He needed to consider her reputation, as well, not to mention her betrothed, a man Wolf imagined must have been beside himself with worry. Wouldn’t that be the case if their situations were reversed? Wolf would move heaven and hell to get back the woman he loved. He had done so once. But he had failed.
Bollocks. His senses spun. He actually envied Selina’s intended.
Selina pulled away from his chest and glanced up at him, her pulse increasing rapidly at the base of her neck. “Please,” she pleaded. “Help me.”
Yes, he could ease her troubled mind, just this once.
As if drawn to her by a silken thread, Wolf pressed his lips to hers, then covered her mouth with his. The contact, gentle at first, generated a heated thrill inside him, a dreamy indulgence he’d been denied for too long. He kissed her more soundly, drugged by her clean scent and the ambrosia of her sweet lips.
Selina clenched his shirt tightly, moaning into his mouth. She splayed her fingers across his chest, kneading the muscled sinew there, sliding her hands upward to his neck as he continued to coax her cares into a fleeting memory.
He drew her toward him, holding her tighter and closing the space between them. Her body shuddered as she molded it to his. Short curls wrapped around his fingers as he wove them through her hair. Intoxicated by her heat and the urgency that sped from her into him, he teased her with near-kisses until she moaned. With her impassioned whimpers encouraging him, Wolf gave in to his savage desire as he licked and then nipped at her lips.
She returned the favor, learning how to please him.
Wolf’s heart thudded in his chest. If he wasn’t careful, he’d lose what little control he had left. He needed to keep his wits. This experience wasn’t about him; it was about Selina and easing her fears.
He felt certain her lack of restraint was a trick to get him to agree to help her rescue Owen. She was determined to sail back to Cadiz and rescue her brother at any cost, and he’d best remember it.
Wolf tore his lips away from hers, regretting his decision instantly when her moan of disappointment met his ears.
“Wolf,” she said, pulling on his neck, tugging him toward her expectant mouth. “Don’t stop.”
“We cannot do this,” he said hoarsely. “I cannot do this.”
“I know.” Her breath was ragged and uneven. “I’m betrothed . . .”
“Yes.” She was. “And you are not dressed. I’d be a fool to take this any further.”
“I am not ashamed . . .” Her eyelids drooped seductively. “I’m bound to a man I do not love, Wolf, and I want you to kiss me again.”
Bloody hell, Selina didn’t know what she was asking. Or did she? “Do you know what comes after the kissing?”
“The bedding.” Her candid admission drove him wild. “You make me feel alive,” she continued. “That’s all I know. And I want to feel alive, Wolf. I want it as much as I want to bring my brother home.”
He’d been right, damn him. This was all about Selina’s brother. Talk of Owen Herding was like a dip in arctic water, immediately sapping him of his lust and insanity.
He grabbed her hands and lowered them from his neck. “When you dance with the devil, there is a price to pay.”
“Wolf, I—”
“Still need to eat.” He scooped her into his arms and carried her back to the chair, deftly depositing her there. Once settled with the towel wrapped securely around her, he leaned down and tapped the end of her nose with his finger. “Your food is getting cold.” Before she could stop him, he made a hasty retreat to the cabin door. “We should be in Portreath tomorrow. Do you ride?”
“Do I ride?” She raised her chin defiantly. “Can a ship sail without the tide?”
“No. Is that your way of saying you cannot ride?” After what Wolf had seen Selina do, he was quite certain she could handle a horse and just about anything else—except him. No woman could.
“Of course I can ride,” she said.
He rolled his shoulders and then opened the bulkhead door. Before stepping across the coaming and making his exit, he glanced back at her one last time. “I’ll see you on deck, boy.”
