by Susan Ward
It sounded theatrical, even to him. Most probably he would have felt ridiculous saying it, if it didn’t suit, to perfection, this doe eyed girl. The blush that answered him swept her face, charming as it brightened the color of her eyes.
“I prefer not to be nipped, at all,” she announced, haughty and indignant.
Morgan began to laugh softly. He lifted one of her curls and laced his fingers through it.
“Someday, Little One, I suspect you’ll find that nipping is not so bad. Haven’t you been tempted even once to lay with a man?”
As much as Merry hated his vile question, she couldn’t escape the sudden memory of her few failed explorations into passion. She couldn’t imagine what it was that made women submit to men. The few kisses she had allowed, stirred nothing more in her than a strange sensation of annoyance.
Being kissed by a man, in her experience, was about as exciting as flattening your lips to a dead fish. Hard mouths and stiff hands, half wanting to excite, half worried to offend. What she had learned about passion only made her more determined to avoid it.
Where was the pleasure in letting a man get heated up, while you went cold, so he could do what he wanted with your body? Tempted, indeed. Men, how unfathomable they were to think temptation brought women to them.
“Tempted? You have an overrated opinion of your sex, if you think it’s temptation that brings women to your bed, instead of duty, greed, and the forced submission of marriage.”
What Morgan forced into submission was his impulse to gently seduce her, now. Those flashing sapphire eyes betrayed that she was absolutely serious.
Instead he found himself cupping her chin as he said, “Little One, I think I am going to keep you forever, if for no other reason than the men where you’re from don’t deserve you.”
With that, his hands moved to gently lift her from the ground. As he felt her protests, he laughed softly and said, “Stop squirming. No man would force his unwanted attention after such an eloquent speech. You are surrounded by glass in case you hadn’t notice.”
Morgan set her in the center of his bed. He tried to recall what had brought him to the cabin, in the first place. He went to his drawers, seeing that she had rummaged there as well, and bent her a sternly lifted brow.
Unexplainable to Merry, it had the power to instantly make her lower her eyes in belated shame over snooping.
“We’re not going to get along well, at all, if you continue to paw my possessions.”
It was a warning, no matter what prosaic gloss he covered it in. Merry lifted her head and looked in the direction of his voice. She was about to bite off a curt rejoinder, when the words suddenly failed to come.
Morgan had moved to the far side of the cabin. He stood draped in a stunning shower of light, pouring through the long lines of squares of glass behind him. What her eyes fixed upon, rendered her speechless.
It was hardly Merry’s habit to study the male anatomy, but oh, she had never seen a specimen like Morgan. Somehow, he had come to be naked from the waist up. She was alarmed to feel the rapidly rising heat of her cheeks.
His chest had a masculine beauty a Michelangelo sculpture would have envied. The firm rise of muscles seemed to have a life of their own. They moved with a grace that even in her limited experience with men she recognized was sensual. The shapely play of line, curve, and muscle caught the eye, no matter how modest his actions were.
Merry was about to thank God he had rather quickly covered himself with a new shirt. The motion of his hands working the buttons had brought to mind the sensation of those same long, tanned fingers touching her.
He was doing nothing at all, truly. She could not imagine why she was suddenly reminded of his touch. Feeling the hot embers of that same confusing blend of wakefulness and excitement, she tried to concentrate on anything. The number of buttons, the length of time between each one, how many were left, anything.
She had been halfway to believing his legend with women had all been myth and exaggeration, but that was before seeing him half exposed, in all his demon splendor. No one needed to tell her the man was magnificent.
Convinced that she desired Morgan, not at all, Merry could not convince herself that Morgan, as a man, was not desirable.
She was gratefully saved from the discomfort of her thoughts when he said, “I feel rather ridiculous always calling you ‘Little One’. What do you think of a compromise? There’s no harm in giving me your first name, girl, at least so I know what to call you.”
