When Keely reached the deck of the ship, she swung over its rail and began picking her way through the men toward the quarterdeck. Cannon sounded, filling the air with the thick, burning odor of gunpowder as men reloaded to fire again. A bit of sail came crashing down from above and Keely ducked as the huge piece of canvas rigging fell haphazardly to the deck.
"Prepare to board!" Keely heard Brock shout just ahead of her.
"Brock!" Keely cried out, running. "Brock?"
"Keely?"
Through a mist of salt spray and the cloud of blackpowder Brock made out the outline of Keely running toward him. His chest constricted unnaturally as his arms opened of their own accord.
Hitting his broad chest, Keely clutched Brock desperately, glorying in the feel of his arms wrapped tightly around her.
"You should have stayed on the shore where you were safe," he murmured into her hair. "What the hell was wrong with Tigiana, letting you go."
Keely lifted her cheek from Brock's chest, staring up into his remarkable ebony eyes. "It wasn't Tigiana's fault, it was mine." Brock smelled of gunpowder and the salt air, a heavenly masculine scent that made her quiver within.
He ran his hand through her thick hair. "You look like hell, Keely Bartholomew. Where's Tigiana?" He brushed his mouth against her honey lips again and again and for an instant no one existed but the two of them . . . locked in an eternal, bittersweet embrace.
Keely's lower lip trembled and her tongue darted out to savor the taste of him. "On the shore . . . I . . . I hit him."
"Hit him?" Brock covered her head with his hands as the ricochet of a gun sounded and wood splintered a few feet above their heads. "How hard?"
"He wouldn't let me come to you. I had to come and he didn't understand."
"Prepare to board!" Brock shouted to his men. Turning back to Keely, he kissed her hard on the mouth. "You have to go below." He pulled his pistol from his belt and pressed it into her hand. "Bar yourself up in my cabin. Open the door for no one but me. If anyone breaks through, shoot the bloody fool."
Keely nodded numbly.
"Go on! Hurry!" he ordered.
Already the first wave of gunners from the Tempest were leaping onto the pirate vessel, weapons drawn. The battle rattle clacked wildly as men rushed forward wielding boarding pikes, swords, and boat hooks for hand-to-hand combat. Screams filled the air as the experienced seamen clashed with the unorganized pirate crew.
Trembling, Keely clutched Brock's pistol to her breast, inhaling deeply. She knew Brock had ordered her below, but the idea of moving was too frightening. Besides, how could she retreat to the safety of his cabin while he stayed above, battling her captors? What if he should be wounded? Rationalizing her decision, Keely pressed her back to a wooden crate, holding the pistol with both hands as she watched the brutal fight.
Within half an hour the gunfire had nearly ceased and the crew aboard the Tempest were taking prisoners and lashing them on board the deck. A stubby little man with a patch over one eye escaped from the group of prisoners and came straight for Keely. Without hesitation she raised the pistol and pulled back the hammer.
The explosion of a pistol startled her and she watched the man fall lifeless at her feet.
"I thought I told you to get below," Brock chastised tersely. Taking the pistol from her trembling hands, he tucked it into his belt and lifted her off her feet with one motion.
"I'd have shot him if he'd taken another step closer," Keely told Brock shakily.
"Is this the same woman I married?" Brock kicked open the door to his cabin.
"Laura? Is she all right?" Keely asked as he lowered her to his rack.
"She's fine. Ruth found her a wet nurse the day she came home." He kissed her brow.
Keely stroked his bronze cheek with her palm, smearing the blue and red streaks of paint. With her hand, she guided his head down until his lips met hers. "I knew she was all right. I knew it in my heart."
"Stay here," he whispered, pulling away while he still had the resistance. "Wait for me."
Keely smiled, letting go of his hand. "I'll wait," she whispered.
The next thing Keely knew, Brock was shaking her gently. "Keely, wake up."
She lifted her heavy lids. "Brock." She could hear the swoosh of water as the Tempest moved upriver. "Is it over?" She wiped at her face with her blood-encrusted hand.
Brock caught her hand, opening her fingers to study her palm. "It's over, the Fanny is sinking where she rests. She wasn't worth salvaging. What happened here?" He pressed his lips to her injured palm.
"The oars, I guess. It didn't hurt at the time."