Chapter Nine
Rested, sated, clean, dry, and warm at last, Selina glanced down at the filthy rags discarded on the deck of the cabin, feeling her burdens lift by degrees. Dawn had come, and sunlight cascaded through the stern windowpanes, illuminating the cabin. Wolf had not returned since his kisses had branded her lips, making her feel nonsensical and foolish clinging to the sensations he’d stirred within her. Time apart had allowed her to process all that had occurred between them since they’d boarded the Sea Wolf, and her sanity had returned. In everyone else’s eyes she might be regarded as spoiled goods, but she knew the truth. No one aboard Captain Falchion’s ship, the Constrictor, Le Serpent, or inside the Wasp had raped her, and she didn’t need to add to her woes by voluntarily giving her virginity to Wolf.
What did it matter that Wolf’s nearness aroused sensations inside her that rivaled any indulgence she’d ever known? She was accustomed to living without happiness, especially the kind involving carnal pleasure. When she was in Wolf’s arms, she couldn’t think—she didn’t want to—and that surrender weakened her, made her vulnerable, something she could not allow. She was betrothed.
Wolf had behaved honorably by not taking advantage of her in her fragile state of mind—yet another thing that separated him from the corsairs she’d met. Those men crowed of their prowess with the “tarts.” But not Wolf. He wasn’t the beast he claimed to be.
He’d been right about other things, though. Her ruined wedding day, kidnapping, escape, recapture, and rescue had all happened for a reason. What those reasons were she could not yet ascertain. She strapped on the belt Wolf had provided her with and secured it loosely around her waist. The clothes she now wore fit far better than the items she’d bartered her gown for in Cadiz. And, saints be praised, they were blessedly clean.
One by one, she raised her legs, the muscles providing resistance at first, but nothing a good stretch couldn’t remedy. Her body was bruised after the gauntlet she’d faced, and it was begging for exercise. Casting aside her discomfort, Selina gloried in her newfound freedom, smiling to herself. Papa would not be pleased.
She unsheathed the dagger she’d found hidden in the clothing Wolf had provided from its leather holder and lunged forward and back, practicing the fients and parries Owen had taught her. Determined to regain her strength, she shuffled across the deck in the knee-high leather boots he’d supplied her. Her thigh muscles protested beneath her faded white breeches, but she took pleasure in each movement. She was alive. She had survived the Constrictor, Le Serpent, and the Wasp.
A quick spin on her back leg nearly made her fall. She stumbled, righted herself, and adjusted the long-waisted, belted black shirt she wore under an embroidered crimson brocade vest that had been intricately tailored for a man of means. Where had Wolf gotten the costly threads? Who had worn it? Regardless, she took great comfort in the style. Its length and thickness hid her curves and the fact that she no longer wore her shift and stays. Those garments, now beyond repair, lay discarded on the floor with the remnants of her bartered clothing.
Tying a piece of fabric around her head to keep the wind from blowing her hair into her face, Selina strode to the stern windows. She opened one, leaned forward, and inhaled the crisp sea air, a clatter of activity trickling down from the quarterdeck above. Wisps of clouds crowned the sky. The sea, its blue expanse reaching past the horizon to Cadiz and Owen, hissed and heaved in the Sea Wolf’s wake.
I will not forget you, my sweet brother. I promise to return.
A new day dawned, and with it, leagues charted between Saint-Malo and Portreath brought Selina closer to home.
She suppressed a shiver. Home did not appeal to her any more than the Wasp did. What awaited her at Trethewey House? Would he avoid her as he’d always done, or would this be the one time he welcomed her with open arms? Her heart sank into he
r belly, filling her with an empty longing. And how would Lord Gariland treat her now that she’d been scandalized before they married? Selina didn’t look forward to a life of isolation, the proper way to handle scandal. She prayed Lord Gariland would cry off, though it was surely an empty hope, given it was so frowned upon by the ton.
Selina inhaled another replenishing breath and tried to push her worries to the back of her mind. What say did she have in the matter anyway? She turned, glanced forlornly about the cabin, and walked to the bulkhead door. She’d vowed long ago not to let Papa’s scorn cause her grief. There wasn’t anything she could do to change the circumstances of her birth or the way her father dealt with her. Her only hope was that Papa would not blame her for leaving Owen.
