“But what if your father has had a bad year? Most of his fortune comes from his holdings on the islands. It’s been a bad year for the sugar plantations.”
“Lord Cameron will pay!” she snapped.
“He will pay for you, even tarnished as you are?”
“I am not tarnished!” she snapped. Then she lowered her eyes slightly, for it was by a curious mercy on his part that she was not, and she did not wish to test that mercy. Then she remembered his touch and his eyes, and the fact that sitting was still difficult because of a certain placement of his hand upon her bare anatomy. “I am only slightly tarnished,” she amended, and he laughed softly.
“I think you are right,” he said. “I think that Cameron will pay for you, no matter how tarnished you should become. You see, he is a man who knows how to keep a promise. He was pledged as a child, but from respect for his deceased father’s wishes, I am sure that he will pay.”
She glanced at him sharply. He was watching the sea once again. She cried softly, “You know him! You know the man to whom I am engaged.”
He did not reply for a moment.
“You know him!” Skye cried once again.
“Aye, I know him.”
“How!” She hadn’t realized that she had stood, or that she had moved, until she saw that her hand rested upon his where it lay against the mighty wheel. She flushed and quickly drew away her touch. “How do you know him?”
He shrugged. “He intercedes sometimes when I return hostages. We meet on Bone Cay. I have—holdings—there.”
“Then—then I will not be a prisoner long?” she whispered.
A lazy smile touched his lips and one of his dark brows arched. “Long enough, milady.”
She drew away from him and turned about. “What is he like?”
“Petroc Cameron?”
“Yes.”
“He is like me.”
“What!” she stormed, whirling around with great indignation.
His laughter was deep and husky and seemed to fill the night, and his eyes sparkled a fascinating silver. “At least you are quick to leap to his defense!”
“He is a gentleman. You are—”
“Un-uh. Watch it, lady. I am weary.”
“You are a—pirate,” she said. She meant “scurvy rodent,” and they both knew it. His jaw twisted, but he was still amused. She was, after all, she admitted ruefully, broken down to a certain control.
“He is like me,” the Hawk said, “because he is my cousin.”
She gasped so awfully that she choked. He patted her firmly upon the back and quickly apologized. “Milady, please do not have apoplexy upon me! You needn’t fear the future so intensely upon my account. He is a second cousin of sorts. And I, of course, poor slime, am from the wrong side of the sheets several generations back. The Camerons do not like to speak of it, of course, and they admit nothing. But when you meet your dear betrothed, you will see that there can be no real denial, for the Lord Cameron and I do bear a certain resemblance to one another.”
Skye sank back into her seat, staring at him dismally. “And you would tarnish your own cousin’s fiancée?” she demanded.
“There is no love lost between us.”
“But—”
“And remember, milady, as of this moment, you are only ‘slightly’ tarnished. And if rumor stands correct, you intend to dishonor your bethrothal anyway.”
“That is mere speculation.”
“To many. You forget. I know you.”
“You do not know me at all!”
“I am learning more about you with each passing hour, Lady Kinsdale.”
“Again, you show your conceit.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and looked away. “Governor Spotswood hates pirates! He will catch you one day and he will hang you high, and I will make you one promise now that I will keep. The day that they hang you I will be there with bells on. I will watch with the greatest glee.”
“Bloodthirsty wench,” he said.
“In your case, Sir Rogue!”
He laughed, letting go the wheel, turning to her. She wished to escape his nearness but it was too late. He caught her hands and bowed low so that their faces nearly touched and he all but whispered into her lips. “Milady, one day I promise—a promise that will be kept!—you will call me ‘lord’ and you will bow to my command!”
“Never!” she promised, but the cry was but a whisper, too, and that against his lips. He so nearly brushed her flesh! So nearly met his mouth to hers. A hammering came to her, and it was the sound of her heart. She heard the rush of the ocean, then realized that it was her blood, cascading and steaming within her. Surely, he saw how she trembled. He would know …
Know what? she demanded desperately of herself.
