The Pirate Prince

by Connie Mason

  “I am sorry that I cannot help you. I do not know what happened between you and your brother, but I am not the solution to the problem.”

  Dariq reached her in two long strides and pulled her against him. “You are wrong, sweet Willow. You are exactly what I need to barter for my moth… loved one.”

  Then he kissed her.

  Chapter Four

  Dariq slid his hands onto Willow’s cheeks and pulled her to meet his mouth. Her hands went to his chest, intending to push him away, but she hesitated when she felt the strong beat of his heart and the warmth of his skin through the fine linen of his shirt. The sensation was so thrilling, she felt her will drain away. His lips brushed hers once, twice, then claimed them with a fierceness that stirred her senses.

  When his tongue searched for hers, she let him take it. As her hands slid over the contours of his muscles, the sharp intake of his breath returned her scattered wits. She gasped and pushed away from him, flinging her hand over her mouth. He searched her face, his expression inscrutable.

  “You caught me off guard,” she said. “I did not want this to happen. Besides,” she added, “I was quite unaffected by your kiss.”

  Dariq chuckled. “Tell that to someone who will believe you. Mark my words, beauty, one day we will fully explore our passion in ways you cannot begin to imagine.”

  He gave her a slow, burning look, then took his leave.

  * * *

  Mustafa was waiting for Dariq when he arrived on deck.

  “How does the lady fare after Abdul’s attack? Did the cur hurt her?”

  “She bears a few scratches, but no serious harm was done.”

  “It would be wise to keep her confined to her cabin until she is safely ensconced in your harem. Your crewmen are too woman-hungry to be trusted.”

  “Though it may seem the wisest course, I cannot do that to Willow. She would rebel.”

  Mustafa scowled. “She must accept her lot if she is to survive in Ibrahim’s harem. Foreign women are given too much freedom.”

  “I agree, but as my guest, Willow will be allowed a certain degree of freedom aboard ship. She has agreed not to walk out on deck until either you or I can accompany her. Meanwhile, I intend to teach her Turkish.”

  Mustafa eyed him narrowly. “You are becoming too involved. I do not like it. You must remember why she is aboard your ship.”

  “Do not preach to me, my friend. I know where my duty lies. My mother is not safe in Ibrahim’s seraglio.” He clasped Mustafa’s shoulder. “Come, Mustafa, let us see to the running of the ship.”

  Willow prowled the cabin for lack of anything better to do. Though she’d found several books in Dariq’s cabin, they were written in Turkish. She hoped Dariq had meant what he’d said about teaching her his language, for she’d die of boredom if she didn’t at least have that to look forward to.

  Dariq did indeed keep his word. He appeared in the cabin after the noon meal to begin Willow’s lessons …and every day after that. The language was difficult, but Dariq was an excellent teacher. Within two weeks they were conversing in short sentences. With nothing else to do but study, Willow learned quickly.

  To Willow’s relief, Dariq made no attempt to seduce her during those teaching sessions. The last time he had kissed her, she had been tempted to the point of allowing whatever he wanted to do to her or with her. Though she knew he wouldn’t take her virginity, he had hinted at other ways of finding pleasure; pleasure of which she knew nothing.

  One stifling afternoon as she waited for Dariq to arrive for her lesson, she heard a commotion outside the cabin. Pounding feet, loud shouting and the metallic clanging of weapons drifted to her through the closed door. She wanted to rush out to see what was happening, but hesitated when she recalled her promise to Dariq. But, oh, it was so hard to remain inside while something terrible might be happening, something that could affect her future.

  Willow couldn’t resist cracking open the door and peeking through the opening. The cabin was situated beneath the quarterdeck, making it difficult to see anything but a small section of the deck. Disappointed, Willow stepped away from the door seconds before it banged open. Dariq loomed large and frightening in the doorway. He was fully armed for battle, his countenance fierce.

  “What is it? What is happening?” Willow cried.

  “We spotted one of Ibrahim’s merchant ships. She’s riding low in the water, a clear indication that her hold is full. I intend to take it. You are to remain in the cabin until the battle is over.”

  Willow blanched. “Why must you attack the ship? There are bound to be deaths.”

