by Connie Mason
Though her situation seemed hopeless, she hadn’t given up. If Dariq could be believed, she had several weeks to change his mind about sending her to the sultan.
Willow paced to the large set of windows overlooking the stern of the ship and gazed at the gentle waves slapping against the hull. Her thoughts traveled backward to Marseilles, remembering the wonderful weeks she had spent with her mother, and how she looked forward to returning home to her father and friends in London. Her cozy world had shattered when a vile pirate had captured her ship and taken her and her maid prisoner.
She thanked God that they hadn’t been hurt physically. She and Kitty had hovered together in the small cabin they had been given until they were dragged out and sold to a slave master in Algiers. It still hurt that she and Kitty had been separated soon afterward. Though Willow had learned her fate early on, she hadn’t known what had happened to Kitty, until Dariq told her.
Willow knew nothing about the island of Lipsi. In fact, she’d never heard of it. But one thing she did know. If there was a way to escape, she would find it.
That night a young cabin boy brought Willow’s dinner on a tray. When she attempted to speak to him, he lowered his eyes and quickly departed. It was obvious he neither understood nor spoke English.
Willow picked without appetite at the spicy rice and lamb dish, and then went to bed fully clothed. Though she tried to stay awake and watchful, exhaustion conquered her good intentions. She was sleeping soundly when Dariq entered the cabin.
Dariq walked to the bed and stared down at her. Moonbeams streamed through the stern windows and fell across the bed. He sucked in a quick breath. Willow’s hair, gilded by moonlight, was spread across the pillow like a golden cloak. She had shifted in her sleep, exposing her breasts above the low neckline of her vest.
Dariq’s thoughts ran amok when he saw two coral nipples peeking out at him. His first inclination was to take a succulent bud into his mouth and suckle it. His head lowered and his mouth opened. Fortunately, his wits returned and he started to back away. Willow chose that moment to open her eyes. She gave a little shriek and scooted up into a sitting position, unaware of the fetching sight she made with her breasts bared.
“What do you want?”
“Naught,” Dariq replied. “Go back to sleep.”
Dragging his gaze from her rosy nipples, he continued on to the small room where he intended to sleep during the remainder of the voyage.
But sleep eluded Dariq. His body reminded him in the most elemental way that he hadn’t had a woman in a very long time, and that a desirable woman lay but steps away … a woman he could not touch.
Rolling over on his stomach, Dariq cast aside his lustful thoughts and opened his mind to sleep.
Willow awakened the following morning to brilliant sunshine streaming through the windows. The vessel was rolling gently from side to side, and for a moment she thought she was still aboard her father’s ship. Her rude awakening came when she recognized the pirate prince’s cabin aboard the Revenge.
Willow rose, spied a tray sitting on the table and approached it gingerly. It contained a breakfast of dried fruit, hard biscuits and rice. A water pitcher and pile of clean cloths next to it caught her eye next. She walked over to it, discovered it held hot water and poured some into the bowl. Keeping an eye on the door, she washed herself and cleaned her teeth with a cloth dipped in water. Then she ate sparingly of her breakfast.
Willow wanted to go out on deck to enjoy the sunshine and fresh sea air but hated wearing the suffocating aba. She was embarrassed by the vest and sheer skirts she had been forced to don and wanted something less revealing so she could appear in public without the aba.
Hoping the pirate kept clothing in his cabin, Willow began a thorough search of his trunk. She was rewarded when she discovered a neat stack of clean clothing. She removed a pair of baggy canvas trousers, a white shirt with long billowing sleeves and a red sash.
Keeping an eye on the door, she removed her revealing clothing and stepped into the trousers, rolling up the legs several times so she wouldn’t trip over them. The waist was way too big, but Willow used the sash to cinch it in. The shirt sagged at the shoulders, but she made do by rolling up the sleeves and buttoning the front as far as it would go and tucking the excess material into the waistband of the trousers.