She did not find the answer for someone nearby cleared his throat and the Hawk straightened. Robert Arrowsmith stood with one foot upon the first step to the helm.
“I’ve laid the lady’s supper out in your cabin, Captain.”
The Hawk reached for her hand, drawing her to her feet, his eyes deep and hard upon hers. “Mr. Arrowsmith will escort you to the cabin.” His voice lowered. “You needn’t fear. The lanterns are already lit.”
He did not wait for a reply but handed her over to Robert. Robert escorted her past the rigging and to the cabin door. “Good night, milady,” he said to her.
And the doors were closed and bolted. But as the Hawk had promised, two lanterns burned brightly, illuminating the water left for her to wash and the meal left for her upon the Hawk’s desk. She would never eat, she thought. But it had been endless hours since she had last eaten and she quickly realized that she was famished and that the stew left for her smelled wonderful.
She sat down. It was a fresh fish stew, she quickly realized, thick with potatoes and carrots. The bread at her side was fresh, too, and vermin free. With less than ladylike manners she set into it, and when she paused at last, she realized that she had consumed it all.
She hadn’t even bothered to pour herself some of the burgundy left for her. She did so then, reflecting on the night.
He would not hurt her. He had told her so. If she took care, she would be rescued soon enough.
If her father had the ransom, she thought dully.
Or if Lord Cameron was still willing to come to her aid.
She was only slightly tarnished.…
Restlessly, she stood. The food had been wonderful. It had left her with a sense of well-being. The wine was good, too. It went down well, and it eased away the fear and the pain. She was still so very tired.
She looked from the washbowl and French soap and sponge to the door, wondering when he would burst back in upon her. Nervously she dug into her trunk for a substantial nightdress, and even more nervously she set to the endless task of trying to undo her buttons. She let her dress fall to her waist and scrubbed her upper torso.
No one came to the door.
She slipped her nightdress over her shoulders and soaped and sponged her lower half, finishing with her feet. Then she breathed a sigh of relief, for no one had come.
She sat down and finished the wine. Still, no one disturbed her. The lanterns burned brightly, and she was at ease. She leaned back and closed her eyes.
Later, she tried to move, and she struck wood. Panic seized her. She was surrounded by darkness. She was locked into a small wooden space, and darkness surrounded her.
She could hear the screams.…
Stay! She had to stay!
But she could not. She could not remain in her prison and listen to the horrible screams!
She tried to scream herself, but the sound would not come. They had warned her not to make a sound, not to make a sound.…
It burst from her, the awful sound of her dream. There were hands upon her. They had found her. They had come for her, too. She scratched and fought furiously. They would kill her, without a second thought.
“Skye!”
There was light again, sh
e realized. She blinked furiously, looking about herself. She was in his bed, beside him. She had banged against the paneling at the side of the bunk.
“It went out!” she cried. “The light went out.”
“Hush, I’m sorry.”
He held her, very tenderly. He was naked beneath the covers, she knew. His shoulders were bare and the hair upon his chest teased her cheek. He was a pirate, and she couldn’t care, she couldn’t even think about it. She lay against him, trembling and dazed. His hands soothed her, touching her hair, stroking her cheek. “It’s all right. I won’t let the light go out again. Ever.”
She kept trembling. His arms came more tightly against her and she buried her face against the strength of his broad chest.
“Don’t fight me, Skye. Lie still, lie easy. I won’t leave you and I won’t hurt you. Don’t fight me.…”
She had no thought to fight him that night. None at all. With a soft sob she curled against him. Slowly, her trembling eased. He whispered to her still. In time, her eyes closed. Then she slept, a dreamless, easy sleep.
He waited until that time. Then he uncurled the fingers that still tore into his flesh with terror. He smoothed them out, softly massaging her palms.
He gazed down upon her tearstained face, so fine in the web of her sunset hair.
He admitted that she was beautiful.
