by Susan Ward
“Was I not clear, lad? I wanted the girl dealt with at the beach.”
Those cunning eyes watched the boy, who for his part bothered not to respond and continued stone-faced to carefully put Morgan’s possession away.
Morgan indulged the silence, studying the boy who betrayed nothing at all. Waiting until the boy was near, he ruthlessly grabbed his chin to jerk his face so that eye contact was impossible to avoid. “Speak.”
Indy’s gaze met Morgan’s squarely. “I won’t harm her.” That simply, he defied Morgan.
Morgan’s gaze began to shimmer. “Oh my, you do dive straight to the heart of things, don’t you?”
Irritation whipped the boy’s face, as he broke free of Morgan’s hands. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“If you wanted the girl for yourself, you need not have put her in my bed first. Your sacrifice and generosity are unnecessary and insulting. Every boy deserves a pet. Did you really fear I wouldn’t let you keep her, if you did not let me have her first?”
“I want her, not at all. You better than anyone should know where my tendencies run.”
“Your tendencies, as you so quaintly put them, are a matter we should discuss later. I hardly think our Little One is up to the rigors of it. To be honest, tonight, neither am I.” Those clever eyes sharpened. “Who is this girl to you?”
“Two tits and a...” he used a vulgar word that Merry had never heard before. Yet, something in the sound and way he said it, made her blush from chin to hairline.
“If that were true, lad, you would have raped her on the beach and slit her throat to ear. You know very well what disobeying my orders means, though it seemed not to have been much of a deterrent in this case. You’ve gone to considerable trouble to make her sufficiently appealing to me. Which means you want me to bed her, so not you or anyone else, is likely to harm her. However, bedding her, no matter how much confidence you place in what you call my gluttonous tendencies and her visually obvious merits, won’t change a thing. I might very well bed her, then give her to Tom’s capable hands, just to teach you a grim lesson about the necessity of trusting me with the truth. Something you fail to do with enormous frequency, I little deserve. So when I ask you who this girl is, don’t insult me with your silence, when obviously, it would serve you better simply to tell me.”
“She’s nothing to me. I know her, not at all. I don’t consort with genteel young girls.”
“You know her not at all, lad, and yet you know her to be genteel,” Morgan commented shrewdly. “A considerable leap in logic given where we found her.”
“You, more than anyone, should know that environment is not all defining.”
Morgan’s smile took on an appreciative edge. “Ah...point taken, lad. Whatever you’re trying to hide, the truth will come out in time. It always does.”
Morgan poured himself another drink and continued to watch the boy sharply. Whatever their relationship was, and Merry wasn’t certain that she wanted to know that any more than she wanted to know exactly what they meant by tendencies. She was sure it was a complicated one she would never make reason of.
The boy was confident enough to dare Morgan’s scrutiny and his displeasure without an ounce of fear. He went about his business with the same quiet efficiency he seemed to do all tasks, as though Morgan’s burning gaze following him was a matter of no concern.
“You know, of course, that Tom won’t stop until she’s dead. He’s right in this. She’s a witness to my meeting with the good earl at Grave’s End. For that reason alone, she should die. An unpleasant reality, as young and as beautiful as she is.”
“Tom may be an excellent quartermaster, but he’s a damn extremist. He’d depopulate half the planet, if you’d let him. At any rate, you’ll do as you please with the girl, regardless of Tom’s panicking or my wishes. They have never seemed to grant a moment’s importance to you, for all that you continually hound me that they do.”
“You’ve made your wishes overly complicated, if I am missing them and failing you. You should have released the girl at the beach, if you wanted to spare her. There would have been no time for me to check that you’d handled this matter wisely. Shay, miserable wretch that he is, would have lied to protect your hide, with the sincerity of a defrocked priest trying to steal the collection basket. It was clear you felt you couldn’t free the girl. If your secret turns out to be an unpleasant one, there is nothing I can do to help you, lad.”
There was a short, unfriendly silence where neither man betrayed any emotion. Every fear revealed itself on Merry’s face.
