“I told ye. Find a serving lass. I will not disrobe for ye.”
“It is the middle of the night, Kat. Everyone is asleep. We have nay healer, and a serving lass willnae know how to help ye. I have fought many battles and wrapped many wounds. I vow not to touch ye in any way ye… dinnae wish.” She heard his voice crack and she pursed her lips. He hated her, but he wanted her. She was fairly certain of it. Still, there was no way to expose her ribs without exposing either her top half or lower half.
“Ye can bind me over my nightdress,” she suggested, chewing on her lower lip, already knowing that he would reject that idea.”
Shaking his head, he said, “It needs to be very tight, so ye cannae move it for several days. Tomorrow ye can rest here and after that, we board my ship.”
His last words made her catch her breath. He was taking her on a ship? Why? To where? For how long?
“Lass…” His fingers deftly pulled on the tie of his cloak around her neck and she stilled as it fell off her shoulders, then he did the same with the tie of her nightdress. Thomas’s hands skimmed her shoulders, slowly pushing the fabric down. Her heart beat wildly and gooseflesh sprinkled her skin from the merest touch of his skin on hers. She looked up at him and swallowed hard. As the sheer linen fabric fell further down her arms, she watched as the tops of her breasts became exposed. Part of her wished to panic and cover herself, but the rest of her was much too absorbed in the feeling of his scrutiny. “I need to bind yer ribs,” he murmured, looking at her with something close to sympathy and tenderness. At least his anger had simmer down, or at least shifted toward her father and away from her… for now.
With a deep breath, she swallowed hard and nodded, adjusting herself slightly so she was in an upright position, though it hurt terribly to do so, and she winced. His eyes traveled back down and without further hesitation, he pulled her nightdress down to her waist, carefully slipping her arms out. She cried in pain when her injured arm had to be moved.
The coldness of the room, coupled with her sudden nakedness, made her gasp as her nipples puckered. She had never been exposed to a man before, but she supposed he had seen many naked women. She briefly wondered how she compared to other lassies.
His silence was unnerving, and she looked from her breasts to his eyes and saw that he seemed to be stuck on the sight of her pink-tipped breasts and a sudden pool of desire dropped low in her belly. Even in all her pain, she found wild delight being the center of his attention.
“Thomas?” she whispered, wondering how long he was going to stare at her breasts, rather than tend to her ribs.
Seeming to snap out of his daze, he cleared his throat and shook his head. “Ye are… breathtaking, Katherine.” His hoarse-voiced declaration made her feel as if she would melt into a puddle of desire right here in this bed, broken rib or nay. His hands were fisted at his sides as if it took every ounce of his strength to not reach out and touch her. How she wished he would. Once he had seemingly looked his fill, his eyes finally took in the part of her he was meant to tend, and his face turned red with rage, his jaw clenching. She actually saw the movement of his teeth grinding. Looking down, she frowned at the huge purple bruise across the lower area of her ribs.
“Why would he do this?” he whispered with a deadly calm that made a chill run up her spine.
“He hit me in the stomach, in case I was carrying your O’Malley child, but he missed slightly and caught part of my ribs.” She felt herself on the verge of more tears just re-living the moment. If he did this to her then, what would he do to her once she was returned this time? He would beat her to death.
With a shaky hand, Thomas stood up and tore his tunic over his head and immediately shredded it into long strips of fabric. Katherine watched in awe as every hard muscle of his chest flexed with the effort, his large arms bulging as he worked. He was the most perfect man she had ever seen, like he was sculpted from stone, yet the small scars scattered across his chest and the stitched area of his upper arm proved that he was only flesh and blood. Then she observed the enticing line of hair trailing down his lower abdomen… her eyes followed it down and she almost felt dizzy when her gaze landed on the rather large bulge beneath his breeches.
“Lean forward,” he whispered as he squatted down beside her. His breath fanned over her bare shoulder and more gooseflesh consumed her entire body. She bit her lips to stifle a moan as his hands wrapped around her body twice, before tying the remains of his tunic into a tight, painful knot that made her cry in pain. She was aware of just how close his face was to her breasts, but the searing pain made her thoughts of pleasure fall away.
