by Tamara Gill
Some of the men had drawn their own weapons and shook them in the air. If they attacked, what would she do? Alone, she’d never survive a united front.
“Stand down, men. This isn’t your fight.” Adrian’s order brooked no argument. “This is between Miss Covington and me. I will take care of it.”
As one company the onlookers expanded the circle and increased the room to maneuver.
Relief shuddered through her. At least in this she and the captain were of one mind. She closed her thoughts to everyone except the man before her. Unarmed, all he could do was dodge her thrusts, deflect them the best he could. Sarah slashed with the dagger, striking twice before once again skipping away. Thin scratches on each of his forearms reddened with blood.
He hadn’t kept his position as captain for so many years by idle living. His defensive movements were as lithe as a cat’s and just as wily. Muscles rippled in his arms and worked in his chest with each dodge and sidestep.
She readjusted her fingers around the hilt then attacked again, this time with enough force to nick the skin at his ribs. A scarlet ribbon of blood colored his left side. Breathing hard, Sarah thrilled at his astonished expression. Was he so arrogant to think no one could draw blood on him? “Never underestimate me, Captain Westerbrooke.” She tensed, ready to spring again. “My days of kowtowing to overbearing males are over.”
“Aye, and never assume you have the upper hand in any fight with me, Miss Covington. You will bend to my dictates. You have no choice.” Adrian rushed at her. He caught her around the middle, pinning her arms to her sides.
A cheer went up from the assembled men.
Sarah fought to free her hand, desperate to sink the blade into his gut, but he slammed her against the mast with enough force to drive the air from her lungs. She gasped for breath, still struggling in his hold. “Fight fair.” At least let me have a chance.
But then, if he gave her an advantage, the victory would be sour. She wanted the win on her own merits.
He put his face close to hers, so close the odor of sweat and grimy hair clogged her nostrils. The steel-like strength in his arms around her left her reeling. “From your own admission, pirates don’t do anything with fairness.” He relaxed his grip enough that she slumped away from the mast.
She made certain to cower in order to look weak and pathetic. “Let’s go again.” The request lost some of its oomph in the wheeze that accompanied it.
The crew snickered. A few men uttered cat-calls or bandied slurs regarding her character.
Adrian snarled and glanced at the lot of them. “Back to your posts or you’ll get lashes!”
As the crew scattered, Sarah took advantage of the lull. She straightened and jabbed with the dagger, but Adrian must have anticipated her intent. He encircled her wrist, moved behind her and twisted her arm. Pain shot up that appendage and flowed through her shoulder and neck. She dropped the blade as her fingers went numb. The weapon clattered to the deck. Adrian kicked it away. While holding her arm behind her back, he fisted his free hand into her hair and shoved her in front of him toward the stairs.
No, it cannot end like this. “Let me go. Let me fight with honor.”
“You gave up your right to honor the moment you drew a blade on me.” He yanked on her tresses. “Now, you’ll have to face the consequences.”
Pain screamed along her scalp. Tears pricked her eyes. She had no choice but to keep pace with him, as best as her limp would allow. He didn’t slow his stride; she refused to ask him to. Once on the officers’ deck, he thrust her ahead, past the cabins until they reached his. He pushed her over the threshold. She stumbled but remained upright by sheer force of will. Exhaustion and disappointment left her weak and trembling. As she pivoted, Adrian slammed the door so hard every window in the cabin rattled.
When he turned to look at her, anger twisted his face into a grotesque mask. “It is high time you become acclimated to me and to this ship. This is your new life, and no amount of fighting your fate or your skewed idea of judgment will change that fact.”
“No.” For the first time since challenging him on deck, shivers of fear danced over her skin. I’ve pushed too hard. The last time she’d challenged the male authority in her life had led to being locked in a cupboard by the pastor who’d taken over her father’s ministry. He left her there until she repented her sins against him. Now, Sarah backed away from nearly six feet of enraged pirate and his incensed fury. Perhaps she should have bided her time better, planned to kill him while he slept, instead of attempting to fight him as the rush of escape raced through his blood. What would he do now?