“I am really getting tired of asking you these questions, lad. Who is this girl and why is she here?”
“I thought you had decided that I would be overly complicated in this,” the boy sneered. “Wouldn’t explaining myself tend to ruin that? If you want to bed her, you’ll bed her. If you want to kill her, you’ll kill her. Don’t pretend with me it could ever be otherwise. I thought we had agreed long ago to abolish that fiction. You’ll do what you will, you always do, and explaining myself won’t in the end change a thing.”
Delicate surprise augmented the sparkle in Morgan’s black eyes. There was a short laugh, a lifted eyebrow.
“So now we’re really digging deep at the marrow of things, and not bothering to dance around it civilly. What benefit you think either of us will gain from this grim little exercise is beyond fathoming. Your ability at reasoning is somewhat in disarray, if you think turning this girl into one of your obscure adolescent tests will change anything of our relationship. You’ve still got a lot to learn, not the least of which, the weapons you choose to toss at me. If I decide to dispose of the girl, I will. You’ve let it be clear, without explanation, it is your wish to spare her. You never seem to grasp, Indy, is that what you constantly set in motion is failure.”
Indy leaned over, retrieved Morgan’s discarded boots, and returned them to the lacquered chest bolted to the wall.
“My,” Morgan said in a civil way. “A symbolic show of obedience and all. You have gotten better at this, haven’t you, lad?”
There was a short unfriendly silence in which the boy obviously revealed he wanted the matter to end. Morgan, having decided it best to let things simmer awhile, turned his attention to Merry.
“Come here, girl, and let me get a look at you,” Morgan said, into the hysterical buzzing in Merry’s head. “Let me see if you’re worth all the bother you’ve caused me this night.”
Even if God had ordered her to do so, Merry couldn’t have found the will to move from her embarrassingly poor place of safety on Morgan’s bed.
The effect of his full attention, paralyzed Merry. His black eyes held neither kindness nor malice. Yet, she could only manage to meet the burning power of his stare for the briefest of moments, before quickly, fearfully dropping her eyes to concentrate on the clasped hands that lay in her lap.
“Put your chin up, girl, and let me have a look at you.” When she didn’t comply, Morgan said softly, “Oh my, we are going to have to teach you to obey an order, aren’t we.”
Merry was unprepared for the harsh clutching of hands that jerked her from the bed. Recognizing the scarred fingers on her pale flesh, she exploded into fury, and screamed, “Let me go, you barbarian. You loathsome son of a...”
It was not the first time she had let loose her temper at Indy. His reaction, however, was different. The words clogged in her throat as his scarred hand went mid-air ready to strike her. Closing her eyes and struggling to break free, Morgan’s voice was lost to her as was the quiet move of his body.
“Really, Indy, there is no need for that. Let her go.”
Caught unaware by the swiftness of her release, Merry could not rally her numb muscles. As her knees buckled beneath her, it was Morgan who caught her up, supporting her as she fell against his towering form. The movement, thankfully, had brought her face and eyes to be hidden against his slowly heaving chest. She longed to pull back, but would have rather die
d than to look at him.
She felt strong fingers in her hair, tensed because she feared he was about to grab it. Frightfully, she looked to find Morgan delicately taking a handful of her raven tresses and touching them to his lips.
Softly, he said, “Scented of roses. The boy has been busy with you, hasn’t he?”
Merry forced herself to look into his eyes then. “Please, don’t kill me. Please.”
Her plea made Morgan smile. “Is there a reason why I should want to kill you?”
Merry had not intended to speak at all. The words had simply come, from a force of their own. With grim disappointment, Merry wondered why they had to be so nakedly pathetic. She was ashamed of her cowardice, her shivering, and the whimper in her voice. She had never lacked for spirit, but then, she had never met Morgan either.
“There is no need to abandon hope, Little One. I won’t harm you. Not unless you give me a reason to. Right now, I will settle on just a good look.”
