"Well, maybe I prefer prison to you," she shouted.
"Well, that's too damn bad, isn't it?" His voice was close to a bellow as he came to his knees and leaned closer, obviously trying to make her cower into a corner of the bed.
But Tristan had picked the wrong woman if cowering was his want. Careless of her naked state, Meg also came to her knees and stared bravely into his dark angry eyes. "For you. As long as I'm here, I expect to make your life as miserable as possible."
"Well, you're doing a fine job of it, so far."
"Good."
There was a moment of total silence as each realized they were kneeling before each other naked. Tristan's hand shot out at the exact second Meg moved back, and grabbed a handful of hair. He carelessly yanked her forward, angling her face to his.
His lips were grim, almost as if he hated to admit to the truth. "I want you."
"You depraved monster. Is fornicating all you think about?"
They knelt belly to belly, thigh to thigh.
"When I'm around you," he gave her an angry shake like it was all her fault, "You make me crazy."
"Turn this ship around and I'll find you a doctor who can help."
Tristan grinned at her flippancy. His heart was pounding, his body aching again to know hers. "I've never met anyone like you."
"And you never will again," she boasted. Meg might have accused him of unreasonable arrogance, but she showed no lack of the defect herself.
His mouth twisted into a wolfish grin, and Meg felt a tingle race down her back. She hated that smile. "And for that we can all thank God. This world couldn't survive with two of you," he said as his mouth took hers in a kiss that was so gentle, Meg could only blink her surprise.
But his gentleness lasted no longer than a heartbeat. In seconds his mouth slashed hungrily across hers, greedily taking all she would give. Meg never thought to deny either of them this pleasure.
He might have initiated the act, but Meg was a willing partner. They fell back against the bed, and for a long time only the moans and sighs of their mutual pleasure filled the room.
Later they lay, locked in each other's arms, gasping their their next breath as they recovered from an ecstasy it seemed to grow in strength each time encountered. This time neither spoke, for both were leery of breaking this wondrous spell, this moment in time when they couldn't remember anything but the pleasure they found in each other.
Meg knew the deepest sense of confusion and guilt. She'd always been a decent woman. A moral woman. A woman who had never before exhibited this tendency to abandon self-respect for a few moments of depraved pleasure spent in a man's arms.
What had come over her? How had she suddenly changed? And why?
Meg's face flamed as she remembered how she eagerly accepted his advances. Her brow creased in confusion. It wasn't like her to long to be kissed. And it most definitely wasn't like her to long for more than kisses. She had no answers.
Meg sighed. It mattered not at all how she might ponder this dilemma. She'd never understand the lust that filled her at his slightest touch. She'd never understand why, after hours of swearing she wouldn't come to him, he only had to give her that special, wicked smile or a tender look and she nearly flew into his arms.
Meg was relieved from her thoughts by a sharp call as sails were spotted in the far distance. She looked in the direction pointed to by the lookout above and grinned at the gleaming white triangles. The few ships they passed since the beginning of this voyage always brought a sense of excitement. Little enough happened on the long voyage. Nothing but sea could be seen day after day. So when a ship was spotted, it was natural to stop and exchange bits of news.
When the first ship had come upon them, Tristan had allowed her to send off a note to her father. He was obviously surprised that she knew her letters, but he very clearly did not believe a certain John Fairmont was any relation to her. The idea that he believed her a liar rankled, but Meg soon put aside her annoyance. It didn't matter what the man believed. It only mattered that her father know she was alive and safe. Well, perhaps safe was the wrong word to use in this instance. Still, it was important that her father believe it to be so. She didn't want to bring him added suffering, so she'd purposely evaded the truth and promised to see him at home. Meg could only imagine the horror the man had to know upon finding her gone without a word.
Meg shrugged aside her thoughts, knowing they would accomplish little but bring on a case of the doldrums. As she'd done everything in her power, now all she could do was wait for her chance to escape. And that she would escape, she had no doubt.
