In a Pirate's Arms Page 7

  “Ah, lass, but it would not be rape between us.” As he had before, he let his fingers stray, feeling her skin satin soft to the touch, hearing her breath catch. “Would it?”

  She stared straight ahead, only the rise and fall of her bosom betraying any agitation. He watched it with quickened interest. “I would be willing.”

  Brendan laughed, genuinely amused. “Spoken like a true martyr.”

  “Don’t mock me!” she exclaimed, flaring up at last, and again he felt that surge of heat go through him. Mocking her was the furthest thing from his mind.

  “Nay, lass, I don’t.” He stared into her eyes, deep into the green depths. “Take down your hair, Rebecca.”

  She swallowed, licked her lips, took a deep breath. So did he. He doubted that she was aware of her unconscious sensuality and its effect on him, prim spinster that she was. God help him, he wanted her, he admitted at last, his pulse speeding up as her fingers hesitantly rose to untie the strings of her cap. She fumbled with the knots, and then the cap came free. He swallowed, too, as she raised her arms again, raising her breasts at the same time; watched intently as her fingers felt at the thick knot at her neck for the pins concealed there; felt the blood thrumming in his veins—

  And there was a loud, peremptory knock on the door.

  “The devil take it!” Brendan exclaimed, as Rebecca startled away from him. “Who is it?”

  “Me, Cap’n.” Tyner walked into the cabin without so much as a by-your-leave.

  Brendan stepped back, hands riding on his hips. “This had better be important, Tyner,” he snapped, watching Rebecca as she stooped to retrieve her cap. Another moment, and that glorious hair would be covered again.

  “Aye, Cap’n. Ship bearin’ down hard from so-souwest, Cap’n, carrying the Union Jack. Thought ye should know.”

  “Aye. Tell Sam to call all hands,” he said, lazily, aware that Rebecca’s face had jerked up, her eyes huge. “And Tyner.”

  Tyner, just opening the door, stopped. “Aye, Cap’n?”

  “Next time do not enter without my permission.”

  “Aye, Cap’n.” His gaze flicked back and forth between them. “Anything else, Cap’n?”

  “Yes,” Brendan said, wondering just how much Tyner had seen. “Have Miss Talbot’s belongings moved in here.”

  “To yer cabin, Cap’n?”

  “Yes, to my cabin. Go, now,” he commanded, and Tyner went out, closing the door very quietly behind him, making clear to Brendan just what he thought of this situation.

  Brendan’s lips thinned. Devil take it, this was a bad enough fix, without Tyner standing in judgment on him. “Tyner will see that you’re comfortable,” he said, abruptly.

  “You won’t escape.” Rebecca’s cap was back in place, along with her composure. “They’ll catch you and you’ll be hanged.”

  “Bloodthirsty wench, aren’t ye?” Pulling out his keys, he unlocked the cabinet where he stored his pistols.

  “No. I merely wish to see justice served.”

  “It will be.” Locking the cabinet, he strode across the room to her and caught her chin in his hand, placing a swift, hard kiss on her lips. She started in surprise, and it was only by a great effort of will that he pulled himself away. That, and the pounding of feet overhead as his crew ran to their stations, preparing for action. This was not the time. “This isn’t finished, leannan,” he said, and left the cabin. And Rebecca, her knees suddenly too weak to support her, collapsed in a puddle of gray twill on the cabin floor.

  A long time later, the door to the cabin again opened. Rebecca, her mind and face blank, looked up to see Tyner, staring back at her. “Be ye hurt, miss?” he asked.

  “No. No.” Belatedly brought to her senses, Rebecca scrambled to her feet, stumbling in her haste. All this, over one kiss. Shameful. “No, I’m all right.”

  “Easy there, miss.” Tyner reached out a hand to steady her, and she shied away. “Cap’n’s orders are for you to stay put,” he went on, turning and dragging a trunk into the cabin. Her trunk, she saw with surprise. “Likely we’ll outrun the Limeys, but he don’t want to take no chances with ye.”

  “No chance I’ll escape, you mean,” she said, tartly.

  “Now, miss.” Tyner looked up from placing the trunk by the bed. “No one’ll hurt ye.”

  “You think not? You don’t know your captain very well.”

