The Princess and Her Pirate

by Lois Greiman

  Her eyes fluttered up slowly, as if it were difficult to shift them from his chest. Her lashes were thick and sable. Her cheeks were flushed. Hoary danced like a leashed hound.

  “What do you mean?”

  He laughed. It sounded wheezy. But his chest was on fire, so that could only be expected. He clenched his muscles and fought for some kind of normalcy. “No man could take you to wife and not have you.”

  Her honey-sweet lips parted slightly. Her eyes narrowed in thought, and her hand stilled just below his bottom rib. It made it damned hard to breathe. Harder still to keep from rising on his toes just to urge her hand a little lower. But he was thinking now. Thinking, he repeated. Hoary snorted.

  She lifted her chin and moved her hand again. “Do you mean to say I am…attractive.”

  He barked a laugh. “Don’t—” he began, but just then her hand slipped down, causing his breath to catch hard in his throat.

  She moved closer. “Don’t what?” she asked, and slipped her hand up his shaft.

  He squeezed his eyes closed, and she brushed her lips against his chest. It would be girlish to tremble, he was certain, but he may have done just that.

  He forced his eyes open, and she lifted her gaze to his. She rose up on her toes and kissed him, freezing the world.

  “Is it a hoax?” he breathed.

  “Hoax?” She scowled and moved her hand again. His cock pulsed, drawing her attention lower and causing her to tighten her grip.

  He moaned.

  “You think I faked my innocence?”

  “Virgins don’t usually—”

  She licked his nipple, lapping it with the tip of her tongue. Every muscle in his body jerked up as tight as a bowline.

  “Don’t usually what?” she whispered.

  Was he panting? “Damn, woman! You’ve the ways of a London whore!”

  She blinked. “Truly?”

  He would have laughed if he could breathe. As it was, every bit of energy went into keeping himself upright, keeping his hands to himself, trying to think.

  She was scowling, but her hand was still wrapped around his erection, and her lush lips were still parted.

  “How do virgins act?” Her hand moved.

  “Virginal.”

  She stroked. He moaned.

  “Can you expound?”

  “I’m hardly an expert on the subject.”

  “Truly?” Her hand stopped. He missed the movement immediately.

  “I’m a pirate. A bastard at—”

  “A lord. With all the lordly rights.”

  “Aye, well, I’ve been busy.” And injured. And Elizabeth had done little to enhance his desire for women. She, too, had seemed innocent at the outset, but proved to be well experienced. This girl had seemed experienced, but now, after lying with her…He deepened his scowl. It was all very confusing. But Hoary didn’t care in the least. Hoary wasn’t confused. Hoary could focus like a beacon. “But what of you? Surely you haven’t been too busy to…” She was stroking again, distracting him.

  “No. Not too busy. Too…foolish. I did not realize how…” She paused and kissed his chest.

  He swallowed. As it turned out, he truly had had no idea what a woman could do with her hands. Perhaps he was the innocent here. “How what?” he asked.

  “It was not unpleasant, MacTavish.” She said the words casually, but there was a taut earnestness to the words that made him pause. “I had no way of knowing your touch…” She stopped herself. “That touching would feel…It was not repulsive.”

  “You had no way of knowing?”

  “As I told you…” It seemed almost that she tried to hold herself back. But she leaned forward finally and kissed his throat. He managed not to rip her gown off and reenact the entire deflowering process. He didn’t quite manage to control his frustrated moan. “I was well protected,” she said, and kissed his jaw.

  He gritted his teeth in an attempt to think, to get his mind around this change in her. Hadn’t she, just hours before, refused to lie with him? Hadn’t she fought like a tiger to protect her virginity? “They must have pounced on you from every corner.” It took him a moment to realize he’d spoken his thoughts aloud. “Men,” he added. “How did you keep them at bay?”

  “It was not so hard.”

  He could feel the sweet softness of her feral breast pressed with hot intimacy against his chest. “Not so hard, lass, they must have been tearing down your—”

  She kissed his nipple.

  “Balls, girl, who protected them from you?”