  Dariq shrugged. “There always are. I know the ship and its captain. Hamid is Ibrahim’s man; he won’t give up his ship or cargo without a fight. Sighting the Mahmed is a stroke of good luck. Once the ship is relieved of her cargo, I shall send her on her way with word of your capture and my terms for your return.”

  “What if you lose?”

  Dariq gave her an incredulous look. “We will not lose. My men and I have never lost a battle and don’t intend to now.”

  “Perhaps I can be of some help. I can tend the wounded.”

  “Nay! You are to remain out of sight. I will return when it is safe.” His face settled into harsh lines. “Obey me in this, Lady Willow.” He strode out of the cabin, giving Willow no time to voice a protest.

  The tumult on deck intensified. Willow heard the roar of cannon and clapped her hands over her ears. Several rounds were fired before the big guns fell ominously silent. Minutes later she felt a tremendous bump and staggered against the bulkhead. Rushing to the window, she saw that the two ships were being hauled together with grappling hooks, and that the Mahmed’s crewmen were preparing to meet the pirates pouring across the boarding planks and swinging between the ships on ropes.

  Dariq was one of the first men to board the Mahmed. His scimitar slashed wildly as he was immediately engaged in hand-to-hand combat. The battle was brutal, for the Mahmed’s crewmen were exceptionally fierce and determined.

  Dariq felled one man, but not before suffering a slash high on his thigh. Another man came up behind him and would have sent Dariq to eternity if Mustafa hadn’t beheaded him with one swift stroke of his scimitar. Dariq barely had time to smile his thanks before two burly Turks attacked him and Mustafa.

  Elsewhere the battle raged as men struggled for their lives, the deck running red with blood. Dariq and Mustafa fought on, quickly finding other prey. Both men were covered with blood, some from minor wounds of their own and the rest from their foes.

  Dariq cursed each time he saw one of his men fall and renewed his effort to fight his way to the captain. Once the captain was killed or captured, Dariq believed his crewmen would lose heart and surrender. Dariq saw Captain Hamid standing on the quarterdeck and slowly fought his way to him; as always, Mustafa protected Dariq’s back.

  Dariq fought with easy grace, wielding both scimitar and knife with equal dexterity. When he reached the quarterdeck, he lunged at the captain.

  “Surrender your ship!” Dariq shouted above the din of battle.

  “Never!” Captain Hamid yelled back.

  “Surrender before you are left with no men to sail your ship back to Istanbul.”

  Hamid gave Dariq a blank look. “You intend to let me keep my ship? Why? I know how you work. Not only do you steal cargo, but you add all captured ships to your pirate fleet.”

  “Not this time,” Dariq promised. “If you surrender, your cargo will be confiscated, but your ship will be left intact to return to Istanbul.”

  “If I surrender my ship, do you promise not to slaughter my men?”

  “I thought I made myself clear. You will need crewmen to sail your ship to Istanbul so that you can deliver a message from me to my brother.”

  Captain Hamid looked at his bloody scimitar and then at the dead and wounded littering the deck, his expression bleak when he noted there were more pirates standing than his crewmen.

  “Your answer,
Captain,” Dariq growled, gripping his scimitar in a threatening manner. “You know I can slay you in combat with little effort.”

  Hamid wiped blood-tinged sweat from his forehead and glared at Dariq. Dariq could tell that the captain was still in the throes of blood lust, and that he was weighing his thirst to engage in battle against Dariq’s superior strength. Finally Hamid lowered his head and let his sword fall to the deck.

  “You win, Prince. I surrender my ship to you. I hope your black soul burns in eternal hell.”

  “I won’t argue that point with you, Hamid, for hell is likely where I will end up. Tell your men you have surrendered the ship.”

  Hamid ordered his men to lay down their weapons, shouting that he had surrendered his ship to the pirate prince. The sound of weapons falling to the deck sounded like thunder, and the battle was disengaged. A triumphant roar filled the air as Dariq’s men claimed victory.

  Mustafa herded the Mahmed’s captain and crew to one end of the deck while Dariq climbed into the hold to inspect the cargo. He found a veritable treasure trove of spices, silk and other valuable commodities. He returned from the hold smiling, and immediately set his men to work transferring the cargo to the Revenge’s empty hold.

