by Connie Mason
Suddenly a cannonball from the Avenger ripped across the deck, slamming into the magazine located next to the cabin where Carlotta and Father Sebastian knelt in prayer. The resulting explosion sent Luca frying across the deck. Picking herself up, she cried out in genuine alarm and raced back to the shattered cabin. The door hung askew on broken hinges and she forced it open, throwing aside smoldering wood and rubble until she found the bodies of her two traveling companions amid the wreckage.
“Captain, help me!” she cried as she tried to find a spark of life in Carlotta’s limp body.
But Captain Ortega had problems of his own. The Avenger was closing in fast and his ship was sinking. He could see the pirates preparing grappling hooks and boarding planks and knew that he, his crew, and his passengers faced certain death.
To Luca’s horror, Carlotta was beyond human help. Luca turned her attention to the priest. He still breathed, but barely. The rise and fall of his chest was so ragged that Luca feared his death was imminent.
Father Sebastian opened his eyes and saw Luca bending over him. He knew he had little time left on this earth but he was at peace with himself; he had devoted his entire life to preparing to meet God. His last few moments were spent in fear over Luca’s fate. Her father had entrusted her into his care, and he prayed for enough time to impart important words of advice to her before death claimed him.
“The enemy, they are boarding?” he asked, his eyes already glazing over.
“Si, Padre,” Luca said sadly. “Captain Ortega never had a chance.”
“Listen carefully, child, for I have little time left.” Luca bent close to hear Father Sebastian’s dying words. “You must not let the pirates defile you. Choose death over dishonor. In time you will be ransomed, but only after you have been violated ruthlessly. You will lack the innocence Don Diego demands of his wife and the mother of his children, and unfortunately you will no longer be suited for a holy life among the pious at the convent With my dying breath I implore you to think carefully, then do what your conscience demands.”
Luca stared at him, aghast. “You would have me kill myself, Padre?”
Father Sebastian was beyond answering as he slipped serenely into death, but Luca knew that was exactly what he thought she should do.
Luca rose unsteadily to her feet suddenly aware of the acrid stench of smoke and blood and of the fierce battle being waged between her countrymen and the English pirates. The ship was burning, listing to the starboard and in danger of sinking, yet Luca stood amid die smoldering shambles of the cabin with two dead bodies at her feet, unable to kill herself as Father Sebastian hinted. Had she not left the cabin when she had, she would have joined diem in eternal rest.
Abruptly the terrible noise of battle subsided, and she heard the deep booming voice of an Englishman demanding surrender. Then she heard a name that sent chills down her spine. His name came to her on the smoke-filled winds of fear and dread, passed from mouth to mouth. El Diablo. Moments later that same deep voice ordered the ship searched for plunder, and Luca knew that she had little time left in which to make a choice between death or ravishment by the ruthless El Diablo. Neither choice was palatable. Fingering the small eating dagger she wore at her waist, she contemplated suicide. Two quick slashes across her wrists, and her life’s blood would drain from her body before the pirates found her.
And yet… wasn’t death the coward’s way out? It had taken the nuns at the convent years to tame Luca’s fiery disposition and subjugate her to their will, but it took only ten seconds for her to regain the stubborn pride and willfulness that her father had despaired of when she was a child. Had Don Eduardo seen her now, her eyes blazing defiantly, her expression neither meek nor submissive, his belief that Luca was not meant for a religious life would have been justified.
“I will not kill myself,” Luca declared bravely, “nor will I submit to filmy pirates.” Though her words were courageous, she had no adequate weapon save her small knife with which to defend herself, so she turned her thoughts in another direction.
Spying her trunk lying amid the debris of the cabin, she recalled that she had packed her gray nun’s habit. She had foolishly thought that during the journey she could impress Father Sebastian with her piety and convince him how wrong it was to force her into a marriage, when what she really wanted was to spend her life serving God. But the priest had brushed aside her protests and adamantly refused to petition Don Eduardo on her behalf. He had been engaged by Luca’s father to safely deliver Luca to her fiancé and see that she was properly wed, and he was a man of his word.
