Taken by You

by Connie Mason

  “Taken By You is… filled with adventure!”

  —Romantic Times

  “DON’T COME ANY CLOSER!”

  “Your virtue is safe for the moment. I doubt if I could rouse myself enough to partake of your dubious charms.”

  Good, she thought, awash in relief.

  “I didn’t say I wouldn’t feel differently tomorrow, or even ten minutes from now. If I want you, I will have you.”

  He was so close Luca could feel the hot rush of his breath against her cheek. “If you return me to Spain, I will remember you in my prayers until the day I die.”

  “I do not want your prayers, Luca. Perhaps I want something else from you.”

  Luca went still, enthralled by the intensity of Morgan’s eyes. His head lowered, his blond hair brushing her forehead as his lips touched hers. Fire. Pure fire …

  Taken

  by You

  CONNIE MASON

  © 1996, 2011 Connie Mason. All rights reserved.

  Prologue

  Somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean

  1580

  Morgan Scott poised briefly on the prow of the sinking galleon, arched his scarred, emaciated body, and dove into the dark, wind-tossed sea below. His arms and legs churning furiously, he struggled to escape the sucking wake of the sinking Black Marian. He looked back but once, silently rejoicing when he saw the Devil’s ship slowly sinking beneath the surface, taking her brutal Spanish master and crew with her.

  Then he laughed.

  Laughed until his sides ached and he was in danger of drowning.

  Abruptly, he turned toward the English frigate whose guns were still smoking, and he swam like hell.

  “She’s sinking. Captain Dunsworth,” First Mate Nickols reported as he lowered the spyglass and smiled at the captain.

  “Good riddance,” Dunsworth snarled. “That’s one more Spanish bastard who won’t interfere again with English shipping. His first mistake was taking us on, his second was thinking he could sink one of Her Majesty’s finest Any survivors, Mr. Nickols?”

  Nickols raised the glass again to scan the whitecaps being plowed by the rising wind. “Doesn’t look like it, sir.”

  Dunsworth nodded. “Just as well. Let’s get out of here, there’s a storm brewing. Set a course for England. We need to repair the damage done by me Black Mariah.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  Nickols made one last sweep of the sea through the glass, lowered it, men suddenly swung it back up to his eye.

  “What is it, Mr. Nickols, do you see something?”

  “Aye, Captain. Looks like a man’s head bobbing in the waves.” He handed the glass to Dunsworth, who trained it in the direction in which Nickols was pointing. “Do you see him?”

  “Aye. I’ve a notion to let the bastard drown, but I’m no barbarian. Lower a longboat and bring him aboard.”

  “He looks about done in, Captain,” Nickols remarked as he stared down at the half-drowned man sprawled on the deck. “Look at his back, poor devil. Whoever he is, he wasn’t coddled aboard the Black Mariah. He’s no more than a lad. I would doubt he’s even a Spaniard with all that blond hair.”

  “Take him below and have the ship’s doctor look him over. And for God’s sake, feed him. I can count every one of his ribs. Until we hear his story, it won’t hurt to treat him as decently as possible.”

  Morgan stirred, turned to his side, and spewed out some of the seawater he had swallowed. Then he lay on his back, staring up at the Englishmen who had pulled him from the sea. Despite his weakness and utter exhaustion, he smiled in genuine joy. It was the first time he’d seen an Englishman in five years, and the sight nearly overwhelmed him with relief.

  “Do you speak English?” Captain Dunsworth asked.

  Though his throat was raw from swallowing copious amounts of seawater during his desperate swim, Morgan answered without hesitation.

  “I speak English very well, sir. My name is Morgan Scott My father was Sir Duncan Scott. Five years ago he was appointed envoy to Italy by the queen. Our ship, Southern Star, was attacked and sunk by the Black Mariah, and I was the only survivor. My mother, father, brother, sister—dead… all dead.”