“Oh, yes.” He followed her retreat. “On this ship, I am your lord and master. Only by my order and my hand do you get to continue to live. I tell you what to eat, what to wear and how to spend your time. Do you understand?”
Her control broke. For her whole life she’d been under the thumb of her father and later, her fiancé. Once they’d died, the man who’d taken over her father’s commission attempted to bully her as did the few relations who’d deigned to acknowledge her. She refused to go through another minute with more of the same. Sarah cast a frantic glance around the cabin. There had to be a weapon, or something she could use as one. With her heart in her throat, she darted to the bureau and grabbed a dagger similar to the one she’d stolen from the constable half-hidden under a folded piece of parchment. She held it out in front of her.
“Give me the blade. I do not wish to harm you, but I will if further provoked.” Adrian held out a hand, clearly expecting her to do his bidding.
I’m the one who has been provoked. She released the clasp that held her cloak closed. With a shrug, the garment slipped to the floor. It had become too cumbersome for free movement. “I do not wish to be hauled around by my hair.” Dividing the length over both shoulders, she held a portion in her left hand and with her right she worked the dagger through it until the blade came free. Meeting his gaze, she did the same to the second portion. Discarded black strands littered the floor and her cloak like spilled ink.
“I command my life, not you. My hair. My body. My decision. Do you understand?” As preliminary victory surged through her veins, she stepped forward and jammed the tip of the dagger into the wooden table, as much to make a point as to hide the shaking in her hands.
“Why the hell must you be so difficult?” With a fury she’d had never witnessed from another person, Adrian yanked the blade from the table, put it between his lips and closed the distance between her and him.
When he grasped her shoulders in a crushing grip and threw her bodily onto the bed, the low-grade fear she’d known upon entering the cabin burst into full-blown terror. She might have admired his form at the gallows, speculated what it would feel like being intimate with such a man, but faced with the very real possibility of having to endure relations by force brought every other act of intimidation she’d experienced into the forefront of her mind. “You wouldn’t.” She squirmed in an attempt to flee, but he fisted a hand in the bodice of her dress.
Long seconds ticked by. His furious gaze bore into hers, his breathing as labored as her own. He hovered on one edge of humanity while she clung to the other. She stilled her struggle, wondering with a sick curiosity what he would do, and whether it really would be a fate worse than death.
Adrian removed the dagger from between his lips. “Personally, I have never raped a woman. They come willingly enough to my bed. I don’t intend to do so now, but you will learn the lesson of my dominance just the same.”
No sooner had she relaxed a fraction than the bite of the blade ripped through the front of her gown from neck to naval. Knots twisted in her stomach. Her skin prickled. Sarah held his gaze as her heart beat hard.
She renewed her fight for freedom, kicking and flailing her arms, but the damage had been done. He tossed the dagger away. It clattered into a corner. She struggled, unwilling to wait for her fate. He appeared unconcerned. The pirate tore through the slit the blade had made in the fabric.
With one mighty yank, her dress, petticoat, stays and shift gave way before his strength. A rush of cold air glided over her bare skin, now vulnerable to his sight.
He flicked a glance down her body, lingering over her breasts before moving lower in a slow, deliberate perusal. Sarah swallowed around the lump in her throat and clutched the ripped clothing to her chest. Not that it helped. He’d seen her naked. No lust filled his gaze, no pleasure, no interest. Instead, only a gaping disgust darkened his eyes as he glanced at her lower limbs.
Endless seconds passed, marked only by his frown and another lingering look at her sex. Quickly, she clamped her thighs together. He turned abruptly away and strode to the door. “You may think you command your body and your life, but know this; if you want clothes, if you want food or necessities of any kind, and if you want leave to walk the ship or take any exercise, you will beg me for them.”
Sarah shook her head. She couldn’t force words into her dry throat.