  He grunted. “Know him about as well as anyone does. When ye’ve unpacked miss, I’ll come back for the trunk.”

  “Wait!” she said, as he turned to leave. “My sister, I must go to her—”

  “Cap’n’ wants ye to stay here, miss.”

  “But she’s never been without me before—”

  “Cap’n’s orders, miss,” he repeated.

  “But she’ll be so frightened. Please, just let me reassure her—”

  “She’ll be moved into the cabin next this one, miss.”

  That stopped her. “She will?”

  “Aye, miss. Cap’n’s orders.”

  “And the captain’s word is law.”

  “Yes, miss. Sooner ye learn that, the better for ye.”

  “Oh, yes,” she murmured.

  If Tyner heard the irony in her tone, he gave no sign. “I’ll be needed topside. Be ye needing anything else, miss?”

  Rebecca glanced quickly around the cabin, taking nothing of it in. Above her were the shouts and pounding feet of men preparing for battle, their second of the day, and she doubted they’d lose. Soon she would have to go through with her promise. “No,” she said, with a short, bitter laugh. “I cannot think of a thing I need at this moment.”

  Tyner nodded, taking her at her word. “I’ll be back later, miss,” he said, and went out, closing the door firmly behind him. A moment more, and there was the click of a key in the lock, stopping Rebecca in midstride. If she had thought to leave the cabin, she was mistaken. The Raven apparently took no chances with his captives.

  Captive. The word struck a chill deep into her heart. For that was what she was, now, she and Amelia, captives for him to do with as he would. She had only made matters worse by offering herself to him. But, oh mercy, what else could she have done? From long experience she knew well that men would always choose Amelia over her. Usually she didn’t mind. Usually they were safe enough suitors. To think of her dainty little sister in the hands of a pirate, however, was terrifying. Amelia would not survive such an ordeal. Rebecca, however, would.

  At that moment, she surprised herself by yawning. She was tired, she noted with a strange detachment. Hardly surprising, considering the day she had had. Maybe she would just lie down—but one glance at the bed, and she looked hastily away. This time she took in more of the cabin, though the light was fading. She stared blankly at a cabinet, at the table with rails about its edges, at the unlighted lamp swinging overhead with the motion of the ship, but always her attention returned to the bed. She was tired, so tired, and yet if she lay down she would awaken only heavens knew what kind of ideas in the Raven’s mind once he returned; though she had offered to share his bed, it wasn’t something she looked forward to. Longingly she looked at the bed, the mattress high and soft, imagining how it would feel under her, and then turned away. It would be better if she sat at the table instead.

  Fate decided for her. Though Rebecca had long ago gained her sea legs aboard the Curlew, the sudden movement of the ship as she heeled, turning hard, caught her unaware. The angle of the floor abruptly sloped upwards, and, off guard, Rebecca lost her balance, tumbling backwards, throwing out her arms to save herself. For the first time that day she gave into her panic, letting out a shrill little shriek that ended when she fell, most emphatically and yet softly, onto the bed. Lying on her back, she blinked with surprise at the ceiling, as the ship continued to heel, the angle increasing and making it impossible for her even to sit. Oh, mercy, the bed was as deep and as comfortable as she’d imagined. The Raven apparently did not stint on his own comforts.

  Even think
ing of him, however, was not quite enough to rouse her. While men shouted overhead, while a distant cannon boomed and sail flapped in the wind, Rebecca’s eyes drifted closed. Worn out, beyond caring anymore, she slept.

  Full dark, and the pale slice of moon shone down on the great trackless sea. Above the night sky pressed down like a spangled velvet blanket, and in the wake of the ship’s passing, the water glowed with phosphorescence. From his post in the foretopmast, Brendan scanned the sea once more and grinned. Long ago they had left the British frigate behind; though she had carried a full press of sail, she was no match for the nimble Raven or her crew. More importantly, the frigate had been diverted from the Curlew, for Brendan had deliberately used himself as bait to draw the other ship into pursuit. Now they were safe. The long day was done.

  Reaching over, he caught a line and rode it down to the deck. A good day for the most part. That men had died today because of him was something he would live with forever, and yet his mission had been necessary. Now he had only to wait until his demands for ransom were answered, and he would be done. For now.