Willow was so pleased with the results that she decided to get rid of the hated harem outfit and aba for good. Gathering up all her discarded clothing but for the soft slippers she had been wearing, she walked to the window, pushed it open and tossed the bundle into the sea. Her small act of rebellion brought a smile to her lips as she watched the offending cloth sink beneath the water’s surface.
Gathering her courage, Willow opened the cabin door and stepped out onto the deck. She remained in the shadow of the quarterdeck a long moment before dragging in a deep breath and boldly walking to the ship’s rail.
Willow felt dozens of pairs of eyes upon her in the stunned silence that followed. Then everyone began speaking in their heathen tongue and pointing at her. Comprehension dawned, and her hands flew to her head. She should have covered her hair with one of the knit caps she’d seen in the prince’s trunk.
She was aware of his vibrant presence before he reached her. Rage emanated from him like an inferno. “Have you lost your mind?” he said with quiet menace. “I warned you about exposing your beauty, did I not? How am I to control my men when you brazenly display yourself before them?”
“Brazen?” she challenged. “I am covered from neck to toe in cloth. Your clothing is so large on me, I am all but enveloped in it.”
His gaze was riveted on her face. “Your face, lady, and your golden hair; to look upon you is to want you. Return to your cabin. If you put on your aba, I will accompany you on a turn around the deck.”
Willow’s chin lifted. “I tossed the aba overboard.”
“You what?”
His clenched fists and harsh features warned Willow that she might have gone too far. “I am English, not Turkish, and Englishwomen are allowed to speak their minds and bare their faces in public.”
“Ibrahim will have you beaten if you defy the laws of Islam. Have you never heard of the bastinado?” Willow shook her head. “ ’Tis a thick rod, an instrument of torture applied to the soles of the feet. ’Tis unbearably painful; you would not like it. I advise you to curb your tongue and willful nature.”
“Why should I do anything you say?”
“It will make your life easier if you understand the rules. Contrary to your belief, I wish you no harm. I would take you as my own concubine if I had not a better use for you.”
“I do not want to be anyone’s concubine. I have a fiancé at home in England.”
“Forget him and your former life. Ibrahim’s concubines are expected to devote their lives to pleasing him. Once your fiancé recognizes the fact that you will never return, he will find another woman.”
Willow had little doubt that Dariq spoke the truth. Percy, Viscount Dimpleton, needed a wife to bear his heir and would doubtless seek another bride despite her father’s objections. But Willow wasn’t about to voice her doubts to the arrogant pirate prince.
“Percy and Father will join forces to find me.”
“You are delusional, lady.” He grasped her arm. “Come, I will escort you back to your cabin. Now that my men have looked upon your face, I must guard you well.”
Willow was propelled inside the cabin. Dariq entered behind her and closed the door.
“Am I to be confined to this cabin until we reach your island?”
“Without your aba, I see no alternative. You should not have acted so impulsively.”
Willow stared at Dariq, more aware of him as a desirable male than she had ever been with anyone. He was magnificently masculine and imposing in a harsh way. His tanned chest, exposed by the open neck of his shirt, rippled with muscles. His legs, encased in baggy trousers thrust into boots, were as sturdy as oak trees, and his arms
beneath the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt were thick and browned by the sun. But it was his face that was most arresting.
Unlike his fellow pirates, he was clean-shaven, his longish black hair tied back with a leather thong. But it was his mesmerizing silver eyes that held her captive. Forcing her eyes from his face, her gaze slid down his body, noting with alarm the assortment of weapons he wore upon his person. A scimitar hung from a wide leather belt at his waist, and thrust into the belt were a dagger and a pistol.
“Keep looking at me like that and you will find yourself on your back beneath me,” Dariq warned in a low growl.
Willow looked away, her face tinged with red. “I did not mean … that is … I was just sizing up my enemy.”
A slow grin spread across Dariq’s face. The golden-haired houri was staring at him as if he were anything but her enemy, as if she wanted to devour him. Not even Safiye, in their most intimate moments, had looked at him like that. A great shudder passed through him, and he had to forcibly restrain himself from pushing her onto her back and making her his.
