Gregory, Lisa

by Bonds of Love

  “No, you are right, as always. I am your lover.”

  “Really, Captain, must you—”

  “I enjoy seeing you blush in confusion. Most of the time, you are far too much in control.”

  “Please take me back to my cabin.”

  “What? Won’t you take another turn around the deck with me?”

  “I wish I’d never come up here,” she said in a muffled voice.

  “Whatever is the matter, Katherine?”

  “I’m so embarrassed. All the men watch me. They know, don’t you see?”

  “Has any of them said anything to you?” he said, his voice hard.

  “No. It’s just that they look. They know what you did to me; they think I’m—that I’m—”

  “That you’re what, Katherine?”

  “You know.”

  “No, I don’t know. I never know what you are thinking.”

  “That I’m cheap, loose, fair game.”

  “Don’t talk nonsense. They think nothing of the kind.”

  “Oh, you just don’t notice it.”

  “I will tell you what they think. They think you look like a pretty little girl with your hair in braids, like an innocent waiting to be taught. And they want you and no doubt speculate on how you look without any clothes. I know that because that is what I think, too, when I see you. And they envy me because you are mine and they wish they could be me tonight. Then they think about how they must restrain themselves because they know I would keelhaul any man who approached you.”

  “And you think that shouldn’t embarrass me?”

  He shrugged. “It’s the lot of a beautiful woman.”

  “Oh, really!”

  He looked at her quizzically and she said, “I am hardly beautiful.”

  He chuckled softly. “Don’t be foolish. You may try very hard to appear not beautiful, but you cannot hide it from me. Nor from very many other men. Your problem is you have spent all your life around Bostonians, who wouldn’t know a lovely woman if they saw one. Now, don’t fire up; it’s the truth. New Englanders have cash registers for hearts. I see your hair, your eyes, your skin, your breasts, your luscious lips. But a Bostonian goes: ‘Click, click, father’s business; click, click, jewelry and expensive clothes; click, click, how big is her house; click, click, ping.’ Now isn’t that the truth?”

  Katherine burst into laughter. “Stop it. You’re dreadful.”

  “I know,” he said with sham repentance. “But isn’t it more fun to be with me than sitting in a drawing room in Boston, sipping tea and saying, ‘Yes, Aunt Prudence, isn’t it shocking that Sally Throckmorton actually smiled yesterday at a man she has met only six times!”

  “My aunts are named Amelia and Amanda, not Prudence,” she said lightly.

  “Good God.”

  “Yes, quite so. And my mother’s name was Alicia.”

  Hampton chuckled. “How did you come by such a nice name, with all that precedent?”

  “Well, my father’s name is just as bad as Mama’s—Josiah. Mamma said my name could not begin or end in an a and Papa said it must not sound like a Puritan or something out of the Old Testament. So they chose Katherine, which is, you must know, a terribly wicked name. I cannot imagine how they came to choose it.”

  “Why is it so wicked?”

  Her eyes dancing with mirth, Katherine said, “Why, it’s the name of that licentious Russian queen. And three of Henry VIII’s wives were named Katherine—two of them most sinful and the other a Catholic! And worst of all, it was the name of John of Gaunt’s paramour, the ancestor of the Tudors.”

  “That is quite a list of evildoers,” he smiled. “You seem to know a great deal of history.”

  “I do,” she said simply. “I find it interesting.”

  “Tell me, then, whom you admire.”

  “Queen Elizabeth of England,” she said promptly.

  “I should have known. You two are a pair.”

  “And whom do you admire?”

  “Oh, Lord Nelson, I guess; Sir Francis Drake.”

  “They were great sailors,” Katherine admitted. “But what about rulers?”

  “Well, I think Edward IV and Charles II have both been slighted.”

  “Womanizers,” she sniffed.

  “What’s wrong with that? I happen to like women myself. But, you see, that’s all people remember about them; they ignore all the constructive things they did. But I guess, all in all, the king I admire most was Henry II.”

  “Another libertine.”

  He grinned. “Perhaps it’s a factor of greatness.”

