Mardon (Pirate Lords Series Book 2)

by Elizabeth Rose

  “Go, Nairnie. I’ll pack up the rest of the things,” said Ramble, jumping in to help.

  “Batten down the cargo,” yelled Aaron from up in the lookout basket. The ship leaned and Emmaline held on to Nairnie with one hand and the lines with the other. She looked up in astonishment to see Aaron, with bare feet, untangling the lines, holding on with just his legs.

  “I think I’m going to be sick,” she told Nairnie.

  “Ye’ll get used to it after a while. But for now, I agree with Mardon. Ye need to stay in the cabin before ye’re washed overboard the way I was.”

  “What are you saying, Nairnie? Did you really fall overboard at one time?”

  “How do ye think I ended up on a pirate ship? Now, come on. Ye need to get to the cabin and stay there, just like yer captain ordered.”

  An hour later, Emmaline sat on the floor of Mardon’s cabin with her back against the wall and a bucket between her legs, feeling as if she were going to die. Nairnie had lit a lantern, and stood on a box to get into Tristan’s old hammock. She had actually fallen asleep! It amazed Emmaline that anyone could sleep when the ship was about to be smashed to pieces by the crashing waves. She couldn’t even imagine how the crew kept from being washed overboard.

  The damned blanket had fallen off the painting in the storm. Her naked image stared her in the face, mocking her, haunting her, making her feel hot. So hot. She ripped the wimple off her head and threw it down. Then she took the rosary from around her neck and placed it on the floor. If she could, she would rip off this damned robe and sit here naked, but that was never going to happen. Her eyes closed and she tried to pretend she was anywhere but on a pirate ship right now. Mayhap if she was lucky, the sea would claim her and she wouldn’t have to worry about her reputation, the painting, Mardon, or anything ever again.

  The storm finally ended, and Mardon handed the helm over to Stitch, feeling too anxious to even think about sleeping.

  “Aaron,” he called to his brother.

  Aaron dropped down from the lines, his long, blond hair soaked from the rain and sticking to his body just like his clothes. All the men were wet and tired. The storm had proved to be worse than he’d thought. “Report,” he said, heading down the stairs with Aaron right behind him.

  “Everyone is accounted for,” said Aaron. “We have a few rips in the sails and the galley is flooded, or where the galley used to be, but besides that, we fared well. Ow!”

  Mardon heard the stair squeak just as Aaron cried out. He turned around to see Aaron holding his bare foot, hopping up and down.

  “I cut myself on a nail,” said Aaron. “It’s that stupid step that Peg Leg never fixed.”

  “Damn it,” spat Mardon. “If you wore shoes this wouldn’t happen.” He came back and bent down to examine the stair. That’s when he noticed that the board was sticking up farther than usual. He pulled up the plank, seeing something inside. “Get me a lantern. Quick.”

  “Hold on,” said Aaron, running over and removing one from the railing. He hurried back and held it up. “What is it?”

  “I think there’s something in here.” Mardon reached in and pulled out a small bottle filled with liquid. Stuck on the neck of the bottle was a ring. “What the hell?”

  “I’ve never seen that bottle before,” said Aaron, holding the lantern closer.

  “Nay, but this ring certainly looks familiar.” Mardon removed the ring and held it up in two fingers. “I stole this from that French ship. From the naked woman.”

  “The what?” asked Aaron.

  “You know. That woman who offered herself to me. The one in the painting.”

  “Oh, that one. Well, what is the ring doing in the step?”

  “Someone hid it here.” He popped open the bottle and took a sniff.

  “What is it?” asked Aaron.

  “I’m not sure, but it smells like . . . belladonna and hemlock.”

  “Poison,” said Aaron. “Who would have hidden that there? I hope we don’t have another traitor on board. I thought when we got rid of Noll and Wybert, we were done with all this.”

  “Apparently not,” growled Mardon.

  “Are you going to bring this up in front of the crew and ask who did it?”

