A Pirate's Pleasure

by Heather Graham

  Skye, cast down upon the deck, gasped desperately for breath, her arm aching, her head spinning.

  He smiled down at her. “The man who is challenged by a lady must fight her, mam’selle,” he said, replying to her at last. “She gives him no choice.” He looked up and called out in his deep, ringing voice, “ ’Tis all over now, me lads!”

  His dark-haired lackey called out. “All over but the cleanup.”

  The cleanup. And what was that? Skye wondered. She came up upon her elbows, her gaze upon the pirate’s glittering, silver-blue eyes. He returned her stare.

  “The hostages—” someone called.

  The pirate Silver Hawk crossed his arms over his chest. His full, sensual mouth curved into a curious smile.

  He stepped forward.

  Skye inched away upon her haunches, never turning from him, never losing his silver gaze.

  “Take the officers down below. Send One-Eyed Jack’s men down to the hold.”

  “The women—”

  “You know what to do with them,” he said softly.

  The dark-haired man strode forward. “I shall take the Lady Kinsdale—”

  “Oh, no,” the Silver Hawk said. And he stepped forward. He planted one booted foot on either side of Skye, catching the tattered remnants of her once-beautiful gown and strands of her golden hair beneath his boots. She tried to wriggle away, but cried out as her hair pulled. She stopped, gritting her teeth and looking up past the long, steel-muscled length of his legs to the breadth of his chest and onward to his rock-hard features.

  He lowered himself slowly over her, imprisoning her between his powerful thighs.

  Their eyes met in a sizzling tempest of fire.

  “Get away, me mates,” he said very softly. “This one is mine.”

  And he reached for her, just as a jagged flash of lightning tore across the heavens once again.

  His touch was no less powerful than that fire.

  II

  Before she knew it, Skye was standing again upon her own feet. He had drawn her up against him. Contact with his hard muscular body caused her eyes to widen, and he smiled satanically at her betrayal of alarm. Furiously, she tried to squirm from his hold. The sea even seemed to play to his dictate, for a swell took hold of the ship, careening her ever more tightly against him. He held his stance well, riding the sea as an accomplished horseman might ride a wild mount. He laughed aloud, seeing the combination of fear and anger in her delicate features.

  “Why, milady! You met my steel with such admirable courage. Would you meet the man himself with anything less?”

  “I would not meet the man at all,” she retorted, which only served to amuse him further and bring out a burst of laughter from his rowdy crew. He laughed, too, as he held her. Then another bolt of lightning lit up the heavens as if it threatened to strike the main mast. Thunder burst in a furious roar, and the pirate quieted his laughter to a curious smile. “Alas, milady,but you will have to wait, I fear. The gods of wind and water seek to keep us apart.”

  “May the gods let you choke—” Skye began, but she never finished, for she cried out as she found herself lifted and cast over his shoulder with determined force. He had played with her, she realized, but he played no more. The day had made him sober. She struggled against him, but he ignored her, holding her firmly with ease, and striding across the deck, shouting commands. “Fenwick, you will captain our prize—”

  “Let me down!” Skye screamed, pummeling furiously against his shoulders. “Let me—”

  “Milady, shut up!” he commanded, and she discovered herself choking out a humiliated cry, for his hand landed upon her rump with a fearsome power, bringing tears to her eyes. She was momentarily silenced, and he continued speaking to his men, striding for the rigging as he did so. “Take care with our prisoners, for we will demand ransoms. One-Eyed Jack’s men to the brig if they choose to surrender. Take the guns and any prizes from his ship, then send her to the bottom of the sea.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain!” came a dozen replies.

  “Get your hands off me!” Skye swore, straining against him. It was a futile effort. With his left hand he caught hold of the mainmast rigging and crawled upon it. The ship pitched and swayed violently again. He was a madman, she decided. The sea was a whirlpool, the wind was vicious, and he ignored them both. Like a wraith he took his ease with the rigging. Rather than fighting him, Skye suddenly discovered herself clinging to him as he crawled high upon the rigging to catch hold of a free-swinging rope. She screamed in sheer terror as she realized his intent.