But before that meeting took place, she’d have to deal with the pirates on board the Sea Wolf. How would they interpret her presence? She’d heard women were thought to be bad luck aboard ships, just as they were inside the mines. No matter. She’d never allowed that to stop her from climbing down into Wheals Creiddylad and Glory. And superstition would not keep her from roaming about the Sea Wolf, either. What they didn’t know couldn’t hurt them.
Holding on to the bulkhead door handle, Selina breathed deeply and opened the door. Brilliant light and the scent of salt, wood, and sea invaded her senses. Men scurried across the deck, shouting orders. Cannons stationed to the left and right of the bulwarks were perched at the ready, breached on lines behind closed gunports. Footfalls padded on the quarterdeck above her head, the sounds ominous to her ears.
Selina raised her hand to shield her face from the sun and get her bearings. All around the ship the sea heaved, its glassy surface glittering like stars in a dark night sky. White caps cobwebbed down into troughs and over the tops of cresting swells, waves pitching in haphazard patterns. She widened her stance and searched the deck, acclimating herself to the strange new world unfolding before her eyes.
Men rose from the companionway ladder, padding off to their duty stations like miners emerging from belowground. She’d been welcome at Wheal Creiddylad. The miners there had set aside their superstitions, if only for the pasties she delivered at lunchtime. Her generosity had been rewarded by being given permission to explore the tunnels rather than work as a bal maiden who broke and sorted rocks for ore outside the entrance.
She’d always been different from the women who focused on nonsensical diversions and marital prospects, which made being on board the Sea Wolf as a passenger, rather than as a captive, an extraordinary thrill—not to mention a risky adventure.
She’d been bred into mining, and it was a ritualistic process. Miners toiled on the hour, picking at rock. Bal maidens sorted it. The tin and copper ore were then delivered to South Wales for smelting. Selina had rarely dealt with the loading process at Portreath’s harbor and, therefore, had little knowledge about sailing a ship. She’d been taught to hunt, fight, and defend herself, thanks to Owen, but her life consisted mainly of what hired governesses deemed to teach her.
Now, standing on the precipice of a new life that balanced precariously on the old, the threshold Selina crossed filled her with exhilaration and a chance to suppress the loneliness and doubt she’d lived with all her life. She didn’t intend to let her inexperience at sea prevent her from challenging herself to acquire a new set of skills. She could use her time on the vessel to her advantage, learn everything she could, and then lead a rescue voyage to Cadiz.
Resolved to make good use of her time on board the Sea Wolf, Selina surveyed the activity around her with wide-eyed enthusiasm. Barefooted men scurried from one task to the next. Others scrambled up ratlines, their bodies arrowing up to mast tops while thick-armed men below tugged a rigging line into place.
“Heave ho!” someone on the quarterdeck shouted.
Men with brawny arms and strong backs responded, singing and tugging in masterful cadence, pulling on a long, thick, braided rope to raise a sheet of canvas into place. Loud flapping whacked and thumped about them as the sail fought its handlers, protesting and luffing as it struggled to catch the wind.
Selina’s gaze scaled the ratlines where more barefooted men were perched on the yardarms. Her breath caught in fright as she glanced back at the deck. What must it feel like to scale to such heights? Were the men not afraid of falling? Brave and nimble, the crew appeared not to care. They positioned themselves hazardously above the deck, clinging to the yards, and unfurled canvas with a timely, commendable skill while battling the unpredictable wind.
“Steady,” a man bellowed.
Another order met her ears. “Hoist that line!”
She marveled at the sights and sounds of shipboard life. The crew worked as one cohesive unit, breaking a sweat beneath the blinding, beating sun. Their rhythmic actions exhilarated Selina, stirring her blood in ways she didn’t understand.
A scraping sound drew her attention, and without acknowledging the men, she moved toward it. She climbed the companionway ladder to the forecastle where she discovered four men on their hands and knees, pushing and pulling large stones on the deck before them. An opaque substance lathered forth, and she pondered what it was and what purpose the entire process served.
“Scourin’ the deck, they are,” a voice said from her left as a member of the crew came to stand beside her.
