by Tina Donahue
Her skin stung, but she wouldn’t back down. “Very well.” She brought her hand to his cheek to strike him, but couldn’t, and delivered a gentle caress instead.
Her men mumbled to each other.
Tristan looked at her questioningly.
He above all should have known seduction was a woman’s greatest weapon, forcing men to their knees, even one as alluring and confident as him. His skin was warmer than she’d expected, his stubble oddly exciting in how it bit her palm. She enjoyed touching him, until she recalled he was no more than a murderous pirate.
Tristan parted his lips.
Before he could speak and surely lie, she stroked his bottom lip, heated and achingly soft, the same as how he treated her. For now. And only because her men offered protection. If she and Tristan had been alone, Diana sensed he would have demanded her mouth and used her as he pleased. Just as he’d abducted Peter without giving the boy a voice in the matter. No more.
She raked Tristan’s cheek, wanting him to feel the pain he’d caused her, relishing his coming shout and oaths.
He kept his tongue.
Furious, she dug deeper.
He didn’t even blink.
“Damn you.” She ached to pummel him, to make him bellow. “I want you to hurt.”
“As you do.” Blood trickled down his cheek.
She lowered her face, frustrated tears welling in her eyes. “I hate you.”
“You’ve yet to know me.”
“I’ve no desire to know you.”
“In time you will.” Longing radiated from him, rather than insolence.
She should have backed away. His presence held Diana, baffling and intriguing her.
“I did not abduct Peter.” He glanced past. “If you refuse to believe me, ask him.”
“Diana?”
She turned so quickly her cap slipped off, releasing her braid. The fire silhouetted a man. “Peter?”
He stepped into the light. The boy she recalled was no more, a stranger facing her.
Sun had lightened Peter’s dark hair and baked his once pale skin as bronze as Tristan’s. He was nearly as tall too.
Her chest cramped at changes she hadn’t expected. The last time she’d seen Peter he was twelve years old, smaller than she, and far too thin.
Even with his new height, he was still more boy than man, all arms and legs, no fat. Only marks from work he’d done or beatings he’d endured.
She winced at the cruel bruises, the horrible cuts on her brother’s bare chest and arms. “Turn around.”
Peter looked at Tristan.
He nodded. “Go on. Show her your back.”
She pressed her hand to her throat. Scar after scar crisscrossed Peter’s skin. She whirled on Tristan. “Liar. You claimed no one had harmed him. You did that.”
“I never touched the boy.”
Then his foul crew had, and he hadn’t stopped the assault. “You’ll pay for this.” She sheathed her rapier and spoke to her men. “Restrain Kent and his crew.”
Peter gaped. “What?”
Diana struggled over the sand to reach him, ready to hug.
He sidestepped her and marched toward Tristan.
Her other men arrived to help their mates fetter the prisoners.
Peter stopped and growled. “What do you think you’re doing?”
He shoved Reeves away from a pirate. To the man, they were drunk and swearing at having their slumber interrupted, but offered little fight.
“Stop it.” Peter grabbed another man, who easily pushed him aside.
“Peter.” She gripped his wrist to keep him from drawing his pistol, snatched it instead, and flung it into the sea.
He gasped. “What are you doing?”
She clasped his upper arms and forced him to face her. “I’m saving you from being hanged. This isn’t a game. If you’d been captured with these animals, you would have faced the gallows as surely as they.”
“You can’t fetter them and leave. They’ll starve. It ain’t right.”
But him being whipped and driven to work like a man was. Rubbish. “Peter, love, we—”
“Don’t call me that. Why are you doing this to me?”
“To you? This was done for your safety and freedom.”
“I ain’t exactly in irons.”
Diana had no idea where her sweet, proper brother had gone. “I was speaking of your future freedom. In exchange for it, I’ve promised to bring these men to England where they’ll hang.”
His blue eyes nearly popped out. “You have no bloody right to do this to me or them.”
“Enough, Peter.” Tristan’s rumbling voice cut through the other noise. “Your sister deserves your respect.”
Peter lowered his face and stood silent as a statue, obeying Tristan far too readily.
Even with his hands bound behind his back and facing certain death, Tristan was quite relaxed, his stance belonging to one who ruled and seduced.
Unnerved, she stepped back. “Reeves.”
The muscular seaman finished restraining a pirate. “Yes, miss?”
“If Captain Kent’s unable to hold his tongue, gag him.”
Peter inhaled sharply. “No.”
“Quiet.” Tristan gave the boy a hard look. “Not another outburst, understand?”
Peter nodded obediently.
She frowned. “You just gave your final order, Captain. You’re no longer my brother’s master to whip and beat him as you see fit.”
“You’re making a great mistake about what truly happened.”
“I’m warning you.”
He lifted his dark eyebrows. “Against what? I have no desire to do anything except to please you while you please me.”
Her pulse raced. “Please you? I’d rather die.”
A smile played across his sensuous lips. “You want the same as me. You’ve much to learn. I look forward to teaching you.”
Heat flooded her chest and throat. She took Peter’s arm to hurry him along. “We must go.”
