The Pirate's Bride

by Skendrovich, Cathy

As if to underline that statement, his arousal twitched against her. He lowered his mouth to her breast, lips closing over the nipple. She arched her back when he began to suck, moaning at the sensations he produced with scraping teeth and swirling tongue.

  It was like their wedding night, before he entered her body and found out her terrible secret. He made her want more, to go beyond the fear. He continued to suckle, and one of his hands moved to the other breast, plucking at its hardened peak.

  She bowed into him, whined as the pull of his mouth, of his fingers, lured an answering tug from deep within her womb. She tossed her head on the straw pillow. Her restless hands moved to his smooth back, ran over his hot skin, causing him to groan.

  His mouth left her aching breast, latched onto her lips, kissed her wetly, voraciously. She met him kiss for kiss, drawing him closer. His chest flattened her swollen breasts and she delighted in the feel of their skin rubbing together, even at the feel of his manhood between her legs.

  She gasped in much needed air, and he whispered into her open mouth, “It’s now, ma coeur. I have to. I’ll pull out so’s not to impregnate you, but I need feel you around me, now."

  He didn’t give her time to fear, to over think it. He shot home, buried himself to the hilt, filling her thickly, completely. She could feel his throbbing heat, heard his gentle words of reassurance.

  “Does it hurt, my pet?” he queried, curiously hoarse, and she shook her head no with eyes scrunched shut. “Good. Remember, I’m not him, Sophie. This will never be like then.”

  He began to move deep inside her, tiny thrusts that caused no discomfort. Instead, a pleasant pressure started to build within her, and she attempted to relax. Her hands, which had been clutching his shoulders like claws, loosened their grip, and actually began skimming his skin as she got used to the feel of him inside her.

  “Mon dieu, you feel so good. So tight. He buried his face in her hair. His pace increased, and still she felt no pain. Pressure intensified deep inside her, and she began to tingle.

  Goodness, it was happening again, she marveled, as a shimmering sensation radiated from where their bodies joined. She drove her hands into his hair, stroked through it, while she raised her hips to meet his increasing thrusts.

  Their bodies slapped together, his mouth searched for hers, showered frantic kisses on her lips, her cheeks, as they raced toward that moment, that zenith that lay just out of reach.

  The shimmering inside Sophie exploded into shards of iridescent light. She threw her head back and screamed as the intense pleasure, sharp as a knife, cut through her. She felt him pull out of her on a guttural shout, and was aware of something warm spurting onto her thigh. He collapsed against her, and she sighed, pulled him closer in her arms. Their chests rose and fell together.

  Eventually she calmed, drifted on the afterglow until sleep overcame her, cradled safely in her husband’s embrace, with his heartbeat under her ear.

  ~*~

  Her scream rent his heart in two.

  A tidal wave of pain swept Limey’s thoughts away. He might still be in his teens, but he knew the difference between a scream of fear and a scream of sexual release. Heart crumbling in his chest, he strode blindly across the Princess to the fo’c’sle deck, where he would be out of hearing distance, if not imagining distance.

  Slamming one fist to the rail, he stared into the dark depths below, tried not to visualize Sophie in his arms, not her husband’s, sighing and writhing together, bodies rising and falling—

  “Limey? Are you alright?”

  He faced the young boy he’d rescued several days earlier. Luis, it was.

  “Aye, boy, I am. Just being thoughtful tonight, I guess.”

  The youngster stared up at him for several beats before glancing out where the horizon and sea met. “Is the woman safe, Limey? I thought I heard her cry earlier.”

  Limey narrowed his gaze on the youth. Was Luis too young to know what went on between men and women? The boy wore a guileless expression, yet he had hit on the reason for Limey’s brooding. Limey had known what went on between men and women at a younger age than the boy, but such were the circumstances of life.

  Looking away, he replied dully, “Aye, she probably had a nightmare. Her husband will take care of her.”

  He was the one having a nightmare tonight, and would be living it every day as long he remained aboard this ship. Shaking his head to clear such dreary thoughts, he roused away from the rail, ruffled the boy’s hair. “You should be below already. Doesn’t Cook want you peeling potatoes at first light?”