She glanced at the man. He returned her stare with emotionless blue eyes. He was dressed in a faded-blue jacket and white trousers, and his blond hair was bound by a green handkerchief tied round his forehead.
“For what purpose?” she asked.
“Does a man good to spend time on his hands and knees with the Bible.” His bluntness took her by surprise.
“The holy book? A stone block cannot be read, and what I see these men using certainly does not appear to have biblical connections.”
Laughter erupted behind her.
Selina spun around to find she’d become a subject of interest to many more of the crew.
“It’s another name for the sandstone—we call them holystones.” The man who spoke was taller than the first with a muscular build. He was clothed in blue, and his piercing eyes looked down on her as if she didn’t belong aboard.
“Holystones,” she repeated. “Scrubbing the decks on hands and knees is something I understand. But comparing the process to prayer, using terminology sacrilegious to the Bible doesn’t seem proper.” Was this a test? Were they teasing her? In any case, she took the bait. “Why do you call them holystones?”
The first man tugged on his beard. “No one seems to know for sure.”
“Sailors are a superstitious bunch, I admit,” the second man said. “Patron saints and different ports spark controversy even among us. No need to question the right and wrong of it—it just is. Ye may not know where a ship’s timber has hailed from just by lookin’ at it, but ye can say, without a doubt, that the ship is made of wood.”
“The possibilities are endless,” the first man agreed.
Selina was confused all the more. “That may be true, but that still doesn’t explain what purpose a holystone serves.” She redirected her gaze to the men who labored over the deck. “I’ve read there are many hardships at sea, that men are forced into labor in order to keep them occupied. Perhaps scouring the deck only serves to keep men from loafing about or getting into trouble.”
“Did ye hear that, Hawk?” the second man asked the first.
“Aye.” Hawk nodded. “Thinks we’re loafers, Ike.” His stare was intense as it bore into her. “If we were, ye wouldn’t be here.”
“None of us would,” Ike blurted out, clearly not caring how his disgruntled demeanor affected her. “That’s the reality of it. We got orders to head to London.”
“Shut it, Ike.” Hawk growled. “Don’t let the captain hear ye. Ye’re not the one in charge.”
“Ye wouldn’t be here if I was.” Ike’s glower moved from Hawk to Selina. “And neither would ye.”
“Me?” Selina chewed her bottom lip. Her gaze dar
ted past the two antagonistic men, Ike and Hawk, to the helm where Wolf stood, hands behind his back. His large frame was hard to miss on the quarterdeck. Did he resent her presence, as well? The passionate kisses in his cabin certainly said otherwise.
“The captain has his reasons for bringing me aboard,” she said.
Hawk grinned. “He’s a good man, no matter what anyone says.”
“What do people say?” she asked, feeling slightly protective of the man she barely knew.
Ike motioned Selina closer and lowered his head to shield his face from view. “He can’t remember his origins. Some of the crew say he was raised by wolves.”
What a ridiculous notion. “Because of his name?”
“No. Follows his instincts, he does,” Hawk said, intervening. “He can be bone-headed when he needs to be about urchins like ye, but when it comes to turncoats, bully ruffians, and hellhounds, his daggers are drawn.”
“I’ve never seen a man hack and hue snakes to pieces the way he does,” Ike said, eyeing her critically.
She nodded. “I have.” She refused to add that instead of finding the captain’s methods abhorrent or bestial, she admired his prowess.
She glanced out to sea, cursing her penchant for rushing into one disastrous choice after another without considering the ramifications of her actions. Even so, London, and whoever or whatever awaited these men, could wait. A man’s life was at stake, and not just any man, but Owen. Her brother needed her. He had no one else.
Yet, if Papa had already rescued Owen, and he had already been returned to Trethewey, what then? Would these men resent her even more for the delay she’d cost them?
“Then ye know he be needed elsewhere,” Ike said.
“Leave the poor boy alone,” Hawk said. “Can’t ye see he’s been through it?”
The Mercenary Pirate (The Heart of a Hero Book 10) Page 11
