by Connie Mason
“Is something wrong?” Dariq asked blandly.
The devil knew exactly what was wrong, but Willow refused to acknowledge how profoundly the sight of his bare chest affected her. Pretending no interest, she examined the numerous cuts on his torso and arms. Most had stopped bleeding, and none needed stitching. With forced detachment, she washed the cuts and spread salve on them. When she was done, she backed away.
“Aren’t you going to finish?”
His words startled her. “I thought I had.”
Dariq stretched out his leg. “This one is more serious than the others.”
Willow gasped and covered her mouth when she saw the blood on his trouser leg. “Perhaps you should ask Mustafa to take care of that one.”
“It could fester before Mustafa can get to it. Come, my lady, I thought you weren’t like pampered Muslim women. Are you too squeamish to treat my wound?”
“I am not squeamish,” Willow denied. She held out her hand. “Give me your knife.”
Dariq stared at her hand, and then lifted his gaze to hers. The incredible sensuality of the man, the intimacy of the situation, made her a little reckless.
“Are you afraid to arm me?” Willow challenged.
“I fear no one,” Dariq said, carefully placing his knife in her hand.
Willow closed her hand around the hilt and stared at the razor-sharp blade. If she planned to harm Dariq, now was the time to do it. He was wounded and at a disadvantage. But Dariq had trusted her enough to put a weapon in her hand, she found she wanted to earn that trust.
She dropped to her knees, grasped his trouser leg and slit it from hip to hem. When she saw the seriousness of his wound, she sat back on her heels and dragged in a shaky breath. His flesh was lacerated from thigh to knee.
“How could you still be walking with a wound like that?”
He shrugged off her question. “Can you sew it?”
“I suppose. I have always been good with thread and needle.” She rose. “I’ll need some fresh water from the pitcher.”
She returned shortly with a basin of clean water and several cloths. The wound had stopped bleeding, which was a good sign. Once she cleaned the long gash, she realized that Dariq was right, the wound did indeed need stitching.
“Where are the needle and thread?”
“In the desk drawer. If you are going to be digging a needle into my flesh, perhaps you should pour me a glass of brandy first. You’ll find a bottle and glass in the cabinet.”
Willow filled a glass with brandy and brought it to Dariq. He drank it in one gulp as she rummaged in the desk drawer for a needle and thread.
“Pour a drop of brandy over the needle,” Dariq said.
Willow did as he suggested, then threaded the needle. “Are you ready? I shall endeavor to make the stitches as neat as possible.”
“I am not in the least worried. If I trusted you with a knife, I surely can trust you with a needle. Do your worst, beauty.”
Worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, Willow bent over Dariq’s leg and proceeded to sew the edges of his wound together with neat stitches. Dariq didn’t move, didn’t say a word; he just stared at her with a steady, unreadable gaze. By the time she’d finished, she was sweating profusely, her hand shaking with the release of tension. She sat back on her heels and studied her handiwork.
“Are you finished?”
“Aye, after I apply salve and a bandage.”
Dariq observed Willow through narrowed lids. His eyes never changed; they merely observed and waited. Like a predator’s eyes, his were avid, hungry.
Willow shifted nervously beneath the intensity of his gaze, feeling heat rise up her neck to her cheeks. With shaking hands she tied off the bandage and backed away, trying to avoid looking at his naked chest.
Reaching out, he trapped her between his muscular arms and dragged her onto his lap.
“What are you doing? Why can’t you act like a civilized gentleman?”
He laughed. “I am not a gentleman, and I am definitely not civilized. I am a pirate, remember?” His arms tightened around her.
Willow realized she was as close to peril as she had ever been. Danger poured from him in dizzying waves. His every gesture exuded arrogant power. He was sexual in a way that made women think of sinful things.