  “Certainly it’s a factor of your admiration. However, I have to admit that he made a great many improvements, particularly in the judicial system.”

  “And in pruning church influence.”

  “And in pruning the nobles’ influence.”

  “There,” the captain said triumphantly, “we have made a second circuit of the deck and you didn’t even notice the stares.”

  “That’s true. Thank you.”

  “Thank you; it has been a most agreeable conversation. I have never before met a woman who even knew who Edward IV or Henry II were.”

  “Perhaps, Captain Hampton, you, like Bostonians, look for the wrong things in a woman.”

  “I stand rebuked,” he said and bowed over her hand. His lips faintly brushed her fingers, sending a strange thrill through her. “I am sorry, but I must return to my duties. Until this evening.”

  She nodded her head formally, and went back to the cabin. It was amazing to think that they had had such a normal, enjoyable conversation. And he had been so pleasant and really rather considerate to get her through that first stroll around the deck by distracting her. It would not be so difficult again; she would no longer be such a novelty. Then she grimaced to herself. What a fool she was to feel grateful to that man! After all, if it weren’t for him, she would not have had to face the situation in the first place. Angrily she picked up the cotton print dress and flounced into a chair to begin altering it. She had better not forget that, she told herself. He was only trying to charm her into forgetting her resolutions.

  Before long, Hampton returned to his quarters, and dinner followed soon after. It was an odd mixture of normal seafare—beans and salt pork—together with expensive luxuries—fine French wine and oranges from Spain. Matthew explained that they were supplementing the ship’s sparse food supply for the crew with some of the delicacies which the Susan Harper was importing from Europe.

  “We may starve to death,” he joked, “but at least we’ll die with the best wine in our stomachs.”

  He received only a sour look for his attempt at jollity. Inwardly he sighed: there was no understanding her. Their brief camaraderie of this afternoon had vanished. All through the meal she was gloomily silent. Well, if that was the way she wanted to be, he was not about to spend all his time trying to improve her mood. As soon as Peljo removed the dishes, Hampton seated himself at his desk and began charting a course to England. He chose a common route, hoping to waylay some merchantman to restock his provisions.

  Katherine, weary of sewing, passed the time reading Ivanhoe. She was unable to remember a word she had read the evening before and so started the novel all over again. However, she had little more luck now, as she could not keep her mind off the coming night. Would he try to rape her again? What course should she follow? It seemed so pointless to struggle, yet she could not just meekly give in. When at last he put away his charts and instruments, rose, and stretched, she tensed and slowly stood up to face him.

  “Why, my dear,” he said mockingly, “you are trembling. In anticipation, I hope.”

  “In dread,” she snapped.

  He sighed. “And I thought this afternoon we were getting along so well.”

  “I should be quite happy to converse with you, if that is what you wish.”

  “No, it is not what I wish.” His voice was teasing. “What I wish is your not-quite-virginal body.”

 
“How dare you, you—animal, you brute, you—”

  “Please, Katherine, I’m beginning to get tired of your epithets.”

  “And I am tired of your unwelcome attentions!”

  “Katherine, I am weary and would like to go to bed. Now, tell me,” he said, coming toward her, “do you propose to fight me? I’d be careful if I were you; your supply of dresses is somewhat limited, you know. Or do you want to remove your dress before we tussle? You may begin in any amount of clothes you wish.”

  “Damn you,” Katherine said evenly.

  “We’re wasting time, my love. Just tell me your rules for our battle. I wouldn’t want to do anything that isn’t proper or damage your property in any way. Perhaps you would prefer to just flip your skirts up over your head like a two-bit whore.”

  “Oh!” Katherine gasped and slapped him hard.

  His eyes darkened with anger, and he just looked at her for a moment, his jaw set, the mark of her hand plain on his face, first white, then swiftly turning to red. Her slap made him furious. He had always disliked women who, secure in the knowledge that a gentleman would not return their blow, slapped one whenever they were in a tiff. It galled him not to be able to return a blow, especially this one—Katherine delivered a real haymaker, not a little ladylike slap.