Tears ran down her cheeks, and she realized that as she lay half naked before Thomas, injured and broken inside, she had never been more vulnerable in her entire life. This man despised her, yet was so gentle. How could that be so, when the man who loved her more than anything, her own father, was capable of such cruelty?
She jumped as she felt his hands on her again, but she realized he was only slipping her nightdress back up her shoulders, covering her body once more.
Then she watched in confusion as he grabbed her left wrist, clasping it with his large fingers, before draping another long length of linen over their connected hands. “What are ye doing?” she asked. It appeared he was… but nay. He would never…
“I, Thomas Esmonde, bind myself to thee, Katherine Bingham. I give ye my mind, body, heart, and soul,” he said softly, but with conviction in his mesmerizing green gaze.
She had no idea what to do or say. “What are ye doing?” she replied with more ire. He could not be serious.
“I, Thomas Esmonde, bind myself to thee, Katherine Bingham. I give ye my mind, body, heart, and soul,” he repeated more aggressively, with a bit of a determined edge.
“Ye cannae mean to bind yerself to me. Ye hate me and my name.” Had the man lost his mind? She would not bind herself to a man who could never love her.
With a groan of frustration, Thomas leaned in and kissed her softly, sending fire through her entire body. Pulling back, he looked her in the eyes. “I must marry ye, for I cannae give ye back to yer father. If he beat ye for simply being in my company, he will kill ye after this.”
She wanted to argue that her father would never harm her, but the bruises and broken bones spoke of a man she no longer knew. Did his hatred for the O’Malleys truly outweigh his love for her?
“Mayhap he willnae know ye took me,” she pushed.
“I left him a note, lass. A very detailed note of everything I planned to do to ye. Ye can never go back.”
Despite the pain running through her body, nothing could have hurt more than those words. He was a devil. A pirate devil, and now because of him, she had nowhere to go. Letting her rage flare, she slapped him across the face and turned away, curling into herself once more, the pinching in her ribs nowhere near as painful as the pinching in her heart.
THOMAS CURSED HIMSELF a bastard. He had botched this whole situation entirely. He had set out to destroy this lass in retribution, but by the devil, he never thought he would find her injured by her own father. He had not thought of anything beyond his need for revenge. Because of that cursed note, there was no way he could ever bring her back to her father. Yet, his grandmother would kill Katherine if she saw her again… unless she was protected by Thomas, as his wife.
It had been the most spontaneous thing he had ever done and never had he considered taking a wife, but just the sight of her bruised face and ribs melted something inside his cold heart. She was an innocent lass, flesh and blood, even if that flesh and blood belonged to Bingham. She was caught between worlds, much like him, trying to do her best to help the people. Was she truly to blame for trusting her own father?
If he was being honest with himself, the woman boiled his blood with lust, but it was more than that. When she was near him, his heart softened and his cock hardened. He wanted her with an intensity he himself could never understand. The sight of her perfect, round, high breast
s, tipped with taut pink nipples had made him want to spread her wide and feast on her honey. But she was an injured woman… injured because of her association with him. Nay. He could not give her back, but he could not simply keep her as a mistress. She was his prisoner and yet, she was safer as his wife. He convinced himself that his sudden need to bind himself to her had to do with nothing more than protection and lust: a powerful lust that he could not wait to slake.
He usually preferred curvier women, such as Frances, women with experience and an understanding that he would be gone in the morning. Yet, the innocence she radiated, tinged with a curiosity about the pleasures of the flesh, drove him mad. But it was more than that. She was like him, caught between loyalties to England and Ireland, yet she had put herself on the line to help the natives. She had a good heart and a brave soul. He found himself in awe of her, something he had never thought to experience in his life. In normal circumstances, he would explore those feelings, mayhap slowly woo and court her. But he had ripped her away from home, left an explicit note for her father, and ruined her without so much as touching her. Marriage was the only answer and for some reason he did not wish to explore, he was not at all frightened of binding himself to his enemy’s daughter.
