The Sea Witch

by Ruth Ryan Langan

  "Very well. " She turned away and began packing up the. remains of their meal. When the basket was loaded she looked up. "I have a meeting with the vicar. Afterward, we'll agree upon a place where we can test our skill. "

  He caught her by the arm. "You can't be serious. "

  She pulled herself from his grasp and stood facing him. "I am deadly serious. "

  He swore under his breath. Then, to keep from throttling her, he handed her the cloak and turned away with a muttered, "We'll see about that. "

  When he'd pulled on his shirt and jacket and made his way to the rope ladder, he discovered that she'd already climbed down and was waiting in the small skiff.

  Without a word he picked up the oars, grateful for the chance to work off some of his anger. What sort of woman made plans to meet with a man of the church, to discuss the funeral of her father and brother, and then planned a swordfight afterward?

  When they reached the shore, he stepped into the water and beached the skiff, then caught her hand to help her out.

  He decided to give her one more chance. He kept his voice deliberately soft, persuasive. "I ask you, Ambrosia, to give up this foolishness. "

  She struggled to ignore the little thrill caused by his simple touch. "Call it what you will, Riordan. My sisters and I have made our decision. " She started to turn away.

  "Little fool. What do I have to do to convince you?" Without realizing it, he closed his hands roughly around her upper arms, dragging her against him.

  "Take your hands off—"

  Her words were cut off by a punishing kiss. For the space of a moment they both seemed consumed by such fierce emotions, they came together like two warriors in the heat of battle, all flash and fire and desperation. He dragged her against him, she pushed fiercely away, until, by sheer force of his size and strength, he managed to dominate.

  At her little cry of distress he realized what he'd done. As if to atone, he released her at once and took a step back. But it was too late. Without knowing how, she curled her fingers into the front of his shirt, drawing him back to her. Her cry became a whimper as her mouth found his.

  And then he was lost. Whatever regrets he had momentarily suffered for his hasty actions were now forgotten. His arms closed around her, drawing her firmly against him. His lips moved over hers, taking the kiss deeper.

  Riordan felt himself becoming caught in a riptide. Needs, fierce and demanding, tugged at him, dragging him down into some dark place in his mind. And though it was now full morning, and they were standing on the beach in view of any who chose to look, it felt as though they were alone in the universe. The thought of taking her here, now, had his blood running hot with desire.

  Despite the wind that whipped their hair and clothing, heat poured between them. Heat that had their breath backing up in their lungs until they were both gasping.

  Finally, as if awakening from a drugged sleep, they came to their senses and stepped apart, eyes wide, chests heaving.

  Ambrosia struggled to calm her ragged breathing.

  Shame washed over her when she realized what she'd just done. For this had been as much her choice as his.

  She had a sudden desperate need to prove that the passion they'd just shared meant nothing to her. In a voice that was little more than a whisper, she threw down the words with all the force of a gauntlet. "When I return from the vicarage, meet me in Father's study. And bring your weapon. "

  "Ambrosia. For the sake of all that's holy, give this up. "

  "Never. "

  She stormed away, her skirts flattened against her legs, her dark hair streaming wildly in the wind.

  He stared after her, his thoughts as gloomy as the clouds that hovered over the waves. This damnably obstinate little female would have to be taught a lesson. And though he was loath to actually harm her, he would have to inflict enough pain that she came to her senses and gave up this foolish notion of becoming a privateer and fighting alongside hardened sailors.

  Riordan was in the garden when the carriage bearing Ambrosia and her sisters returned from the vicarage. He could tell by their pallor and their strained expressions that it had been a difficult and emotional scene. He could imagine the vicar and his young deacon dredging up every heart-wrenching prayer and hymn, while the three young women fought back their tears and struggled to put up a brave front.

  Newton helped the three young women down from the carriage, then drove the team toward the carriage house. Ambrosia paused for the space of a moment, glancing at the tall figure in the garden. Then, head high, chin jutting,

  she gripped her sisters' hands and the three made their way indoors.