  Suddenly he reached out and threw her onto the bed. Before she could scramble off, he was on top of her, kneeling across her, holding her so that she could not move. She lashed out at him with her fists, raining blows on his face and chest, but he quickly grabbed her wrists and firmly shoved her arms down against the bed above her head. She writhed helplessly beneath him.

  “Well, what will it be, madame? Shall I make love to you? Or shall I toss up your skirts and take you? It’s up to you. You enjoyed it this morning, but that’s awful, isn’t it? You cannot let yourself realize that you enjoyed my caresses! You have to make me force you. If I rape you, it’s not your fault, is it? Perhaps you would prefer it if I tied you down—that would really satisfy you, wouldn’t it? You would be so completely at my mercy, so completely innocent. Now, Miss Devereaux, what is it to be? Are you going to face up to your passions or are you going to continue to lie to yourself?”

  “You bastard!” she hissed through clenched teeth.

  “Ah, I see you have come up with a new word. It warms the cockles of my heart to see you sliding further and further into the sinful depths of profanity.”

  It was difficult to breathe with his heavy weight on top of her, but she continued to struggle and to gasp out a tirade of abuse against him, using every word she had ever heard around the docks, though she didn’t know the meaning of half of them. He ignored her, casually unbuttoning his trousers and shifting his weight momentarily in order to pull up her skirts and roughly pull down her pantalets. Brutally he entered her, climaxed quickly, and then abruptly withdrew, and she felt his weight leave her entirely. She gave a soft moan of humiliation, and rolled to the far side of the bed, making feeble efforts to right her clothing.

  Behind her, she could hear him moving about the room getting undressed. She pressed a fist against her mouth to stifle a sob, her mind a jumble of hot, vengeful thoughts. Someday, somehow, she would pay him back for this. She would hurt him, make him suffer. The bed creaked beneath his weight, and he put one hand up her skirt on her bare leg and squeezed it.

  “That is more what rape is, little one,” he said.

  “I wish you were dead!” she rasped. “I would love to see you killed! I would love to see you sliced up into little pieces. I wish I had a gun and I’d blow your head off.”

  “Bloodthirsty wench, aren’t you?” he said dryly and rolled away from her.

  Soon his heavy, even breathing told her he was asleep, and she slipped off the foot of the bed. She pulled up her pantalets and smoothed down her skirts. Her legs were trembling so that she had to sit down in a chair. Her thoughts were incoherent, but one thing was clear in her mind: she would not spend the night at that brute’s side. Soon, however, she grew quite sleepy, and her back began to hurt from sitting in the hard, straight chair. There was no sofa to sleep on, or even a comfortable chair. But she refused to go back to his bed. Finally she took a blanket from the foot of the bed and reached across his sleeping form for the other pillow. Then she moved as far from the bed as possible, threw down the pillow, wrapped the blanket around herself, and curled up on the floor to sleep. She found the floor a highly uncomfortable bed, but, after much twisting and turning, finally fell into a shallow sleep.

  When Hampton awoke the next morning, the first sight that greeted his eyes was Katherine lying asleep on the floor near the door. It took a moment for his fogged brain to sort out the reason for her peculiar behavior, and then he grimaced. The little fool. She was the most stubborn chit he had ever met. Cursing softly, he got out of bed and went to her; the floor was cold as ice beneath his feet; no doubt she would catch her death of pneumonia. Kneeling, he picked up her limp body, blanket and all, and carried her back to bed. She gave a little sigh and laid her cheek against his shoulder. After removing her shoes, he put her in bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. Her hands and feet were freezing, and he crawled back into bed to hold her body close to his own warmth and rub her hands and feet. When he was satisfied that she was warmer, he got out of bed, dressed, and left.

  Katherine slept most of the morning, and when she awoke, she was stiff and sore from sleeping on the hard floor. She felt miserable, irritable, and ashamed. As she dully sewed away on her frock, her mind teetered between the scalding things she would like to say to Hampton and a horrible feeling that she could never again look him in the eye for the shame of knowing he had seen her in such a debased position. It had been terrible enough that he had raped her, but to so deliberately degrade her as he had last night! It was as if he was trying to show her how low his opinion of her was.