Willow’s thoughts scattered when his mouth claimed hers. He kissed her deeply, greedily, sweeping the breath from her with the vastness of his need. Heat was building up inside her, igniting her skin. No! It wasn’t heat igniting her skin, it was him, the pirate. His hands had somehow found the bare flesh of her breasts. She tried to protest, but his tongue was thrusting in and out of her mouth, stealing her voice along with her breath.
She began squirming to escape with such vigor that she must have inadvertently hurt his freshly stitched wound, for his hands fell away from her and he howled in pain.
“What is it? Have I hurt you?”
“No more than I deserve,” Dariq muttered.
She started to rise. Dariq pulled her back onto his lap. “Try to relax. I won’t hurt you. I promise you will go to Ibrahim a virgin.”
“Why must you send me to Ibrahim? Can you not find another way to convince your brother to release your loved one?”
“You talk too much,” Dariq said as his mouth descended on hers, molding, coaxing, until, with a gasp of pleasure, she parted her lips. The tip of his tongue stroked the edge of her teeth, ventured further, brushing the inside of her cheek in a burning, delicate exploration.
She felt the intimate bulge of his sex press against her bottom and squirmed, unaware that her movements were intensely arousing to a man in the throes of lust. A harsh breath escaped him as his mouth possessed hers with wicked skill. Even in her innocence, Willow sensed a wealth of experience in his kiss.
Though she tried to resist, she could not. Slipping her arms around his neck, she opened her mouth to his erotic exploration. Her shirt slipped off her shoulders, revealing the white gleam of her skin against his dark hand. He groaned as his hand eased over her breast. Her soft nipple puckered against the callused pads of his fingers, the peak growing hard and taut beneath his expert stroking.
Willow pressed her face into the crook of his neck. She had to stop him now, before her will was completely destroyed. Dariq acted before she could put her thoughts into action.
“This is neither the time nor place,” he said, breaking off the kiss. His hand slid from her breast and he set her away from him. “My men have need of me. When we explore pleasure together, I want to make your first taste of passion memorable for you.”
Willow could scarcely think. Her body thrummed and her mind whirled with sensations previously unknown to her. Though she knew it was wrong, she wanted to curl up in his lap and absorb his warmth and vitality, taste his passion.
She realized she had been staring at him when he said, “Did I frighten you?”
“I have frightened myself. I cannot believe I let you touch me improperly and did nothing to stop you.”
Dariq stood and pulled on his shirt. “One day, you will let me do more than that, beauty. Count on it.”
“You can wait till doomsday, pirate.”
Favoring his wounded leg, Dariq couldn’t stop grinning as he limped from the cabin. Willow picked up his shaving cup and flung it at the door scant seconds after it closed.
Arrogant pirate!
Chapter Five
Willow woke several days after the Revenge had attacked the Mahmed to an exceptionally blue and cloudless morning. She stretched and climbed out of bed. A soft linen shirt she had found in Dariq’s chest made a fine sleeping garment, far more comfortable than the scratchy canvas shirt and trousers.
As was his habit, the cabin boy had brought a pitcher of hot water before she awakened. Willow washed quickly and reached for her clothing, not surprised to find that young Osman had washed and pressed her trousers and shirt. They lay folded neatly at the foot of the bed.
Willow had just fini
shed dressing when there came a discreet knock on the door. Wishing to practice her Turkish, she bade her caller to enter in her newly acquired language. Osman walked in with her breakfast, grinning broadly.
“You speak our language well for a foreigner,” he complimented.
“I had a good teacher,” Willow pronounced slowly and carefully. “I am very happy to be able to converse with you. When will we reach your master’s stronghold?”
“We are close, my lady. We should see land in a few days if the winds are fair. You will like Lipsi.”
“What can you tell me about the island?”
“It lies close to Turkey, but it belongs to Greece. It has been largely forgotten by both countries, for it has little value. There are more goats than people on the island. The Greek peasants are friendly toward us; they provide the Brotherhood with fresh meat and produce.”