  Riordan waited, giving Ambrosia time for the tea Mistress Coffey had prepared. He knew that the old people lay in wait for their return. Their grandfather, their old nurse and their housekeeper would need to hear every detail of the planned service. The grief she'd buried would have to surface once again.

  An hour later he made his way to her father's study, hoping against hope that she had come to her senses and would excuse herself.

  When the door opened she was staring into the flames of the fire, lost in thought. He lifted his head and watched as she carefully closed the door and set the brace. Then she crossed the room. In her hand was a sword.

  "What's the matter, Ambrosia? Afraid you might change your mind and run away?"

  She glanced at the locked door. "I did that to insure that no one hears the sound of swordplay and comes to investigate. "

  "If you think of this as swordplay, you're sadly mistaken. " He picked up his own sword and brandished it menacingly, hoping to put fear in her heart. "There's but one reason to take up a weapon. And that's to use it against another. Do you understand?"

  "Aye. " She wiped her hands on her skirt, then lifted her own sword and faced him.

  To Riordan it seemed incongruous that this tall, elegant young woman, in her perfectly coiffed hair and modest, fashionable gown, would even consider going up against him in a fight. But he had thought this through. If this was what it took to make her face the futility of her decision, so be it.

  He touched his blade to hers, all the while holding her gaze. "Since the challenge is yours, Ambrosia, make the first move. "

  She smiled. "How gallant. "

  "I'm only trying to be fair. "

  "Fair, is it?"

  In the blink of an eye, she managed to send her blade slashing against his, nearly knocking his sword from his hands.

  Stunned, he took a moment to recover. He'd been cautioning himself not to hurt her. And all the time, she'd come here determined to best him. Not only to best him, but to humiliate him.

  Ambrosia used that moment of confusion to back him against the wall, where she pressed the tip of her blade to his shoulder.

  "If this were a true fight, you would already be wounded, Riordan. Your blood would be flowing down your sleeve, causing you grave pain. "

  "Aye. How very kind of you to spare me, Ambrosia. " His eyes narrowed as he brought his sword crashing against hers with such force he knew her hand, as well as her entire arm, had to be vibrating from the blow.

  "And if this were a true fight, " he said with an exaggerated smile, "and not merely an exercise in foolishness, I would have used enough strength to relieve you of your weapon. "

  Her eyes widened. But to her credit she managed to continue holding her sword, even though she could no longer feel her fingers. They had gone completely numb.

  To cover her confusion, she danced nimbly out of reach of his blade. He charged forward, and she was forced to duck to one side, nearly losing her footing. At the last moment she retained her balance and spun to face him.

  Their blades sang through the air, meeting, clashing. With each thrust of Riordan's blade, Ambrosia felt her own strength beginning to wane. While he'd spent months aboard the Warrior working from sunup to sundown, she'd done nothing more strenuous than lift a teacup entertaining her neighbors from Land's End. Such activities had left her i
ll-suited to the task before her. "Tired, Ambrosia?"

  She slashed out, shredding the sleeve of his shirt. "I'm feeling as refreshed as a newborn. "

  "And about as dangerous. " With a knowing look he wielded his sword with such skill she was forced to retreat until she felt the wall at her back.

  "Now what will you do, Ambrosia?" His smile was quick and dangerous.

  The sword in her hand moved with lightning speed, just missing his fingers.

  "So. " He shot her a look of admiration. "You hope to draw blood, do you?" He lunged.

  Just as nimbly, she ducked and came up swinging. This time her blade tip pierced his arm. He felt the pain, white-hot, and then the sticky warmth as blood oozed from the wound.

  She appeared stunned. "Forgive me, Riordan. I didn't mean—"

  He cut her off. "Of course you did. We both know this isn't play. " He was almost grateful for the pain. It reminded him that he'd been holding back, trying desperately to disarm her without causing her harm.

  Now he slashed out, taking care to concentrate only on her blade, so that he wouldn't wound her tender flesh.