He wouldn’t budge. “To where?”
“I’ll explain further once we board the Lady Lark.”
“I can’t leave these men or me captain.”
“It’s my, not me, as you well know. Please stop speaking like a common pirate.”
“Why? It’s what I am.”
“No. Never say such a thing again.” She tugged his arm, but couldn’t pull him more than a few steps. “Will you move, please?”
“Not from here.”
She’d risked everything to save him and received this behavior in thanks? She wanted to shriek. “Be grateful for my rescue. Don’t you understand? Your time with Kent has come to an end.”
“And yours, Diana, has only begun.” Gone was Tristan’s patient manner and seduction. He was determined and dangerous now, befitting the pirate he was.
She tingled with fear and an emotion she didn’t want to identify. Something akin to excitement, which was mad. She pushed her feelings aside. “It would be best you heed your own advice, for words do have power. They should be used with great care.”
“They have been.”
Chapter 2
Diana stared, then lifted her chin.
Tristan fought a smile. Her trembling mouth and lingering gaze proved her uncertainty and interest. She didn’t understand him, was determined to hate him, but wanted him nonetheless. As he did her. His cock strained against his breeches, craving her inner heat. The reverend’s courageous and honorable daughter would bring him endless pleasure. He had yet to touch her, but already she belonged to him, no other.
She pivoted. Her braid swung, its dark color making her complexion seem even paler. In the future, he wanted her clothed in nothing except her glorious mane and two jewels he’d have her wear. Hopefully, she wouldn’t fight him too much on his fantasy.
She pulled Peter toward the Lady Lark. At her endless words and flailing hand, the boy wi
lted. He’d met his match in her, but he wasn’t yet a man.
The sorry souls who were men had paid the price for their drunkenness, the situation past control.
“Captain.” Henry Wells staggered across the sand, lost his balance, and toppled over. “What in the hell is going on?”
Reeves hauled the pirate to his feet. “You’re going to hang.”
Henry wailed.
One of Diana’s men grabbed Tristan’s arm. He made no move to fight. Yet. “My book, if you please.” He inclined his head to Homer’s tale. “I would never forgive myself if I left my mother’s most prized possession behind.”
The man squinted at the cover. “That the Good Book?”
Even from where he stood, Tristan could read the title. His captor could not, no different from other illiterate mariners. “It remained with her till the very end.”
The man’s rough features softened. “Mine died in Newgate.”
“A terrible place.” Tristan’s mother had spent much of her brief life in the prison. During his visits to her, he’d endured the stench from too much humanity caged like animals, and had been horrified at the prisoners’ endless screams. They convinced him never to exist in filth, nor let anything or anyone steal his self-respect and hope. He would live and die clean. He’d always be free. “When I’m there myself and surely when I hang, I want her book with me.”
The man trudged through sand to fetch it.
In the confusion and activity, no one watched Tristan. Inside a mangrove stand a doubloon flashed, the gold coin reflecting the firelight. The coin glinted repeatedly, spelling out James Sullivan’s message.
Good man. Tristan suspected James hadn’t kept a proper watch because he’d helped Peter collect the crew’s water. Upon their return, the boy had probably stumbled unknowing into camp while James, who was far more experienced, had held back.
Tristan inclined his head to where Diana had pulled Peter.
The coin flashed in answer. James understood what to do.
Tristan’s captor strode back. He shoved the volume beneath Tristan’s arm and led him across the sand.
To the promise of freedom and the reverend’s wondrous daughter, Diana Fletcher.
* * * *
Despite a chair in the great cabin, Peter sat on the floor, legs pulled to his chest like a common pirate, not the proper boy Diana loved and had raised. Holding back sorrow, she stepped around him to get a better look at his back. He shifted, hiding it. She hurried to his other side. He twisted away.
She stilled. “Please let me see your injuries.”
“Ain’t got none.” He scooted back and slumped against the wall. “Them’s scars.”
Good Lord. This wasn’t what she’d expected from their reunion. Peter should have been weeping, clinging to her as a frightened young boy would, grateful for his rescue.
She sank next to him, wearier than she’d ever been. “Why did you run off to sea?”
He shrugged.
“Talk to me, please.”
“Why? Won’t change nothing.”
“Anything. I want us to be like we were before, sharing our woes and happiness.”
“Ain’t going to happen. I’m a man now.”
She wasn’t certain whether to laugh, cry, or rail at him. “Even men talk.”
He muttered an oath.
Diana fought for calm. “Please?”
“Very well, have it your way. You was having trouble enough getting food for yourself, much less me, so I had no other choice except to run away, all right?”
She slumped. “I would have starved before you went without. Surely you must know that.”
“Why do you think I left? I wanted you to have enough.”
“Oh, Peter.” She threw her arms around him and prayed for a kind response.
He finally hugged her.
Diana’s sorrow broke free, tears rolling down her cheeks. He’d suffered cruel beatings, most likely starved, and God knew what else because he’d looked out for her. “I had Father’s old room rented a week after you left, and then I had tenants in the others. There was enough for both of us, even some money left to educate you properly. I kept telling you I’d see to your welfare.”