Willow accepted his explanation with a nod. “Tell me about your master. Does he keep a harem? Does he have many concubines? Who is the loved one in Ibrahim’s seraglio that Prince Dariq intends to trade me for?”
“You may return to your duties, Osman.”
Startled, Willow lifted her gaze, her heart skipping a beat when she saw Dariq standing in the open doorway, his frown directed at the hapless cabin boy. Osman sidled past Dariq, then broke into a run as soon as he was out the door. Dariq advanced into the cabin.
“I did not teach you Turkish so that you could question my cabin boy about my personal life.”
“I was merely making conversation. I do get lonely, you know.”
“You won’t be lonely much longer,” Dariq informed her. “Osman was right about our proximity to Lipsi, except that he was off by a day or two. We should reach the island in about five days.”
“I will be happy to set foot on solid ground,” Willow said. “Will I stay at your home?”
Dariq grinned. “You’ll find my home pleasing. My harem is small but sumptuous, thanks to Ibrahim’s taste for luxury. All the furnishings in my seraglio as well as the building materials were taken from Turkish ships.”
“You have a palace?”
“Indeed.”
“And a harem?”
“Did I not just say so?”
“Your women won’t welcome me,” Willow predicted. “They will view me as a contender for your attention, even though we both know that is not so.”
“I only have one woman,” Dariq revealed. “Safiye may be jealous at first, but once she learns you are intended for Ibrahim, she will welcome you. Besides, Ali Hara will let no harm come to you.”
“Who is Ali Hara?”
“A eunuch and keeper of my harem. I smuggled him out of Ibrahim’s seraglio on one of my covert visits to Istanbul. He will welcome another woman into his keeping, for I imagine his days are dull with only Safiye to look after.”
A jolt of unwelcome jealousy surged through Willow. How could that be when she didn’t care a fig about her captor? He was a bloodthirsty pirate without a conscience.
“How long must I remain in your harem?”
Dariq shrugged. “As long as it takes. When we drop anchor at Lipsi, I will dispatch Ahmed to Istanbul to arrange an exchange through my contact. Any more questions?”
“Is Safiye your wife or your concubine?”
“My concubine.”
“Is the loved one you left behind in Istanbul your wife?”
“I have no wife.” He made an impatient gesture with his hand. “Your breakfast grows cold. I merely came to warn you that a storm is brewing.”
Disbelief colored Willow’s words. “A storm? How can that be, when I have never seen a more perfect day?”
“Too perfect. Dark storm clouds are gathering in the west. The storm should arrive before nightfall. Even as we speak, the crew is lashing down cargo in the hold so it won’t shift. I came now to warn you while I still had time. I’ll send Osman with a rope. Use it to bind yourself to something solid, like the bedpost, if the storm becomes violent.”
Willow blanched. “What makes you think the storm will become violent?”
“Instinct. I have seen that kind of sky often enough to know to prepare for the worst. Don’t worry, the Revenge will ride it out and take us home safely.”
Home, Willow thought after Dariq left. How she wished that were true. She would give anything to be home now. Her father had decided she would be safer traveling over water to Marseilles because of the high incidence of robberies and kidnappings on French roads. Little did he imagine her ship would be attacked by pirates.
Willow’s thoughts turned inward as she picked at her breakfast of biscuits, cheese and lamb the cook had slaughtered the day before. She recalled how uneventful the voyage from England to Marseilles had been, and wondered what had gone wrong on the return trip. The pirate ship had come out of nowhere, and only she and her maid had been taken off the Fairwind after it surrendered. The Fairwind had sustained minimal damage and was allowed to continue after being stripped of her valuable cargo, including Willow and her maid.
The days following her capture had passed in a blur. She and Polly hadn’t been harmed, much to their surprise and relief, and they’d had each other for company. But once they reached Algiers and learned their fate, fear had become Willow’s constant companion. The idea of a future living behind walls, denied contact with society while awaiting the sultan’s pleasure, was a horrible one.