The pirate continued as if he did this sort of thing all the time. Perhaps he did. “I control your fate, your happiness, your very reason for existing. No one receives preferential treatment on this ship. You are no different. It would behoove you to realize that sooner than later.”
As the door slammed shut, Sarah closed her eyes. The lock clicked and angry voices were exchanged outside. She levered herself up on an elbow and focused on the door. A bulky shadow darkened the lace-curtained panel. Her stomach clenched. He’d posted a guard.
Sinking back into the bedding, she pulled the torn remnants of her clothing around her in an effort to hide her body as best she could. The thought of retrieving her cloak from the floor exhausted her. Part of her rejoiced that he hadn’t raped her, yet a tiny part mourned because he hadn’t bothered to contain his revulsion while he’d surveyed her nakedness, in particular the scars that marred her right leg. Even at sea, far removed from civilized society, she couldn’t avoid the sting of rejection based on long-ago injuries.
It was humbling, indeed, to know that to a pirate, who measured everything in value, she held no worth. Damaged, not even good enough to satisfy base urges in the heat of emotion. Her humiliation complete, she gave into the tears she’d wanted to shed since her father’s murder. It seemed pride did go before a fall. Fat drops rolled down her cheeks and into her butchered hair.
What will become of me now?
*****
Hours passed in a tumultuous mix of fragmented thoughts, fitful sleep and tortured worries. The cabin heated with the afternoon sun. The sweet smell of exotic spices filled the air from a source she couldn’t identify. Sarah opened the few windows in the hopes of relief, but the wind wasn’t blowing in their direction and the air stagnated. She’d tapped at the door and implored the guard—a huge, hulking fellow’s shadow that might have belonged to Brax—to let her out. He gave her a gruff reply that only the captain could order him to move, and Captain Westerbrooke wasn’t within ear shot at the moment.
With no other recourse, she turned her attention to her torn clothing. Ripped beyond hope of immediate repair, she shed the damaged garments and left them in a pile near her cut hair. The cloak she retrieved and tossed on the bed. At least it hadn’t been damaged. It felt strange to stand naked in unfamiliar surroundings, yet in a weird, freeing way, she supposed it was symbolic. Her clothes were the last thing she’d carried here from her past. Now she’d been forced to remove them in order to step into something new. She rooted through the drawers of the bureau. Finding no female clothes, she selected a soft muslin shirt then pulled it over her head. The faint scent of shaving soap and citrus teased her nose. It was his shirt, he owned it, and now he essentially owned her. She forced the thought away and concentrated on the mundane. How did they do laundry on the ship, and even more curious, what did the men use for a lavatory?
Her musings returned to her captor. Regardless of the man the shirt belonged to, it brought a small amount of comfort to know, beneath his pirate façade, he was merely human and flawed like she was, overwrought by emotions with no outlet. Behind his captain persona, he had a history that had shaped him.
Not that it mattered. He’d appeared haunted, chased by demons she doubted she’d ever understand. At this point, she didn’t know if she wanted to try. The likelihood of her surviving two days on the ship seemed slim. Surely he’d kill her or toss her into the sea from her open defiance in front of his crew. Even a child would have known not to antagonize the pirate, but her quest for revenge had blinded her common sense. Now her stupidity could very well be her executioner. Bile rose in her throat. Perhaps, to ensure her continued existence, she should resign herself to the fact she did reside on the Lady Catherine for the foreseeable future, at best a prisoner, at worst… well, she refused to indulge her imagination or fears.
This is my life. If I embrace it with open arms, will that make a difference to him?
She hadn’t thought beyond what would happen had she been successful killing Adrian at the gallows. Fate had apparently stepped in and given her this twist, but at what cost? For what purpose?
And what sort of woman would she need to be in order to survive the new order?
*****
The scrape of the door against its frame as well as a low murmur of voices tugged Sarah from slumber. Heavy purple shadows hugged the corners of the cabin and clung to the walls and furniture. A slightly cool breeze wafted through the open windows. She rolled onto her side, facing away from the door while the ship gently pitched. She had no desire to talk to him, at least not at the moment, not until she’d definitively made up her mind. Perhaps if she remained still, he would leave her alone.