“Merry.” It took several minutes to realize she had spoken her name, and not merely thought it. She looked up in alarm and wondered if he heard her. By the expression on his face, it was clear he had.
He was finishing his work with the shirt when the key turned in the latch. Indy entered, carrying a breakfast tray. “Merry has an exceedingly curious nature,” Morgan said, tossing a grin at her as he moved toward the door. “See that you lock everything.”
Indy surveyed the room in a single glance and found the girl huddled in the middle of Morgan’s bed. That she was still wearing her nightdress told him everything. As he set the tray on the table, his black eyes took note of the papers strewn across the floor.
“What a circus,” the boy grumbled, sinking down to carefully return Morgan’s items into his sea chest. “What the devil were you looking for anyway?”
“A key.”
“Haven’t you the slightest shred of common sense? What good would a key have done you? We’ve been under full sail all night. Do you imagine you could have swam your way back to Mother England?”
Of course it was absurd. Still: “I have every right to want my freedom.”
“Don’t count on Morgan seeing it that way. Oh, Christ, what mischief have you gotten into this time?” He snatched the picture from the floor. “Was he very angry?”
The memory of Morgan’s face made her shiver. “Very.”
He tucked the broken frame back into its velvet box and secured the latch. “You’ve got a way of seeing and hearing exactly what you shouldn’t. You would think, with all the trouble you’re in, you would learn to behave yourself.”
She ignored his slight, sensed a mystery and asked, “Who is the girl anyway?”
“She was his wife, Merry,” Indy said emotionlessly.
“His wife?” Stunned, Merry sat back on her heels and studied the boy alertly. “But, whatever did he do to her? Did she displease him? Did he make her walk the plank?”
“Idiocy,” the boy whispered under his breath. “Why do you have to be so childish? I can see it was a mistake to tell you. Morgan didn’t do a damn thing to her. She died.”
“But, Indy—”
He cut her off. “But nothing, Merry. Enough. I suggest you don’t ask him about it because he’ll blister my ears for having told you this. Nothing rankles Morgan more than having people groping around in his private affairs. As for you going through his things, you’re lucky he didn’t beat you.”
The anger she had held, tightly in check with Morgan, surged upward now she was alone with the boy.
“Heavens above, we shouldn’t offend Morgan’s right of privacy, now should we,” Merry sputtered furiously. “Little matter that my own rights have been so grievously abused. That even the right to my freedom has been taken from me.”
“You’re alive.”
“In such lovely circumstance. I suppose you want me to thank you.”
“Did you hear me asking for thanks? You have no one to blame but yourself for this mess. You have no one, but yourself, to get you out of it.”
That he was right did nothing to lessen Merry’s indignation.
“So what,” Merry asked stiffly, “will Morgan do with me now?”
“It depends on how much trouble you are. If you don’t behave, he’s apt to toss you overboard for the sharks. And if you really try his patience he might sell you.”
Sell? For a moment she wondered if she’d heard him correctly.
“He wouldn’t
sell me,” Merry said, sure the boy was just trying to frighten her. “Why would anyone wish to buy me? I thought I was vexing and a nuisance.”
“I can think of at least a dozen reasons. You’re temperament isn’t one of them.”
Surely the boy was jesting, though it was impossible to tell. His face revealed nothing.
“It’s obnoxious of you to try to frighten me,” Merry exclaimed.
Propping her chin on one of Morgan’s brocade pillows, she watched the boy as he moved about the cabin. His long black waves were in a braid today that swished with each step. She stared at him in fascination.
There was something so blatantly different about the boy, a difference that proved compelling and baffling. As amazing as it was, she no longer feared him. She wondered at his strange relationship with the pirate captain.
“Is that how Morgan came to have you? Did he buy you?”
If he was insulted by the questions, it didn’t show on his scarred face.
“Oh-ho, you do come up with the damnedest notions. What are you imagining in that foolish, simple mind of yours? Do you think that I am Morgan’s fancy boy?” The instant blush betrayed her. “What a child you are. Do you really have so little instinct about men? Morgan may be a man of wide dissipations, but I assure you it does not extend to that. Morgan is a skirt man, through and through.”
