Linna : Historical Romance (The Brocade Collection, Book 5)

by Jackie Ivie

  “You’re suffering with shock, Linna. It’s a good thing I know how it works and that you’ll regret your words. Otherwise, I might have to take offense and wring an apology from your little white neck.”

  “You wouldn’t dare!”

  “You never know, do you? Maybe that’s what I impressed for.”

  She gasped and lost what little color she’d gained. Cord swore beneath his breath.

  “Oh, dearest God,” she moaned, “what have I done?”

  “You haven’t done anything. Neither did I, although you don’t believe me. And it’s a waste of breath to call on Him for anything. God doesn’t listen. I don’t think he ever did.”

  She had her eyes tightly shut, and he watched the tears squeeze from beneath her lids to slide into the hair beside her ears.

  “You can quit berating yourself, too. I can’t change the facts of my past. Nobody can. We can’t undo what brought us the child, either. We can only live for the future. It could be a wonderful one for you, Linna, if you’ll just let it. I promise.”

  She opened her eyes and met his. “Lying tongues can’t make promises, Cordean. They can barely keep up appearances to avoid all the promises they’ve already broken. I think I know what you were imprisoned for.”

  “Oh, really? I certainly hope it’s advanced from thief and murderer. So, tell me, what do you think it was now?”

  “Cheating.”

  He gave her the most empty-lidded gaze he could manage. It wasn’t enough though. Her brown eyes were brimming with liquid and looking so big and hurt, he longed to gather her to him and tell her everything. He didn’t.

  “Cheating on who?” he asked in a conversational tone.

  “Oh, I don’t know! At cards, at business, with the ladies on their husbands. I don’t know.”

  “That was Fletcher. Try again.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” she asked.

  “Sooner? How much sooner? You were desperate for my hand when first we met, and last night you were desperate for my body. When should I have told you?”

  “At the church.”

  “Are you crazed? I barely managed to get my marriage certificate into the vicar’s hands before you arrived. Then again, after I dispatched your bridegroom, who would you have had available to marry?”

  “Anyone would have been better than you. Anyone.”

  “Anyone?” Cord let the arc of reaction land somewhere in his abdomen, then forced it aside. She was wasting her breath if she was trying to hurt him with words. He was impervious to emotional wrenching. He didn’t have any emotions to play with. It was stupid of him to forget it.

  “Yes...anyone.”

  Her whisper was so low he had to bend forward to hear it. Her eyes were still big and huge and awash with tears, but he didn’t feel any need to hold her anymore. Cord stretched his arms over his head, then brought his attention back to her.

  “Very well, Mistress Larket, you win. You’re right. You should have wed better. So what? Join the legions of ladies who have sung that lament. I don’t care. I got what I wanted from you.”

  She sucked in air at the shock of his words and he’d meant her to. He watched her without a trace of satisfaction.

  “I hate you,” she said.

  He grinned, but there was no humor behind it. There was nothing behind it. He could warn her not to delve into an emotional pit of despair. It wouldn’t net her anything of value, except maybe a headache and a belly full of pain with the force of her sobs. That much he knew from experience.

  “So what? Lots of folks hate me. Join them. I don’t care.”

  “You don’t?”

  “Nope.”

  “How...did you—?”

  She was biting at her lip when he looked over. For some reason, that little weakness made his own arms twitch. He concentrated on putting a stop to it until it worked.

  “How did I...what?” he asked quietly.

  “Get so you don’t care?”

  Cord lowered his eyelids and panned the room before bringing his gaze back to her. When he met her eyes, she gasped.

  “Like that?” he answered.

  “Yes.”

  “Years of practice, bebe. Years.”

  She flinched at his endearment. He’d meant her to. The smile on his lips showed it.

  “What...were you imprisoned...for?”

  “You ready for the truth now?”

  She nodded.

  “Being born.”

  Her eyebrows drew together and she looked at him. “No one gets impressed for that.”