  The youth grimaced, causing Limey to smile. “Move along, boy,” he said, giving Luis a shove in the direction of the hatch. Not quite ready to go below himself, he saluted the recalcitrant youth and then turned back to ponder his unrequited love.

  Minutes passed in melancholy reverie until drifting cheroot smoke from the main deck alerted him that he was no longer alone. The only pirate he’d seen smoking cheroots was Dubois’ first mate, and he didn’t fancy meeting the Spaniard right now. Heading below, he spied the source of the smoke and scowled.

  It was Captain Andre Dubois, alone on the main deck and engaged in Limey’s same activity—thinking. Swearing, for in order to go below he had to pass right by Sophie’s husband, Limey straightened his spine and squared his shoulders. He took the stairs two at a time, hoping to escape.

  “Master Limey. Tarry a moment, there’s a lad.”

  Shit, shit, shit. Halting, Limey pivoted on one heel and with measured steps approached the captain. He paused two yards away from the older pirate, dreading what might lie ahead.

  Andre turned to face him. “The best man won, y’know. No hard feelings, I hope.” He grinned like the proverbial cat that ate the canary, daring Limey to take a swing at him. With the half-smoked cheroot clenched between his teeth, shirt hanging open, breeches untied, and bare feet, Dubois never looked less the captain. Except for his sharp gaze, which watched every move Limey made. Limey shrugged.

  “As long as she’s happy.”

  The captain smirked around his cheroot. “Oh, she’s happy alright. Downright satisfied, as it were.” He paused, and then continued, “But you’ll have no problem serving under me, oui?

  Like hell, I won’t, Limey screamed in his head. Aloud, he chose his words with care. “I am her first mate. I do as she directs.”

  “But not what I direct, aye?” Andre inhaled deeply of the cheroot and then exhaled, twin streams of smoke pluming from his nostrils. Only after the vapor dissipated did he raise his gaze to Limey’s once more, lift one dark brow.

  Limey glowered. “As I said—I pledged to keep her safe, to do as she bid, and protect her with my life if necessary. I plan to uphold that pledge.”

  He stared Andre down. That man leaned against the rail. “But not me.”

  Limey shrugged once more. “I already told you—I’m her first mate, not yours.”

  The older pirate straightened, at once menacing and no longer poking fun as he stepped close to Limey. “That’s treason, boy. And traitors are executed. Or perhaps keelhauled.” He struck a thinking pose.

  Limey inclined his head slightly, moved away from the rail. “Just as I said at the beginning—I do what she wants. If that entails protecting your sorry ass, then I am bound to save it. It just might get a little battered first. Good night, sir.”

  Limey heard Andre swear under his breath, and smiled to himself. As he made his way below, he was confident he’d gotten the last word.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Now, trace the letters and then sound the words out like I’ve shown you.”

  The young boy whom Limey had saved a few days ago looked up into Sophie’s face before returning his gaze to the words she had printed on the back of one of Andre’s maps. Hesitantly he reached out one grubby finger and began tracing the words as she’d directed.

  It was mid-morning the next day and she was teaching the youth, Luis, how to read. Having crept out of her husband’s—th
eir—cabin later that morning, she had found the boy hanging about on the main deck shining brass and greasing lines. Because the two of them were the odd ducks aboard the Princess, she had asked the youth if he knew how to read. He’d shaken his head, eyes downcast.

  “Well, since neither of us has a particular job to do right now, why don’t I help you learn?” she’d asked, ignoring his considering gaze. His noncommittal shrug spurred her on so that here they were, seated against the capstan and reviewing what she’d written.

  Looking at his downturned head, she briefly considered having children of her own, but pushed the notion away. She didn’t want the responsibility yet. Freedom had been hers for a fleeting moment, and now she belonged to another. She didn’t want what little free time she had filled by raising children. Selfish, perhaps, but she had plenty of time to change her mind.

  “The...buh-ig dog r-an f-a-st,” Luis sounded out carefully and Sophie grinned, clapping her hands with approval as he gave her a shy smile.