  She drew back slightly, and he regretted his words immediately, for anything that stopped the touching could be immediately labeled “very bad.”

  “You think I’ve thrown myself at men?” she asked, and blinked, not as if she were insulted, but merely intrigued.

  Her hand started up again, which surely would suggest that, yes, she had indeed thrown herself at men, but that could not be the case, not with what he now knew. She’d been a virgin just moments before, and if there had been the slightest chance for any breathing man to have her, that man would have taken it or died trying.

  His brain felt hot. “Why me?” he asked.

  “Are you not the lord of this isle?” she asked, and smiled a little. “My liege?”

  He nodded, just now remembering. But the foolishness struck him immediately. Aye, he might not be as experienced as some, but he knew enough to realize that she was not giving herself to him out of some sense of—Hell, she was not giving herself to him at all. She was taking. Devouring. He stopped her hand before Hoary could guess his intent.

  “Why me?” he asked again. “Why now?”

  She tried to free her wrist. He tightened his grip. She scowled, looking young and vexed.

  “Lass,” he said, and lifted her chin with his free hand so that their gazes met. “Perhaps…Maybe you could trust me with just this tiny piece of the truth.”

  She stilled and her mouth softened. “I’ve told you the truth, MacTavish,” she said. “I was protected, told to save myself. Indeed, I was ordered to save myself.”

  “But you were wed.”

  “Aye. To a man who could not…” She paused. He waited. “Could not do what you do.” She said the words breathlessly from those damp plump lips. He hoped he wouldn’t faint.

  “And you didn’t…miss it?” he asked.

  She swallowed and glanced down. “We were not the demonstrative sort.”

  “We?”

  “My family. My parents.” She shrugged and looked up again, and in her face was an expression of awe, as if she’d discovered something so wondrous she could not yet fathom the truth. “We did not touch.”

  “What?”

  “In any way. Not as punishment. Not as affection. Nor was I allowed to be touched by others. I was—”

  He realized he was holding his breath.

  “I was their little princess,” she said. “Set above. Set aside.”

  “There must have been a slew of men trying to breech the fortress once they had seen you.”

  Her brows dipped momentarily. Then she raised her eyes and smiled slightly. It made his heart hurt, but he remembered the lies with a hard effort. “Do you find me alluring, MacTavish?”

  He considered lying, or at least not telling the truth, which was entirely different in his own way of thinking. But there seemed little purpose. “A sand snail would find you alluring, princess, and you know ’tis true.”

  “No one said as much. Mother was…” She shook her head as if thinking back. “Some said she was the most beautiful woman in all of Europe. Perhaps in comparison I paled to—”

  “It doesn’t matter who you’re compared to.”

  She stared at him for a moment, then leaned forward and kissed his lips.

  Desire struck him again, but it was deeper now, slower, still burning, but it was not the hot flash of fire like before. Now it burned hot and red, like stoked embers.

  “Are you saying you didn’t know you were beau
tiful?”

  “A person’s physical appearance…” She shrugged. “Outer beauty oft hides a host of inner ugliness.”

  “Then why not choose an ugly man?”

  “Are you assuming you are not ugly, MacTavish?” He didn’t answer, and she laughed. “Truth to tell, I had no desire for a man at all, MacTavish.”

  “Forgive me for finding that hard to believe,” he said. “Since I have scratches from me shoulders to me arse.”

  She cleared her throat and glanced away. It was the first time he’d ever seen her blush. And that couldn’t be faked. Could it?

  “I was ignorant.”

  He watched her. She glanced toward him and away again. She was strangely shy, for a nymphomaniac. Not that he had any sort of aversion to nymphomaniacs.

  “I didn’t know…” She paused, pursed her ungodly lips and tilted her head as if defying the world. “It was really quite pleasant.”

  He flexed his shoulders, feeling the scratches burn his skin. “Pleasant?”

  “In truth…” She flitted her eyes down and up. “I would try it again if you are agreeable.”

  She stepped forward, and he retreated though he would not have thought he had the strength.

  She gave him a questioning glance. He scowled in return and kept his hands carefully to himself.