  Don’t give in, she told herself sternly; don’t let him lower your self-esteem. That is what he wants—to make you feel so low and humiliated and worthless that you just give up. You have to oppose him. The only problem is how to fight him.

  Hampton did not come back to lunch. Peljo explained that he was busy on deck giving chase to a ship. Katherine looked at him in amazement: she had been so immersed in her own troubles, she had forgotten that the outside world existed. Good heavens, there was still hope of the Navy finding him or of some victim defeating him and releasing her from his clutches. Hurriedly she bolted down the food Peljo had brought, grabbed her cloak, and dashed out to the deck.

  Dr. Rackingham was standing at the rail and she joined him. “Oh, Miss Devereaux, what a pleasure,” he said, turning to her. “I believe the captain is giving chase to that vessel out there.”

  Katherine strained her eyes to see the ship he pointed at. “What is it, do you know?”

  “I have no idea. Even if I could see her closely, I would not be able to say what kind of ship she is. I am the sort who often calls a ship a boat.”

  Katherine smiled. Gracefully the Susan Harper swooped down upon the other ship. One had to admit that Hampton was an excellent sailor—and a seasoned predator. Soon Katherine was able to make out that it was a stolid merchantman wallowing heavily through the waves. Her heart sank.

  “It’s only a merchantman,” she said in disappointment. “We’ll catch her easily. She’s far slower than we and well-loaded to boot. I doubt she will put up any kind of fight.”

  Katherine was right. They raced down upon the hapless ship and made a lovely en point turn to bring themselves broadside. Hampton was showing off, she thought, no doubt trying to throw more fear into the merchant captain with his little display of skill. The Susan Harper’s real guns fired a shot across the bow and called on the other ship to surrender. The other captain refused, putting a brave face on it, but Hampton flung wide his portholes and displayed his neat row of false cannon. The merchant ship quickly surrendered. Katherine sighed. It had been a good show, but she was still imprisoned.

  Listle
ssly she watched the transfer of food and medical supplies from the captured ship. Then Hampton’s crew began heaving the other’s cargo over the side. Finally, near the end of the short winter afternoon, the captain’s prisoners were rowed across to board the other ship. As Katherine and the doctor watched, Hampton approached them.

  “Good afternoon, Doctor, ma’am.”

  “Good afternoon, Captain,” the doctor replied, but Katherine studiously ignored him.

  “Dr. Rackingham, I have too little space and food to accommodate more prisoners. Therefore, I am putting them aboard that ship. No doubt they will be back in the States in a couple of days. You, of course, are free to go with them, although I am afraid I must keep your medical kit.”

  “My medicine! But what if an emergency should arise? I would have no supplies.”

  “I’m sorry. I hope that won’t happen. However, as you must realize, perhaps the one thing my country is most sorely in need of is medicine. I am afraid that I must seize every opportunity to get medical supplies. You are certainly most welcome to stay, if a trip to London appeals to you. I can always use a doctor.”

  “What about Miss Devereaux here? Is she free to go also?”

  “Miss Devereaux?” His eyes flicked over her coldly, as if she were a horse or piece of furniture he was judging. “No, Miss Devereaux remains here.”

  “But, Captain, consider; you can’t go about forcing well-bred ladies to—”

  “Well-bred?” Hampton repeated, his face amused. “I would hardly apply that term to her.”

  “Really, Captain!” Rackingham gasped.

  Katherine merely shot him a venomous look.

  “Please, Doctor, this girl is staying right here. She is, shall we say, a prize of war, my possession, and I intend to keep her as long as she amuses me. Let’s hear no more about it.”

  The doctor simply stared at him aghast. Katherine glared, longing to slash her fingernails down his insolent grinning face.

  “Then I must remain here, too,” the doctor said finally. “I cannot abandon Miss Devereaux in her distress.”

  “A very noble sentiment,” the Rebel murmured.

  “I am quite capable of taking care of myself, Doctor!” Katherine flared.