A commotion nearby moved Luca to haste; she pushed the sprung door shut and dug in the trunk for her habit. She pulled out the garment, tore off her own dress, and pulled the habit over her head, wrapping the wooden rosary beads around her waist to form a belt. Then she wadded up her rich finery and tossed it through the porthole. In minutes her long ebony hair was pushed beneath a linen headcovering, completing her transformation. She finished without a moment to spare.
Suddenly the door burst from its broken hinges, and a burly pirate covered with blood and grime appeared in the doorway, surveying the wreckage with grim satisfaction He spied Luca and leered at her, revealing a mouthful of blackened, rotted teeth.
“Well, well, wot ‘ave we ‘ere?” He stepped inside, avoiding the bodies of Carlotta and the priest and he reached for Luca. She backed away, tripping over wreckage. He stalked her relentlessly. Don’t be afeared, little gray dove. Old Pete ain’t seen a woman since we left the Bahamas. Least ways not one as purty as you.”
He hinged, snared Luca by the waist, and dragged her against the unyielding wall of his massive chest. The breath slammed from her lungs, but she quickly found it again, screaming at the top of her voice. Clapping his hand over her mouth, Pete bore her to the deck.
Morgan balanced himself on the listing deck, urging his men to make haste before the Santa Cruz sank. They had found riches beyond their wildest imagination aboard the Spanish galleon, and the men were transferring it to the Avenger while he and Stan Crawford herded the Spanish survivors toward the quarterdeck. When Morgan heard the scream he stopped dead in his tracks and swung around to face the Spanish captain, his eyebrow quirked in honest surprise.
“Are there women aboard?”
Captain Ortega remained sullenly uncommunicative. Thinking he didn’t speak English, Morgan repeated his question in flawless Spanish, having learned the language fluently during his years of captivity. When Ortega still did not reply, Morgan placed the point of his sword against the man’s throat, needing little provocation to ram it home. Ortega’s eyes bugged out, and he squawked in protest.
“Senorita Santiego, the shipowner’s daughter, and her companion.”
“What is your destination?”
“Cuba. Senorita Santiago’s fiancé awaits her in Havana.”
Morgan’s eyes narrowed as he gazed toward the wreckage of the stern cabin, quite certain that that’s where the scream had come from. “Take over here, Mr. Crawford.”
Morgan strode across the burning deck, noting that all his men but for a few stragglers had already crossed over to the Avenger and awaited him there. The deck tilted crazily just as he reached the cabin, and he feared that any passengers remaining aboard would be trapped with the sinking ship.
Kicking aside the broken remnants of the door, Morgan’s gaze moved quickly over the carnage inside the cabin, passing over two bodies and coming to rest on the couple grappling on the deck. One of his men lay atop a woman, having the Devil’s own time subduing her. He was startled to note that the woman was garbed in the drab gray habit of a nun. Though he’d never held nuns or any other religious zealots in special regard, he grabbed the pirate by the scruff of the neck and flung him away.
“Go back to the Avenger, Potter, unless you wish to go down with the ship.”
Fete Potter glared sullenly at his captain. “Wot about the woman, Captain? I want her. She’s mine.”
Luca
’s eyes widened with fear as she stared at Morgan. She knew without being told that this was the notorious El Diablo, the pirate feared and hated by all Spaniards. He was nothing like what she’d pictured in her mind. El Diablo was magnificently male, his face all hard lines and shadowed planes. In no way did he resemble the Devil, which made him even more dangerous. Golden hair, richly thick, and wickedly curved eyebrows were enhanced by the deep cleft in his chin. And those eyes, so keenly blue and assessing, roved over her with insulting intensity. His hard-muscled body rippled with unleashed power. The strong, rugged lines of his facial features were dominated by a generous mouth, which looked fully capable of being cruel and unrelenting, and a square, aggressive jaw.
“I’ll take care of her.”
Complaining bitterly, Potter gave Morgan a sullen look as he sidled past him and out the door. El Diablo was a fair master who expected his orders to be obeyed without question but did not hesitate to exact severe punishment if defied. No one aboard the Avenger would ever consider mutiny, not even Potter.