The sails turned in their direction and Meg smiled. The ship would pull alongside. Supplies would be traded, news exchanged, and if time permitted, a drink or a meal shared.
Meg had no way of knowing this ship posed a threat unlike any other, but Tristan did. He watched its approach through his spyglass and muttered a round of vile curses as he saw the hated Jolly Roger unfurl upon its flagstaff.
Pirates! Their presence in the Atlantic was not a common sight, but there were some who still prowled the ocean, left over from the last century, men who were as blood-thirsty and dangerous as their predecessors.
Orders were called out. Tristan had little choice but to make a run for it. But for the few handguns aboard, the merchant had no means of defense. In moments sheets of canvas fell into place. Men scurried about as they tied down the flapping sails while others unlocked three large stationary boxes and began handing out weapons and ammunition.
Meg stared at the bustling activity for some long moments. What was going on? Why was everyone rushing it and why was this ship suddenly heading away the oncoming sails? Tristan stood just behind the man at the wheel. A spyglass in his hand, he watched the ship gain on them. His lips were tight with anger as he turned to Meg. "Get below."
"Why?" she asked, coming to his side, puzzled at his crisp order. "What's happening?"
"We're about to be attacked. I don't want you hurt. Get below."
"But-"
"Don't argue with me, Gypsy. I said get below."
"And the ship will be my coffin, if we sink?"
"Better a watery death, I think, than what will happen if you fall into their hands."
Meg looked from the approaching ship to the man at her side. "And how will I fare any worse than now?"
Tristan's laugh was hard, his words short and brutally to the point. "You don't know what you're talking about if you think pirates a gentle lot. Besides, they're known to share all bounty. If the captain takes you for his own, it won't be until all his men have sampled your charms."
Meg shivered at the thought.
"Now get below."
Meg never got a chance to move, for she was suddenly frozen in place as two hundred yards to their right came a cannon burst. A great cloud of gunpowder rolled over the deck of the oncoming ship while the ball, invisible in its speed, whistled through the air and landed barely ten feet across the merchant's bow.
Tristan had no doubt that this warning shot was the only one he was likely to get. If his ship took a direct hit, it would be ablaze in seconds. He couldn't outrun the pirate ship, for the merchant sat heavy in the water, filled as it was with cargo. Compared to the schooner that was fast closing in, the merchant crawled. Tristan had no choice but to take their warning to heart. He called out orders to drop their sails and prayed his men would win out in hand-to-hand combat.
The schooner was trim. Its sleek lines allowed it to move amazingly fast. It seemed to Meg mere seconds passed before it came alongside the merchant. Ropes were flung over its side which secured the two ships together. Meg gasped as she watched the most villainous men she'd ever seen swing over the low railings to the merchant's deck.
Tristan pressed a gun into her hand. He wanted to tell her to save the last bullet for herself but couldn't bring himself to make so sacrilegious a comment.
It wasn't necessary in any case. Meg wasn't the sort who could take her own life. N
o matter what she faced, he knew she'd find the strength to go on.
Tristan shoved her behind him and yelled over the din of hand-to-hand battle, "Get behind those crates."
The crates referred to were three huge wooden boxes chained to the upper deck. Meg moved as ordered. She crouched behind the boxes and listened to blood-curdling screams of agony as gunfire exploded and bullets tore into men's flesh. The sounds of steel hitting steel low, aching moans were enough to bring her head over the top of the box. She had to see. Not knowing was the worst of it.
Meg's gaze searched the deck for Tristan. She couldn't find him. Was he already dead? Meg forced back the terror that crushed her chest. No. He wasn't dead. The man was smart enough to stay alive through anything. She knew it. It had to be. Meg never asked herself why it had to be. She didn't want to know the answer.
Meg tore her gaze from the fighting below and glowered with anger. Damn the man! He was standing out in the open!