  “Nay.” Mardon closed up the bottle, slipped the ring into his pocket and hid the bottle back inside the stair. “I’ll take back what is mine for now. But when the culprit comes to claim what they hid, I’ll be waiting for them. Keep this to yourself, but keep your eyes and ears open. If there is a traitor on the ship wanting to poison me, not to mention steal from me, I’m going to make sure I catch and do away with them immediately.”

  Mardon finally made his way back to the cabin. As he opened the door, moonlight spilled into the room. The lantern in the room had gone out and he didn’t want to light it because he didn’t want to wake the women. He could hear Nairnie snoring like a sailor from the cloth hammock – Tristan’s old bed. He looked over to his net hammock, but it was empty. The nun was wrapped up in a blanket atop the pallet underneath the hammock.

  He closed the door, making his way to his bed. Pulling off his wet clothes, he stripped down, and jumped into his hammock naked. He used a blanket to cover himself, falling asleep quickly since he was so exhausted. He wasn’t sure how long he slept, but he awoke to sunshine streaming in the window. Nairnie still snored from the other side of the room.

  With his face downward against the netting of the hammock, his eyes drifted open to see the nun sleeping on the pallet beneath him. She had kicked off the blanket and her gown rose up, exposing her bare leg. Damn, it was a shapely leg and he wished right now he hadn’t seen this. Emmaline made a soft cooing noise, turning over. When she did, he realized she wasn’t wearing her wimple. Her long, blond hair that was so light it almost looked silver tangled around her, making her look like a sexy goddess to him once again.

  “Bloody hell,” he mumbled, realizing the sight of the girl was getting him aroused. He flipped over, trying to look at anything but her. What was his obsession with this nun? And why did she affect him in such a way that he felt as if he were going mad?

  The sunlight streamed in, hitting the painting on his wall that had become uncovered in the storm. His eyes roamed over to the naked beauty with the silvery-blond hair and once again he felt randy. Then it hit him and he knew why Emmaline seemed so familiar.

  He shot up to a sitting position, looking over the side of the hammock at the girl. Next, his eyes shot back to the painting. Good God, this was the same girl! How could he not have noticed it sooner? No wonder he was so aroused around her. His mind flashed back to the day he stole the painting. The goddess who had posed for it had offered herself to him and even let him kiss her while naked . . . before she tried to stab him to death.

  His eyes searched out the evidence and he rubbed his arm. The scar she’d left upon him that day was still very visible and always would be. If she had been a man, he would have killed her for her attempt to kill him. Being a woman was the only thing that had saved her life. He never hurt women or children. But if he had ever been tempted to, this woman was the one who had almost made him change his mind.

  “Emmaline de la Croix,” he whispered, knowing exactly who she was now. She was the wife of that bloody Frenchman that he’d killed. The one that owned the painting. This woman wasn’t a nun at all, but a strumpet. Why the hell was she on his ship and what was she after? He wasn’t sure, but aimed to find out. Jumping down from the hammock still naked, he padded across the floor to his trunk to get some clean clothes.

  Emmaline awoke, sure she heard someone whispering her name. Her eyes fluttered open and she almost gasped aloud when she saw Mardon’s naked backside. He walked over to a trunk and bent over, digging inside for clothes. Her attraction for him grew as soon as she’d seen his manly beauty. Part of her wondered what it would feel like to touch his muscles or glide her hands over his bronzed skin. He was a handsome man, and so unlike her late husband. Jean Philippe had repulsed her,
but Mardon attracted her like no man had ever done before. She couldn’t stop thinking about the kiss they’d shared. She also couldn’t stop longing to kiss him once again.

  “Mardon! God’s eyes, put on some clothes,” spat Nairnie, trying to sit up in the hammock. When she moved too quickly and the ship rocked at the same time, she lost her balance. She fell out of bed, landing on the floor with a loud thump.

  “Nairnie, are you all right?” Tying his braies, Mardon ran over to help his grandmother.

  “I’m no’ cut out for sleepin’ in this blasted thing,” she spat, letting Mardon help her to her feet. “Mardon, ye need to get Peg Leg and the crew to repair my galley at once. I canna spend another night in this death trap. I’m lucky I didna break my fool neck. Why did I ever let ye talk me into sleepin’ this way?”