Willow wouldn’t, couldn’t allow that to happen. Osman had said that Greek peasants lived on Lipsi. Perhaps they could be persuaded to help her escape. She knew Dariq meant her no harm, but he was determined to send her to his brother.
By midday the winds had begun to howl, though the weather could not yet be described as a storm. Willow would call it a freshening breeze. She walked to the windows and peered up at the sky. She could still see the sun, but it appeared to be sliding behind some peculiar-looking clouds.
Osman brought her midday meal, and with it the rope Dariq had promised. He departed too quickly for her to ask him any more questions. Willow suspected that Dariq had given him a severe tongue-lashing for talking too much.
Willow toyed with the unappetizing food on her plate, longing for a piece of fresh fruit, or a slice of warm bread dripping with butter and honey. She did manage to eat most of the meal, for once the storm struck, she knew no one would be thinking about food.
Willow’s observation had been correct. Suppertime came and went with no food forthcoming. The sun had disappeared and the sky had turned an ugly shade of purple, an ominous portent of what was to come. The wind howled outside her cabin, and the ship began to dip and sway front to back and side to side. Willow sat on the bed and clung to the bedpost, trying to ignore the waves of nausea that threatened to overwhelm her. Normally she didn’t suffer seasickness, but this tossing was beyond anything she had experienced in the past.
Then the eerie purple clouds snuffed out the light of day. A distant rumble of thunder could be heard over the wailing wind, accompanied by streaks of lightning. The temperature began to drop. Willow felt the chill in the air and burrowed beneath the blankets on the bed. She didn’t feel any safer there, but at least she was warm.
The storm struck with savage fury. Thunder boomed, lightning slashed across a sky that had changed from purple to black, and the seas rose up as if trying to swallow the ship. Willow heard naught over the howling wind. For all she knew, everyone on the ship had been swept overboard.
When the Revenge continued to pitch violently, Willow realized it was time to use the rope. Crawling from the bed, she wrapped a blanket around herself and found the rope Osman had left. Then she bound herself to a bedpost, knotting the rope in front of her so she could release it quickly if she needed to make a quick escape.
Willow had no idea how long the storm outside the cabin raged. Time seemed to stand still as she fought both nausea and vertigo, due to the violent pitching of the ship. During those desperate hours she saw no one. It was as if she had been forgotten in a world gone
wild.
It was at her lowest point that she heard shouting above the howling wind.
“Man overboard!”
Willow’s first thought was that she wasn’t alone on the ship. Her second was more terrifying. What if Dariq had been swept overboard? Without Dariq, she had no protection from his crewmen. She knew she couldn’t rely on Mustafa, for he didn’t like her. Her last and most sobering thought was that she didn’t want Dariq to die.
Disregarding her own safety, Willow worked free of her bonds and inched toward the door. The ship made a sudden violent roll to one side. She fell, hard. Recovering quickly, she ignored her aching body and crawled to the door. Clinging to the panel, she slowly, carefully lifted herself to her feet. Gathering her strength, she pulled open the door. It was immediately taken from her by a fierce gust of wind and flung wide.
The wind literally stole the breath from her, and the pounding rain slashed against her skin like stinging needles. Peering through the solid curtain of water, Willow saw a knot of men standing near the rail. Was that where the man had gone overboard?
Willow’s heart sank when she realized that the wind would sweep her away if she stepped out from her shelter beneath the quarterdeck, but her hopes soared when she saw the line strung across the deck. If she hung on to the line, she should be able to make her way to the railing. She had to find out who had gone overboard. Her very life depended upon it.
Dragging in a steadying breath, she lurched toward the line, which was but a few feet from where she stood. Grasping it firmly, she inched her way across the open deck. She stumbled twice and would have been swept away if not for her deathlike grip on the slippery line. She knew she should turn back to the relative safety of her cabin, but she had to learn whether Dariq was lost to her.