In a clever, effortless movement, Morgan tilted her face, his broad palm at the base of her throat, her hair tangled through his long fingers. He studied her while his other hand lightly explored her body.
The blood began to pound in Merry’s throat at his touch, which moved with leisurely, efficient thoroughness. His palm left no spot of her body unexplored, as he traced the contour of her hip, climbing lightly up its slope until his fingers spanned her stomach.
She cried out when his palm slipped to the soft cup of the underside of her breast. It was shocking and embarrassing, that queer response to his finger’s work. His eyes opened just a trifle, the slow grin telling her he knew exactly the response of her body to his touch.
“Who would have thought such a beauty lay hidden in a crate at Grave’s End? I was wrong to underestimate you, lad. As far as efforts go, this ranks among your best.”
Merry turned her face away, not wanting him to see as she bit her lower lip, to try and soothe the unfamiliar sensations caused by his expert touch.
Morgan’s soft laughter told her that the effort had been worthless. “Why is there something elusively familiar to all this?”
“The gown,” Indy supplied dryly. “Only the girl is new.”
“Ah, wrapped and everything. You have made your best effort, haven’t you, lad?”
The girl blushed from chin to hairline. Morgan’s gaze traveled her features. Her alabaster skin which contrasted so dramatically with the unfashionably long, wild ebony curls; her clear bluebell eyes; the haughty little nose which carried the stamp of good birth; and those soft red lips. Her beauty was undeniable. Her soft, cultured voice one of breeding. Was it possible the girl was as innocent as she looked?
What had she been doing at Grave’s End with Jack Shelby? What did Indy think to accomplish with him using this mere slip of a girl?
Perhaps it was the wine he’d consumed tonight, but Morgan felt a nagging displeasure from the fear in her eyes. He wondered if this poor frail vassal was truly as frightened as she looked.
Even with the mantel of his reputation many years set, he was unused to women fearing him. Every woman he had ever wanted, had been his for the asking. Yet, Morgan sensed that if he meant to have this girl, at all—which was clearly what Indy intended for reasons obscure—it would be no small effort to get her into his bed willingly. She was afraid of him. That alone made her different from the others.
“Who are you, lass?" he asked softly.
Merry knew she ought to have been anticipating the question and was dismayed with herself for not having thought of a suitable lie beforehand. If it needed one thing only to make her situation worse, it would be for Morgan to learn she was Andrew Merrick’s niece. What was she going to say? She had paused too long for him to believe any answer she managed. So, she reasoned her best course would be to keep her mouth tightly shut.
Morgan repeated the question. When she didn’t answer, his fingers found her chin, and gave a gentle tug on her lower lip. “Oh my, I would have thought, by now, even you would have realized the necessity of getting away from me, as quickly as possible. Do you think your silence will serve you at all, girl?”
She sank her teeth into her lower lip and jerked her face away.
“We’re under full sail, Little One. Though, our route is somewhat circuitous, we a have destination in a fortnight. So, unless it is your wish to sail with me to Ireland, you had better explain yourself quickly. If you drag this out any longer, we’ll be too far from Cornwall for me to do anything about returning you home, before they know you’re gone.”
“Ireland?” The words burst through the burning fibers of Merry’s mouth. “No. You can’t. You can’t take me with you to Ireland. I won’t allow it.”
“Won’t you? If you’d like to go topside and convince Tom— you remember Tom don’t you? He’s the one who wants me to kill you— regardless, if you think Tom will consent to turning the ship around, be my guest. Though, I doubt he’ll be agreeable with a dozen British patrollers roaming the coast.”
Staring up into those opaque eyes, she knew it was hardly likely that any aboard ship would cross Morgan to help her. But to sail to Ireland with Morgan and his pirate ship....No, no, no. She would have to stop him. But how?
Merry forced herself to look into his eyes. “Please. You must take me back. Please.”
“I would be more than happy to see you safely back to shore, but that depends on how much you’re willing to cooperate. We’ve reached an impasse and I have only asked you your name.”
