The Pirate Prince

by Connie Mason

  Willow felt as if she had won a small victory. Once she learned Turkish, all kinds of possibilities would open to her. If she hoped to escape Ibrahim’s harem, being able to speak the language of the land would benefit her greatly.

  Willow nodded eagerly. “I shall look forward to learning your language. I bid you good night, pirate.”

  “You may call me Dariq.”

  “It pleases me to call you pirate.” Head held high, she turned on her heel and made her way back to her cabin with Mustafa following in her wake.

  After her nightly exercise on deck, Willow crawled into bed and fell asleep immediately. But she awakened in the middle of the night in a panic. She felt as if the cabin were closing in on her. Nightmares had crowded her dreams. She saw Ibrahim leering at her, his guards holding her down while he had his way with her. Stifling a scream, she jerked upright. She was shaking and sweating profusely. Fear of her fate loomed over her, large and uncertain.

  Willow rose stiffly; she needed fresh air to chase away the nightmares. She opened the door and was immediately buffeted by a freshening wind that rocked the ship and filled the sails.

  When she started to pull on the knit cap, an errant breeze caught it up and whirled it away. Deciding that darkness would disguise her hair should anyone be about at this time of night, Willow moved cautiously toward the railing. Raising her head, she closed her eyes and sucked in refreshing draughts of salt-laden air.

  A half-moon hung high in a star-studded sky, beaming down at her. She spread her legs against the motion of the ship and stared at the heavens, thinking she had never seen an English sky equal to tonight’s glittering display.

  Willow was so engrossed in gazing at the stars that she failed to hear approaching footsteps. She did, however, sense a presence seconds before a heavy hand gripped her shoulder. Whirling about, she went straight into the arms of a fierce pirate. He said something to her she didn’t understand. She shook her head and opened her mouth to scream for help.

  She caught the odor of onions and unwashed flesh as his hand came over her mouth, stifling her cry. He crowded her against the rail, stroking her hair with his free hand. She struggled against the assault, but the pirate was huge and muscular, easily overwhelming her. His hand left her hair, tore open her shirt and covered her breast, kneading hurtfully with thick, blunt fingers.

  He spoke again, his voice as rough as the seas had suddenly become. Then she felt his hand work its way beneath the waistband of her trousers. Shaking her head from side to side, she tried to dislodge his hand so she could call for help, but he was too strong and determined.

  The ship gave a sudden lurch, and his hand slipped just enough for her to yelp. He growled in her ear and started to drag her into the shadows, where no doubt he intended to ravish her. When he found the place he was seeking, he lowered her to a coil of ropes and fell on top of her, stealing her breath. Her mouth was free, but she had no air left in her lungs to make a sound, much less scream.

  He clawed at her shirt, managing to bare her breasts to his filthy hands. She knew she would bear marks on her tender skin from his rough handling, but that was the least of her worries. Why had she come out on deck alone? Dariq had warned her about his men, and she hadn’t heeded him. If only he were here now.

  An enraged roar shook the air around her; it sounded like a wild animal about to pounce on its prey. Then her attacker was gone, flung away like a sack of potatoes, blood streaming from his mouth and nose. Dariq roared again; Mustafa came running to join him. After a few short, stabbing sentences from Dariq, Mustafa dragged the hapless pirate away.

  Willow was still fighting for air when Dariq picked her up and carried her back to the cabin. He laid her on the bed and turned away to strike a light to a candle. His face, defined in the flickering light, looked so fierce that Willow recoiled in fear. His eyes were the gray of storm clouds, his mouth flat and unsmiling.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked.

  She shook her head, unable to find the breath or words to answer.

  He held the candle aloft so he could observe her more closely. Hot color flooded her face as he stared at the purple bruises on her breasts.

  “I will kill him,” he ground out.

  He set the candle down and walked to the washstand. He returned shortly with a wet cloth and pot of salve. Her gaze never left his face as he washed the scratches marring her pale breasts.

