wasn't something he'd taken easily. Warren doubted

  his brother would rest soundly for many nights to come. His brother's gaze sharpened.

  "I'll take charge of her. It's my duly to find some way to ship her home," Garrick insisted.

  "No," Warren announced.

  Garrick lifted one eyebrow. Warren looked back out to sea, uncertain where his denial had come from. But it was wedged in tight, deep down in his gut. "I took her, I'll deal with her."

  Chapter Five

  She was starving.

  Lorena awoke to her belly growling, long, low and deep. Her stomach actually burned with

  hunger. Blinking her eyes, she stretched her feet and frowned. The pitch and roll of the sea was familiar, but the rather spacious bunk she was lying in wasn't.

  At least it was large compared to the tiny berth she'd slept in for five weeks on her way to Bermuda. She sat up and the bunk rolled gently, confirming she hadn't imagined the motion.

  Thick wool blankets were tucked under the mattress. She had to roll to one side before she could pull the covers free. The bunk was built into the side of the ship's hull. There was a half-foot lip on the outside edge to keep a person from rolling out of it during rough

  weather. She swung her legs over the side of the bunk and stood up.

  Today the morning was bright and the waves. A row of windows along the back of the ship

  allowed her to see out. It was a breathtaking view. Even more so when her memory began

  delivering the events of the last night to her.

  Sweet Christ!

  She swept the room, quickly freezing when pain shot across her throat. Reaching up she found a neat row of stitches on the side of her neck. A faint brown stain marred the top of her chemise, but there was no sign of her dress. The back windows were open, allowing the sea breeze to blow into the cabin. It ruffled the edge of her petticoat and touched her bare thighs above the top of her stockings.

  A tiny shiver traveled along her limbs. The amount of sensation amazed her. All of her senses were ultra aware. The smallest sound struck her ears as loud. The breeze was so cool in contrast to the rest of the cabin. Her heart accelerated, her lungs increasing their pace to keep up. Her brain was drowning in memories now, more and more details flooding her.

  The way he'd held her, the feeling of his hard body against her own. Another shiver raced along her skin, but it seemed to touch her deeper, restless in the pit of her belly. Someone had removed her dress and she was all too sure she knew who would dare such a thing. Her clothing was

  nowhere in sight. But her shoes were placed neatly in a box beneath the berth. There was a table in the center of the room with chairs that had actual padded seats. Such accommodations were reserved for the captain of the ship without doubt.

  "Good Morning."

  A shriek erupted from her and the stitches in her neck burned whe
n she snapped around to see who had spoken. There was a flutter of green wings as a parrot eyed her with its large amber eyes. No bigger than a pheasant, the animal was perched inside a brass cage.

  "Pretty bird," it muttered, sending Lorena's lips up into a smile in spite of her circumstances.

  "You are quite lovely."

  "That's Lady Holly. My apologies if she woke you."

  Lorena went rigid. Every muscle tightening until it felt like she was in danger of something snapping. She recalled that voice.

  Lady Holly fluttered her wings and let out a loud squawk.

  "And she shares your rather low opinion of me."

  Turning around, Lorena took her first good look at her captor in the light of day. The cabin must have shrunk because men simply were not so large. It wasn't natural. His shoulders alone must have been twice the width of her own. Her dress lay over his arm. Heat flooded her cheeks as she recalled she was greeting the man in her corset and petticoat. She resisted the urge to cover herself with her hands. It felt weak to do so and she wanted to offer him nothing save disdain.

  "I had your dress soaked but there are still a few spots on it."

  Of course there were, blood was tricky to remove, and if it dried, impossible. He laid the dress over one of the chairs. Hesitation drew his features tight, his blue eyes looking unsure. He pulled in a deep breath.

  "I am Warren Rawlins. Captain of the Huntress"

  "And my captor."

  The side of his jaw jerked but a flare of determination lit his eyes. "A fact I regret the necessity of."

  His attention moved to her neck and she ducked her chin without thinking. His lips pressed

  together in disapproval but he nodded, accepting her denial. Confusion swept through her. His behavior wasn't in line with what she considered a kidnapper would do. Although her knowledge of such things was limited, to say the least. Perhaps there was hope in the fact that he looked as unsure as she felt. Hope that things might end soon. A return to civilized behavior would suit her very well.

  "When may I be put ashore?"

  He hesitated before answering. "We plan to take on supplies soon. If you would like to walk on dry land, I will arrange it."

  His words were carefully spoken. Too carefully, because he did not truly answer her question.

  Her pride bristled.

  "Is there a port there that I might secure passage on another vessel?"

  He crossed his arms over his chest, resolution coating his features. "It's an American port."

  "Our countries are not at war." She parried his excuse with a firm tone. "I noticed several American ships in Northfleet just a few weeks ago."

  "We are not formally at war." His voice turned hard as did his gaze. Distrust flickered in his eyes, telling her that this American captain held no respect for her country. He shook his head and his expression softened to something that was almost kind.

  "It wouldn't matter if there was a ship taking passengers. You have no money to pay for passage."

  Her eyes rounded. "A fact you are responsible for, sir. I would have no need of passage if you had not abducted me." It was as close to begging for money as she could manage.

  "I accept responsibility for my actions, Miss St. John. Be assured that every man sailing under my command knows the circumstances of your arrival."

  Which meant she could rely on no help whatsoever from any of them. Her eyes narrowed with

  her rising temper. "Indeed."