He smiled wryly. "I just sent a smallboat for Tigiana. This is quite embarrassing for him, you know."
She shrugged. "I didn't know what else to do."
Their gazes locked. "I thought," Brock said quietly, "that we'd row ashore and spend the night on the beach. We could both use a swim."
"I'd like that," she breathed. "Will it be all right . . . the ship I mean."
"Jameson can keep her as well as I can. It's only for the night. We'll set sail for Dover on the morning tide."
"Good. I want to hold Laura."
Brock brushed his lips against hers. "And hold her you will."
Chapter Twenty-one
Keely laughed, running down the bank of the river as she peeled off her clothes. "Come on," she shouted over her shoulder.
Brock followed, stepping over the bits of feminine clothing she'd left in a trail behind her. "Who is this mad woman?" he called, joining in her laughter. By the pale, golden light of the half moon, he watched her stop at the water's edge and remove the last remnant of her soiled clothing. The silky white shift caressed her shapely breasts and long lithe legs as it floated to the ground.
"Are you coming?" Keely beckoned. Already she was wading out into the cool river's water, the gentle waves lapping at her hips.
Brock stood on the shore, stripping off his linen shirt and tight buckskin breeches. He couldn't take his eyes from her lovely form as she cupped the water with her hands, letting it flow in rivulets over her shoulders and down into the valley between her breasts.
She smiled seductively, putting her arms out to him. Entranced, he entered the river and took her in his arms.
"Keely?" He pressed his lips to her brow, to her cheek, to her lips. "Are you mad, wench?" he teased. "What have these men done to you?"
"No harm came to me." She traced his lower lip with the tip of her tongue. "But I missed you. God, I missed you." She lifted her dark lashes, gazing up at him as she stroked his cheek.
Brock's brows furrowed. "This is the same woman I married last fall? This woman who hits Lenni Lenape warriors over the head with oars and seduces her husband on the beach. It can't be," he whispered.
She smiled. "It is. You just didn't know me." She ran her fingers through his thick black hair. "And maybe I didn't know me either," she added thoughtfully.
"Ahhh, Keely." He exhaled, pulling her against his chest so that she might rest her head on his shoulder. "I thought you'd left me. I thought you'd taken Laura and fled."
She shook her head, caressing his muscular shoulders with her hands. "I spoke out of anger; I could never leave you. But I thought you didn't want me. You told me to go. I thought you had what you wanted, Uncle Lloyd's money, an heir. You accused me of telling your silly secrets. I thought you wanted to get rid of me."
Brock sighed, lifting a wet hand to caress her cheek. "My words came of anger too, anger and fear. But want you to go? Hell no, I didn't want you to leave." He kissed her mouth, his hand sliding down her back to cup her bare backside. "You've become an obsession with me, cousin."
Keely's heartbeat quickened as their breaths mingled. Already there was a burning inside her, a burning that rose from deep within her to radiate through every limb of her trembling body.
"I think of you night and day," he went on. "I can't sleep, I can't reason." His lips were warm against hers, warm and feverishly dema
nding. She couldn't breathe as they twisted their tongues in a dance of desire, yet she couldn't pull away.
"Let me wash you," he murmured in her ear. "Let me rinse away their filth."
Keely's eyes drifted shut as he dribbled the cool river water over her breasts and down her arms. Letting her feet lift from the bottom, she drifted in Brock's arms, seeming to float as his hand caressed her flesh, erasing all memory of the fear and humiliation of the past few days.
"I was afraid you wouldn't come," she whispered. Brock's hand brushed over her stomach and instinctively she lifted her hips. "I was afraid I'd never see you or Laura again."
"That's nonsense," he whispered as he lowered his body in the water. "You are my wife. Of course I came."
Keely half sat up in surprise as his lips closed over her nipple. "Mmmm," she sighed. "I've missed this too." With one hand looped around his neck, she brushed at his hair with the other.
Tugging at her nipple with his teeth, Brock cradled Keely in his arms, glorying in the scent of her, in the sound of her labored breathing. Reaching down with a hand, he scooped a bit of sand from the river bottom and dropped it onto her belly, rubbing it gently in a circular motion.
Keely's eyes flew open. "What are you doing?"
"It's the way my father's people wash," he told her. "The clean sand brushes away the dirt from your skin."