  “Relax—Lady Kinsdale. Relax, and hold tight,” he advised her, but otherwise he gave her fear no consideration.

  Then a moment later, it seemed that they were flying. They fell against the coolness of the wind and the soft gray of the sky. She didn’t know if she was plunging to her death or soaring to the heavens.

  She did neither, for in seconds he had made an easy leap to the deck of his own ship. Dizzy, Skye struggled to see around herself, and became aware of more of his crew, most of them barefoot, clad only in cotton shirts and knee breeches and many of them whiskered and bearded. They seemed to be of all ages, and to a man, they smiled and waved at her with good humor. It seemed they were loyal to their captain. A cheer went up as he landed nimbly upon the deck with her. Skye thought that they would both tumble at last upon the wooden decking, for the ship swayed starboard as if it would capsize.

  Silver Hawk did not fall or falter. His men, too, held their ground, and raised their voices once again in a loud salute. Their captain lifted a hand to acknowledge them, then swung about with her, his prize, in his arms still.

  Skye pressed against his back, seeking to plead with his crew of cutthroats.

  “I’m worth a fortune!” she cried suddenly. “See that he leaves me be this instant, and my father will reward you greatly!”

  “Will he now?” a graybeard called pleasantly.

  “Good night, milady!” said another, and they all bowed to her deeply, ignoring her plight.

  She cried out in rage again, once more struggling to free herself from her ignominious position upon the pirate’s shoulder.

  He spun around again, seeing her eyes as she raised herself upon his shoulders. “What is this!” he said in mock protest. “Why, gents, I swear to you that just seconds ago, she held on to me like an adoring mistress. Women are fickle, are they not?” He did not desire a reply, nor did he get one, and the humor fell from his voice as he spoke again. “I’ll be at the helm, me lads. The wind is howling ever louder. Like a woman.”

  “Which is more deadly, Cap’n, do you think? The lady wind that rages upon the sea, or the Lady Kinsdale, shrieking upon your back?”

  More laughter rose. “Why,” replied the captain, “the lady upon my back, of course!”

  He turned about and strode with her now upon his own ship, past the mainmast and forward. A set of handsome, intricately carved double doors lay before them. He set his hand upon a brass knob and pushed inward. Barely a moment later Skye found herself falling hard upon the large carved bunk in the far starboard corner of the cabin. She gasped for breath, realizing suddenly that the remains of her petticoats and gown were rising precariously to her hips and that she was lying before him nearly naked. She had no doubts as to his intent, but she planned to fight him to the very death if need be. She might lose, but she would fight.

  He stood above her, shadowed by the sudden darkness in the cabin, and she rolled as best she could against the wall, pulling the fine-knit bed covering over her exposed limbs as she did so. She tried to meet his eyes in the sudden shadow to dare him to protest, but she could read nothing of his gaze, and fear set into her once again even as she assured herself that she would fight forever.

  If she could only see his face now!

  But she could not. She could see only the hard, lean length of the man, a silhouette before her. He would pounce upon her, she thought. He was like a hawk indeed, circling his prey, waiting
only for the precise right moment to pounce down upon her.

  Fear seized her, and in panic she thought to bolt, not knowing where she would run. She tried to leap from the bunk, but landed instead within his arms.

  “Bastard!” she hissed, near tears as his arms wound around her.

  “Alas, lover, I do apologize!” he said, pressing her back. “That you are so eager to consummate this affair, but I must leave you, milady!”

  “Eager! I loathe you, I long to skewer you through—”

  His laughter cut her off. She could see his eyes suddenly, or something of their deep blue flame and searing humor. “Take care!” he warned her, and there was a razor’s edge to the sound of his voice. “Lest you be the one … skewered through!”