  “The scratches won’t leave a scar,” he said through clenched teeth. “Such loveliness should not be abused. Abdul shall feel the bite of the whip for this night’s infamy.”

  His fingers upon her were gentle. His touch warmed her skin, sending bolts of feeling clear down to her toes.

  “Whatever possessed you to leave the cabin tonight? Obviously, I failed to impress upon you the danger that exists from my crewmen. They haven’t had a woman in months.”

  “I did not think,” she whispered. “I awakened after a threatening dream and needed air. The hour was late. I thought no one would be on deck to see me.”

  His voice was ripe with reproach. “There is always someone about.” His silver gaze lingered on her breasts. “Are you bruised elsewhere?”

  Her face reddened. “I d-d-do not think so.”

  His heated gaze swept over her. Suddenly his expression tautened and he brought the candle closer. Before Willow could protest, he loosened the scarf that held up her trousers and pushed them down far enough to expose the scratches Abdul had put on her stomach.

  His eyes blazed with raw fury. “Do you realize how close you came to being raped? What good would you be to me then?”

  Willow’s wits returned, and with it her anger. “What about my feelings, my pain? Do they mean nothing to you? You measure my worth in terms of my usefulness to you. I am only important to you because I can be bartered for someone you care about.”

  Dariq’s hands shook as he applied salve to the abrasions on Willow’s stomach and breasts. Her flesh was warm and firm beneath his fingertips; the thought that her soft white flesh had been defiled by one of his men brought a kind of madness to him. Such beauty was not for the eyes of a common man like Abdul.

  With marked reluctance, he brought the sheet up to Willow’s neck, bade her good night and turned toward the door.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To see to Abdul’s punishment.”

  “Tonight?”

  “I see no need to wait.”

  She swallowed hard. “Stay with me until I fall sleep.”

  Dariq searched her face. “You are frightened.” It was a statement, not a question.

  “I… suppose. I am not a coward, but—”

  He interrupted before she finished her sentence. “I never thought you were.” He came closer. “Very well. I will sit with you until you fall asleep. Abdul can wait until tomorrow. This incident proves that women do not belong on a pirate ship,” he muttered as he settled down in a chair.

  Willow turned on her side to face him. “I agree. If you set me ashore at the nearest port, I will find my own way home.”

  “I would if I could, beauty, but I need you.”

  Willow glared at him and rolled over, facing the wall. Dariq’s gaze traced the enticing curve of her back and hip beneath the light cover and wished himself in bed with her. Covering her scratches with salve had nearly unmanned him. The woman was truly a houri. She lured him with her delicate scent, her beauty and her innocence—an innocence he was beginning to deplore. If she were not untouched, he would have her now, this instant. Gritting his teeth, Dariq reminded himself again why Willow’s innocence was important to him and tried to ignore her.

  Willow woke before dawn. The candle had burned out, leaving the cabin in eerie predawn light. A tall, broad-shouldered figure rose from a chair. With the languid grace of a sleek tiger, Dariq stretched his lanky frame.

  The shadows draping him parted as he stalked toward the bed. She watched him approach; there was a commanding power inherent in each long, prowling ste
p.

  His eyes were heavy-lidded and glinted silver beneath dark, sweeping brows. He looked pure Turk and terrifying, until she looked into his eyes. A hint of something tender lurked within those silver depths.

  His lips were full and boldly sensual, and his luxuriant lashes softened his angular face. His lips were pursed now, as if she were a puzzle he couldn’t quite figure out. She caught her breath as he leaned over her and then quickly straightened. She heard him mutter something beneath his breath.

  She stared up at him. “Is something wrong?”

  “Nay.” He stroked her cheek. “Your skin is as soft as rose petals.” He studied her in silent contemplation. “There is an old crone in Istanbul who is said to be able to repair a woman’s hymen and return her to a state of virginity.”