Moved by desperation, Luca scrambled to her knees, bowed her head, folded her hands, and prayed as fervently as she knew how. Morgan stared at her in dismay, her piety making him decidedly uncomfortable.
“What is your name?” he asked in Spanish.
A flare of stubborn resistance kept her mute in spite of her fear as she continued to pray most diligently.
Morgan spat out a curse. “Stop that gibberish and answer me! Who are you?”
Luca blinked up at him. “Sister Luca.”
“What are you doing aboard the Santa Cruz?”
“Don Eduardo engaged me to act as chaperon to his daughter … Carlotta Santiego.” She knew this was one lie for which God would forgive her.
Morgan cast a dispassionate glance at the two bodies lying amid the wreckage of the cabin. “I suppose the dead woman is Carlotta Santiego.”
“Si”
“And the priest?”
“He was sent to protect the virtue of Carlotta and witness the marriage between Carlotta and Don Diego del Fugo.”
Morgan gazed into Luca’s face, mesmerized by her sultry beauty. Never would he understand why so lovely a woman would choose to cloister herself behind walls, away from society and men. Though the drab gray habit did nothing to enhance her figure or beauty, neither did it detract from it. It would take a blind man not to see through the colorless trappings she wore to find the temptress within. Too bad she was Spanish, he thought, staring at her with barely concealed contempt.
Small of stature yet lushly fashioned and fair of face, there was something about her that made Morgan think deliriously lewd thoughts. Not even the loose gray habit stopped him from imagining how it would feel to thrust into the tight warmth of her virgin body. A dark noxious cloud of choking smoke brought Morgan’s wayward thoughts under control.
“Captain, the ship’s sinking fast! All hands are aboard the Avenger and awaiting us.” Crawford’s voice held a note of desperation.
“Coming, Mr. Crawford!” Morgan called back.
“On your feet,” Morgan barked as he grasped Luca’s arm and hauled her bodily from the cabin.
“Leave me,” Luca insisted. “I’ll take my chances with the survivors. I have no ransom value, it will earn you naught to take me with you. I am but a poor nun.”
Morgan’s cold blue eyes traveled the length of her body, boldly assessing her worth. “Perhaps I have something else in mind for you.”
Luca sucked in a ragged breath. Did he mean to rape her despite her claim of being a virtuous nun? Would he pass her on to his men when he finished with her? For the space of a heartbeat she considered throwing herself into the sea to escape the terrible fate that awaited her on this Devil’s ship.
Her conjecturing came to an abrupt halt when the deck tilted violently and she fell against Morgan. Cursing violently, he swept her off her feet and flung her over his shoulder like a sack of flour. Sprinting from the cabin and across the sloping deck, he approached the rail, where Mr. Crawford waited for him. Luca cried out in alarm when Morgan effortlessly leaped across the expanse of water separating the two ships, landing lightly on the deck of the Avenger. Mr. Crawford followed close on his heels.
Once they stood safely on the deck of the Avenger the sails caught the wind, carrying them away from the burning Santa Cruz. Luca’s last glimpse of the sinking ship was of Captain Ortega and the surviving crew working feverishly to lower the longboat before the ship disappeared beneath the dark, swirling waves.
Chapter 2
Aboard the Avenger
Morgan didn’t dare release his hold on die trembling nun for fear she’d sacrifice herself to the sea. He had no idea why he cared, but he did. She was Spanish, and he despised her for that. Perhaps he should have left her aboard die sinking Santa Cruz, he reflected, since obviously she had no ransom value. His rather discerning testes did not run to innocent members of a religious order. Logic told him he should give her to his men for sport and feel no guilt. But a spark of decency, instilled in him long ago by his parents, prevented him from doing so. She was far too fragile to survive even one night of rough handling.
“I am Captain Morgan Scott,” Morgan said as he dragged Luca across the deck. “You are aboard die Avenger and at my mercy.”
“Wh-where are you taking me?” Luca asked, cringing beneath Morgan’s devilish grin.