  “Bet me.”

  “But—?”

  “You wanted the truth. I gave it to you. Now answer a question for me. Why did you pick me?”

  “Pick...you?” she stumbled on the words, and his smile broadened.

  “You have plenty of admirers. Why did you pick me to put your proposal to that night? Why?”

  “Because...I mean I...uh. You...I mean—”

  “Do you know?” he interrupted.

  “Of course I know!”

  “Then be fair. Quit stammering and stuttering on ladylike nonsense and tell me. I’m a wanted man, lady, I can take the straight story.”

  “You...are hard to overlook. Rather...uh...dominating, I think is the word. That’s why. You canceled out every other male in the room. You still do, damn you anyway.”

  Her voice dropped to a lower whisper than before, but he heard it. Her words translated onto his face as his smile widened enough to be called a grin now. He only wished it was translating to the twist of cold in his belly where his breakfast sat. “Your turn,” he advised, when she just sat there watching him with those honeyed brown eyes of hers.

  “My turn?” she asked.

  “Yeah. Ask. One question, a straight answer. Then never ask it again. Understand?”

  “That...wasn’t part of our bargain.”

  “It’s part of what I’m offering you, right here and right now. You wed a dangerous man, cherie. You might as well get used to it.”

  “I don’t have to get used to anything. I’ll get an annulment the moment we reach shore, any shore.”

  His grin slid. Cord caught it before it disappeared completely. “You’re mistaken. You can’t get an annulment. Our union was consummated. You’re mine. No law will set it aside.”

  “I’ll get a divorce then.”

  He guffawed more for the effect than because he felt like it. “Not a chance there, love. You’re carrying my child. And it’s mine. Just as you’re mine. Besides, you have no funds and no skills. You’d be penniless.”

  “Is that supposed to be worse?”

  “Ouch,” he declared icily. “Direct hit. If I still had a heart, you’d be slicing it. Quite a tongue you have there. Curb it.”

  “I won’t be penniless long. I’ll turn you over to a magistrate first. There’s a bounty on your head. It’s rather large.”

  “You have to be out of my sight long enough. Congratulations. You’ve earned my eternal presence at your side.”

  She had her teeth clenched together too tightly for her scream to make much noise. It was entertaining all the same. Cord sat back on his bare haunches on the wood planking of his cabin floor and watched her. He decided the feeling must be satisfaction, and not much else in a decade had brought him as much as that floor, his naked ass on it, and the woman impotently screaming at him from the vantage point just past his knees.

  “That isn’t a question, although if it had words to it, I’d probably not like it anyway, now would I?”

  “You’re insufferable!” she answered.

  He shrugged. “So?”

  He watched her get hold of her temper. It was actually more genuine entertainment than he could remember having in years. He might have been the reigning knife-fight champion, but that was a meaningless pursuit and amusing only to those who watched. He’d rarely felt the enjoyment he was feeling right now.

  “Very well,” she said quietly, “I’ll play your ques
tion game.”

  He took a deep breath and spoke with the exhalation. “I’m ready. Ask.”

  “Why are you so big?”

  “Big?”

  “You’re healthy. You’re well-fed. And...um. Well-toned.”

  “Glad you noticed,” he replied and watched her lips tighten.

  “Pirate ships don’t breed large, healthy specimens such as yourself, do they?”

  “Not normally.”

  “They’re more on the line of Mister Fletcher and Simons. Right?”

  “Scrawny, you mean?”

  She nodded. “So, why are you?”

  “Pirates have entertainment, lady. I was some of it.”

  “Entertainment?”

  “That’s two questions, maybe more.”

  He didn’t think a gently-bred woman would even know the swear words that came from between her lips at that, and he listened with eyebrows raised and his grin back in place.

  “Are you finished?” he asked gently when she stopped for breath.

  “Is that your question?” she answered.

  “Unfair,” he answered.