There was nothing about Morgan that wasn’t virile, strong, and male. Still, he had not even so much as kissed her.
Surely, a man of such shocking morals would have at least done that, if women were his fancy. Or was it her? Was there something about her that failed to stir his fancy?
Irritated with herself for allowing that last thought, she looked at the boy and asked, “So, how did you come to be with Morgan?”
“Morgan found me chained in the hold of the vilest British warship ever to sail the Atlantic,” he said lightly. “Pure filth. I don’t know how long I was there. Quite a while, I think.” His eyes were savagely cruel as they fixed on her. “Would you like to know what your fine fighting men of Britain do to young boys on their ships?”
Merry shook her head, shuddering. The way he said it, left little doubt in Merry that she didn’t want to know.
“If Morgan hadn’t found me when he did, I would be mad by now or dead. As it was, I nearly died the first month aboard this ship. Withdrawal from opium intoxication is a gruesome thing, almost as bad as the slow return to clarity of mind, and the sudden undiluted picture of things that have been done to you. There are times I wonder, if it would not have been more merciful to spare me my rescue and simply shoot me.”
Staring at the scarred face, with its soulless plains, Merry was consumed by an awareness of the suffering hidden beneath it. It was little wonder that the boy was so bitter and strange.
“So is that why you are so loyal to him, despite his nefarious self? Because he showed you a simple human kindness, and did not leave you there to rot? You feel you owe Morgan something for saving your life?”
One black brow arched severely. “You have an exasperating mind. Nefarious self? Do you imagine Morgan is the devil? He’s a man, Merry. A better man than any I found on that warship. Some good. Some bad. Flesh and blood like everyone else.”
Merry lifted her dainty noise an inch. “You will never prove that to me.”
“Share his bed, then, Merry. If you can’t find proof there, that he is a flesh and blood man, far be it from me to try to convince you with mere words.”
He was going toward the door, key in hand. “Please,” Merry cried, springing to her feet. “You can’t keep me locked in here alone, forever.”
“If you weren’t such a bloody nuisance—” Seeing her face fall, Indy swore under his breath and added, “I will work on Morgan for you. But for the love of God, Merry, try to exercise some common sense.”
~~~
Day one passed in an endless drone of strange sounds, isolation and worries. What must her parents be thinking? Merry fretted. Would anyone ever find her?
Lying on the window seat, a stack of Morgan’s pillows beneath her head and her bare feet pressed against the glass, Merry listened for the ships bells, that strange code that marked the passing of time. Outside the cabin was a world active and alive. From the decks floated the sound of constant movement, footsteps, talking, shouting, and singing. Occasionally, there was music, the sound of a fife or violin. Other times riotous crashing of quick brawls and petty quarrels. The ship was always noisy, a man’s world, never peaceful.
Inside the cabin there was silence. Lying alone in her small, rocking prison, she might have been a spider in a web, for all the significance she had on Morgan’s ship.
Inactivity had always been her nemesis. Her life had always included a healthy dose of the out of doors. Long hours riding the melancholy grandeur of the Cornish hills, the sun and air sharp against her cheeks. There was always Philip and Kate to make mischief with. Uncle Andrew’s sharp wit to challenge her. And her parents, so loving and alive in their private happiness they seemed to exist in.
If Morgan had searched for a punishment, he could not have picked a more perfect one. The walls of the cabin closed in as the minutes dragged by.
If not for Indy, she was certain her first day as Morgan’s captive would have sent her into madness. It was Indy who saw to her needs. Indy that brought her meals. Indy who emptied the chamber pot, when at last, need had reduced her to using it.
The first time he had reached for it, she had thought she would die of mortification. It seemed nothing was private aboard a pirate ship. In a tone that had burned her ears, he had barked she would be more humiliated if he let it stew in the stuffy confines of the cabin. He went about his task with his never failing indifference. Modesty, it seemed, had no place on a ship.