Merry swallowed hard, more frightened of answering his question than defying him. She whispered on a voice, embarrassingly thin, “Is it necessary to have a woman’s life history before you rape them?”
His black eyes suddenly brightened. “Not always, Little One, just when I find myself curious. It tends to prove beneficial when one has a whim to have intimate conversation after the raping. Are you ashamed of who you are?”
The girl puffed up like a suddenly inflated balloon, those bluebell eyes flashing daggers at him. It almost worked before she dropped her gaze to focus on her knitted fingers.
“Ah, a mystery. I will learn them all before you leave my ship, count on that, Little One.”
Again silence. Something had shown in her eyes that told Morgan the answers he wanted wouldn’t come unless he beat the girl. The last thing any man would want to do is beat this girl, beautiful and fragile as she was. She was frightened to death, but not so frightened as to tell him what he wanted to know.
His long, tanned fingers reached to touch the slope of her cheek. “There’s no reason for your fear, girl. I only asked to see you home. How am I to know where to take you, if I don’t know who your people are?”
If this were an act, it was a damn good one. The man could drip sincerity when he chose to. Merry—weary, frightened, and desperate to return home, before she was in any more trouble than she was sure she was already in—felt a moment of dreadful uncertainty.
When he spoke again his words came to her low and kind. “Whatever you’re trying to hide, your silence won’t help you. It will only force my hand to keep you. There’s no question which one of us will enjoy that situation more. What will your stubbornness gain you, but a fair deal of me, and your continued captivity? I can’t release you, until my curiosity is satisfied as to who you are and why you were with Shelby spying on my meeting. If your answers are as innocent as I suspect they are, you have nothing at all to fear. Contrary to the ravings of hysterical fisherman, I don’t make a habit of murdering young girls. At least not when I can help it. Why not spare us both quite a bit of bother and cooperate?”
Merry concentrated on showing nothing and his gaze remained steady and probing.
Feeling her tremble, Morgan ran a hand up her arm, noting it was icy, and understood instantly.
“Indy, bring me some wine. While I appreciate the effort, the girl is half frozen. This gown is hardly sufficient rigging for the Channel on a foggy night.”
Lifting her chi
n with long tapered fingers, Morgan put a wineglass to her lips. When she had taken several swallows, he set the glass aside to lightly brush the droplets from her lips.
His fingers lingered on her lower lip as his intense jet gaze studied her again. “Better?”
Several minutes passed before Merry could manage a small nod. The gentleness of his touch made her head spin, the unwilling response of her body was unnerving. The play on her lips was not the kind of gesture she had even remotely conceived of from a man. It was humiliating the way her body responded to this meager contact.
As if he sensed her discomfort, his fingers slowly began to move, once again. Finally, in a weak voice she hardly recognized as her own, Merry whispered, “Please.”
His black eyes began to sparkle. “Please what, Little One? I don’t think I could deny you anything at the moment. Should we send the boy from the cabin?”
“Please, take your hands from me, sir,” she demanded, her voice a blend of poorly concealed embarrassment and absurd politeness, given her circumstance.
Morgan smiled. “Not the answer I had hoped for, Little One. But as you said ‘please’ and called me ‘sir’—” His unfinished thought hung in the tension laden air and then, to her utter amazement, he released her.
She watched nervously as Morgan moved from her to stretch in a chair, crossed his stocking feet at his ankles and reached for the glass of wine he had fed her with. Hot color flooded her cheeks at the memory of his fingers touching her lips. Before she could conceal her thoughts, he put the glass to his lips, in a light erotic contact swallowing the remaining wine in a single savoring effort.
Into her breathless silence of fear and unwilling fascination, she heard him say, “Do you have any idea how you flatter me, Little One? I have never made a lady blush by simply drinking from her wineglass. Whatever do you do when a man kisses you? Do you turn the colors of the rainbow from head to toe?”
Merry’s spirit, poor errant thing though it had been since Morgan had entered the cabin, returned to her in a senseless floodtide.