  A few words to Starkey, his second mate, in command of the watch, and Brendan headed aft, letting out a prodigious yawn as he climbed nimbly down the companionway to his quarters. Devil take it, but he was tired. He’d be glad to seek his bed, and—

  The devil take it! At the base of the companionway, he stopped. In the excitement of the chase he’d forgotten the events preceding it. What the devil was he going to do with Rebecca? In the ordinary way of things, it wouldn’t be a problem. This situation was far from ordinary, however. The Talbot sisters were hostages, and special ones, at that. No harm was meant to come to them, not from his crew, and not from him. That was one reason he had agreed to have Rebecca move into his cabin, and her sister into the one which usually belonged to the first mate, just down the passageway. Women on his ship were a rarity, a temptation to men who would not see land again for many weeks. With them under his eye, he could better protect them. If he were honest with himself, however, he would admit that that wasn’t the only reason Rebecca was now in his cabin. Not at all.

  Eyeing the door, he pulled out his keys and started toward it, bracing himself for what would happen next. He had just placed the key in the lock when Tyner appeared from the shadows to his left, where the pantry and storerooms were located. “Left the Limeys standin’, aye, Cap’n?” he said.

  “Aye.” Brendan glanced at the door again, and let out another yawn. “A good chase, and no one hurt. And the prize is safe.”

  “Good, good.” Tyner’s gaze followed his. “They’ve been quiet.”

  “Good. No trouble?”

  “No. The younger one screeched a bit when we moved her—”

  “Aye, I heard that,” he said, wryly. Miss Amelia Talbot had a carrying voice.

  “—and her sister demanded to get out, at first, but since then, they’ve been quiet. But we’ll be havin’ trouble with them, I’m thinkin’.”

  “Mayhaps not.” Another yawn. “I’m for bed. Good night, Tyner—”

  “Cap’n.” Tyner stepped closer, hands on his hips and chin thrust forward. “What be ye thinkin’ ye’re doin’ with her? Movin’ her into yer cabin and all?

  Brendan smiled a little. “Believe it or not, Tyner, it wasn’t my idea.”

  “Nay, I don’t believe it. Not knowing ye as I do. And I’ll tell ye, Cap’n. This one’s not like your usual lasses. This one could be trouble for ye.”

  “She won’t be,” Brendan said, suddenly annoyed. “I know what I’m doing, Tyner.”

  “Not this time, I don’t think ye do, Cap’n. This one’s a lady. Ladies expect things of their men.”

  Brendan let out a bark of laughter. “Are ye thinking she’s looking at me as a husband, Tyner?”

  “No, Cap’n, but—”

  “Enough of this,” he said, abruptly. “Good night, Tyner.”

  Tyner stepped back, knowing defeat when he saw it, and his voice when he spoke was flat. “Good night, Cap’n.”

  “Oh, and Tyner.” Brendan paused as he turned the key.

  “Aye, Cap’n?”

  “Bring me a hammock.”

  “A hammock—aye, Cap’n!” Tyner exclaimed, and scuttled off up the companionway.

  Brendan watched him go with mingled amusement and annoyance, and then opened the door. Caution, inbred and long-fostered, made him pause just inside the room, caution and the memory of Rebecca wielding a knife against him. He waited, letting his senses become attuned to the darkness and the silence, stretching his mind in search of menace, and finding none. The room was dimly lit from the waning moon, streaming in through the wide stern window; the only sounds were those to which he was so accustomed he barely noticed them anymore, the creak of rigging and sail, the rush of waves at the bow, the tread and voices of men on watch. And soft, even breathing. He relaxed. Unless she was a very good actress, Miss Rebecca Talbot was sound asleep.

  Striking tinder, he lit the oil lamp that hung on gimbals over the table. Its mellow light banished the darkness and scattered shadows across the room as it swayed with the motion of the ship. It shone softly on the woman curled up on her side in his bed, asleep, one hand pillowing her cheek. Without quite knowing why he did so, Brendan moved to the side of the bed, gazing down at her. She looked different in sleep, not so fiercely protective, and much, much younger. Her garments still disguised her shape, and her hair, he noted with amusement, was still tightly bound, but without the lines of worry and fear her face was soft, smooth, guileless. Her features were regular, her lips full, and the spiky dark lashes that lay against her cheeks were sinfully long. She was pretty, he realized with surprise. Until this moment he had not known an attractive woman lurked behind the facade she presented to the world. It made her doubly dangerous.

