Heather Graham - [Camerons Saga - North American Woman 02] (6 page)

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 the 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.

“What in God’s name are you up to?” he demanded.

“Let me out of here!” she told him.

“Nay, lady!” he said harshly. “You’ve seen the storm!” Her words were a ploy. The fool girl meant to flee him at any cost.

“Please!” she whispered, and despite his better judgment, the curious plea tore at his heart. He had never seen a woman fight as she had earlier. Perhaps she was as good at acting as she was at swordplay.

He shook his head with impatience. “Lady Kinsdale, the storm is lessened, but it has not ended. You must remain here.” He stood, and headed toward the doors.

“No!” she cried, leaping to her feet. She caught his hand. “Take me with you! Please, take me with you—”

“You are mad!”

“No, I—”

“The winds nearly swept you over, Lady Kinsdale. And you are worth far too much for such a fate.”

“Don’t leave me!” she pleaded.

He paused, looking at her hands, small and delicate, upon
his own. They were as pale as cream and as soft as velvet. Her nails were long as were her fingers, and they spoke of a genteel elegance. Amazed, he looked into her eyes.

She wasn’t looking at him. She was, but her eyes went through him, and beyond him.

He took her hand, freeing his own. “I cannot take you out there.”

“Then give me a light.”

“Milady—”

“Please!” He stared at her, trying to fathom this woman, and she took his hesitation as a denial. “Please!” she repeated. Her voice lowered and cracked. “Leave me with a light, sir, and I swear that I shall …”

Intrigued, he paused, watching her carefully. “You shall what, mam’selle?”

“I shall—” She paused, but went on then. “I shall repay the kindness.”

“You shall repay … the kindness?”

“Yes!” she screamed.

He arched a brow, inclining his head, taking his time. “Milady, my apologies, but I would that you be a bit more specific. We pirates are known for being dim-witted.”

She wanted to kick him. She might well have done so except that he seemed to sense her intent and carefully caught her by the shoulders, drawing her against him. His eyes bored into hers. She felt his breath once more against her cheeks, against her lips. Curiously, his breath was sweet. It smelled of mint. His teeth were good, his own, and clean and white and straight and handsome, flashing with his every dangerous smile. His beard covered most of his face, but she thought that it was probably a striking face beneath the dark mat, ruthless perhaps, and formidable, but striking nonetheless.

She was thinking this of a pirate. A man who intended to rape her, and barter her back to her father or fiancé.

And worse, she was ready to promise him anything, just so long as he didn’t leave her in the darkness again.

“What are you saying, Lady Kinsdale?” he demanded softly.

“I will do anything you want!” she lashed out. “Just so long
as you don’t leave me again in the darkness.” She hesitated again and then whispered desperately, “I promise!”

He stared at her long and hard. Rather than being pleased by her promise, he seemed to be furious. He shoved her away from him. She stumbled, but she did not fall. He strode across the room to the bookcase and she saw that there was a lantern there, protected from falling off the shelf by wooden laths, just as the books were protected from being thrown about the cabin.

Watching her with that same curious fury, he found a striker and flint and went to the stove first, lighting the coals. As the glow rose around him, Skye realized just how cold she had been. He must have been freezing, too, she thought, for he was drenched. Despite herself, she found her eyes wandering over him. Muscle and sinew were delineated clearly.

His eyes fell upon her and she found herself shivering. With great deliberation he found a length of match and lit the lamp from the fire in the Dutch stove. He set the lamp back in its place. “Don’t touch it or the stove,” he said harshly. “I would not survive the storm to burn to a crisp upon the sea.”

“I won’t let anything burn. I promise.”

“You are quick to hand out promises, Lady Kinsdale,” he commented.

She shrugged, staring at the warmth of the fire, ignoring him. He kept watching her. She shivered anew with the warning tone of his next words.

“You will keep any promises you make to me, milady.”

She nodded, playing only for the moment. Light and warmth flooded the room, and courage began to seep back into her along with the warmth. Then he took two steps toward her and she knew that he meant to touch her then and there. Despite herself she screamed. He ignored her, catching her shoulders, dragging her close. “No!” she gasped, seeking to stop his hands as they fell upon her bodice. Little was left of her gown; he found the ties of her corset and tugged upon them.

“Wait!”

“Your promise, milady!”

“You said you were going back out! The storm! The wind, it still rages, stop, please, you must—stop!”

“Be damned with the ship, mam’selle!”

“We’ll drown!”

“Happily shall I die in your arms!”

Her bodice came free and her breasts spilled forth. Color bathed her face, but he barely glanced at her, swinging her around and plucking her torn wet gown over her head. Desperately she flailed against him, but managed only to entangle herself in her clothing. Then suddenly she was naked, shorn of her gown and corset and even her shift, and left only in her stockings and garters. She stared from the pool of her clothing cast upon the floor to his face, and his eyes so cold upon her, denying his taunting words. He took stock of her in a calculating assessment. His gaze was so icily cold that she did not even think to cover herself, to draw her arms about her. He did not in the least seem to appreciate what he saw; indeed, it was almost with disdain that he swept his eyes over her body. He hated her, she thought. But then he took a step toward her again and she screamed with pure primal dread.