  She knew not if he meant that he would slay her, or if his words carried a more intimate meaning, but his laughter and the soft touch of his breath against her cheeks made her tremble once again, and she braced hard against the steel power of his arms and chest. She could never fight this man, she realized. He was in the prime of life, muscular, powerful, and skillful. She could not best him with a sword, and she would never best him with her fists. She waged her war with a vengeance, and he merely smiled at her futile efforts. He laughed. He gloated. He was completely assured of his triumph in all things. He held her steady against the continual rock and sway of the ship.

  “Let me go!” she cried, and she sought to rake her nails over his bearded cheek, but he caught her hand, and the pressure he grimly set against it caused her to cry out, and give up, sagging against him. She became acutely aware of him then as a man, for the black material of his shirt and breeches was thin, and her own clothing gave her no barrier. He was strikingly warm and alive, vibrant. Energy as hot and powerful as the lightning that lit up the heavens beyond them seemed to surround him. To leap from him.

  To touch her.

  “Please!” she gasped out.

  He pulled her closer, and his words curiously seemed to caress the softness of her face. “Where would you go, milady? Would you race out and join the crew, and entertain them, one and all? Or had you thought of the sea? A watery tomb, cold and eternal? I think not.” He released her suddenly. She fell back upon the bed, and his eyes were captured once again by the shadows. She did not think of fighting. She did not think of anything. She did not even think to shrink from his gaze as she lay in dishevelment, her shirts and bodice torn, so very much of her flesh bared to him. She lay back, barely daring to breathe.

  She did not even move when he reached out to touch her. His fingers brushed lightly over the rise of her breasts as they spilled from her corset.

  She did not even scream, for the touch was brief and gentle, and so quickly gone it might not have been.

  “Do not fear, Lady Kinsdale, I will be back.”

  She came up upon an elbow then, a certain courage returning to her as he whispered out her name.

  “You will pay for this treatment of me!” she cried. “My father will see that you pay, my fiancé will see that you pay—”

  “Will he, mam’selle?” he inquired. Hands on his hips, he cocked his head to the side.

  “Of course!” Her voice only faltered slightly. “I am to marry Lord Cameron. He will see that you hang!”

  “How intriguing. Well, I hope that he is a man of selfless honor, lady, for all of Williamsburg knows that you have spurned your betrothed and sworn that you will not marry.”

  Skye gasped, amazed that such gossip could have reached the colony before she had arrived there herself. Then she was furious with herself because her reaction had given away so very much.

  “He—he is a man of honor!” she swore quickly.

  “And then again,” the pirate captain mused, ignoring her words, “I have heard that Lord Cameron is no more eager for this marriage than you are, but out of respect for your father he has not—as yet—opposed the promises made by his father when he was but a lad of ten and you were within your cradle.”

  “How dare you—” she began, her voice low and shaking.

  “Oh, mam’selle, I am afraid that you will soon discover that I am a man to dare anything. But for the moment, if you will be so kind as to excuse me—”

  “Sir, there is no excuse for your vile existence, none at all!”

  He merely smiled. “Adieu, milady.”

  “Wait!” she cried.

  He paused, arching a brow. “What, mam’selle?”

  “You can’t—you can’t leave me in here!”

  He gazed at her in startled surprise. “Lady Kinsdale, it is the finest cabin on the ship, I assure you. You will be safe.”

  “Safe!” she screeched.

  He grimaced at her with casual humor. “Safe—from the storm, milady. Until later,” he said. He bowed with courtly gallantry, and then he was gone. Skye heard his long strides take him to the doors. They closed behind him, and she heard the sure sound of a bolt sliding home. She was locked in, alone and wretched, and surrounded by darkness, and by fear.

  She couldn’t bear it. The darkness pressed in upon her. The walls seemed to press closer and closer.

  She had been trapped within the cabin on her own ship, she reminded herself.

  But there had been light then. Not this terrible darkness.

  It seemed that endless moments passed in which she just lay there, listening to the wind. It shrieked, it groaned, it screamed. It rose over the sounds of the slashing rain that had begun, and like a woman, it seemed to cry. The ship did not stay still for a second, but rolled and tossed and pitched and spun, and in time Skye realized that she was clinging to the sheets and knit coverlet. She lay there quaking, and when she wasn’t fearing the awful darkness, she feared the man. She shouldn’t be fearing the man, she told herself, not at that moment. She should be praying that they survive the storm, for she had never seen a night so savage.