A second later realization came, and she couldn't breathe with the terror that filled her soul. He stood at the steps that led to the main deck. With a gun in each hand, he carefully took aim. He fired four times and after each time gave an evil smile of satisfaction as his shots hit their mark.
Meg was beside herself with fear for him. The fool stood without cover out in the open, daring any to shoot him down. "Get down!" she cried, and when her words brought about no effect, she left the safety of her hiding place and ran to his side. Meg pulled at his arm. "Are you out of your mind? Get down before you get killed!"
Tristan hardly noticed the pulling on his arm. He merely shook her away, as if he would a mosquito or fly. Meg went spinning away and almost fell over the low railings and down the ten feet that separated the two decks. She regained her balance just in time and glared at the man beside her. He might profess to have her safety in mind, but the fool had almost saved the pirates their trouble and killed her himself. He was calmly aiming his guns and shooting with controlled casualness. She watched in astonishment as one pirate after another fell to the deck to lay forever still in nauseating pools of blood.
But one man noticed the systematic felling of his comrades. It took only a quick sweep of the ship to find the man responsible. The pirate ducked and ran in that position, heading for cover. He found it behind a munitions box stationed along the railing. He sat there for a time, unnoticed, as he reloaded his weapon. Moments later, he turned, peering over the top of the box, ready to low the captain of this ship.
But the man was mistaken if he believed the cloud of smoke that lay thick over the battling men was enough to hide his movements. Meg had seen him run. Her eyes never left him as he slid behind the box. She saw as well the moment he turned and aimed his gun, his eyes dark with murderous intent. Meg never consciously thought to kill. Instinct alone aimed the gun in her hand at the man's heart. She squinted one eye, and just as if she were back at home hunting with her father, she calmly squeezed the trigger. The sound of yet another gun not ten feet to Tristan's left snapped his attention from the brawl below. He turned, eyes wide with amazement to find her firing into the crowd.
Meg nodded in satisfaction to see the pirate stagger backwards at impact, his eyes wide with surprise as he watched a large red stain appear on his chest. His hand rose automatically to stop the flow of blood, but his legs buckled, and he fell forward onto his face. He was already dead before he hit the deck.
Meg had never killed a man before, but she had no time now for remorse. Her feelings of horror and guilt wouldn't come till later. She found another target and again fired her weapon. The man fell to his knees, alive but wounded. Spotting his attacker, he raised his gun and fired just before the gun dropped from his hand and he passed out.
The shot missed his target but hit instead the thick wooden railing that edged the upper deck. A large fragment of wood, sharp and jagged, cut loose and like a dagger slammed into Meg's thigh.
Meg felt only the slightest discomfort. She never looked at the injury, never felt the pain as she again took aim and fired another shot.
Tristan was already on his way to her side. From the moment she had pulled on his arm to now, barely two minutes had passed. He knew she'd killed a man and had no doubt saved his life, then gasped as a huge piece of wood embedded in her thigh. And then blinked in amazement as she ignored the injury and continued to fire the gun.
His arm reached around her middle and yanked her from danger. In seconds she was cradled in his arms as he crouched behind the wooden crate. From below came more screams, more gunshots, and then amazingly the sounds of combat began to lessen.
"You fool! You god-damned stupid fool!" Tristan ranted even as he cuddled her close to his chest; His face was white with horror and his body trembled uncontrollably, but Meg never noticed his trembling, for her whole body shook in reaction to what she'd done. "I could kill you. And I swear to God, I will if you ever do anything like this again."
Meg stared in amazement into dark angry eyes. What was he talking about? What was the matter with him now? Did he dare to accuse her when he so foolishly stood without cover and killed one man after another? Didn't he know she had killed a man because of him? Didn't he know that he'd be dead if it weren't for her? Is this the thanks she got?
"I told you to stay behind these crates. Why didn't you listen to me?" He gave her a hard shake. The movement slammed her head into the crate. Neither seemed to notice. "Why didn't you listen to me?"