  The captain looked incredulous. “The Southern Star! My God, man, I recall the incident very well. Nothing was ever heard from the ship, and it was assumed all hands and passengers were lost Where have you been these past five years?”

  “Consigned to Hell,” Morgan said, struggling to rise. A sailor rushed forward to help ram. “I haven’t set foot off the Black Mariah in five years. I’ve been starved, beaten, humiliated, and forced into virtual slavery. I grew up fast, forced from youthful innocence and thrust into the bowels of Hell at the age of seventeen.”

  Captain Dunsworth shook his head in commiseration. “Thank God we crossed paths with the Black Mariah when we did. You’re free now, Morgan Scott I’m sure the queen will restore all your family’s wealth and holdings to you once she learns you’re alive.”

  “I suppose,” Morgan said dully.

  “I’m Captain Dunsworth of the Royal Navy. The ship’s doctor will take a look at you directly. By the time we reach England you’ll be in shipshape condition. You’re young, you’ll recover. In no time at all you’ll be among your own kind leading a privileged life.”

  Hollow-eyed and gaunt, Morgan stared at Dunsworth. No one but he would ever really know how severely he had suffered at the hands of the Spanish. They could guess but would never know unless they’d experienced it themselves. Never again could he live the kind of useless life he’d been accustomed to before his years of captivity. His soul burned with hatred, his heart lusted for revenge. The cruel death of his family and his subsequent captivity had left an indelible mark upon him.

  “I will use my wealth to avenge my family’s death,” he said in a voice so filled with menace that Dunsworth shivered and looked away. “From this day forward, no Spaniard—man, woman, or child—is safe from me. I will seek the queen’s sanction, outfit a ship, and hunt them down on the high seas like the animals they are.”

  “I admire your ambition, Master Scott, but aren’t you rather young to captain your own ship? Have you the skills needed to control men?”

  Morgan’s blue eyes blazed hotly with vindictive fervor. “After five years of captivity on the high seas I’ve learned all there is to know about ships and sailing. Just as I’ve learned to hate Spaniards. I think that more man qualifies me for taking them on Nothing will stop me. Captain.” He raised his fist toward the dark, threatening sky. “I vow on the heads of my dead family to become merciless and single-minded in my pursuit of Spaniards. I will hunt them down ruthlessly and give no quarter. So help me God.”

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Cadiz, Spain

  1587

  “I don’t care how pious you are, daughter, the family honor is at stake,” Don Eduardo Santiego stated emphatically. “You will leave the convent, and you will travel to Cuba to marry Don Diego del Fugo.”

  Shrouded in a s
hapeless gray habit, Luca Santiego stiffened perceptibly, and her chin tilted upward in an almost unheard-of act of defiance. Ten years of submission and obedience, drummed into her by the abbess and nuns at the Mother Of God convent, fled, for this was something she could not let go unchallenged. She would not be sacrificed to her father’s honor.

  “I do not wish to marry Don Diego, Father. Nor do I wish to leave Spain. I am quite content here at the convent. In another month I will take my final vows and happily serve God forever.” If her zeal was a bit too forced, she pretended not to notice. Becoming a nun was her ultimate goal in life.

  “That is precisely why I am here, Luca,” Don Eduardo told her. “I never intended you for a religious life. You were an incorrigible ten year old when I brought you here to be tamed and educated by the good nuns at the convent. Your mother had just died, and I could not handle one as spirited as you. I had all I could do to raise your brothers. But never intended to leave you here forever. You have been promised to Don Diego del Fugo all these years, and he is growing impatient The abbess has assured me that you are quite ready to become a wife.”

  Luca shuddered, imagining how repugnant it would be to submit her body to a man, especially a man she hardly knew. “Please, Father, why can’t you see that I am meant for a life of piety and prayer? I wish to become a bride of Christ.”

  Don Eduardo sent his daughter a look that spoke eloquently of his contempt. One has only to look at you to know how unsuited you are to a cloistered life.”