His cheek still stung from the slap she had seen fit to give him. He could not blame her. He stole her away, and tore her clothing off… to bind her wound, aye, but he would be a bloody liar if he pretended not to have stared his fill at those plump sweet breasts. Then he had tried to handfast her without explanation after insulting her honor by leaving that note. He deserved her ire… but she also deserved his protection.
As he watched her prone figure curled up facing the wall, the candles flickered and slowly died, leaving the room in shadows. Sitting next to her on the bed, he moved her blonde waves away from her cheek and ran his fingers softly over her bruised skin, which was wet with her tears. She flinched at his touch, but he was determined to convince her to wed with him.
“I do not hate ye, Kat. Truthfully, I admire ye.” That made her hiccup as her silent cries ceased and she turned to him with confusion in her eyes. Small strands of hair stuck to the trail of her tears, and he gently swiped them away. “I had revenge in my heart for the death of my crew and the loss of the cargo on that ship. I blamed ye for it and I saw how much ye meant to yer father, so I thought if I stole ye away and seduced ye into my bed, I could ruin ye and destroy the only treasure Bingham cared about. But, I was wrong. I was blinded by my rage. I see now how much ye care about these people, the way I do. We cannot undo our mistakes. Yours in sharing our cargo with yer father, and mine in treating ye so terribly, but we are here, together now…”
His voice trailed off as he stared into her red-rimmed blue eyes. “I wish to protect ye, lass, to make this right. Bind yerself to me and I will never allow any harm to befall ye. I vow it.”
Sitting up carefully, she narrowed her eyes and wiped her nose on her sleeve. “I willnae be some obligation because of yer honor, Thomas. Ye dinnae wish to marry me.” Her gaze drifted to his bare chest and lingered for a moment, her cheeks turning a bonny shade of pink.
She was wrong. He wanted to marry her quite badly, it seemed. Having no words to explain his sudden change of heart, he wished to show her how badly he wanted her. He had only known her a few days but his mind, heart and body had been drawn to her from the start. How ironic that the only woman to ever share his love of Ireland, who was willing to put herself on the line to help innocent people, whose ideals and personality so perfectly matched his own, could be the daughter of his enemy. He chuckled lowly at that and gently grabbed her chin with his hand.
Leaning in, he flicked his tongue out, dragging it along the seam of her lips. She sighed and he groaned, feeling himself grow aroused by her merest touch. He knew that when he could finally lie with her, they would set the bedsheets aflame.
“I want to marry ye, Katherine Bingham. Ye are smart, brave, and so bloody beautiful.” She swallowed hard and he delved his tongue into her mouth, reveling in her response. Even her sweet kisses were enough to destroy him. Mayhap it was madness to marry her but in the end, it was their only choice to keep her safe. If she married him, nobody could hurt her.
Sensing that she was slowly relenting, he pulled away and looked into her eyes, that bruise swallowing half her face serving as a constant reminder of all she had suffered and all that she would suffer if he let her go back to her father. Clasping her wrist once more, he draped the linen from his tunic around them and repeated his vows. “I, Thomas Esmonde, bind myself to thee, Katherine Bingham. I give ye my mind, body, heart, and soul.”
With a sigh of resignation, she seemed to accept that binding herself to him was her only true choice. He felt like an arse having forced her into this situation, but he vowed to do all to never make her regret putting her trust in him. “I, Katherine Bingham, bind myself to thee, Thomas Esmonde. I give ye my mind, body, heart, and soul.”
His heart banged against his ribs. This bonny wee lass was meant to be his captive but instead, he had made her his wife, at least for now. A binding could always be broken and they both knew it. He could tell she was wary of the vow she had just given, so he leaned over and gave her a gentle kiss to seal their promise.