  “I don’t make it a practice to deflower virgins.”

  “I am quite happy to hear it, MacTavish, but since the deflowering is already done…” She shrugged and stepped toward him.

  He caught her wrist. “I will have the truth. Who are you? Some sorceress trained to seduce? A spy sent to defeat me?”

  Her expression sobered. “If I am a spy, I am a spy for you,” she said.

  His emotions were roiling like storm clouds. “Tell me, lass,” he growled. “Why are you here?”

  For a moment, the sharp-edged lady of fortune stared up at him, but in an instant she softened and raised her hand to his cheek. Her palm felt soft against his face. “I am here for this,” she whispered, and slipped her hand down his chest and onto his abdomen.

  Sensations burned like magic. A thousand errant emotions screamed for attention, but he tightened his grip on her wrist.

  “Nay,” he said, and Hoary whined like a starved hound. “Not again. Not until I know the truth.”

  She opened her mouth to speak, but he knew it was a lie even before she spoke. So he backed away, snatched up his clothes, and fled.

  Chapter 27

  “Y ou’ve returned.” Burroun’s voice rumbled as he entered the darkened throne room. The chamber contained very little; a few hanging tapestries depicting gloriously bloody battles, a carefully woven floor carpet, and a throne. Cairn hated this room.

  He poured himself a mug of beer from a pitcher he kept on the oaken arm of the throne. The pitcher was made of silver. The mug was crafted of gold-encrusted ivory. He emptied it in one chug and filled it again.

  Burr eyed him quizzically. “I see your mood has improved.”

  Cairn gave him a dark look. He had left the castle three days since to find answers and his wits. But he had waited too long to inquire about the ship called the Melody. In fact, the good captain had already sailed for France. Upon questioning the man’s first mate, who had remained behind, he had learned that a young woman named Mrs. Mulgrave had indeed traveled on their ship. She had been accompanied by a largish man with limited intelligence, and she had come from Sedonia.

  Cairn scowled. Aye, some of her story seemed to be true, but she had not said she was traveling from Sedonia. He raised his gaze to Burr’s. “You’ve been giving her lessons in defense?” He had given up the task, for it was all too obvious that he could not touch her without bedding her.

  The Norseman looked less than pleased. “Of course. My laird has deemed it necessary to train his prisoners in the art of self-defense. So I train them. Who am I to think it strange?”

  Cairn filled his mug again. “Quit your whining, Burr. You make a poor fishwife.”

  “And you make a poor laird when you’re mooning over the maid like a smitten harp seal.”

  A number of possible responses presented themselves to Cairn, but he had learned long ago that it was best not to get into a pissing contest with someone of Burr’s phenomenal size. The man could flood the room before Cairn had opened his pantaloons, but it was late, he was tired, and not in the best of moods, as Burr had rather sarcastically suggested.

  “Better a harp seal mooning over a maid than a whale moping over a child,” he said, and quaffed the beer again.

  Burr stiffened. “What are you trying to say, laddie?”

  He shrugged, loosening his muscles. “Gem,” he said and rolled one shoulder back, easing the tension there. “Couldn’t you find a doxy old enough for solid foods?”

  “You think her a doxy?” Burroun said the words quietly. Cairn smiled at the lack of tone.

  “Maybe the two of you are spending your time in intellectual pursuits,” he suggested.

  “Leave the lass out of this,” Burr suggested quietly. “’Tis none of your concern.”

  “I’m the laird of the isle,” Cairn said, and drank again. “Everything is my concern. Did you forget?”

  “That you’re the laird or that you’re an ass?”

  He made a sort of salute in Burr’s direction with his mug. “Have you bedded her yet?”

  The muscles in the Norseman’s neck tightened, but he remained where he was. “I’d be tempted to beat you senseless, lad, but I see you’ve already achieved that state.”

  “They say it’s best to teach them young.”

  The giant took a step forward. “Do you think your position will keep you from a thrashing?”

  “Nay,” Cairn said, and grinned. The devil churned in his belly. “I think your age will.”