  Dariq approached the sullen captain. “While my men are transferring your cargo, I will tell you what I wish you to say to Ibrahim when you return to Istanbul. We will speak privately in your cabin.”

  Dariq motioned Hamid to lead the way. He ached from more than a dozen wounds but brushed the pain aside in order to conclude his business. When they entered the captain’s cabin, which had suffered only slight damage from one of the Revenge’s cannonballs, Dariq came right to the point.

  “Your ship suffered minimal damage, Captain Hamid, so you should have no difficulty continuing your journey to Istanbul.”

  “Without my cargo,” Hamid groused.

  Dariq shrugged, and then winced when a particularly deep cut above his eyebrow caused a twinge of pain. “Sit down, Captain, and listen closely while I give you the message you are to convey to Ibrahim. You are to say that I have his ‘treasure,’ and that she is everything and more than he could wish for. Tell him I will return her to him—untouched, of course—in exchange for my mother.”

  Hamid frowned. “I have heard that Ibrahim’s long-anticipated treasure is a woman but did not credit it. Is that all?”

  “Nay, there is more. Tell Ibrahim that I want Kamel to act as contact between us, and that arrangements for the exchange will be made through him. And tell him his ‘treasure’ is more beautiful than the moon and stars, well worth the price he paid.”

  “Very well, I will tell the sultan everything you have said. He will not like it, but I will tell him.”

  “There is one more thing. Wait here. I will return shortly with something for you to give Ibrahim to prove my claim.”

  Dariq left the cabin and strode swiftly across the deck. Grabbing a dangling line, he swung across the divide to the Revenge. Once aboard his ship, he went directly to his cabin. He found Willow pacing the room, her face white, her eyes glazed with fear. She halted in mid step, then raced toward him, gasping when she saw his bloody clothing.

  “You’re hurt! Do you have a surgeon aboard? Tell me what to do.”

  “Easy,” Dariq said, “ ’tis just blood. Some of it’s mine and some not. I have suffered worse than this in my life.”

  “Is it over? The fighting sounded fierce.”

  “ ’Tis over,” Dariq replied. “My men are transferring the Mahmed’s cargo to the Revenge. Then she’ll be free to proceed.”

  Willow nearly collapsed in relief, glad that the bloodshed had ended. Never would she understand men and their thirst for violence. She glanced up at Dariq to tell him what she thought of him and the violent life he led, and nearly stopped breathing when she saw that he held a knife in his hand.

  She recoiled, raising her hand to protect herself when he raised the blade toward her. “Nay! Why do you want to kill me?”

  Dariq staggered backward. “You think I meant to kill you? There are many things I wish to do to you, but killing is not one of them.”

  “You raised your knife to me.”

  “I merely want a lock of your hair to send to Ibrahim. Once he sees it, he will believe that you are my captive. The good captain has agreed to carry my terms for your ransom to my brother. Now hold still while I cut off a hank of your hair.”

  Willow stood still as a statue while Dariq lifted a long strand of hair and sawed off a portion from the end. Then he rummaged in his desk until he found a narrow leather thong to tie around the lock of hair. Next he produced a cloth pouch, placed Willow’s hair in it and pulled the strings tight. Without another word, he turned and strode toward the door.

  “Wait!”

  He paused, glancing over his shoulder.

  “What about your wounds? Who will see to them?”

  “Are you worried about me, beauty?”

  “I… I, no, of course not. No more than I would worry about any wounded human being.”

  “Fear not, I will survive. Mustafa knows more about healing than any surgeon. He will see to my wounds.”

  Despite the throbbing of multiple cuts and bruises, Dariq couldn’t help smiling. No matter how much his captive denied it, she was interested enough in him to care about his well-being. He could scarcely wait for the day he would teach her about pleasure, and ways to gain it without breaching her maidenhead.

  Willow would be far from innocent when she went to Ibrahim. He counted the ways he could take her—with his mouth, his tongue, his hands—and she would enjoy them all. He would even teach her to give him pleasure.

  His mind turned away from erotic thoughts to the business at hand as he returned to the Mahmed, where Mustafa was awaiting further instructions.