  “Of course it’s unfair. It’s your game.”

  “I’m never unfair, lady. I pride myself on it. I fought and I always won, but it was fair.”

  “You always won?”

  “Always,” he answered.

  “No one always wins.”

  He shrugged. “Ask Simons then. Maybe he’s more trustworthy in your opinion.”

  “You really fought?”

  “Every chance I got. Got the best food that way. And the best women.”

  “Women?” Her voice sounded faint. He had to lean closer to hear it.

  “Women,” he answered with as much humor as he dared.

  “Do you honestly expect me to believe there were women on a pirate ship?”

  “Every ship puts in at ports, darling. Every port has women. Every port has a champion that’s just waiting for a fight. I gave them one.”

  “You looked for fights? Why?”

  “In the life I got sent to, the only way to survive is to be the strongest. The best way to prove that is to fight. And then to win. The victor gets the best. Don’t they teach any of this stuff where you come from? Or just to the men?”

  Her lips thinned further. He watched them do it, and they still looked moist and honeyed, as if calling for his kisses. He had to look away. Why the hell did I just think that?

  “So tell me. What were they like?”

  “Who?”

  “The women!”

  “Like every woman, I guess. The right parts, in the right places. Some in better shape than others. Some younger. Some older. I don’t know. They were women. They blend together.”

  “Did you have a lot of them?”

  “Jealous?”

  Her eyes widened, and she looked at him unblinkingly. “I’m trying to understand you. I don’t know much about the...uh, the...well, uh...that part of life, but I think you’re experienced at it. Very. That hushed my suspicions. No pirate could be so expert at...it.”

  “It?” he questioned, the smile hovering at his lips again as he watched her blush. It clashed a bit with the purple surrounding her eye, but that didn’t detract from her. Quite the opposite. He wanted to bend over and kiss the tight look away. Fool!

  “You know...it,” she answered, putting such inflection on the word he nearly laughed aloud.

  “Oh...that. Of course I’m fairly expert. I had as many women as I wanted because they liked me. And I had first choice. It wasn’t up for discussion.”

  “Why?”

  “The liking, the discussion, or why I had first choice?”

  She sighed. “Any. All.”

  “They liked me, because I’m...pretty.”

  She looked at him then, catching him off guard, and he had to look aside. He couldn’t hold her gaze as he mentally flexed. He’d put the anger and hatred he’d felt into the one word. Anger and hatred? I don’t even know what those feel like.

  “Yes,” she said, more to herself than to him. “You are that. You’re very pretty. Very. Why the other?”

  He cleared his throat. “I get first choice because I have a reputation, remember?”

  “As...what, pray tell.”

  “I fight. I never lose. Remember?”

  “Fight? How? With what?”

  “Hand-to-hand. Feet. Knives. Whatever else was handy.”

  “Knives?” she asked the word in a horrified tone.

  “You aren’t going to swoon again, are you?” He leaned forward, and watched as the center of her eyes shrank back to normal. “You all right now?”

  “Don’t come near me!” she replied.

  “Fair enough. That was our original bargain anyway. Are you finished interrogating then?”

  “I wasn’t interrogating. I don’t even know how.”

  “Oh. Lady. Please. You’re an expert at it. You just flutter those eyelashes and pin a man with those golden-brown orbs of yours, and he’ll tell you anything just to keep you looking.”

  He watched her blush again.

  “Don’t you ever say anything like that to me again. Do you understand?”

  “Whoa. Cold, aren’t we?”

  “Cold? I haven’t shown you cold.” She didn’t sound soft or wounded anymore. She was on her feet, as well.

  He frowned. “I just poured out my life history. And here you are treating me like last night’s overblown whore? Oh, what am I saying? That’s what I was, wasn’t I?”

  “Get out!”

  “This is my room.”

  “Out!”

  “I’m barely out of my sickbed.”

  “I said get out!” Her voice was rising, and for some reason Cord didn’t want that.