  At first Ambrosia returned the attack with a smile. She could see that he'd been surprised by her skill, and more than a little impressed. But soon, as they exchanged thrust for thrust, parry for parry, she found her breath coming harder and faster. Her smile disappeared as she struggled to keep one step ahead of the man who wielded his sword as he did everything else—effortlessly.

  They moved across the floor, Riordan on the attack, Ambrosia defending. With each step he took, she managed one in retreat until, too late, she noticed that she was directly in front of the fireplace. With the flames crackling at her back, a large settle to her left, a pair of high-back chairs to her right, there was no place left to go.

  Riordan saw her eyes narrow at the sudden realization that she was trapped.

  "Do you yield, Ambrosia?"

  "Nay. " Gritting her teeth, she lashed out with her weapon, only to find he'd anticipated the move. The tip of his sword caught her sleeve. It was only his superior skill that had him drawing away before his blade could pierce her tender flesh.

  She thrust again, and once more his blade was there first, slicing across her fingers lightly enough to hurt, but draw no blood.

  With a cry of pain she nearly dropped her sword. At the last minute she regained her hold on the hilt and drew her arm back. At the same instant he pressed the tip of his sword to her chest. "Yield, Ambrosia. For God's sake, yield before you're hurt. "

  "Never. " It was her intention to grasp her sword in both hands and lift it over her head. But before she could do so, he snagged her roughly by the arm. Caught by surprise, she found her weapon clattering to the floor.

  He twisted her around and dragged her roughly against him, then pressed the blade of his sword to her throat. His voice held an edge of frustration. "Now, Ambrosia,

  if I were your enemy, your pretty throat would be slit, and your life would be over. "

  She was aware of the deeply coiled tension that he seemed to be holding by a tenuous thread. For several seconds she didn't move. Finally, when she felt him take a deep breath and release his hold on her, she whirled. In her hand was a very small, very deadly knife.

  He looked from the knife to her eyes, glittering in the firelight. "Where did you get that?"

  "From my waist. I was warned to never go into battle with but one weapon. It was one of the first lessons my grandpapa taught me. And if I were truly your enemy, Riordan, this would have already found its way to your heart. "

  For the first time he smiled. "I'll give you high marks for that. And for the way you handled your sword. "

  She arched a brow. "A compliment? From the arrogant Captain Riordan Spencer?"

  "Aye. When it's warranted. But I'll remind you, Ambrosia. The knife is too little, too late. In a real fight, you'd have already been dead, or at least mortally wounded. "

  "So you would like to think. But I saved this knife for last, knowing you wouldn't be expecting it. Admit it. You were caught unawares. "

  "Aye. " He never took his gaze from hers as his hand swept in a wide arc, knocking the knife from her grasp. It clattered to the floor.

  In the silence that followed his voice was a low rasp of anger. "Now what will you do? Yield?"

  "Never. If I have to, I'll fight with my nails. With my teeth. Shall I show you what damage I can inflict?"

  "There's no need. But I'll remind you of this, Ambrosia. Nails and teeth might wound, but they will never kill.

  And one other word of warning. Your father's study is a small, confined space. "

  "As are many of the quarters aboard ship. "

  "That may be true belowdecks. But above there's plenty of space for an enemy to run, to duck, to hide. And while you're trying to keep up, the surface below your boots is moving, tilting, swaying. And often slick with salt spray and blood. It isn't enough to be able to wield a sword or a knife. You must be fleet of foot, agile of limb and always one step ahead of your opponent. " He retrieved her sword and knife. Instead of handing them to her, he placed them just out of her reach beside his own weapon.

  He fixed her with a look. "I was wrong about you, Ambrosia. You're a far better swordsman than I'd expected. "

  She put a hand to her heart in mock astonishment. "Careful, Captain. Before you know it I'll be overwhelmed with your sweet words. "

  "Don't let my words fool you. Though your skill comes as a surprise, I still think you have no business aboard ship. What you and your sisters intend is foolhardy. And extremely dangerous. "

  She waited, hearing something in his tone she hadn't heard before. Could it be grudging acceptance?