  Willow blinked.

  He sat on the edge of the bed. “I have been watching you all night. You have no idea how badly I want you.” His hand stroked downward, sweeping over her breasts. “I am going to kill Abdul for touching you. ’Tis a just punishment.”

  She shuddered. “Isn’t that a bit drastic?”

  “ ’Tis no more than he deserves.”

  “Can you not show him mercy?”

  “You ask mercy for a cur that nearly raped you?”

  “Death seems so cruel.”

  “Very well, for you I will be merciful. I will sever the hand that defiled you.”

  “Cut off his hand?”

  “Aye, and he will thank me for it.”

  His hand paused near the top button of her shirt.

  She grabbed his wrist. “Don’t.”

  “I merely wish to see if your scratches are festering.”

  “I can check them myself.”

  His hand rose to her hair, stroking gently. He lifted a shiny strand and brought it to his mouth. The finest silk paled in comparison to the softness of Willow’s hair. He inhaled deeply of the scent of roses, then let the tress slip through his fingers.

  “The scent of your innocence tempts me beyond endurance.”

  He removed the sheet shielding her from him. If he couldn’t have her, he would at least look his fill. He had spent the night in agony. He had never lacked willpower until he crossed paths with this green-eyed houri who stole his wits and made him forget his purpose.

  “What are you doing?” Willow cried, tugging the sheet from his hand.

  He dragged the linen to the foot of the bed. “I want to undress you, to fill my eyes with your beauty. I want to see for myself the treasure I am preserving. This has not been a pleasant night for me. You will have your revenge upon Abdul, but I cannot have what I desire.”

  The dawn of a new day chased away the shadows, revealing Willow’s stunned expression. “Why do you desire me? I am sure you have seen women more beautiful than I.”

  Dariq could not stifle his groan. It took little imagination to envision Willow’s nipple in his mouth, rising against the stroking of his tongue. He could even imagine the taste of her skin. Fighting the force of his need, he dragged his eyes from her body and his mind from the pit of lust.

  “Only a fool or a eunuch would not want you. You do yourself no credit by denying your beauty. Englishmen must be blind if they do not see what I see.”

  “Proper English gentlemen speak of beauty without offending a woman’s sensibilities. They write poetry to her eyebrows, or the sweetness of her voice.”

  Dariq laughed. “Pray Allah I will never become a gentleman.” His voice took on a husky quality. “I could make love to you without breaching your maidenhead. I could teach you things that Ibrahim would thank me for. The body is a sensitive instrument made to give and receive pleasure. We could spend hours, nay, days in bed and you would still go to Ibrahim a virgin, technically speaking.”

  Willow shrank away from him. “You speak of sinful things I do not understand. Pray do not touch me, sir. Prince or nay, no one has a right to my body except the man I marry, and then for the purpose of procreation only.”

  Dariq gave a bark of laughter. “Infidels have strange customs. They view their bodies as something shameful. I can teach you that bodies are instruments of pleasure as well as vessels for procreation. This I vow, sweet Willow. Before you leave me, you will be well versed in the many ways to give and receive pleasure, and you will enjoy every moment of the learning process.”

  “Go away! I refuse to listen to you. ’Tis Satan talking.”

  “You think me possessed by the devil?”

  “You are the devil.”

  “You know naught of devils, beauty. Ibrahim is the devil, not I. I do not envy you his attention.”

  “Why give me to the devil if you feel that way?”

  Dariq looked away. “There is no alternative. I am not the coldhearted bastard you think I am. With Kamel to look after you, you will survive. The one I hope to barter you for needs my protection more than you do.”

  “Who is Kamel?”

  “The keeper of the harem. He is the most powerful eunuch within the seraglio. He will teach you the ways of the harem and protect you. Your survival depends on how well you please Ibrahim. And you must try to make no enemies in the harem. I will explain all that you do not understand before you leave Lipsi.”