And he admitted, too, that he was playing a losing game. He had made her his prisoner.
But now, he was the one in chains. He would never be able to just release her.
Before it all ended, he would have to have her.
And leave her very, very tarnished indeed.
IV
Skye awoke with a start, only to discover that she was alone. She looked quickly about the cabin, assuring herself that the Silver Hawk was nowhere about, then she winced and leaned back again, thoroughly despising herself for her weakness and more perplexed than ever by the pirate. At certain times he was ruthless beyond measure; he didn’t bend, break, or give the slightest quarter.
But he could also be gentle, sensitive beyond measure to the terrors of darkness that plagued her heart.
None of that mattered, she told herself flatly. She had lain in bed with a pirate and set her cheek against his chest and her hands against his flesh and she had clung to the very scourge of the seas.
A lamp was lit, but the drapes were still closed against the sunshine. Skye crawled from bed and walked to the starboard windows, pulling back the velvet to look out. It was a beautiful day. All blue and golden. The sea was calm, stretching endlessly beneath the powder blue horizon.
There was a knock upon the door. She wasn’t exactly decently clad, Skye decided, but her nightgown did cover her chastely from throat to toe. “Come in,” she called out.
The doors opened and Robert Arrowsmith entered with a breakfast tray. “Good morning, milady.” She nodded his way as he set the tray upon the table. He seemed pleased with himself that morning as he removed the silver warmer from the plate upon the tray. “I’ve a surprise for you. Fresh milk and eggs and a ham steak, milady.”
She couldn’t resist the food, nor her curiosity. “Fresh milk?”
“We met with a sister ship this dawn coming out of Charleston, milady.” He hesitated. “The captain had a hip bath brought aboard, too, and he bought a supply of French milled soap. Now I warned him that you might not care to immerse the whole of your body into the water and take a chance with disease, but the captain’s regularly into bathing himself, so he thinks as how you might want the opportunity, too.”
“I would dearly love a bath,” she said. Where was her pride? she wondered. She should scoff at every offer given her by the wretch of a pirate. She wasn’t terribly certain if her pride could be salvaged by remaining sticky and dirty and she scoffed at the idea that evil spirits and diseases entered into the body when it was submerged. She had grown up in a hot climate and had learned to love to bathe.
“Fine, then, some of the lads and I will be back with the tub and water. You can heat more yourself, of course, if you wish. I shall light the stove and leave you a kettle.”
Skye thanked him and sat behind the desk. He set forth lighting the stove and she watched him as she delicately cut into the ham on the plate before her. She chewed reflectively. “Charleston,” she murmured. “And we sail for New Providence?” She knew the general vicinity of the island. And she knew that it was a pirate’s haven, a true den of iniquity. The small swift pirate ships were able to manuever the reefs and shoals about her while the warships and merchantmen too often cracked up upon the treacherous coral rock. The English proprietors of the island seemed not to have the energy to deal with the pirate problem, and so, Skye had heard, the only law there came to be that based on the will of the strongest rascal who happened to be present.
Robert hesitated, jabbing at the coals in the stove. “Aye, we sail for New Providence,” he said, looking her way. “You know of it?”
“Too well.”
“You needn’t fear. The Hawk does not intend for you to leave the ship. We won’t stay long. Then we’ll move on to Bone Cay. The Hawk is the law there. He will see that you are kept safe.”
“Safe?” she said sweetly.
“Quite safe,” he said. “Until some arrangement is made.”
Skye gave him a beautiful smile. “Tell me, Robert, what happens if my father cannot pay the sum of money that the Hawk demands?”
“Surely, Lord Cameron—”
“But what if Lord Cameron does not choose to pay?”
“He will,” Robert insisted.
“But if he does not?”
“He will.”
“But what if he does not?”
“Milady, you are insistent!” he said, standing.
“Yes, I am.”
“Well then …” He threw his arms up in the air. “Well, then you will like Bone Cay, I suppose. I don’t know. I am quite certain that you will be ransomed quickly.”
