Lois Greiman (9 page)

It was at that very second that MacTavish rounded the corner. She hit him dead on, striking his chest with the impetus of her weight and bouncing off like a ricocheting cricket ball. Her bare buttocks slapped against the floor. The pistol flew out of her hand, struck the wall with a wooden thud, and exploded nearly in her ear.

By the time she sat up, dazed and disoriented, Peters had stumbled around the corner, Cormick was grinning like a demented monkey, and MacTavish was staring down at her in utter glaring silence.

It was Burr who finally spoke. “I like her,” he said. “She’s got spunk.”

Comrick’s grin widened.

“And she’s not shy ’bout being naked,” added the Norseman. “’Tis a rare quality in a maid these days.”

“Peters.” MacTavish never shifted his attention from her.

She scooted backward, found her feet, and rose with shaky determination. Every instinct in her insisted that she cover herself, but it would do no good, so she balled her fists at her sides and raised her chin in tremulous defiance.

“Do you think you can manage one simple task?” MacTavish’s tone was dry and dark.

The lieutenant nodded, looking as pale as an Easter lily beneath his freckles.

“Fetch a blanket.”

The soldier turned rapidly away, but MacTavish spoke again.

“And Peters.”

The man pivoted, wobbling slightly. If Tatiana weren’t terrified for her own safety, she might have felt guilty. As it was, she truly did feel sick to her stomach, and a bit light-headed. But swooning seemed out of the question. Chances were good that if she passed out again, they would simply toss her out the nearest window.

“Yes, my liege.” The lieutenant’s voice was as pale as his complexion.

“One more damned blunder and you’ll be having your meals at Pikeshead. And it won’t be as a guard.”

There was absolute silence as MacTavish’s meaning came home to Peters, but he finally swallowed. His Adam’s apple bobbed, and he nodded once before hurrying away.

T
he bedchamber was absolutely silent.

The girl stood in the center of the room with nothing but a tattered plaid blanket wrapped tightly about her shoulders. Her hair was a dark mess of silken chaos running down her back. And yet she stood as straight as a mizzenmast, unbowed and unembarrassed. But what did she have to be embarrassed about? Cairn had seen her body. Hell, they’d all seen her body.

He ground his teeth and circled her. She didn’t turn, but watched him from the corner of her eye until he was well out of sight.

The candles lit to ward off the impending darkness gleamed on her kitten-soft hair. “Why naked, Megs?”

She didn’t respond for a moment. Indeed, for several seconds, he thought she would not.

“I tire of this game, MacTavish,” she said finally, and she did sound tired, but in a bored sort of way, as if they sat in some well-appointed parlor playing faro in the wee hours of the morning.

He felt his brows rise, but not so much as other body parts. “And what game is that?”

“This game of make-believe,” she said.

“Is that what we’re playing?”

She nodded. Her chin was tilted up slightly, perhaps to enable her to look into his eyes, but perhaps it was simply her attitude. Take no prisoners, bow to no man. “But I seem to be the only one with a fictional name.”

“It does seem to be the case,” he agreed.

She gave him a nod for the twist of her words and continued. “Mayhap I shall conceive one for you. I believe I like the name…” She paused as if thinking. “Norman.”

He waited a moment, then, “You know I could have you executed, don’t you?”

If he had planned to frighten her, his goal was sorely missed, for her chin notched up another fractional inch. “Truly?” she said, fluttering one hand to her chest. She was the very mistress of sarcasm. “And all the while I was only dashing about in the altogether for the sheer joy of the romp.”

Something tightened in his gut at the memory of seeing her naked. Hoary had tightened, too. Joy would not quite describe his own feelings, but if truth be told he was entirely at a loss to guess at hers.

“I can understand why you might want to bash Peters on the head,” he admitted. “I’m tempted to do the same meself at times. Taking his pistol…” He shrugged, feeling a spark of admiration. The top of her shiny little head barely reached his shoulder. “’Twas a good try. I’d have done the same meself if I—”

“I am so flattered,” she interrupted.

He paused. She made him grit his teeth. All the time. As if he were braced against some deviant pain. “Flattered?”

“That the great MacTavish might actually choose the same course I myself undertook.” She pressed a splay-
fingers hand to her breast, which was something of a silly gesture, since her other hand still held like a recalcitrant hound to that damned, ragged blanket.

He nodded once as if accepting her compliment at face value. “Aye,” he said. “I would have taken the pistol.” He paced again. “The only difference is…” He shrugged. “I would have taken a garment or two with me. And I would have succeeded, of course.”