“I am not your enemy, little one. Tonight, when my men are sleeping, I will take you for a stroll around the deck. But first you must find something to cover your hair.” He opened the door. “Next time you want to do something so foolish, think twice about the consequences.”
Dariq left the cabin in a strange mood. No wonder Captain Juad was happy to be rid of Willow. The woman obeyed no one, following only her own dictates. Like his mother, Willow was obstinate and willful. His mother had willingly entered the harem as Murad’s wife and never regretted it because she had loved her husband. But Dariq knew that Willow would never love Ibrahim; what woman could love a man capable of killing his own brothers?
“Damn obstinate woman,” Dariq muttered.
“The houri has you talking to yourself,” Mustafa laughed. “You should have let Captain Juad keep her on his ship since you are both sailing to the same port.”
“Aye, I should have,” Dariq allowed, “except I felt the need to keep my eye on her.”
“I pity Ibrahim.”
“Nay, I pity Lady Willow. She will never conform to harem life and will suffer for it.”
“That is not your concern, my lord. Nothing matters except your life and Saliha Sultana’s safety. Allah placed Lady Willow in your path for a reason. She will make it possible to bargain for your mother’s life without sacrificing your own.”
Dariq sent Mustafa a censorious glare. “Mother should have come with me when I was forcibly carried from the seraglio. You know I would not have left without her had I been conscious.”
“Had you been conscious, you would not have gotten out of the seraglio alive. I would not have struck you if your mother had not given me permission.”
Dariq sighed. “We’ve gone over this a thousand times, Mustafa. No matter what you and Mother agreed upon, I would have stayed and fought to avenge my brothers.”
“Your mother’s life was not in danger; yours was.”
Dariq did not reply. His mind was still on the tempting blond houri inside his cabin.
Could he survive weeks upon weeks without touching Willow?
Would she leave his stronghold a virgin?
Those were questions he could not truthfully answer.
Chapter Three
Willow didn’t see Dariq again until he returned later that evening to escort her on deck. Recalling his warning about covering her hair, she pulled a knit cap she found in his trunk over her head and stuffed her hair beneath it.
“Good, you are ready,” Dariq said when he arrived.
He held the door open. With the eagerness of a child, Willow stepped onto the deck and walked to the rail. Moonlight illuminated her features as she lifted her face to the warm breeze and inhaled deeply of the fresh, salt-scented air.
“The stars are so bright I can almost reach out and touch them,” Willow said. “And look at the moon! It’s magnificent.”
“Aye, magnificent,” Dariq replied, his gaze riveted on her face. “Shall we stroll? The exercise will do you good.”
He wound her arm through his and proceeded along the deck. When they approached the night watch, the man deliberately looked away. Willow couldn’t help wondering at this strange religion that wouldn’t allow a man to look upon a woman’s face.
“Who is the large man you call Mustafa?” Willow asked curiously.
“Mustafa was the captain of my personal guard. Now he is much more than that. I would not be alive today and master of the Revenge if not for him.”
“What an odd name for a ship.”
“Perhaps, but the name suits my purpose. Seeking revenge for Ibrahim’s sins against those I held dear is my soul purpose in life.”
“What did Ibrahim do?”
Dariq came to an abrupt halt. His face was stark, as if beset by painful memories he’d rather forget. “ ’Tis best you do not know the worst about Ibrahim.” He started walking again.
Willow wanted to know what Ibrahim had done to earn Dariq’s hatred but realized Dariq would tell her nothing more. Instead, she said, “This is a large ship.”
“She carries forty guns,” Dariq said proudly. “The Revenge is the flagship of my pirate fleet.”
“Why did you become a pirate? It seems an unlikely life for a prince.”
“My reasons are none of your concern. Suffice it to say, I had little choice. I escaped the seraglio with my life, a few loyal men and little else except for a bag of gold and gems my mother gave me from her own coffers.”
“Who threatened your life?”
“You ask too many questions, my curious little houri.”
