Pirate Wolf Trilogy (96 page)

For the time
being, however, it was taking all of his strength and concentration
just to keep a stern eye trained on the recalcitrant members of his
household, for if a tenth of the pride he was feeling ever burst
free, he doubted he would ever gain control again.

To aide in that
effort, he focussed on Varian St. Clare, the only occupant of the
cabin who had not already begun to chatter like a clutch of
boastful gulls and the only one who might still be intimidated by
the silvery glare. The duke was finally allowing Nog to attend his
wounds, though he had not moved from the side of the berth, and he
had not let his hand stray farther from Juliet’s than a breath
would take it. With the smallest flicker of pain that had crossed
her face, his fingers had been there, curling around hers. Even
more remarkable, her fingers curled back.

Catching a
fleeting glimpse of himself standing in much the same position
twenty-five years ago, the legendary Pirate Wolf smiled and shook
his head. “You should have fled when you had the chance, your
grace.”

Varian looked
over at him. After a moment, he smiled back. “Have you ever
regretted that you did not?”

Simon glanced
at Beau, who was laughing at something Jonas and Gabriel had said.
“No. Not for one single blessed moment.”

“Then that is
good enough for me.”

~~~

Two hours
later the
Iron Rose
weighed anchor and slipped away just as the dawn was rising
in pink streaks across the horizon. Nathan plotted a course that
would take them well to the east before turning south and heading
for home, and they were accompanied by three pinnaces who would run
far enough ahead to give fair warning of any other traffic on the
sea lanes.

Varian left
Juliet asleep on the berth and went to stand at the gallery door,
watching as the two islands grew smaller and smaller off their
stern. His side was aching, his arm was throbbing; if he closed his
eyes he could isolate and identify every cut and scrape he had
earned over the past twenty-four hours. For a certainty, he was not
entirely unhappy to be returning to Pigeon Cay. On the other hand,
it had been an exhilarating twenty-four hours and he had to wonder
again if it eventually became blasé to men like Simon Dante, who
lived every day as an adventure.

The smell of
gunpowder and burned canvas still permeated the air inside the
cabin, and, after a glance back at Juliet, he stepped out onto the
narrow balcony. The wind blew his hair and the foam leaped high off
the curl of the ship’s wake, sparkling like handfuls of diamonds
where it fell back into the sea. A pair of dolphins swam alongside,
their bodies sleek and gleaming beneath the blue water; now and
then they crossed behind the wake, leaping over the waves and
diving below again in gray streaks.

Varian heard a
bump behind him and turned just as Juliet slipped out onto the
gallery. She was holding her head and swaying slightly with the
motion of the ship and he was by her side in half a step, his arms
around her waist, a frown creasing his brow.

“You were given
specific orders to remain abed, Captain.”

“You weren’t
there,” she whispered. “I opened my eyes and you weren’t
there.”

He gathered her
gently into his arms and felt her press her face into the curve of
his shoulder. “I’m here now. And will be for as long as you want me
to stay.”

She tipped her
face up, slowly, as if it weighed twice as much as usual. Her eyes
were glazed, the centers dilated from the steeped decoction Nog
Kelly had forced her to drink. But she was smiling. “I think I
would like both of you to stay.”

“Both?”

“Indeed. There
are two of you. There is two of everything, in fact, and I was
hoping I found the right door to walk through on the second
try.”

She tried to
raise her hand and touch his cheek, but the pain from the bruises
across her shoulder and chest made her reconsider. And then
something else caught her attention and she looked past the canted
hull of the ship toward the eastern sky where the sun was hot and
bright and promising a clear day ahead.

“I see two of
them,” she whispered softly.

Varian glanced
down and saw the dolphins gliding side by side through the water.
He was about to remark that her vision was improving, when he
realized she was not staring down into the water at all. He
followed her gaze and felt his blood surge in his veins as he
remembered.

“I believe that
was one of your stipulations, was it not, mam'selle Dante? That you
would have to rise on a morning and see two suns in the sky before
you would consider marrying me?”

She tipped her
head and looked up at him with a slightly accusing frown as if he
had somehow managed to arrange the phenomenon. Then her eyes
settled on his mouth, on the smile that was widening as she
watched.

“You will see
no tightness there at all this time, madam. Just the sheer,
unadulterated pleasure of seeing you have to honor your word. And
thank God for that, since I have already spoken to your
father.”

“You have?”

“I have,” he
said and lifted her hand, pressing it to his lips. “He thinks I
would show more sense marrying into a nest of hornets, but I told
him I have already been well stung. And before you ask: No. I would
never expect you to live in England. Moreover, it has taken me
these past few weeks to realize I would be happier here, sailing
with you to the edge of the world.”

“You want to
slay dragons with me?”

“Every last
one, my love. Every last one.”

THE END

of one
story,
but just the
beginning of another....

THE FOLLOWING SEA

by Marsha Canham

Copyright 2012 © Marsha Canham

ISBN 978-0-9877023-7-1

Dedication

I must give credit and thanks to the Ladies
of the Hand and Foot Card Cult. They have been listening to me moan
and groan over the uncertainties, doubts, and insecurities of
returning to a career after a long, eight year hiatus. Their
support, even though they dragged me kicking and screaming to the
pool on hot afternoons, and had me shuffling cards in the evenings,
has been greatly appreciated.

Listed in alphabetical order: Carolyn Betts,
Gaile Brockman, Marcia Giddings, Marlyn Podd, and Gail
Rowlandson.

Thank you so much.

PROLOGUE

The Isle of Espiritu
Santu, November 1623

"You
will
tell me what I want to
know, little
puta
."

The words vibrated against
her ear and sent cold shivers scratching down her spine. There was
a frightening edge of pleasure in the huskiness of his voice, as if