Tristan took a deep breath, obviously trying to bring his emotions under control. "Don't move. Do you understand what I'm saying? Don't move from this spot."
Meg nodded as she watched him come to his feet. A second later he disappeared around the crate. Meg sighed in disgust. She'd never in her life met a more disagreeable, obnoxious man. How dare he rant and rave at her like that? Who did he think he was to issue her orders and expect complete obedience. Damn him to hell.
Meg tried to get up but moaned at the pain in her leg. With a puzzled frown, her gaze moved to the ache in her thigh. Meg gasped as she saw the thick edge of a chunk of wood protruding from her thigh like the handle of a knife. Meg blinked in surprise, praying this was some sort of hallucination. But it was no hallucination. Her pain was real. Now that she'd noticed her wound, she was in agony and found herself biting her lips to stifle her cries of pain. Meg imagined a knife wound could not hurt more.
Her entire body trembled. Tears came to her eyes and made white lines as they traveled over cheeks blackened with gun-powder. She was terrified. Sitting there alone, she wondered if she would die. Where was he? Where had he gone? Had he left her to die alone? Was that it? Was he afraid to watch?
Meg moaned in self-pity. It felt like he'd been gone for hours, but she knew it couldn't have been more than ten minutes. The fighting on the main deck was considerably lessened, the danger obviously past.
The ship grew oddly quiet. At the prow stood a small circle of pirates, their hands raised over their heads, guarded by ten armed men. Tristan sent others to the schooner to check the ship's hold and clear it of any possible pirates in hiding. None were found. Once everything appeared under control, Tristan immediately returned to her side. Meg raised fearful eyes to his, and Tristan cursed at the sign of her tears.
"Are you all right?" he asked, immediately cursing his stupidity.
"Wonderful. Never better. Thank you for asking," she snapped.
Tristan grinned. "I see your mouth works just fine."
"My fists to," she warned as he leaned closer.
Tristan's smile was gentle as he looked into pain-filled eyes. "Be nice, Meggie. I'm here to help."
"Then don't ask ridiculous questions." A fresh set of tears slid down her cheeks. He brushed them away with his thumbs. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to say that. It's just . . . Where did you go?" She groaned as her arms came around his neck and held him close.
"I didn't want to leave you, darling. But I had to make sure no others could hurt you."
"It hurt
s," she said as she looked at her thigh and then back to sympathetic eyes.
"I know. I know," he said as he held her to his chest. "It has to come out."
Meg nodded.
"It's going to hurt."
"I know."
Tristan sighed as he gathered her into his arms. "Let's get you below."
They began the nightmarish journey to belowdecks. "Don't look, Meggie. It's all over now," repeated Tristan again and again as he carried her over a deck strewn with dead bodies, wounded and exhausted men, discarded weapons, blood and debris. The air was thick with the wretched smell of gun powder and blood. One of Tristan's men lay in a puddle of it, his face shot away. Meg had never seen anything so horrid. She couldn't stop the gagging sensations. A moment later she gratefully accepted the blessed comfort of blackness.
Chapter Twelve
Meg moaned, despite the fact that she was still unconscious as he cut away her trousers. Tristan cursed at the sight of her blood-covered thigh. A chill spread up his back, and his hands shook as terror clutched at his throat. He dared not touch her. If he removed the chunk of wood himself and she started bleeding in earnest, he wouldn't know what to do.
Tristan covered her with a sheet and ran from the room. He stood at the hatch and screamed, "Morgan, get down to my cabin now!"
But Dr. Morgan was working on desperately injured men. The deck was slick with their blood. Many hovered near death. He wasn't about to leave them now.
Tristan wanted to smash something as he watched Morgan come from a man who'd just died and, ignoring his command, walk toward another who cried out for help. Tristan cursed and ran to the doctor. He grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him around. "Didn't you hear me? I said I need you."
"What the hell do you want?"
"Meg's been hurt. She's got a giant piece of wood in her leg."
Sweet Seduction hmtl Page 17
