A Pirate's Wife for Me (29 page)

"Please," she heard herself say, and realized she'd been saying it like a chant. "Please. Taran. Please."

He kissed her. Invaded her mouth, used his tongue to match the rhythm and the depth of his invasion below.

Speechless, now, her hips surged against him. She dropped her feet to the step beside his knees, pushed up harder and more desperately. She dug her nails into his shoulders.

And finally, finally, his discipline cracked. With a gasp, he released her mouth. He reared up on his knees, rising over her like some grand, pagan god of passion. Sliding his hands beneath her hips, he lifted her with him, matching them together ever closer.

She sprawled on the landing beneath him, demanding the same worship he inspired. Grinding her heels into the steps, she arched her back, and forced him to reckon with her as if she were a force of nature.

The heavens crackled as he thrust, shaking her with the force of his onslaught. They swayed, back and forth, wrestling for supremacy, groaning with a pleasure that bordered on anguish.

Cate clawed at the carpet beneath her.

Taran's fingers clenched her buttocks, as again and again they came together, lightning strikes to the fertile earth. She burned. She ached. She needed … more. He had to give her … more.

They struggled in silence, the roars of the thunder and the crackle of the lightning their only love sounds.

Yet when the deluge of climax arrived, it swept her away. The spasms hit her hard, shaking her whole body, squeezing him inside her.

"Aye," she heard him whisper hoarsely. "Woman, that's what I want. That's just what I want."

She didn't understand what he meant. She didn't care. The demands of her body held her in thrall. She whimpered. She screamed. She moaned. Her whole body twisted, trying to wring every last drop of pleasure from him.

And he gave in abundance. Pleasure — and his seed.

When they came to rest, breathing together, relaxing into the bliss of fulfillment, Cate kept her mind carefully blank. She didn't want to think what this would mean to them, to her.

But inevitably he moved, rising above her, to look into her face. She thought he would be triumphant. Instead, he whispered, "What happened to your hair?"

She braced herself for conflict. "I cut it."

"Why?"

"When the man who taught me to pick locks … Billy was my only friend, and when he was killed, it was
my
fault. I wanted to do penance. I've always been vain of my hair, so I … chopped it off."

He cradled the ends in his palm. "It's beautiful. As beautiful as always."

For once — just once — he had said the right thing.

She remembered her vow to keep him out of her bed.

Passion on the stairs was one way of keeping her vow.

Yet … she turned her head, and kissed his fingers.

He extended his hand to her. "Take me again."

She stared at the hand, then into his shadowed face. Foolishly, so foolishly, she whispered, "I love you. I have always loved you." Slowly she wrapped her fingers in his, rose, and led the way up the stairs.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

A knock on the open bedroom door
distracted Blowfish Burnham from his study of the chart of Cenorinian waters. He glanced up, saw Lilbit looking hangdog and anxious, and handsome, blond and young. And perhaps … ambitious. Blowfish started to roll up the chart, then changed his mind and weighed down three corners with the inkpot, the compass, and the Cap'n's log. He gestured at Lilbit. "Come in, lad."

Lilbit stepped in. Twisting his hat in his hand, he said, "Blowfish, I think misfortune has visited the Cap'n. And us."

Blowfish removed his wire-rimmed reading glasses and placed them precisely on the island of Saint-Simone. "Shut the door."

Lilbit did as he was told.

"Now tell me."

"Mr. Cleary's been gone three days now."

"Aye, who knows what the untrustworthy swine has been doing. Betraying us to the English Navy, mayhap."

"No, sir."

"Selling us to the highest bidder, then."

"Not that, either, sir. I found him." Lilbit nodded his head toward the window. "Down in the alley. His throat's slit, sir."

"Throat slit? Really? Poor devil. I wonder what misfortune befell him." Blowfish wandered toward the window, turned and found Lilbit looming behind him. "How did ye discover the body? That alley's no place for a stroll. I can smell the stench without even opening the window. And I wouldn't ever lean out."

"Right. No reason to open the window and lean out," Lilbit admitted. "Unless you're throwing out the nightsoil. Which I was."

Blowfish walked back to the table and studied the chart. "Mr. Cleary's day maid is a pretty little thing."

Lilbit clomped over, his big boots striking the floor hard with each step, and craned his neck to study it, too.

"Ye saved her from the smelly job," Blowfish said.

"I did. When I did, I spied me a man-shaped lump. Covered with filth. Big." Lilbit gestured widely. But he kept his gaze on the chart, studying it keenly. " I remembered Mr. Cleary had disappeared and I wondered … so I went down there."

"You went down and mucked around in the shit? Ye're a good man, Lilbit. A caring man." Blowfish was all admiration. "Who cut his throat?"

Lilbit flicked a glance up, then moved away from the desk. "I don't know, sir. I didn't see it. I just found him."

"Did he force the day maid, and fall asleep, and she sawed his throat through?"

"No one has to force her, sir!"

"Or was it a strong, clean cut, like a sailor would make with his dagger?"

"A strong, clean cut." Lilbit clasped his hands behind his back.

"Hm." Blowfish rubbed his finger across his lips. "That's not good. Not good at all."

"I thought that, too." Lilbit sounded eager. "That means foul play, right? And foul play means trouble, doesn't it? Someone is on to our plan to capture Cenorina and return the Cap'n to their throne?"

"It's a possibility," Blowfish said. "A real possibility. I'm just not as sharp as the Cap'n. I can't figure all the ways trouble might come at us."