  “Send our wounded back to the Revenge,” he ordered Mustafa. “After the cargo is transferred, have the men gather up the sailors’ weapons. I will join you aboard the Revenge as soon as my business with Captain Hamid is concluded.”

  Captain Hamid waited nearby for Dariq, his expression churlish. “What besides your message do you want me to give to the sultan?”

  Dariq pulled open the pouch, removed the lock of hair and dangled it before Hamid. The captain’s eyes widened as he gazed at the golden strands in Dariq’s hands.

  “You are to give this to Ibrahim,” Dariq said, dropping the lock of hair into the cloth pouch and pulling the strings tight. “ ’Tis all the proof he needs to know that I am not lying. Tell him his ‘treasure’ is as safe with me as I expect mine to be with him. I wish you fair winds and a safe journey to Istanbul, Captain.”

  Willow couldn’t stand the waiting. There was a great deal of activity taking place on deck, and she felt an overwhelming need to see what was going on. She knew there would be casualties and wanted to help, despite the fact that she owed Dariq and his pirates naught but her contempt.

  Throwing caution to the wind, Willow pulled on a knit cap, stuffed her hair beneath it and stepped outside, hovering near the door as her gaze swept the deck. She saw men carrying bundles and bales from one ship to another, then disappearing down into the hold of the Revenge. Then she saw the wounded; some were lying flat, while others were sitting, blood oozing from various parts of their bodies. Mustafa moved among them, inspecting wounds and treating them with salves and bandages he took from a small casket he carried under his arm.

  Willow’s soft heart wept when she saw Mustafa bandaging the stump of a man’s severed hand. When she saw Dariq striding across the deck toward the wounded, she stepped from her concealment.

  Dariq didn’t see her until she made her presence known to him. She touched his arm. “How can I help?”

  Dariq whirled, fury emanating from him. “I thought I told you to remain inside the cabin.”

  Willow’s chin jutted out stubbornly. “I am not one of your concubines. Though there are rules Englishwomen must follow, living behind walls or closed doors is not o
ne of them. Now, tell me what I can do to help.”

  “Mustafa and I can handle whatever needs to be done here. This is not woman’s work. Your constitution is too delicate.”

  Willow snorted. “Obviously, you do not know me very well.”

  “What does she want?” Mustafa asked in rapid Turkish.

  “She wants to help.”

  Mustafa’s keen gaze passed over Dariq. “You are wounded, my lord.” He returned his gaze to Willow, and using simple Turkish words, he said, “The prince is in need of attention. Take him to his cabin and see to his wounds.”

  He thrust a jar of salve and some clean cloths into her hand. “You will find needle and thread in the cabin for the more serious of his wounds.”

  Dariq glared at Mustafa. “That is not necessary. I have suffered worse wounds than these.”

  “Wounds fester quickly in the heat,” Willow pointed out. Grasping his arm, she urged him toward the cabin.

  “Are you giving me orders, my lady?”

  “I’m but following Mustafa’s orders. Are you coming with me or not?”

  Dariq was on the verge of refusing when Mustafa said, “I do not need you, my lord. I am quite capable of seeing to the wounded myself. The lady is right. Wounds, even small ones, can fester.”

  “Very well,” Dariq muttered reluctantly. “As soon as my wounds are seen to, I shall return to help you.”

  He stomped off toward the cabin. Willow hurried to keep up with him. Once they were inside, she pushed him down into a chair. Then she poured fresh water from a pitcher into a bowl and returned to Dariq. She inspected the cut above his eye first, carefully washing away the blood.

  “This one does not need stitching,” she said as she spread salve on the cut with her fingertips.

  “I told you,” Dariq said grumpily.

  She stared at him a moment, swallowed hard, then said, “Take off your shirt.”

  A slow smile lit Dariq’s dark features. “You want me to undress?”

  She sent him an exasperated look. “Just your shirt.”

  Still grinning, Dariq pulled off his shirt. Willow’s breath caught in her throat. Though she had seen him on a daily basis since being taken aboard the Revenge, never had she seen the ropes of muscles on his arms, or realized that his chest was so broad or dusted with black hair. The wet cloth hung limply from her hand as she stared at him.