  He returned to studying her with that unyielding stare but he had to look down to do it.

  "What then is your intention? Pray do not keep me in suspense."

  Her sarcasm gained her a mocking half grin from him. Something flickered in his eyes that sent heat back into her cheeks without her really understanding why. It looked for all the world as if the man actually enjoyed her flippant words. It was a possibility, one which she would rather not explore. Only scoundrels enjoyed vulgarities in women. Considering the fact that she was, quite bluntly, standing in his cabin wearing naught but her corset and petticoat, she needed the man to have some code of honor.

  Her belly growled once more, annoying her. She didn't want him to know what she needed,

  didn't want him to see her as anything but completely poised and unaffected by him or anything he did.

  "For the moment I will have a meal brought to you." He turned to leave.

  "You cannot simply keep me like you do the parrot."

  He stiffened. When he turned back to face her, his eyes were set and unyielding.

  "Your intended husband will think twice about firing on my ship if you are aboard. So you will accompany us to Boston to ensure we don't face being sunk."

  "That is barbaric! Completely uncivilized. It is 1837, sir."

  Something crossed his face that made her shiver. It was cold, so frigid the first hint of fear spiked through her heart.

  "Really? Since I've just spent a week under the command of your intended, I think I've forgotten just what year it is on account of the medieval treatment he hands out." His voice rose, echoing off the back wall of the cabin. Fury coated each word. His eyes moved to her cheek, pausing there while the muscle along his jaw line jerked. "It's an unfortunate fact that many of your countrymen seem to believe civilized behavior is only for them and not the souls suffering under their command."

  He closed the distance between them in two strides. She backed away without thinking. He was too large and she could not put the fact out of her mind. She was aware of it, more so than anything else at the moment. The memory of how his body felt against hers burned a hole in her reasoning.

  "Maybe this voyage will give you time to consider whether or not you really want to tie yourself to a man who met you with a strike across your face." He reached out and touched her cheek.

  Pain shot through her from just a gentle stroke. "He left his mark on you."

  The protective tone of his voice bothered her. He was her captor, not someone she might expect kindness from.

  Reaching up, she touched the stitches in her neck. "So did you."

  His face tightened but not with anger. Self-loathing glittered in his gaze.

  "I did what had to be done. Your intended groom has far less kindness for my countrymen than he showed you. As much as I regret the necessity of my actions, make no mistake, Miss St. John, my brothers were worth it." His tone softened. "You were the only means of getting my brothers out of that miserable fortress. In spite of the fact that our countries are not formally at war, Commissioner Mordaunt gives shelter to British ships which have plundered American ships.

  My brothers were wearing chains in the same fortress where you arrived to take up residence as lady of the house. Every comfort laid out for Mordaunt and you would have come at the cost of those suffering in chains."

  Her eye widened because she had felt Exactly the same. He noticed, and for one moment they

  stared at one another in agreement. Lorena forced herself to shake her head.

  "Holding me aboard this vessel paints you with the same crime, sir."

  One of his eyebrows lifted. "Hardly. No leather will be laid across your back under my command.

  My brother's ship is crippled. The handiwork of your British navy that is not at war with us." His eyes flared with anger. "Our crews will have their hands full just sailing her home. Your presence will likely keep us alive. I doubt Mordaunt will receive your dowry if the wedding never takes place. Which means the man has excellent motivation to make sure you remain

  healthy."

  "Simply set me back on a course to Bermuda."

  "Do you actually believe that recovering you will in any way persuade Mordaunt to be satisfied with our escape? The man left you out in the tropical heat without food or water for refusing a single command. The man is possessive to the point of cruelty."

  The awful truth of his words rose up thick and choking into her throat. Her mind rebelled against accepting what he said because it left her so very
alone.

  "You will be set free in Boston and not before. Your stay can be as comfortable as you like but make no mistake, I will do what needs doing to ensure the wellbeing of my crew and family."

  He backed up, his expression unreadable.

  "I would do it again." He nodded, no hint of wavering in his voice. "Perhaps the journey home will give you a chance to reconsider just where you would like me to book you passage once we reach Boston. I can find you a ship bound for Britain if you prefer."

  He turned around and headed for the door. His shoulders were set tightly and his fists clenched.

  But his footfalls were heavy, each one shaking the deck. The door slammed shut behind him, the small window set into it rattling.

  Her knees suddenly felt weak. Dropping into one of the chairs, she grappled with the emotions swirling inside her head. It was a tangle which confused her completely.

  The reason was simple. She did not detest him. For certain she did not like him. But where she expected to find loathing for him, all she discovered was frustration for their current situation.

  Perhaps Godford was correct,

  emotions truly were best when concealed. She could not begin to have sympathy for her abductor.

  It was, well it was simply... uncivilized.

  But so was her current predicament.

  Exactly when had the world gone mad? Or maybe she was the one balanced on the edge of

  insanity. She reached for her dress and let it slip down her body. A faint scent of lavender rose from the fabric, telling her someone had tried to use soap on the stains. Such attention to a dress didn't fit with her ideas of abductors.

  He didn't ravish you either...

  Her imagination was going to get her into trouble. Lorena scolded herself, attempting to banish such wild ideas, but the image of Captain Rawlins filled her thoughts instead.

  He was everything she'd never encountered in a man before. The sedate dinners held by her

  stepfather had been formal affairs, but she could not recall any guest being so.. .well,

  attractive. Maybe that was why Godford had forbidden her and her sisters any dances. A man