  “I’m sorry, Nairnie. I’ll put double men on the galley project and you’ll have your old place back soon, I promise.”

  “Good morning,” said Emmaline, sitting up and stretching.

  “My, ye have hair like an angel,” said Nairnie, looking at her while she brushed off her clothes.

  Suddenly, Emmaline realized she had never replaced her wimple after she pulled it off last night during the storm. She grabbed for it, hurriedly trying to replace it to hide her hair.

  “Don’t bother with the wimple, love,” Mardon told her, making her heart skip a beat. Had he just called her love?

  Nairnie’s hand shot out and she hit Mardon on the shoulder. “That’s no way to talk to a nun.”

  “You’re right,” he said, walking back to the trunk and picking up a pair of trews. He stepped into them. “Forgive me . . . Sister,” he said, almost sounding a little sarcastic.

  “Of course. No harm done.” Emmaline stood up and straightened her clothes.

  “Grandson, how many times do I have to tell ye to cover up that paintin’?” asked Nairnie. “No one wants to see it.”

  “I disagree, and I’m sure my crew would disagree as well,” he mumbled.

  “Still, it isna appropriate with a nun on board.”

  “Nairnie, it’s already past dawn and you need to get out on deck. You know how ornery the men become when they are hungry.”

  “Oh, my!” Nairnie’s eyes shot to the window and the sunlight streaming through. “I canna believe I overslept.” She waddled quickly to the door.

  “I’ll help you prepare the meal,” said Emmaline, hurrying after her. She didn’t want to be left alone with Mardon, especially since he was half-naked.

  “Nay. You’ll stay here with me for now, Sister,” Mardon told her, stopping her in her tracks.

  “Mardon? Why do ye want her here?” asked Nairnie curiously.

  “I just want to get to know Sister Emmaline better, that’s all,” he told her. “I have a few questions I’d like to ask her. Now, go, Nairnie. The men will be waiting.”

  Nairnie sighed and headed out the door, closing it behind her.

  Emmaline stared at the back of the door, not wanting to look at Mardon.

  “Turn around . . . Sister.” She heard the floor creak as he walked toward her. Slowly, she turned and faked a smile.

  “What was it you wanted to ask me?”

  “I wanted to show you this.” He stuck out his arm and she saw the scar where she had stabbed him when she’d tried to kill him on her husband’s ship. “Do you know how I got this scar?”

  “How could I know?” She looked the other way.

  “It was given to me by a beautiful woman. First, she offered her body to me, and when I tried to take what was offered, she tried to kill me.”

  “Oh, I see.” She looked down and wrung her hands.

  “It’s a scar that will never go away. Just feel how the skin is raised.”

  Before she could stop him, he’d grabbed her hand and ran it down his arm. The feel of his warm skin made her warm as well.

  “Yes. That’s a . . . a bad scar. I’m sorry it happened.”

  “The woman I received it from was her.” His eyes shot over to the painting.

  “I see.” She couldn’t look.

  “Nay, you don’t see. You’re not even looking.” He grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her to face the painting. “Take a good look.”

  With her back to his chest, she closed her eyes, not wanting to be reminded of the horrible thing she had done by posing for that wretched painting.

  “Sister? You’re not looking.” He whispered in her ear, causing a fire to burn deep in her belly. Then, to her surprise, he started kissing her neck. She froze, unable to move or even talk, not knowing what to do.

  “You like this, don’t you?” he asked in a sultry whisper. She felt a delicious shiver run up her spine. If she didn’t stop him soon, there would be no turning back.

  “Stop it,” she commanded, turning to look at him now. When she did, he leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers.

  Once again, she experienced the tantalizing kiss of the handsome pirate, and her knees became weak beneath her. Desire spiraled through her, making her feel shame. She should never have these feelings about a cutthroat pirate. Especially one that not only stole from her, but killed her bastard of a husband. Their lips parted only for a second before he dipped back down and kissed her again. This time, his tongue parted her lips and entered her mouth. He filled her completely. She heard a moan of desire and realized it came from her! Her thoughts were spiraling out of control. She dug her fingers into his shoulders and pushed him away.