  “All right. Give me time to don pants, or do you want the entire ship to wonder what I’d need to be naked for? What am I saying? One look at you and they’ll know and envy me.” He was on his feet now, too.

  “Not another word. Not one. Do you hear me, Cordean Larket?”

  “I hear you fine.”

  “Then grab your pants, shove on a shirt, and put that scarf-thing on your head. Do it quickly and then get out of my sight! You sicken me! I never want to see you again! Never! Get out!”

  She was at screech-level now. Cord scrunched a shoulder as if that made it a bearable sound. She wasn’t waiting however. She was screaming and throwing his clothing at him. He had his breeches and a shirt on before stomping to the door. He didn’t actually have anything fastened, nor did he have anything on his feet, but he worked the door strap loose with the boots under his arms.

  “Get out!”

  “I’m going,” he replied.

  “And stay out! Can’t you hear me?”

  She was screaming and huffing for breath and still looked absolutely incredible. Cord cocked his head toward her and bowed mockingly. “I think the entire ship can hear you, love,” he answered, then dodged the entire pot of porridge she threw at him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Linna watched the dawn breaking without a whit of emotion. She didn’t have any left. She’d spent every last tear, every last moan, and every last bit of anger in the past hours, and she was absolutely drained because of it. Worse, sleep was still eluding her.

  She suspected it had something to do with Simons’ care of her. He’d come into the room after Cord had left yesterday, cheerfully going on and on about how wondrous the day had turned out to be. She nearly tossed the rest of the food at him.

  She knew what his good humor was about, and he knew she did. It was behind every one of the surprising bits of song he broke out into and the way he whistled as he picked up the room, taking Cord’s sweat-soaked linens from the floor and the remnants of their breakfast away with him. She told herself she didn’t care. She stayed in the corner directly beside the wash stand and did her best to ignore him. It only worked because he’d been quick and efficient.

  She knew that much, to her own dismay.
/>
  He’d brought her a bucket of warmed rain-water sometime yesterday, too. She hadn’t requested it. She wondered who had. She hadn’t been able to stop her weeping at the time, and that had simply made him happier.

  Linna didn’t care. She only hoped if she kept telling herself that, it would come true. She told herself that the little Frenchman was welcome to his disgusting obsession. He was welcome to whatever attention Monsieur Larket gave, and all of it.

  All.

  She only wished her heart was listening. Cord said it took years to learn how to stifle emotion. Well she didn’t have years. She had to learn in the hours before he came back, and her endless tears weren’t helping.

  Nor was the fact that Simons kept witnessing them.

  He hadn’t said anything. He didn’t have to. Linna hadn’t heard the door opening, and hadn’t even known he was there until she heard him whistling the same tune-filled bars he’d made her listen to already. When she wiped at her face to look up, he was gone, but he’d left a pail, two thick towels, and a bar of soap.

  Linna had taken as much time as she could on her ministrations, after securing the door, but it hadn’t taken long enough, nor was it keeping her from her incessant thoughts. Nothing was. By mid-afternoon she’d tired of berating herself for a fool, tired of her inability to function normally, and tired of using every bit of energy to stop her self-pitying tears. She didn’t know she had the capacity to weep like she did. It was a far to be heartless and cold.

  Linna lifted her head from the cot, squinting her eyes against the perfect sunlit morning. She didn’t want it to be perfect. She wanted it to be dismal and gray and gloomy since that was how loving that man made her feel. Exactly. Gloomy and depressed and dejected. The day should reflect it. Of course, God wasn’t listening. Cord had warned her.

  “You ill?”

  As if she’d conjured him, he was there, standing at the foot of her bed and looking at her with gray-green eyes that were absolutely devoid of anything. Linna touched her glance on them, then looked away.

  “Go away,” she mumbled to the wall.

  “You haven’t the right to order that. I only allowed it yesterday because you were in shock. I know shock. Suffered it. I understand it.”