He released her and squirmed away. “I can take care of meself.”
“No, you can’t and it’s myself.” She swiped away tears. “You’re with me now so you don’t have to pretend to be uneducated like the crew. Once we return to England, everything will be better than it had been. I promise.”
“I ain’t going. I have to stay with me captain.”
She resisted shaking him. “Are you mad? He beat you.”
“Did not. He never laid a finger on me.”
“Then who did? One of his filthy crew?”
“None of them touched me, neither. It was just a whipping. If me captain can take it, I can too.” He pushed to his feet and crossed the room.
Diana followed. “Are you saying your captain was also whipped? You can’t possibly believe it. The man put your life at risk. He abducted you.”
“Did not. He ain’t never been mean to me excepting for when it comes to his books.”
She recalled Homer’s Iliad on Tristan’s lap. A large volume and a gentleman’s read, or a brute’s weapon. “He beat you with his books?”
Peter laughed.
She kept herself from shouting. “Stop that at once. If he beat you, I want to know.”
“I’ve been trying to tell you. He forces me to learn Latin, Spanish, history, and no end of boring things even when I told him I have no use for it.”
Good heavens, Peter was more deluded about Tristan than she’d guessed or he’d become a superb liar during their separation. “He educates you, yet doesn’t notice how poorly you speak?”
Peter rolled his eyes. “He’s just like you, always telling me to talk properly. I learned not to around the other men. When I spoke like you, they pushed and punched me asking if I thought I was better than them.” He shoved both hands through his hair, dragging the locks off his shoulders. “I even told the Captain what they said, but did he listen? No. He still gives me lessons to do every day and helps me with them unless he’s with Canela.”
“Canela? A crew member?”
“Of course not. She’s a beautiful island woman he fancies.”
Diana’s belly twisted.
Before she could recover her indifference or dislike for Tristan, Peter took in the cabin. “Where’d you get this vessel? Are you having to pay for its use?”
Once they were in Mozambique, she would. She lowered her face. “No.”
“Because you intend to get me friends hanged?”
“They are not your friends. And no, I’m not going to get them hanged. They did it on their own by committing piracy without my help. The Lady Lark belongs to Benedict Bishop. If it weren’t for his kind assistance, I wouldn’t have had the means to come here and rescue you. Once we’re home, he’s promised to pay for your schooling as he worries about your safety and future.”
Peter stared. “That makes no sense at all.”
“What doesn’t?”
“Mr. Bishop told you he wanted to help? Why? What does he get out of the bargain? Oh my God.” He put up his hands. “You haven’t promised to wed him, have you?”
To hide her shame, she focused on smoothing her clothes. “No. The man’s old enough to be our father. He knew how worried I was about you, so he helped willingly as he’s also concerned for your safety.”
“What makes you so sure he ain’t the one who put me in harm’s way?”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve heard things about him from me shipmates.”
“They’re pirates, Peter. Crude, vicious beasts without courage. Listen to them now.”
Several wailed below from where her men had taken them. One made a coarse noise. Something crashed.
Another man cried out. “Captai
n, help us!”
“My men are having difficulty negotiating the ladder.” Tristan spoke as a noble born to a manor rather than a pirate in a ship’s hold. “They need time to get down the steps. Especially Cook. He’s missing a limb. Allow me to assist him.”
She rubbed her temple, not knowing how to react to such thoughtfulness, from a pirate no less. One who fancied a beautiful island girl and had claimed Diana wanted the same as him.
Not likely. She needed him to hang.
* * * *
Tristan found the accommodations abominable but expected no better since Diana believed he and his men were going to die, anyway. Her crew had pushed them inside the hold unconcerned as to the stuffy air and stifling heat. Or where they might land. He was lucky, his book safely beneath his arm, even after he’d stumbled over a small cage and came to rest against a barrel holding something solid but slightly fetid.
Given the splashing sounds and his men’s snarls or curses, Tristan guessed their beds weren’t as nice. He had no way to know, the space so dark he might have been blind.
The others panicked, the new situation pushing them toward quick sobriety. One even prayed.
Tristan kicked the barrel for their attention. “Quiet.”
They grew still. The hull’s groans and slapping sea filled the silence.
“Captain.” Henry Wells kept his voice low. “What do you want us to do?”
A curious question. Although Tristan was in charge, his power wasn’t absolute. True rule lay with his men. Each had a voice and vote on what action to take. If they didn’t like the outcome or anything he suggested, they could easily replace or kill him.
The prospect of facing Newgate and the gallows made them eager to leave him with this mess. He used his shoulder to wipe sweat from his face. “I don’t intend to sail to England, nor do I intend to hang.” He spoke as quietly as Wells had. “Are you men with me?”
Whispered “ayes” filled the space.
“Then keep quiet.”
When they were relatively still, he lifted his face. Diana’s light footsteps sounded in the cabin overhead. She was either dressing for bed or undressing. He preferred the latter and having her clothed in nothing more than what he desired.