  “’Tis too bad I didn’t train your haughty lass the sooner,” Burr said. “So she could have beaten some sense into you.”

  “Aye, but you’ve been too busy training young Gem, aye.”

  In retrospect, he realized he should have been better prepared. After all, one does not provoke a sleeping bear without expecting some repercussions. But he was half-drunk, and his thoughts were divided. And perhaps, even after all their years together, Cairn had believed his position would protect him from his best friend’s tutelage. He was wrong, though not disappointed, and true to Burr’s unpredictability, it was a bootheel and not a fist that caught Cairn in the shoulder. He spun off the throne like a top, tumbled off the raised platform, and struck the wall at an oblique angle. A candelabra crashed onto the floor, spewing hot wax in its wake.

  The door flew open, and Peters leapt in.

  “Get out!” they roared in unison.

  Peters glanced from one to the other, nodded wide-eyed, and backed out, closing the door behind him.

  Cairn returned his attention to his opponent. “Too weak to throw a decent punch, Burr?” he asked.

  “Too proud to waste one on the likes of some pampered fool who doesn’t know how to speak of his betters.”

  “Betters?” Cairn raised his brows and his fists in unison. But the truth was, he rarely used his fists. He’d learned to brawl from the dregs of society, and that meant using whatever lay at hand. Unfortunately, there was little in the way of ammunition in the throne room. The throne itself came to mind. “Do you think yourself my better, Burr?”

  “Actually…” The old man moved like a castrato, light as a fighting cock on his feet. It would have been disconcerting had Cairn been sober. “I was talking about Gem.”

  “The thief?” He circled the giant, honestly surprised. He knew the man had formed a fondness for the girl, but perhaps it was deeper than he’d realized. He grinned. How amusing would it be if he were falling in love?

  “Since when have you been one to look down on a bit of thievery?” Burr asked, and, moving in like a serpent, struck with the heel of his hand. Cairn leapt back, just avoiding contact and managing, by naught but pure luck, to land
a brushing blow to his opponent’s left cheek.

  Burr nodded his admiration and circled lightly. “Perhaps your haughty lass has taught you a thing or two, aye?” Darting in, he planted a quick jab in Cairn’s belly. It felt something like a volcanic explosion, but MacTavish managed to stay on his feet and stumble out of reach before he found himself dead. Burr grinned. “But then, she would be the one to do it, wouldn’t she? What with a face like that, she’s probably taught a good many men a host of lessons not soon to be—”

  Cairn struck him square in the nose. Blood sprayed into the air, squirting like a geyser onto Cairn’s loose-fitting tunic. The pattern of red on white distracted him for a moment, and in that second Burr darted in and landed twin punches to his gut.

  Cairn refused to bend to the pain. Instead, he gritted his teeth into a smile and wondered if he would survive this archaic pleasure.

  “You’re out of your depth here, lad,” Burroun said. “Why not admit it?”

  Cairn laughed out loud, welcoming the challenge. “The day I can’t best you, Norseman, is the day I happily lie down and die.”

  “And not a moment too soon,” said Burr. “But I was saying you’re out of depth with the haughty trollop.”

  Cairn charged. Like a callow youth, he lowered his head and ran at the mountain called Burroun. No one was more surprised than he when the other actually went down. Cairn stumbled back, trying to catch his balance, then fell like a downed tower atop him.

  “Damn—” Cairn began, but in that instant, Burr bucked, tossing the other well over his head. He landed in a heap and rolled painfully to his side. Burroun was already up, half-bent, blood spattering onto his chest where the fur vest parted.

  “I don’t mind you swiving a few maids, lad, but it would be best if you kept yourself to the ones who weren’t contagious.”

  “Aye well…” Cairn sat up slowly. Burr stood toward the end of the carpet Cairn had just rolled off of. “’Tis obvious enough you wouldn’t know an innocent if she bit you in the arse,” he said, and, reaching out, yanked the carpet with all his might.

  Burr teetered and toppled, landing hard enough to make the room quake. Cairn leapt to his feet, but by the time he had reached his fallen comrade, the other had already risen.