  She decided to risk everything. "You don't have to be a part of this, Riordan. If you think me foolish, you can walk away. My sisters and I will bear you no hard feelings, even though you claim to have loved our father like your own. " She offered her hand. "Give me your answer. Will we seal the bargain? Or would you rather turn away?"

  He stared down at her hand for a long silent moment. Annoyed at her foolishness, Ambrosia felt her heart stop.

  She should have waited awhile longer, to give him time to consider. Now she'd pushed too hard, too quickly.

  Hadn't Father warned her that it had always been one of her shortcomings?

  Riordan looked up into her eyes and reached out a hand. But instead of shaking hers, he used it to pull her close, until their faces were inches apart.

  "Little witch. It's already too late for me to turn away, and you know it. "

  She let out the breath she'd been unconsciously holding and started to smile. It was as Darcy had said. She'd used whatever weapons necessary to win him over.

  His next words had her eyes going wide with surprise. "But we'll seal the bargain my way. " Before she could react, he dragged her into his arms.

  "Nay. " She pushed against his chest, but realized once again that her strength was no match for his. Especially now, with the heat of battle still pumping through his veins. And the slow, simmering passion still seething in his soul.

  "Aye. " With one hand holding her still, he plunged his other hand into her hair and dragged her head back, all the while staring into her eyes. "You know exactly what you're doing, don't you, Ambrosia?"

  "I don't know—" she had to draw in a quick breath "—what you mean. "

  "Oh, I think you do. " With his eyes steady on hers he framed her face with his big hands and lowered his mouth to hers.

  She tried to draw back, but he anticipated her move and held her firmly. When she tried to turn her face away he tightened his grasp. She looked up to see that dangerous light in his eyes. The same light she'd seen during their duel. This was, she realized, a similar duel. One he was just as determined to win.

  As his mouth lowered to hers, she kept her eyes open, watching for a way to escape. With a wicked smile he surprised her by simply brushing his lips over hers in the merest whisper of a kiss.

&nbs
p; At the first touch of his lips on hers, the heat was so incredible she could feel it clogging her throat, bringing a flush to her skin. And as he gradually deepened the kiss, she was helpless to fight him. All she could do was wrap her arms around his waist and hold on as she felt the floor beneath her feet begin to tilt and sway.

  His lips continued whispering over hers, nibbling, teasing, until she sighed and offered more. Instead, he confounded her by brushing soft little kisses over her cheek, her jaw, the corner of her mouth.

  Frustrated, she clutched at the front of his shirt and dragged him close, offering her lips. She wanted, needed, the feel of his mouth on hers again.

  "Do you yield now, Ambrosia?"

  "Yield?" At that hated word she suddenly froze. "No, Riordan Spencer. I'll never yield. "

  "Then I'll simply have to claim victory and take what I want. " This time there was nothing gentle about the kiss as his mouth moved over hers, taking, taking, until she could feel the breath in her lungs straining to be free. For a moment, as his mouth plundered, she thought he would devour her. And though she would never admit it, even to herself, she wanted him to.

  She heard a sound, and realized it was her own voice, rough with need. Against her will she wrapped her arms around his neck and opened to him, giving him all that he wanted and more.

  It was a kiss unlike anything she'd ever known. A kiss that left her breathless and trembling with need. As his mouth took her higher, his hands moved along her back, her sides, until they encountered the soft swell of her breasts.

  She flinched and tried to pull away, but once again he'd anticipated her. He took the kiss deeper until her head was spinning and she couldn't hold a single coherent thought. All she knew was that she wanted him to go on holding her like this, kissing her like this, touching her like this, and never, ever stop.

  When his hands moved along her sides a second time, she had no will to fight him. His thumbs found her nipples and stroked until her sighs of pleasure became a whimper of need.

  Riordan knew he had to stop. He'd intended only to teach her a lesson. But somewhere along the way the line of reason had blurred, until now all he could do was absorb the pleasure, without fear of the consequences. All he wanted was to take her. Here. Now.