he was hoping she would remain stubbornly quiet. She suspected that
he derived pleasure from the fear he instilled in others and she
knew he would use it against her if her courage faltered by so much
as a quivered breath. Determined to deny him, her teeth were set in
a hard clench. Her fingers were curled around the cords of the
ropes that were twisted around her wrist and draped over a
low-hanging branch. The ropes had been pulled taut, forcing her
arms apart and her body up onto the tips of her toes.

It had taken three of them
to subdue her: two to drag her across the packed earth while she
kicked and hissed and clawed at any exposed flesh. A third had
punched her brutally across the jaw, rendering her dazed long
enough for the ropes to be secured around her wrists and ankles.
There were others standing in the darkness. Unseen faces, shapes
without substance that watched and whispered from the shadows.
Light from a guttering fire barely touched them, glinting instead
off flashes of metal from pistol-barrels and swords.

She was the focus of their
attention. Some sat cross-legged on the ground, others leaned
indolently against the wall as if anticipating a long
process.

"You show courage,
puta
. Far more
than is wise or necessary."

The words were burdened
under a heavy Spanish accent. The threat behind them was stark and
needed no interpretation. Estevan Quintano Muertraigo had been the
military commander of the port of Havana. Dark-haired, dark-eyed,
he might have been considered handsome if not for the huge,
misshapen portwine stain that covered the entire left side of his
face. Marked thus from birth, he had compensated by honing a
reputation for brutality that made grown men quake.

She had to close her mind
to the terror and try to focus inward, to block out the voice... as
well as the feel of the cold sliver of steel that was placed
against the side of her neck.

The ferret-like eyes roved
over her face, staring at the blood that ran down from her split
lip. They moved on, glittering with interest when they touched upon
the tiny tear at the top of her shirt.

"Tell me where the Wolf’s
cub is,
puta
. Tell me the location of his camp." He leaned close enough
she could taste his breath. "Tell me and it will go easier on you,
this I promise.”

“I told you, I don’t know.
I was left behind and I don’t know where they have
gone.”

"Left behind?" A thoughtful
frown brought the point of the knife dragging downward to the rent
in the garment. "You continue to lie,
 
puta
, and that disappoints me very much.”

A deft twist of his wrist
sent the steel sliding into the frayed seam on the collar of her
shirt, slicing it open all the way down her back. As the cloth
parted, the whispers and murmurings from the onlookers ended
abruptly, leaving only the soft
ssssssssssssss
of the blade to
fill the silence.

She drew a slow breath to
calm the pounding in her breast. The blood was flowing hot and fast
through her veins, flushing her skin a mottled pink even though the
air was chilled where it touched her exposed flesh.

"Because I am in a generous
mood,
puta
," his lips scraped across her ear, "I will give you one more
chance to tell me what I want to know."

She steeled herself to keep
from flinching. "I cannot tell you what I do not know."

The dark eyes narrowed and
studied her intently as he came around in front of her again. There
was a hint of appreciation for the defiance he saw in the taut
lines of her body, but it was not enough to keep the tip of the
knife from sliding down to the waist of her breeches. It slivered
through the cloth with a quick flick then tore downward, following
the slender curve of her hip to her thigh, then down to her ankle,
leaving the moleskin split wide open.

She would have liked to
kick out at her tormentor, to twist free of the ropes and run like
the wind, but the bindings around her ankles had been looped around
the rocks and pulled tight. Splayed and vulnerable, she could do
little more than writhe and thrash her head, scattering her long
blonde hair wildly over her shoulders and back.

Muertraigo smiled and with
another downward slicing of the knife, cut through the other leg of
her breeches until it too hung open over her pried-apart legs. He
slid a hand between her thighs and stroked back and forth, watching
the disgust, humiliation, and anger alter the expressions on her
face as his fingers explored the sensitive flesh.

"So. You refuse to make
this easier on yourself?"

She made a sound in her
throat then spat the words free. "I told you,
I don’t know anything
."

Muertraigo’s eyes crinkled
at the edges. "We all know
something
, my dear. And I can
promise with some certainty that you will be begging to tell
me
everything
you know before the sands fall through the hour
glass."

"Then do your worst,
capitan
," she
whispered, lowering her eyes and squeezing out a tear. “For you
will never hear me beg.”

The Spaniard chuckled low
in his throat and addressed his audience. "They all say that. In
the beginning.”

He withdrew his hand and
gazed at his fingers a moment, then lifted them to his nose and
breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of her fear. Three quick
slashes saw the rest of her clothes lying in a heap at her feet,
causing the watchers in the shadows to offer up a collective murmur
of appreciation. Her body was slender and pale, her breasts small
but firm, crowned with soft pink nipples that had shivered into
exquisite little peaks. The thatch of hair at the juncture of her
thighs was softly curled, yellow down. There was a small puckered
scar over her ribs that had the look and shape of a bullet hole,
but she was otherwise a flawless beauty.

Muertraigo walked another
full, slow circle around her, his eyes lingering here and there,
gauging, calculating. The look caused an involuntary reaction in
her flesh, the revulsion making her skin feel as if it was
shrinking everywhere on her body.

The knife came up again and
was used like a hand to caress her. It skimmed down the side of her
neck and onto her chest following the stretched curve of her breast
to push aside the tangled waves of her hair. A speculative grunt
saw the point rest against the raised peak of one puckered nipple
and, with a slight tilt of his head, he pressed the steel inward,
dimpling the flesh until there was no more give.