"I can't either, sir. Perhaps we should set sail immediately, and leave trouble behind." Lilbit frowned as if he was thinking hard to come up with his line. "Ship at sail, leaves no trail."

"Yes. Thank you. I've heard that maxim before." Blowfish scratched at his chest. "Lilbit, I value your loyalty."

Lilbit bobbed up and down, grinning.

"I'll see to stocking the ship for the voyage. You send word to the crew. Tell them we sail tomorrow at first tide. Be there or be damned. We'll linger offshore from Cenorina for the signal from the Cap'n."

"A good plan, sir. Blowfish. We'll be safe out there."

"Aye, that we will. Be off with ye now." Blowfish watched as the gangly American ambled out the door. He listened as the boy wandered casually down the corridor. By the sound of his boots, Blowfish knew Lilbit sped up as he reached the stairs; he eagerly ran down them, out the door and into the street.

When Blowfish was satisfied the lad was truly gone, Blowfish shut the door and turned the lock. "Ye can come out now."

Gerry Williams, louse-covered, low-life pirate, crawled out from the far side of the bed and patted at the curls of dust that clung to his filthy jacket. "So. What's yer thinkin'?"

Blowfish rolled up the chart. "I think if all goes as planned, ye greedy blackguard, ere long ye're going to be the proud owner of two pirate ships."

Gerry grinned an evil, black-toothed smile. "Aye, that's what I wanted to hear. Mark my words — before the fortnight is out, the Scottish Witch will be mine."

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Cate woke in her bed,
and stretched, long and luxuriously, her body humming with satisfaction for the first time in far too long…

Her eyes flew open. "Oh, God."

She was in her bed in the housekeeper's room. She had given in to her baser urges. She had slept with Taran. Repeatedly. And he had pleasured her until she was wild and irresponsible again. Irresponsible … she looked at the bright daylight and sat straight up. "Oh, God. I'm late!"

"You're the housekeeper," Taran drawled. "You can be late if you like."

She looked toward the window.

Taran stood there.

She was reclining.

He was dressed in fresh clothing, his hair brushed, his face washed.

She was nude and disheveled.

He was a shadowed silhouette against the morning light.

She was revealed by the sun.

They had made love for hours on end, and she had told him … she had confessed her love.

He had not made similar assurances.

Why would he? He had what he wanted without resorting to a lie.

She dragged the sheet around her and prepared to stand.

At once he crossed to her. Putting his hands on her shoulders, he pressed her back onto the pillows. As if they were continuing a conversation begun only a few moments ago, he looked into her eyes and said, "Did you think that I would let you search for the papers and the money while I cowered upstairs in our bedroom?"

"You told the maid that you would stay
here
!"

"It doesn't matter what I told the maid. I'm a pirate. I sink ships. I steal gold. I fight. I kill. And now, I wear a disguise. Do you think I'll quibble about telling a lie?"

No. She supposed not. "Leaving the room is dangerous. You grew up here. What if someone recognizes you?"

"Then he is a dead man."

Taran’s cool ruthlessness took her breath away.

He asked, "Do you know what happened during those five years I was a prisoner on that ship?"

"You were not a prisoner." It was a protest formed of instinct and fear. He was
not
a prisoner.

"Not a prisoner? I would beg to differ. I was given to the ship's captain with a fistful of coins. Instructions were given that when the ship had left shore far behind, I would be dropped off the side and left to drown."

She writhed under his hands, wanting to escape his revelations.

"Actually, pirates force their prisoners to walk the plank. Do you know what that means?"

Wordless in horror, she shook her head.

"They blindfold you, put you on a narrow plank overhanging the water, and prod you to walk until you fall off. If you don't fall off, they wiggle the plank until you do."

"That is barbaric."

"When I sailed away on that pirate ship, I watched Cenorina disappear over the horizon and believed I had been sentenced to death. But I couldn't give up. I thought of you, and how you always went after what you wanted. I thought of your brother and how he told me every battle was won and lost in my head. I turned to the captain and said, 'You're a smart old devil. You got paid to take on a new sailor.'"

"Clever."

Taran smiled, a smile forged from remembered pain and ongoing anguish. "He knocked me clear across the deck. I hit my head on the fores'l mast so hard red stars exploded behind my eyes. Then he walked over, kicked me in the ribs, and said, 'You're not a sailor. You're not even a cabin boy, and I don't need another mouth to feed.' The other sailors gathered 'round and jeered, and I thought … I'd feared drowning. Now I thought I'd be beat to death, dead before I even hit the water. But I staggered to my feet. God bless him, Kiernan taught us hand to hand combat, and I used my skills that day. I stole a knife away from one of the sailors, and said, 'You're a pirate, so you can mark a bargain when you see it. I can fight better than any three of these men. Throw them overboard and give me their food.'"

"And he did?"

"He picked out three and I fought them."

"All of them?" Pictures formed and shifted in her mind. A bloody, wounded Taran fighting three hardened sailors, one after the other. But no. That was too easy. "At the same time?"

"I survived."

"Did you kill them?"

"Only one. The captain flung the others to the sharks." His chest rose and fell in hard breaths. "Do you know how men struggle when they see those fins swimming in the sea and know that, even before they can drown, they are going to be eaten alive?"

"Please."

"And scream. My God, they scream. When they go over the edge. When the sharks take their first bite. They scream a long time after you'd think they should be dead. The water turns red with blood."

Appalled, she asked, "You watched?"

"Captain Valentine held me over the edge and forced me to observe so I'd know what my fate would be when I displeased him. I fed the fishes with my vomit."

She covered her mouth to contain her own sickness.