“There is no need for you to pretend sleep. I know you aren’t.” Adrian’s familiar deep voice reverberated through the gloom. A match flared. Flickering candlelight sent abstract shapes dancing over the walls as he lit the wick. “In case you’re interested, it is just after midnight. Since I’ve finished my shift, I wanted to see how you fared.” The sound of rustling clothing and water splashing followed his statement.
Sarah bit her bottom lip. He said nothing more. Only when the splashing increased to the strength of being poured did she change position and stare into the dim room.
Heat, far removed from the tropical variety, swirled through her body. Adrian, completely nude, stood at the basin with his back to her. He washed his hair, thoroughly lathering it with a harsh-smelling soap reminiscent of tar before rinsing with water from the pitcher. When the basin filled, he emptied its contents back into the pitcher and began again.
She raked her gaze over his form. Tanned skin all the way to the waist spoke of a penchant for working in the sun as did the powerful muscles in his arms and back. She easily imagined him toiling alongside the lesser crewmen, and knew what that corded power felt like as she’d experienced it on deck. A few white scars crossed the smooth skin. Where had he gotten them? In fights with other pirates, or locked in a struggle for his life at the hands of various authorities? Her perusal continued lower to a narrow waist, lean hips, and thighs with nary an ounce of fat, and legs that sported muscles to match his upper parts.
She stifled a sigh of appreciation while a curl of warmth unfurled in her belly. His bare rear end alone could make grown women weep. Never allowed to gaze upon a naked male body—or even one in less clothes than shirtsleeves at her leisure—Sarah quite enjoyed the view. Captain Westerbrooke put that music teacher to shame. Adrian was a man in every rugged sense of the word, and he exuded something charismatic she longed to explore despite her circumstances. She continued to bask in his glory even as her father’s recriminations rang in her head.
“Proper women, and ladies of the church, should never look directly at a naked man for fear of God’s wrath.”
She shook her head and pushed the thought to the back of her mind. How ridiculous. That was her past. Adrian was her future, though how she didn’t know.
“There is something about a proper washing that is good for the soul.” A groan of
pure pleasure emanated from him.
Sarah didn’t answer. She couldn’t, not when his form teased her every sense and commanded her attention.
Tingles trickled into her nether regions. She licked her lips, her mouth suddenly dry. His presence took over the cabin and seeped into her pores. It must have been terrible being incarcerated. She couldn’t imagine what the jail must have been like for such a vital, intense man as him. Yet he’d survived that as well as the hangman’s noose. Perhaps the burly man who’d hauled her aboard had been correct when he spoke of Adrian’s magical powers. He seemed to possess those in abundance as well as otherworldly luck.
Or maybe it was the sheer force of his will that had preserved him.
“Are you quite finished, or would you prefer to continue your admiration?”
“I…” She gasped and glanced at the wall behind him. Warmth sank into her cheeks as her gaze careened into his by way of an oval mirror. He’d seen her ogling him. “I beg your pardon.” What did one say when they were outed for spying on what should have been a private moment?
Finished with his hair, he began to cleanse his body, using a cloth and a different block of soap, this one faintly scented with sandalwood and citrus. He stretched in long leisurely movements that showcased every grouping of muscles in his back and legs. “How have you kept yourself while I was on shift? We did not exactly part on amicable terms earlier.” No trace of anger lingered in his voice or his countenance. In fact, he sounded quite pleasant, as if he conversed in a drawing room of a respectable home.
Her mouth worked but no words came out as he soaped his member at the apex of his thighs. A clump of lather slid down the inside of a powerful thigh, clinging to his leg the farther south it went. Heat sailed into her cheeks. She wanted to stop the suds merely to touch his flesh. Was his front as spectacular as his backside? What would his skin feel like?
“Ah, tongue tied. Perhaps I can loosen it for you by letting you look your fill.”