If she was angry, the emotion didn’t show on her face. In fact, few situations ever seemed to change her expression. As if she were untouchable, far above his reach, except those few times he had reached through her defenses. And that stoicism made him feel all the more edgy. Pirates were not known for their sterling control over their emotions. But he managed a smile and let his gaze skim down her form. It was a wasted effort, for she was bundled like a newborn babe and seemed oblivious to his disdain. Damn her.

“I’m ever so sorry to offend your sensibilities with my nakedness,” she said, and curtsied. “But if you would hand me my clothes, I might shield my shame from your sight.”

“Shame.” He felt a muscle dance in his jaw, calmed it with an effort, and circled her again. “I begin to think you have no shame, Megs.”

“You bas—” She never completed the thought, but caught herself immediately as if she were about to say something rather uncomplimentary. He smiled and realized she seemed as surprised as he by the truncated outburst. Perhaps she was not so unaffected after all.

He raised a brow.

She drew a deep breath through her nose. Her nostrils flared slightly. Above the blanket, her phenomenal breasts rose. Her dark hair was slicked back from her heart-shaped face, and her body was wrapped in green plaid, narrowing at her thighs, then sweeping toward the floor. And despite all
the good sense he believed he might possess, he couldn’t help but think she looked like a mermaid come to land. But not just any mermaid, a sea princess, gracing the lesser folk with her presence.

“You are the one who should be ashamed,” she said. “Holding me here against my will. Threatening me at every turn. Taking my clothes.”

He hadn’t taken her clothes this time, but he didn’t mention that fact. “And of course you have done no wrong?”

“No, I have not.”

“You did not steal my brooch, allow a criminal to escape?”

She was shaking her head.

“Stab me with a compass? Knock my lieutenant unconscious?”

Her head shaking ceased, and for the briefest instant, her eyes flickered away. “Aye, I did that one…those last two things.”

And suddenly he wanted to laugh, but it would surely not seem very “lordly.” He should probably be calling for the executioner even now and bellowing, “Off with her head. Off with her head,” with a good deal of fanfare and pomp.

But she had such a proud, witty head. And it was attached to such a fine, luscious body. Surely she would miss it if she were parted from it.

“If you’re going to kill me, why wait?” she asked.

He wondered vaguely if she could read his mind. But nay. It was far more likely that she was only watching his expressions. Anger was an emotion he bent to his will. ’Twas what came of having the face of a prepubescent lad while trying to keep a score of seasoned sailors from wreaking havoc.

“You think I’m going to kill you, Megs?” he asked.

She shrugged. The motion reminded him suddenly of Gem. They were not unlike, those two. Which made him wonder about the scheme he had set Burr to. Would it work?

“Is that your plan, my liege?” she asked.

My liege.
The words were naught but a mockery from her lips. He should have been insulted, he supposed. But her lips were exceptionally full and lusciously bright. “No,” he said, and pulled his attention from her mouth. “Not yet at least.”

“Why?”

“Maybe it’s because I can learn something from you.”

“From me? A common thief? Again, I am flattered.”

She had a gift for conveying the opposite impression of her spoken words.

“As well you should be.”

“What is it you wish to know?”

A half dozen questions jockeyed for position in his mind, but he squelched the most vociferous one. After all, it hardly mattered if she felt any desire for him. Did not matter if she felt as breathless as he when they touched.

“Do you always escape while naked?” he asked, and realized that sometimes Hoary had more influence over his verbalization than he liked to admit. After all, he should be asking about her connection to Wheaton. But he’d tried that already, hadn’t he?

“You ordered me to bathe,” she said. “I could hardly disobey my sovereign lord, for surely he knows what is best for a lowly—”

“Save the sheep dung for the gardener, Megs,” he said. “And answer me straight.”

“It was the time Peters would least expect my escape!” she spat.

It made some sense. For while Peters might be obsessive about protecting his laird, he was less than comfortable around the fairer sex and might never have considered she would compromise herself to outwit him. Naïveté was a cruel master.

“So you planned to seduce him?”

Maybe there was something odd in his tone, because she narrowed her eyes at him, like a cat watching its prey. Wasn’t she supposed to be the prey?

“So you would add whore to my list of sins?” she asked.

It was a harsh word, but she was in a harsh situation, and surely if he were in her shoes, or barefoot as she happened to be, he would not be above a bit of seduction, but perhaps that truth didn’t need to be voiced.

“How far did you go, Megs?”

“In my plans for seduction?” It was her turn to pace. Her full lips were pursed, her eyes disdainful. “The truth is, MacTavish, I tire of your questions.” She said the words as if he were excused. He raised his brows.

“I want to know exactly what happened.”

“Then ask your lieutenant.”