“To my cabin.”
Luca balked, pulling against die force of Morgan’s unrelenting grip. “No!”
“Aye, Sister, or whatever you call yourself. You will be safer there than out here. My crew are good men, but they hate die Spanish as much as I do. The drab rags you wear will not save you from them. If you speak English, I suggest you do so. Hearing your accursed language spoken aboard an English snip will likely incite them to violence.”
With little effort Morgan dragged Luca across the deck to his cabin beneath the quarterdeck. Pulling open the door, he shoved her inside. He followed, closing the door behind him and leaning against it. He stared at her, his penetrating gaze as merciless as a sword thrust.
“What in God’s name am I going to do with you, Sister Luca?” Morgan mused thoughtfully. “Shall I give you to my men to sport with? I assure you they would be most grateful. Perhaps,” he continued in a voice so low and raspy it sent chills down Luca’s spine, “I might find some use for you in my bed.” Unexpectedly his eyes kindled, excited by the thought of tumbling the sultry beauty who claimed to be a nun.
“Why didn’t I listen to Father Sebastian?” Luca lamented, wringing her hands in despair. “He told me it would be better to kill myself than submit to filthy pirates.”
“Privateer, Sister, privateer. Sanctioned by the queen of England and sailing under the English flag. Why didn’t you kill yourself?” he asked curiously.
Luca’s chin rose a fraction, and her dark eyes glowed with defiance. “I did not want to die.” She answered in English, not flawlessly, but with a charming accent. “I want to live.”
He respected her honesty but little else. “You are an enigma, Sister. Your pretense of innocence does not impress me, for beneath those religious trappings lies a body ripe for bedding. Your earthy sensuality belies your piety. Your dark eyes smolder with fire and zest for fife, and your beauty would tempt the Devil himself.”
“I’ve heard that El Diablo is the Devil,” Luca dared to say.
Morgan threw back his head and gave a bark of laughter. “There are few who would dispute that.” The hellish gleam in his eyes pierced through the armor of her nun’s robes.
He pushed himself away from the door, narrowing the space between them. She retreated, until the backs other knees came in contact with the bunk. Morgan kept on coming, until he stood scant inches in front of her, a lazy smile stretching his generous lips, making his eyes crinkle at the corners. Intrigued by the smooth olive tones of her skin, he reached out and slid the back of a callused finger down her cheek, amazed at the satiny texture. Boldly his fin
ger continued downward, coming to rest where her flesh disappeared beneath her neck-cloth.
Luca exhaled sharply, fearing what he would do next, yet breathlessly excited by his casual caress. “Don’t!”
Morgan went still. “Don’t? You are my captive, Sister. I can do what I please with you. You are worthless to me as a hostage, you said so yourself. Who would ransom a penniless nun?”
“You could set me ashore on the nearest landfall. I will find my way back home somehow.”
“You couldn’t survive if I turned you loose. By your own admission you know nothing of the world outside your convent. I will think on what I will do with you.”
To Luca his words were easy, deceptively calm, deliberate. He appeared a man whose soul and emotions were under such rigid control they seemed encased in glacial ice. Had she known what Morgan was really feeling she would have been stunned.
For the first time in years Morgan felt oddly lost and confused. Never had anything like this occurred. He’d always been in control, knew exactly what he must do in any situation. Finding himself adrift in a pair of dark, smoldering eyes was a new experience. Though his hatred for the Spanish had not diminished, Morgan balked at turning the young nun over to his men for sport, or setting her free to be used by others even more cruel than his own crew. Nor did he feel the urge to harm the little saint himself. Indeed, the urges consuming him were far from protective. He actually felt desire for the woman, despite her religious calling and apparent innocence.
Never had another man looked at Luca like Morgan Scott dared to do. Indeed, she had seen few men at the convent, but she did recognize danger when she encountered it. And dangerous was precisely the word to describe the look in Morgan’s blue eyes. She stared back at him, too innocent to realize what her sultry gaze was doing to him. Before she knew what was happening, he curled his fingers around her neck and dragged her against him.