  “Very good, Luis,” she cooed as a shadow fell over them.

  It was the ship’s captain. With the sun behind him and his face in shadow, Andre cut a menacing figure in full captain regalia.

  “Where’s Spain, Madam?” he intoned, as he held out his hand to help her rise.

  Luis jumped up and scurried away. Sophie looked at Andre and forgot his question, remembered instead that scant hours ago they’d been moaning and sighing in each other’s arms. Their mouths, tongues and fingers had skimmed each other’s bodies, learning each other’s curves, angles, and hollows.

  Her face heated when she saw the ghost of a satisfied smirk cross his countenance. He remembered as well. Nevertheless, she placed her hand in his and let him help her to her feet.

  “I beg your pardon?” she prevaricated, finding much more interest in his open collar. The tanned skin of his throat, the brown chest exposed by his partially open shirt, mesmerized her. What would happen if she leaned forward, pressed her lips on that golden skin, perhaps dipped her tongue into the indentation below his Adam’s apple—

  Mon dieu, what was she thinking? They’d just left their bed maybe three hours ago and here she was, in danger of seducing him in broad daylight. This would never do.

  “I asked you where Spain was.”

  If possible, she felt her face flush more. She blinked and said, “It’s across the ocean?” She watched his lips curve upward, those lips that had kissed her very—no, stop this mooning.

  “My map of Spain, mon ange." This he said with exaggerated patience.

  Her gaze snapped down to the chart Luis had been writing upon, then back up to Andre, who looked down as well. Clucking his tongue, he squatted, the edges of his coat dragging along the planks as he picked up the aforementioned chart and turned it over. It was the map of the trade routes to Spain. Sophie had swiped it off his desk to use as an impromptu writing tablet.

  He stood, flipped it over again and frowned at the words printed on it. Snaring her gaze with a not-so-indulgent look now, he recited, “The big dog ran fast. You have written this because—?”

  A captain’s maps were sacrosanct. Sophie knew this. She mumbled, “I’m trying to teach Luis how to read.”

  He glanced about the deck as if to figure out who was Luis. When it dawned on him he furrowed his brows even more. “Why? He’s a powder monkey. They don’t live very long to begin with in that position. Secondly, if they do survive, they’re usually deaf, or minus a hand or fingers. So, why waste your time?”

  His flippancy ignited her ire. She raised her chin. “It’s not a waste of time. Those of us who have more are obligated to help those who are less fortunate. If we were all selfish what a horrible world this would be.”

  “Bah. Those of us who have more have it because we were smart enough to keep it. And we certainly don’t write on charts of faraway places because said parchment is hard to come by.” He smiled smugly, daring her to continue on her current bend.

  Admitting partial defeat, she stuck her nose up in the air and sniffed, half-turned from him. “Well, even if he does become a cripple, reading will be even more important to him since he won’t be able to do anything else.”

  As she marched away from him she could feel his gaze on her backside, heard the amusement in his voice as he drawled, “Touché, ma chérie." Then, “Don’t go too far, though, Madame. It’s time for your sailing lesson. By my calculations it's been several hours since breakfast, so upchucking amongst the crew will be at a minimum during tacking practice."

  That inference she could not ignore. She stomped right back into his smirking face and snapped, “I do not need any sailing lessons. Vomiting? How dare you imply I make the men seasick. I had the best teacher, I’ll have you know. Le Commandant, if you recall?”

  She saw his eyes darken as he stared at her, felt her heart trip in response. He wanted to go back to their bed. With her. So did she. It was too soon, wasn’t it?

  “I’m the best teacher, ma chérie and I learned everything I know after I left home."

  She went hot all over. Her body swayed toward him. God, how she burned for his touch. She shook her head to cast off his sensual spell. She was supposed to be angry with him. “If you insist on teaching me something I’ve already mastered,” she said instead, “then let me get my hat and I’ll show you a thing or two about sailing, mon mari. Once again, she stalked away.

  Around the corner of the captain’s quarters, she almost plowed into Limey carrying a roll of line. He automatically stepped aside to allow her room to move around him. She gave him a wide smile. “Hello, Limey. Where have you been keeping yourself? I’ve missed your company.”