  Lightning flashed, illuminating the cabin. It was a vast space, she thought, for a ship, set high upon the top deck of his fleet ship. The cabin! She needed to think about the cabin. It was large enough for his bunk and shelves and tables and chairs and a stove, trunks, and a built-in armoire. The high square windows probably looked out on the churning sea by day, Skye thought, but now they were covered by rich velvet maroon drapes.

  The glow of lightning no longer illuminated the cabin, but Skye continued to register in her mind the things that she had seen. The shelves were lined with books, the desk was polished mahagony, and the chairs were heavy oak, upholstered in brocade. It was an elegant cabin, a cabin for a captain of prestige and means and manners, not the cabin of a savage pirate.

  He’d seized the ship from some poor suffering fool! she reminded herself. Indeed, he was a thief of the vilest sort, a rapist, a murderer, a scourge upon the seas.

  And he would come back to this cabin.

  Unless she lay trapped forever in the darkness.

  Growing more and more agitated, she tried to rise. The sway of the ship sent her flying back down to the bunk. She tried again. She moved carefully this time, holding to the wooden bunk frame, then plunging toward the doors. She slammed against them, and nearly gave way to a flurry of tears. They were bolted tight. There was no way out for her.

  She sank against the doors, fearful that the ship would sink, and that she would be caught within the cabin.

  Skye brought her fingers pressing against her temples. Fear came against her in great, suffocating waves then. It was worse than facing the pirates, it was worse than facing ruthless steel. She could not stand darkness; she could not bear it. Ever since she had been a child, on the awful day that her mother had died, she had feared being locked away in the darkness.

  She leaped back to her feet. She beat against the door, screaming, crying until she was hoarse. Tears streamed down her face, and her voice rose higher and higher, rivaling the cries of the wind. She beat against the wood until her hands were raw. Her voice grew hoarse, and she sank to the floor, nearly delirious.

  Then suddenly t
he door was thrown open. A man, young, dark-haired and clad in nothing but knee breeches, stood there. Rain dripped from his features and sluiced down his chest.

  “Lady, what ails thee—” he began, but he was never able to go further for she sprang to her feet and leaped past him, straight into the riveting rain, into the tempest of the wind. She heard the shouts of the men as they fought to stabilize the ship. She heard the waves, lashing hard against the bow. The force of the wind seemed terrible. She didn’t realize its strength until it whipped her bodily about, and she was cast to the deck as if by a heavenly hand.

  An oath was suddenly roared out above her. She moved her hand over her eyes, shielding them from the onslaught of wind and rain. Hands were reaching for her and she was plucked back up and sheltered by broad, strong arms.

  “What is she doing here?” Silver Hawk demanded.

  “She raced by me. I’d no idea, Captain—”

  “Get to the helm!” His eyes lowered to her. “I’ll take you back to the cabin.”

  “No!” she whispered, but he had already brought her there with his long, determined strides. He shoved the door open with his foot and cast her down to the floor with a vengeance.

  “Fool!” he swore to her.

  She ignored him, and sat there in a spill of tattered, damp clothing and wind-tossed hair, cold and wet and shivering. .

  Lightning scorched the night and created a golden backdrop for the darkness of his form. It shone in upon Skye where she knelt upon the floor in her tatters of velvet and lace, her hair free and tangled and spilling all around her.

  He stood before her and she stared upon his black boots. They glistened with the glow of the rain that had drenched him. She looked up slowly. His shirt and breeches were skintight against his body, plastered to his form.

  Skye drew in a quivering breath that sounded like a sob.

  “No! Don’t go!”

  She was hurt! he thought, and he strode quickly toward her, hunkering down by her side and lifting her chin. She trembled. From head to toe she trembled. But as he looked at her he saw that though her eyes were wide and dilated, she showed no injury.