  “What are you doing?” she cried. “You can’t kiss a nun like that! What is the matter with you?” She backed away from him, her eyes interlocked with his beautiful, bright blue orbs. His intense stare pulled her in, and she was unable to look away.

  “True, I can’t,” he told her. “But then again, you’re not a nun, are you?” He took another step forward, reaching out and ripping off her wimple, throwing it to the ground. Her long tresses spilled out around her shoulders.

  “I knew I’d seen you somewhere before, even if you denied it.”

  She continued to back away from him. He stalked her like a wildcat, slowly moving toward her. His bare chest was all muscle and sinew and his waist was slim, his legs long. She tried not to want him, but she couldn’t stop the feeling that lodged deep within her. Emmaline wanted this man more than she’d ever wanted anyone or anything in her entire life. She craved to feel his gentle caress, and taste the essence of his lips gliding across hers once again.

  “I – I told you who I am. My name is Sister . . . Emmaline.”

  “Drop the act, love. We both know you are Lady Emmaline de la Croix, the widow of the Frenchman I killed when I stole that painting.” His head jerked as he motioned toward the infamous painting.

  “Nay!” she cried. “That was who I used to be,” she told him. “But since my husband’s . . . murder . . . I’ve joined the convent back here in England. I am no longer the woman in the painting.”

  “Murder?” One side of his lips lifted in amusement and he blew air from his mouth. “I think you’ve got it wrong, my dear. The man came for me with his sword. I killed him in self-defense only.”

  When she took another step away from him, her back hit the wall. He continued to stalk her, making her heart beat faster. Her hand reached for the dagger she had tied to her leg, but then she remembered that she’d dropped it. Her eyes shot over to the floor beneath the painting. She could see the hilt of the dagger sticking out from under a trunk. She had to get it. It was her only protection.

  Breaking away from him, she ran to the dagger, diving to ground and scooping it up. When she felt his arms clasp around hers, she slashed out at him, but he moved quickly, knocking the blade from her hand.

  “Don’t think I’m going to fall for that again,” he ground out, pulling her to her feet. “Now, tell me, why are you here on my ship?”

  “You asked me to come with you, unless you’ve already forgotten,” she retorted. “You need me to steal some stupid treasure.”
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  “That bloody treasure is not stupid,” he said. “It’s my inheritance.”

  “Inheritance? Hah! I hear it was stolen from our king.”

  “True,” he said with a nod of his head. “However, I wasn’t the one to steal it. It was taken by my late father, and rightfully belongs to me and my brothers now.”

  “That’s ridiculous!” She struggled against his hold, but his hand clamped tightly around her arm. “Just because you or your family steal something, it doesn’t make it yours.” She couldn’t help looking at the painting when she said it.

  “That’s why you agreed to come on my ship,” he said with a low chuckle. “You’re after that painting, aren’t you?”

  “Nay, of course not. Why would I even want the horrid thing?”

  “Because, it embarrasses you, doesn’t it?” he asked. His hold loosened and he took a step closer. “Well, you don’t need to feel ashamed about your naked body. You’re beautiful,” he whispered, dipping down and kissing her again.

  “Cap’n?” The door burst open and in entered Ramble.

  Mardon quickly released Emmaline, making distance between them. “What is it?” he growled.

  “Cap’n?” Ramble looked at Emmaline and then back to Mardon. “Did I just see ye . . . kissin’ the nun?”

  “Nay. You must be mistaken.”

  “And why are ye half-naked?”

  “I’m getting dressed.” Mardon grabbed the first tunic he found and pulled it over his head. He looked over to see Emmaline hurrying across the room to get her wimple. She quickly pulled it over her silvery hair. “What the hell do you want, Ramble?”

  “I came to tell ye that Aaron spotted another ship from the lookout basket. He wanted me to tell ye. He’s got Stitch headin’ toward it. He said we’re goin’ to raid it.”

  “Another ship? What kind of ship?” Mardon jammed his feet into his boots. “Is it Nereus?”

  “Nay, there are no black sails. Aaron said he thinks the flags they fly are those of France. Should the crew get the grapplin’ hooks ready?”