  He stared at her, at the sultry beauty of her face, at the lush curves of her body, barely disguised by her loose-fitting habit. Her eyes, large, dark, and tilted up at the outer corners, sparkled with life, spirit, and passion She could fool others, but she couldn’t fool him; he was her father. He was convinced that once initiated to passion she would partake greedily, and he intended for Don Diego to be the man to ignite the flame burning within his daughter.

  “I can’t help the way I look, Father,” Luca said with a hint or censure. “Outward appearance has nothing to do with piety. I wish to spend the rest of my days serving God.”

  “Bah! How can you know what you want when you have experienced nothing of life?” Don Eduardo chided impatiently. “I was remiss to leave you here so long. You will leave with me now, Luca. You must be ready to sail in two weeks aboard the Santa Cruz to join your intended. You will be pleased to know that Don Diego has been appointed governor-general of Cuba. He is a powerful man, much respected and admired. You are a lucky girl, Luca.”

  “Father, he is old and I…”

  “Enough! I will listen to no more arguments. You will marry Don Diego and that is final. You will travel with a duenna and a priest During the journey they will instruct you on your wifely duties. Don Diego will expect certain things of you,” he said evasively. “An army of seamstresses will work night and day to provide you with a wardrobe fit for the wife of an important man like Don Diego. You must understand that I am doing this because I love you, Luca. You will have a good life with Don Diego.”

  Luca understood none of it. Why did she have to leave a place of peace and contentment to join a world torn asunder by strife and war? She wasn’t completely ignorant of worldly matters. She knew of the tenuous coexistence between England and Spain and had heard about the simmering cauldron of political intrigue at the courts of Philip II of Spain and Elizabeth I of England. Visitors to the convent spoke in whispers about acts of piracy on the high seas. One name in particular made her shiver with dread whenever she heard it.

  El Diablo. The Devil posing as an Englishman.

  She shuddered, recalling the first time she’d heard the name. It had been several years ago. She’d overheard an overnight guest telling the abbess about the ruthless English privateer who attacked and sank Spanish galleons with almost manic obsession. He’s probably grown rich as a king on Spanish plunder, she reflected, recoiling in revulsion when she tried to picture the cruel pirate who attacked Spanish ships almost exclusively.

  “Did you hear me, Luca?” Don Eduardo repeated impatiently. “Say your good-byes to the abbess and pack your belongings. We must leave immediately.”

  Though twenty years old, Luca knew it would do little good to protest further. It was degrading to know that all aspects of her life were controlled by men. Her father, her two brothers, and now Don Diego, her betrothed. At least in the convent she had no one to answer to but God.

  “I heard you, Father. Is there nothing I can say or do to change your mind?”

  “No, daughter, I have your best interests at heart. With Don Diego you will have wealth and position. You will be the pampered wife of an important man. Do you not want children? Don Diego will give you children.”

  Not until Don Eduardo mentioned children did Luca feel any degree of longing for the kind of life her father had just described. Children of her own would be wonderful, but her mind couldn’t picture Don Diego as their father. She had only seen him once. She had been ten years old, and even then he had seemed a stern older man, though he couldn’t have been more than twenty-five at the time.

  “Very well Father,” Luca said dispiritedly. “Only know that my heart isn’t in this marriage.”

  Aboard the Santa Cruz

  Bracing her feet on the pitching deck, Luca leaned into the wind, spindrift clinging to her ebony hair and stinging her luminous dark eyes. Her cheeks were blushing roses against the pale olive of her face, a charming result of the blustery wind. She’d been standing on the pitching deck for hours, staring moodily into the churning sea, wishing herself back at the convent, where life was serene and uncomplicated.

  “Please return to the cabin, Luca. You must not catch a chill else Don Diego will be displeased with you, and with me for allowing it.”

  Luca sent Donna Carlotta an exasperated look.