  Still holding the lines before him like a large shield, he cocked a hip. “Have you really? I understand you’ve been slightly busy.”

  She flushed, taken aback by his acid tone. Straightening to her full height, which still left her at a huge disadvantage facing off against him, she hissed, “And what is that supposed to mean?”

  When he made to move around her, she grabbed his elbow. He raised his pained gaze to hers and she read the truth. Sighing, heart breaking, she added, “He’s my husband, Limey. You know that. I told you I don’t hold those kinds of feelings for you. I love you, but not in that way. I’ve said that since the very beginning.”

  “Do you love him, Sophie?”

  She blinked, stared into his anguished expression. Remembered last night, Andre and her rising and falling against each other in the humid darkness. Mouths seeking, hands molding, and she fought to control the telltale blush as it coursed across her face.

  “I don’t know, Limey. I really don’t. It’s too soon. But there’s something between us, that I do know.”

  “Then tell me this, Sophie—did you ever ask him why you’re on this ship? Why you need protecting? You might want to know that before you imagine yourself falling in love with him.”

  His angry jeer surprised her by its vehemence, as he bowed his head and ducked around her, moving past with determined strides. She stood frozen, immobilized by his nebulous questions as well as immediately suspicious of the reasons for her captivity.

  ~*~

  “Why am I in danger, Andre?”

  Andre dropped the spyglass from his eye to stare at Sophie as she guided the Princess. From where had this line of questioning sprouted? How the hell was he going to answer without either being drawn upon or dumped in the drink by a quick spin of the helm? Merde. He’d just calmed her down from his criticism of her sailing technique and now she broached this subject? Que diable. He chose to stall.

  “In danger of what, mon amour? Falling for me? It’s my supreme skills of seduction, I’m afraid. They are a cursed burden I bear." He grinned, intercepting her annoyed glance while his brain scrambled proper answer. Even with that luscious mouth opening on what he felt sure would be waspish reply, he couldn’t help but admire her undeniable attraction. That creamy complexion and vivid blue eyes sparked at him under the absurd, feathered pancake
she called hat threatened to derail thoughts.

  “Why am I on this ship, instead of sailing my own? Why do I need protection? What did you do that I might pay for with my life?”

  It was the moment of truth. He could no longer hide behind quips and innuendos. His wife deserved to know the truth and he had to reveal it and not sugarcoat the sordid affair. Maintaining eye contact, he fastened his spyglass to his belt, pulled off his head kerchief to run a nervous hand through his shoulder length hair, and then replaced the kerchief. He took a deep breath.

  “I had a liaison with the wife of a mighty Formosan pirate and now he desires revenge. In the form of taking what is mine, that being you.” At last, he met her widening eyes. “However, in my defense, I didn’t know who she was at the time.” As explanations went, it sounded lame even to his ears.

  “When? When did you—?”

  Glancing down at the deck, he squared his shoulders. “While I was in the Orient.” He raised his gaze to hers once more.

  Her mouth dropped. She was at a loss for words. This could not be good. He maintained their eye contact, even as he peripherally noticed her face infuse with a mottled red flush. He knew he was doomed.

  “After our wedding?” She at last exploded, her entire body, nay, even her hat’s stupid feather quivered with indignation and disbelief. “You had relations with another woman after our marriage?”

  His patience snapped. He was not accustomed to explaining himself to anyone and he didn’t intend to start now. “What marriage? You call what we had a marriage? We were forced into matrimony by two interfering old buzzards, you were not a virgin and I had no explanation for why you weren’t, except for the obvious conclusion. That is not a promising start to wedded bliss, ma coeur.” he took a deep breath and finished his confession. hell, it couldn’t get any worse.

  “If you must know, I went to the priest that same night and forced him to write out an annulment. In fact, I’ve been carrying it with me all this time.” He strode from her side, into their cabin, snatched up the satchel that hid the damning paper. Wrestling the wrinkled document free, he returned, and shoved it into her disbelieving face. She stared at it, wide-eyed and unseeing.