In fact, he already had, but the story was so pathetic, so simple, that it was near impossible to believe. She had taken a bath while Peters watched the door. Suddenly her humming had ceased and he heard a gasp and small splash. Thinking she was drowning, he’d rushed in to save her. At which time she trounced him on the head and disappeared with his pistol. The entire laughable tale put the freckle-faced lieutenant in a very poor light, so there seemed little reason for the man to lie.

The girl was watching him closely. Then the corners of her mouth raised slightly. It was an intriguing sight. Like the dawning of a smile on a fairy face. “You already asked him, didn’t you?”

Obviously, but Cairn would almost rather believe she had seduced the poor lad than that she had tricked him with such pitiable ease. Hell, the stiff-backed fool was lucky she hadn’t decided to drown him while she was at it.

“He was merely following your orders, MacTavish,” she
said. “You told him to make certain I bathed and to keep me safe.”

Was she defending him? “I don’t remember telling him to be bashed over the head and let you escape with his pistol.”

“Perhaps he was improvising,” she said. “I certainly was.”

Naked improvisation. Maybe it would catch on. “With Dimitri?” he asked.

She frowned a question, so he strode into the bathing chamber and retrieved the impromptu weapon.

“Dimitri,” he said, lifting the defamed figurine high. Its penis had been broken clean off. “He was a fertility god.”

“He was ugly.”

“Aye, well now he’s castrated.”

She shrugged with absolute unconcern. The blanket had slipped. An inch or so of golden shoulder peeked into view. Hoary raised his horny head. Desire tightened Cairn’s body like fear, and suddenly he found that he didn’t care if she were good or evil, if she were the widow she claimed to be or the thief he believed her to be. He wanted her regardless.

He glanced at the statue. Is that how he would end up? Was that his fate? Castrated by a woman with no soul? Was she another Elizabeth? But no, Elizabeth had been groomed to deceive. Brought up by conniving nobility and taught to believe that everything belonged to her. Everything she desired. Everything she touched. Everything she saw.

This Megs, despite her attitude, could not believe the same. And even if she did, he could take advantage of her charms and let her be. Send her on her merry way. There was no reason to believe she wouldn’t enjoy it as much as he. Women didn’t tend to shudder with distaste when he passed them on the thoroughfare. He was not presently without a mistress because of lack of interest on their part. Rather, he needed time to himself. Or at least he had. But
circumstances had just changed. This was the lass he would take to his bed, and when they parted ways, there would be no royal parents to contend with. No threats of war, no political entanglements.

Besides, she was Wheaton’s companion. How much more enjoyable she would be, knowing he would ruin her for him. Aye, it was clever to use her as bait. But why not enjoy her charms while he did so?

He leaned a hip against his desk and watched her. “So your faith in Wheaton is already waning?” he asked.

She said nothing.

“Else there would be little reason for your attempt to escape.”

“Tell me.” She watched him with no expression on her perfect features. “What makes you so deluded?”

Deluded? Maybe he was, but he didn’t care at that precise moment. Maybe it was because he enjoyed the game, maybe it was her near nudity, or maybe it was the knowledge that, despite everything, she would be his. The decision had been made. “You still insist you don’t know him?” he asked.

“Because I do not.”

“Then why the bravado, Megs? If not because of assurance that he will save you? Are you not afraid? Are you not worried?”

“Is that what you want?”

He thought for a moment. “It might make me feel better.”

“Then I am sorry to disappoint you.”

“You don’t disappoint me,” he countered, and found that it was immensely true. Every move she made fascinated him. “I but wonder how you can be so certain of your escape from my dastardly clutches.”

She shrugged. The blanket slipped another half an inch. “You seem loath to do bodily damage.”

“There are fivescore of seamen who would argue with that.”

“Your obsession with Wheaton is too consuming. You believe, against all sanity, I might add, that he will come for me. And until then you will keep me alive.”

“Alive, yes,” he agreed. “But there is no guaranteeing your condition.”

“So you would torture me?”

He shrugged. Perhaps she had paled a mite, but her chin hadn’t dropped a whit. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because of Sir Albert.”

He was surprised. Surprised at her answer, surprised at her attitude, surprised she even remembered his effeminate tutor’s name. “Albert.”

“Yes,” she said, and, taking a few steps to the right, seated herself on a lavishly upholstered chair. She looked incredibly at home there, as if she weren’t a prisoner, as if she weren’t threatened, as if she were a sea princess, sitting comfortably on a coral reef as her clansmen gathered round to honor her. “You are a barbarian.”

“I’m not sure how that attribute will make me want to keep you safe and well, Megs.”

“You are a barbarian,” she repeated. “But you are also the lord of Teleere.”

He stared. She shrugged. “Thus your need to prove yourself.”

“You think I won’t harm you because of my need to act…elite?”

“Torturing a young foreign woman for unproven crimes might seem less than noble.”