“Ye are my wife now, Kat.” Her breathing quickened and he could see her luscious breasts pressing against her thin nightdress, but he tamped down his lust. Their wedding night would have to wait until she had healed. Sliding next to her on the bed, he laid down, propping his head on his folded arms and he felt a shock of surprise when she laid beside him, placing her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. It was such an innocent gesture, but somehow it shook him to the core. He was not a man who laid around with a woman without making love to her.
Her lashes fluttered and he knew she must be beyond exhausted. They had much to discuss, but for now, he would let her sleep. “Get some rest, Kat. We can discuss what comes next on the morrow.” With a nod and a yawn, she gently curled into him, using his body’s heat to warm herself, as she somehow warmed his heart.
He was a besotted fool. He had no idea how he had so suddenly become attached to this woman, but he knew that he had never felt more at ease in his life. Aye, he quite liked having a wife.
Chapter Eight
LIGHT STREAMED IN through the open window, the warmth caressing Katherine’s cheek as her eyes fluttered open. Thomas… her husband, lay beside her, smiling as he looked at her head resting on his chest. A flush crept across her face at their close proximity, but at least they were both clothed, except for his bare chest. The coarse hairs on his chest tickled her cheek and she rather liked it but still moved away slightly to give herself more space.
How in the world had she ended up wedded to this man who had, only hours before, been ready to ruin and return her? What had changed his mind so abruptly? She had decided to concede, mostly because he was correct that her life was as good as over without his protection, no matter where she turned. But her fascination with him had been immediate and intense. And when she had thought him dead, her heart had ached fiercely. Now, he was very much alive and sharing her bed, only not as a lover. He had been gentle last night, never attempting to touch her and risk further injury. Her ribs still ached terribly, but at least they had a day to rest.
“Did ye sleep well, wife?” His low husky voice made his chest rumble near her ear.
“Surprisingly so,” she whispered. She had slept better than ever, and the reason had to be the man lying next to her.
Turning on his side, he looked at her with smoldering eyes just before taking her mouth with his. It was like being struck by lightning every time the man placed his lips on hers. When his tongue slipped into her mouth and melded with hers, she felt like she was on fire.
After several moments of luscious kisses that she hoped would never end, he pulled away with a groan. “I was mortified when I thought ye were my sister. No man should enjoy kissing his sister as much as I enjoy kissing y
e.”
Her cheeks flamed and she placed a hand tentatively on his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath her palm. “I am sorry, Thomas. I know I caused ye and Grace much trouble.”
“Well, ye still have time to help make things right.” Her brows rose, wondering what sort of plan he had. With the glint in his green eyes, she knew it would involve a ship and the sea. She was the wife of a knight who was aligned with pirates… what did that make him? What did that make her? She found that she could not seem to care.
“Have ye ever heard of the Treasure of Danu?” he asked with a quirked brow. When she only frowned and wrinkled her brow in confusion, he began to tell her about his ancestors, the Sisters of Danu and a treasure they had acquired from the gods in a war over fifteen centuries before. According to legend, years later another war was imminent and in order to hide the sacred treasure containing a golden cauldron, a glowing sword that lit up when an enemy approached, and the Spear of Lugh, one of their sons hid the treasure in a cave somewhere along the coast of either Ireland or Scotland. The treasure, which legend says only reveals itself to the chosen ancestor, had never been located.
“I believe I am the one, lass. From the youngest age, I knew of my connection to our family’s ancient line. I had vivid dreams of the treasure even before my grandmother told me of it. I can picture it when I close my eyes. I know now why I must find it. The gold in that treasure will be enough to feed, clothe, house, and save many of the people suffering in this land.”
“And now, because of my father, ye have no ship,” she said quietly, and shook her head. “I am so sorry, Thomas.”
“I am more saddened by the loss of life and the cargo than the ship. And ye are not responsible for yer father. My grandmother has agreed to give me one of her many ships and a crew in exchange for my pursuit of the treasure. We can begin on the morrow.”
Pirates of Britannia Boxed Set Volume One: A Collection of Pirate Romance Tales Page 54