  Willow scooted out of bed and backed away from him. “I understand more than you think. Your culture imprisons women behind walls and makes them into playthings. I want no part of the sinful pleasures you described. I will not become a willing slave.”

  Dariq sighed. “You will do what you must once you realize that your life depends upon Ibrahim’s whims; unfortunately, his whims can be capricious.”

  Willow searched his face. “What did Ibrahim do to you? Why are you a pirate instead of a pampered prince living in a palace?”

  His expression turned thoughtful. At length he said, “That, my beauty, is a story for another time. Perhaps ’tis better left untold.”

  He sent her a cocky grin. “One day soon, you will beg me to pleasure you.”

  “Not in this life,” Willow sniffed. “I do not intend to remain your prisoner. I am nothing if not resourceful.”

  A smile stretched his sensual lips. “I look forward to your resourcefulness, beauty. Meanwhile, after last night’s attack upon your person, I must insist that you remain inside your cabin unless escorted by either myself or Mustafa. You are to trust no one else.”

  “After my experience last night, I have no desire to venture outside my cabin alone.”

  “Then we are in agreement. As much as I would like to stay here and spar with you, I must see to Abdul’s punishment.”

  The cabin seemed much larger after Dariq left. His commanding presence filled the space with animal magnetism and made the cabin seem smaller.

  But Willow was no weak-livered female without a will of her own or a brain. Though she might wonder about and secretly long for those sinful things Dariq had mentioned, she had the will to resist his seduction and the gumption to escape when the opportunity presented itself.

  She had always believed she would marry a proper English gentleman, raise the children of that union and follow the strict rules of English society.

  Although that life sounded dull, Willow knew it was her destiny. A sudden thought occurred. Was boredom the reason her unconventional French mother had fled England after nearly fifteen years of marriage to a staid English marquis?

  Willow loved her father and her life in England, but during the time she had spent with her mother, she’d begun to believe that Frenchwomen were much freer than their English counterparts. Monique had begged Willow to remain with her, but Willow felt more connected with England than with France and had refused.

  Willow realized that her engagement to Percy would not result in marriage even if she was lucky enough to return to England, for the scandal of her unfortunate experience would turn him away from her. If she wished to wed, her father would be forced to buy her a husband. France was beginning to look like a better choice once she escaped, for Willow knew that he
r mother would welcome her unconditionally.

  Piercing screams interrupted Willow’s reverie, and she knew immediately that Abdul’s punishment had begun. Had Dariq severed his hand as he’d threatened? Or had he relented and shown mercy? The screams continued too long for Willow’s peace of mind, then stopped abruptly.

  Some time later Dariq returned to the cabin. His face was grim, his mood tense and unreadable.

  “ ’Tis done,” he said tonelessly.

  “What did you do to him?”

  Dariq grimaced. “I do not enjoy maiming a man who needs his limbs to survive. In the heat of anger, I did consider taking his hand for touching you, but in a saner moment I decided a whipping would suffice. Abdul will recover to serve me again, but he will think twice before breaking my rules.”

  “I am glad you did not maim him,” Willow said. “You are not as brutal as you pretend.”

  Dariq’s dark eyebrows shot upward. “I am not a cruel man by nature. Events outside my control have forced me to make difficult choices. I have done things contrary to my nature in order to survive.”

  “Is holding me against my will against your nature?”

  “Aye. Women are made to be cherished and loved. Abusing women is against Allah’s teaching as well as God’s. I adore women. Giving them pleasure is one of my favorite pastimes. One day you will experience my passion and judge for yourself. My plans for your future are necessary to save someone I love and honor above all others.”

  “Tell me about her. Is she very beautiful?”

  “To me, she is.”

  “Is she in danger?”

  “I have every reason to believe she is.”

  “From Ibrahim?”

  “Aye. He is furious because I allow few of his ships to reach their destinations. He has threatened my loved one if I do not give myself up to him.”