  Abruptly he turned away, his jaw grinding. Devil take it, he was a man of honor, though that was difficult to remember at this moment, with the blood thrumming in his veins. Who would ever have thought that prim, starchy Miss Talbot would cause such a reaction within him? It had to be, he decided, turning away to stow his pistol in the cabinet, because he was so tired, and yet still so restless from the day’s action, because certainly she wouldn’t tempt him normally. At least—but he remembered a sun-washed lane in St. Thomas, the brief, fleeting thought that this time he really had had it, and then the astonishing intervention by the girl now asleep in his bed. And the way her eyes had gazed up at him afterwards, puzzled and yet intrigued, with something in their depths that drew him.

  The door opened and Tyner came in, a canvas hammock slung carelessly over one shoulder. “Where ye be wantin’ this, Cap’n?” he said, cheerfully, and Brendan spun around, a finger to his lips. Tyner glanced from him to Rebecca, and a grin lit his face, crinkling his eyes. “Sorry,” he said, his voice lower, and began stringing the hammock up. “Ye surprise me, Cap’n. Aye, that ye do.”

  “Quiet,” Brendan whispered irritably, hanging up the other end of the hammock. It now stretched the width of the cabin, parallel to the bed. Not as comfortable, but he’d slept in worse quarters, and at least here he’d be removed from temptation. Devil take it, he’d never forced a woman in his life. He’d never had to. Taking her tonight would be force, no matter how willing she appeared. And that, more than anything else, more than his orders or thoughts of his mission, was what had made him decide not to take her up on her offer.

  “Aye, Cap’n.” Tyner stepped away from the swaying hammock, his eyes still crinkled. “Good night, Cap’n.”

  “Good night.” The door closed behind Tyner. Letting out another yawn, Brendan pulled his shirt over his head, scratched his chest, and turned back to his hammock—to see Rebecca, lying absolutely still, watching him.

  In the beginning the sounds were part of Rebecca’s dreams, the door opening, the voices, loud at first, and then whispered. They whirled together with all the other images of this day: of a battle, in which she somehow took part; of a narrow plank beneath her,
miles above a fathomless sea; of nightmarish, leering faces. Yet somehow she felt too heavy, too relaxed to move, until the sound of a door closing again penetrated at last into her mind. Not a dream, none of it. It had all happened, and she was in a pirate’s stateroom, in his bed—

  She opened her eyes. Oh, mercy. He was there, locking the door and then turning away, yawning, and—oh, mercy! Pulling off his shirt. Quickly she shut her eyes, but as if they had a will of their own, her lids opened again. Dear heavens, she hadn’t realized he was quite so large, or that his arms, brown from the sun, were quite so heavily muscled. He was brown everywhere, his chest liberally sprinkled with black hair that curled and whorled down to the waist of his breeches, and his shoulders were so broad. They would loom over her, and—

  And he turned and saw her watching him.

  Instantly a tide of color rose in her face. “Well, lass, and do ye like what ye see?” he said, hanging the shirt on a wooden peg set in the wall.

  “I might have known you’d not be a gentleman about this.”

  He let out a laugh, sounding genuinely amused. “Ah, but what did ye expect, lass? ‘Tis sure that I’m a pirate, after all.” He came to stand by the bed, hands on hips, grinning down at her. She wanted to close her eyes, but decided not to give him the satisfaction. Instead, she fixed her gaze beyond him, valiantly ignoring that blatantly masculine chest and the charm of his smile. She had made the offer, yes, but she would not—would not!—give into him.

  “What is that?” she said, spotting the hammock.

  Brendan scratched his chest again, and in spite of herself Rebecca’s eyes followed the motion. “A hammock.”

  “Why?”

  “To sleep in.” His eyes twinkled. “Will ye share it with me, lass?”

  “What?”

  “Never mind.” He moved away, yawning. “‘Tis too tired I am, to be playing games.”

  Rebecca leaned up on her elbow, frowning. This was no game to her. “You’re sleeping in that?”

  “Aye.” He paused in the act of turning down the lamp’s flame. “Now is it that you’re wanting me in bed with ye?”