“I’m merely making conversation. Why did you call me a houri? What does it mean?”
Dariq grinned, his white teeth gleaming in the moonlight. “A houri is one of the beautiful maidens who pleasure men in a Muslim paradise.”
Willow’s mouth opened and then snapped shut. Stopping abruptly, she pivoted to confront Dariq. “Do not call me that again.”
Seeing her face upturned and her eyes spitting fire, Dariq thought the word houri had been invented to describe Willow. Curling his fingers around her narrow shoulders, he pulled her against him. His right arm slid around her as his left hand lifted her chin to receive his kiss. Then his mouth clamped down over hers.
She tasted sweet, her natural scent deliciously arousing. Through the heavy canvas fabric they both wore he could feel her heat, feel his own arousal respond to it. He was tempted to throw caution to the wind, carry her back to the cabin and teach her the meaning of pleasure.
His hands found her breasts, so perfect against his palms that he could not resist gently kneading the tender mounds. He heard her breath catch and drank deeply from her mouth, his tongue searching out her sweetness. And he tasted heaven.
“A lovély evening, is it not, my lord?” The voice came from behind him.
Mustafa!
Dariq ended the kiss abruptly and pushed Willow away. “What are you doing here, Mustafa?” he asked in their language. “It is not your watch.”
“I am admiring the beauty of the night, just as you are.” His voice was ripe with censure. “What you are doing is not wise, my friend.”
“You are right, of course. Perhaps you should escort Lady Willow on her walk. I cannot be trusted.”
He turned to Willow. “I am needed elsewhere. Mustafa will accompany you until you are tired and wish to return to your cabin.”
“But I cannot talk to him,” Willow protested. “I do not speak his language.”
“ ’Twas exercise you wanted, not conversation,” Dariq growled. He walked away and was quickly swallowed by the darkness.
Willow sent Mustafa an uncertain look and continued her stroll. Mustafa trailed behind, his disapproving silence mute testimony to his low opinion of her. After several turns around the deck, she returned to her cabin, no longer as excited about taking the air as she had been.
During the following days, Willow s
aw little of Prince Dariq. She was asleep when he returned to the cabin at night, and he was gone in the morning before she awakened. Mustafa arrived promptly after dark each day to escort her on deck. Being unable to converse with anyone but Dariq made her life extremely boring. In fact, Willow found it intolerable and decided to complain to Dariq.
One day she caught a glimpse of him at the wheel during her evening walk. When she headed in his direction, Mustafa grunted a warning, but she ignored him. Before he could stop her, she climbed the stairs to the quarterdeck to confront the elusive pirate. He looked up and scowled at her.
“Can’t you control her?” Dariq said to Mustafa in Turkish.
“No more than you could,” Mustafa answered.
“Very well, I will speak to her.”
He turned his gaze to Willow. “You wish to speak with me?”
“I most certainly do. I find my situation intolerable.”
Dariq’s dark brows lifted. “Whatever do you mean? Are you not well fed? Are you not treated with courtesy?”
“Yes, but—”
“Then you have naught to complain about.”
“On the contrary, my lord pirate,” Willow sniffed. “I suffer from lack of human contact and lively conversation. No one except you understands or speaks English or French. Am I your prisoner or your guest?”
“My guest, of course. No harm will come to you in my care.”
“Then treat me like a guest. Since I have no maid or companion, the least you could do is talk to me.”
“You do not know what you are asking,” Dariq warned.
She squared her shoulders. “I am asking to be treated like a human being. I have never”—she swallowed the lump forming in her throat—“felt so alone in my entire life.”
“You will have plenty of company in Ibrahim’s harem. You will be surrounded by women.”
“No! I will fight that fate with my dying breath.”
Dariq stared at her, his eyes opaque, unreadable. “If everything goes as planned, you will become Ibrahim’s concubine, perhaps even his wife. However, I understand why you feel isolated. It will be the same in the harem if you cannot understand or speak Turkish. Starting tomorrow, I will endeavor to teach you the language.”