As darkness spread across the sky, she watch the clouds grow slowly gray. Gentle streaks of orange and rose laced through them, and then vanished.
Indy found her lying as she had all day, her face a mask of youthful boredom. Her long hair was fanned around her like the feathers of a peacock tail.
“If you don’t let me from this cabin, I shall die. I think I am ill. Last month I had a fever. I have not fully recovered, and now this.”
She rolled over to watch the boy. He set yet another tray to be eaten alone at Morgan’s table.
“You look perfectly healthy to me, Merry.”
“How can you be sure? These things can come on suddenly and then...death.”
She collapsed back onto the pillows and Indy rolled his eyes. What an idiotic creature she was.
“Please,” came her small, wheedling voice, “a little fresh air. That is all I need. One turn around the deck. That’s all.”
“Do you plan to eat or sulk? You haven’t touched a thing all day. Enjoy our fresh supplies from Falmouth, while you can. Later on, it’ll be hardtack and salt beef. If you starve yourself, you will become ill. Morgan isn’t going to be moved by such childish melodrama. He’s more apt to warm your backside, if he finds you enacting a tragedy in his cabin. Blast it, Merry, no one has ever died of boredom before.”
“How do you know? It isn’t exactly something one would write on a tombstone? Here lies Mr. Jones, dead of boredom, when boredom could have very well been the cause.”
“Because if boredom killed, Little One, half the men at sea would be dead.”
That low voice.
Merry pushed up from the pillows to find Morgan looming in the cabin. It was then Merry noticed that Indy had set two plates.
“How dare you keep me locked alone in here all day,” Merry hissed, her blue eyes slits of rage, as she anxiously followed Morgan’s movements.
“If I had known you were suffering a decline from my absence, Little One, I would have come from the deck sooner.”
How odious of him to purposely misunderstand her.
“I am more likely to suffer a decline from your presence.”
Morgan’s smile was insultingly unruffled by that. “Se
e, Indy, your Little One is fine. Whatever you imagined she was suffering, being alone in the cabin all day, I can’t see any change in her.”
He settled in a chair, his head resting back with his eyes closed, as though he hadn’t a single scar on his conscience.
“I demand you let me from this cabin,” Merry shouted.
“The door will stay locked, Little One, until I decide otherwise.”
“Damn you. If I were a man, you would not be so smug in your treatment of me.”
“If you were a man...” the slight turn of his head brought her full view of black eyes sparkling wickedly. “...you would not be in my cabin at all. You would be with the rats.”
The sickening suspicion, that Indy had shared their conversation with Morgan, pushed Merry’s nerves into a frenzy of mortification mixed with fury.
Staring at Morgan, sun bronzed and wind fresh, all the frustration of the day raged to the surface. She picked up the first object within her reach and flung it at him, with all her might. It was a good thing her aim didn’t match her strength. Her mouth made a wide “O”. She stared in anxious dismay as Morgan’s shiny reflecting circle nicked the polished wood of the cabin wall.
“That was not at all ladylike,” he informed her unflustered.
“I don’t care. I wish it had pierced your black, demon heart. I wish...”
It was Indy who grabbed her by the arms to give her a hard shake. “Blast it, Merry, of all the muddled-headed stunts. If that had hit Morgan...”
“I don’t care. I hate him. I hate this ship. I hate you.”
“Someone should have spanked you a long time ago. I am sure you would have benefited immeasurably from it,” Indy grumbled, dragging her from the stern gallery and dropping her heavily into a chair at Morgan’s table. “Behave yourself.”
Merry did not. She itched to throw something else. If she had not been hungry, if the food had not smelled so good, she would have thrown it at him. Instead, she settled on making a face at the boy.
When the table lay set, Morgan rose from his chair, settled beside her, and watched until the boy left the cabin.