“How long till we reach New Providence? Two days, three?”
“Yes, depending upon the wind.”
She stared at him hard and he shuffled his feet uneasily. He was a striking young man, much like his master. His speech was cultured and his manner refined.
Perhaps, she mused, he was not so horrible a pirate. He treated her like a lady despite the circumstances. He seemed to admire her, and she was not without a certain confidence in her ability to charm. He might be persuaded to help her.
She smiled at him, sadly.
“You must cease this horrible life, you know,” she told him. She pushed up from her chair and hurried around to touch his shoulder. She was so intent upon her pursuit that she did not see the doors swing open, or the Hawk enter into the cabin behind them. “Mr. Arrowsmith, if you could, perhaps, help me to escape, I could speak to the governor on your behalf. Oh, he is a man who wretchedly hates pirates, but he is quick to see remorse, and ever ready to give a man a chance! Robert, can’t you see? You will hang if you persist in this life! I could help you, truly I could. And oh, sir! I would despair to see you swinging from a rope!”
Her fingers fell upon his sleeve. He flushed, for they were very close, and her gown, though sedate, was made of thin cotton. “Milady—” he began.
“Yes, milady!” came a long drawl from the doorway. Robert jerked and jumped away from her. He stared blankly at the Hawk. The pirate smiled his slow sardonic smile. “That’s all, Robert.”
“Aye! Aye, aye, sir!” Robert sped on out of the cabin. Skye remained before the desk, her heart sinking as she watched the thunder of a pulse against his throat. He was dressed, as usual, in black corded by silver threads. His shirt was open and much of his bronze chest was displayed. She felt a nervousness leap into the pit of her belly and it was difficult to remain where she was. She wanted to run from him, and from the feeling inside of her. His eyes touched hers with dark and shimmering power, and to her eternal shame, she did not think to be furious or indignant. She thought inst
ead of the night. She thought of her dreadful fear, and of how secure she had felt once his arms had come around her. They were like steel. They were bronze and hard and vibrant. Like the beat of his heart.
The blood began to drain from her face as she remembered their first morning together, and seeing him fully naked. Tremors shook her and she swallowed, trying to keep her eyes wide open and upon his. She did not wish to let them fall. Indeed, she did not wish to recall his anatomy one bit, and yet she did, and the very memory caused her to heat and burn inside. His sexual drive seemed as potent as his fighting force, and yet …
He had let her be.
“Alas, love!” he murmured softly, coming in and walking around to take the seat she had vacated. He picked up her coffee cup and sipped the warm brew, sighing with satisfaction as he raised his booted feet to clunk upon his desk. He folded his hands over his chest. “So you were trying to charm poor Robert into mutiny.”
“I was telling him rationally what would happen if he persisted in this life of infamy.”
“You lie, milady. But then, that is your way.”
“I am not lying. I would hate to see him hang.”
“And what of me, love?”
“I have told you, I will cheer the loudest when you swing by the neck!”
He watched her for a long moment, his eyes fathomless, his smile implacable. “Yes, I believe that you would. But they will have to catch me first, you know.”
“Perhaps Robert will betray you.”
“Fallen to your charms!”
“I did not intend to charm him, nor did I do so.”
“Be glad then that you did not, mam’selle, for then I should have been forced to slay him.”
Skye gasped. He was lying now! she thought. But how could she know? The man was an enigma. He leaned toward her then, speaking softly. “Indeed, I warn you, Skye, take care with my men. Any who touches you will die, and I will come to think that I do not give you adequate attention if you must seek out others.”
“I seek escape!”
“You will be free soon enough,” he said flatly. He started to rise, and she was glad, for she was sure that he meant to leave, and she was trembling terribly. But there was a knock upon the door and it opened and Robert was there again. He looked at the Hawk, who waited expectantly. “We’ve the hip bath, Captain.”
Heather Graham - [Camerons Saga - North American Woman 02] Page 8