  She liked her duenna well enough but thought her much too strict for one still young. Not much older man Luca, Donna Carlotta was a widow whom Don Eduardo had hired to act as duenna and traveling companion to Luca. Also accompanying her was the priest, Father Sebastian, who saw to her spiritual needs during the trip.

  “I’m not cold, Carlotta. The wind is most invigorating.”

  “I find it revolting,” Carlotta said. Her face had turned an unnatural shade of green, attesting to the seasickness she had suffered since boarding the ship at Cadiz. “I was hoping this wretched seasickness would pass after the first few weeks at sea, but it only gets worse.”

  “Go back to the cabin, Carlotta, I am fine. I’m sure Father Sebastian will keep you company.”

  “Si, I will do mat, Luca. He can read to me from the good book. His voice is so soothing.”

  Luca watched the woman stagger back to the large stern cabin they shared. She had to admit that Carlotta was a most pious and proper chaperon, but quite boring. As for Father Sebastian, the good priest was a stern disciplinarian who had been sent along to make sure Luca reached her betrothed as pure as the day she had left the convent Each day the priest set aside a time for religious instruction and prayer, which Luca enjoyed. She hoped that once Father Sebastian saw how devout she was, he’d help her avoid this marriage upon which her father was so set.

  Staring morosely into the distant horizon, Luca thought she spotted a sail. Squinting her eyes against the glare of the sea, she spied it again, then watched it disappear below the horizon. When it did not reappear, she assumed it was an illusion and turned her eyes in another direction.

  Aboard the Avenger

  “I see her, Captain. She’s a galleon, all right. Riding heavy in the water, she is. Probably loaded with plunder.”

  Captain Morgan Scott trained his glass on the Spanish galleon just barely in his sights. He had spied her yesterday and had begun tracking her, keeping just far enough behind to avoid detection.

  “You’re right, Mr. Crawford, she’s a big one. Probably carrying twenty or more cannon.”

  “We can take her. Captain. They’re no match for the Avenger. Our m
en are seasoned fighters, itching for another go at the accursed Spaniards. Shall I prepare die men for battle?”

  Morgan grinned in vengeful anticipation. “I agree, Mr. Crawford. Pass the word. Ready the ship for battle and distribute arms. Order the gunners to their posts. This time for El Diablo to take another prize.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain. We’ll show those Spanish bastards what the Avenger is capable of.”

  Aboard the Santa Cruz

  Inside her cabin aboard the Santa Cruz, Luca knelt beside Father Sebastian, fervently reciting prayers as the exchange of cannon fire exploded around them with a deafening roar. Captain Ortega had sighted the English pirate ship at dawn. As the day progressed it had closed the distance between them, until it came within cannon range. Riding heavy in the water, the Santa Cruz was no match for the swifter, lighter Avenger. When the shelling began, Luca could only imagine the terrible carnage to be visited on them by the pirate ship.

  At the first hint of trouble. Father Sebastian had fallen to his knees in prayer, exhorting Luca and Carlotta to join him. But it seemed as if God was deaf to their entreaties, as the battle on deck continued unabated. After countless prayers, Luca could stand it no longer—she had to find out what was happening. She rose shakily from her knees and approached the door. Cracking it open, she peered outside. She spied Captain Ortega standing on the bridge amid the wreckage of his ship, and she stepped out onto the deck, determined to find out what their chances were of escaping the pirate ship.

  “Luaca, where are you going?” Carlotta’s voice rose on a note of panic.

  “To speak with the captain. I can’t stay here and do nothing, wondering what’s going to happen to us.”

  “You are doing something, child,” Father Sebastian chided. “You’re praying for a miracle.”

  “I’ll be right back,” Luca said, unmoved by the priest’s words as she closed the cabin door firmly behind her. Flames and soot shot up from various places on the tilting deck, and noise from the roaring cannon was nearly deafening as she dodged debris and bodies to reach the captain.