Keely's stomach tingled where he had rubbed the slightly abrasive sand. "It feels nice," she answered. She turned her head, trying to make out the dim outline of the Tempest downriver from them. "They can't see us from the ship, can they?"
"A little late to be worried," he teased, scooping up another handful of sand. "But no, they can't see us from this far off. I made certain of it."
Arching her spine, Keely let her head fall back into the water, still floating in Brock's arms. "This is wonderful. It's been days since I felt so clean."
He laughed, kissing her mouth then nibbling at her damp neck. "You're easy to please . . ."
Keely lowered her feet until they touched bottom and she stood up, encircling his neck with her arms. "Not as easy as you think," she whispered huskily. Her entire body was hot and tingling from the sand he had brushed over her flesh. She pushed her leg between his, rubbing against the distinctive male hardness of his loins.
Brock groaned, easing onto his back and pulling Keely down on top of him.
"You're going to drown us," she laughed, kissing his bare chest.
"What a glorious way to go." He ran his fingers through his hair, rinsing it thoroughly. "And now," he told her, "it's time we go ashore."
Hand in hand, Brock and Keely waded from the river and walked up the grassy bank. Just beyond the bank, in a bluff of trees, a small fire blazed. Near the fire a quilted comforter was spread out invitingly.
Without a word the two walked to the blanket and stretched out beside each other.
Brock ran his hand over Keely's silky, damp flesh, dropping brief, fleeting kisses over her torso. The flames from the fire glowed red, illuminating them in soft shadows of light and dark.
Moaning softly as Keely stroked his inner thighs, Brock nibbled at the peak of her breast and moved lower. Leaving a burning trail of desire behind, he forged a path to the core of her womanhood. Keely's fingers grew tangled in Brock's hair as she lifted her hips, in awe of the intensity of her own pleasure. A sweet aching coursed through her veins, filling her to overflowing with a throbbing, incandescent heat.
"Brock," she murmured huskily. "Brock . . ."
Stretching out beside Keely, Brock caught her by the waist and lifted her over him. Heavy-lidded with passion, she lowered herself onto his manhood, crying out in ecstasy as flesh met flesh.
Taking his hands in hers, Keely opened her eyes to stare down at him as she moved slowly, stroking him with her velvety softness. Brock groaned, murmuring her name again and again, lifting his hips to match her rhythm. Lowering her mouth to his, she kissed him gently, her lips lingering over his as she began to move faster.
High and higher the two spiraled as one, locked in an impassioned embrace that seemed eternal. Then suddenly Keely cried out in abandon, and against his will, Brock rose in fulfillment, sighing as he drifted to earth.
Keely flattened herself over him, still holding the throbbing evidence of his masculinity within her. Smiling dreamily, she lifted her heavy eyelids and kissed his dark brow. "No one has ever made me feel like you do. No one ever could."
Brock stroked her damp hair. "I was once warned of witches disguised as English ladies," he murmured. "You've caught me in your spell and I've no wish to escape."
Keely smiled, resting her head on his broad shoulder. She liked the feeling of him still within her, warm and comforting. "A spell." She laughed, snuggling against him. "You sound like Aunt Owen."
Brock sighed, stroking her head. "Christ, I love you, Keely."
She lifted her. head in surprise. "What?" she breathed.
"I said I love you."
"You love me?" she asked in disbelief.
He nodded, twirling a bit of her auburn hair around his finger. "I think I've loved you since the first day I laid eyes on you, there on board the Tempest. I just couldn't admit it, not to you, not even to myself."
She laughed, nearly hysterical with emotion. "I don't believe you! I thought you hated me. I was afraid to love you. I was afraid to tell you that I had fallen in love with you."
He kissed the corner of her mouth. "We've been fools, haven't we—with it all."
She smiled down at him, still in shock at his revelation. "I was so certain our marriage would never work. . . . Maybe I was afraid it would."
Brock laughed, his eyes drifting shut, and Keely laid her head down on him again. The fire was warm on her backside and her thighs tingled as she felt his manhood growing within her.
"I can't believe it," she repeated. "You love me." She moved slightly, rubbing against him, and he groaned. "Say it again," she whispered. "Tell me you love me, Brock."
"I love you," he answered. ' With one swift motion he flipped her over onto her back, still lodged deep within her. "I'll love you 'til the end of time and then beyond."
"Show me," she breathed, looping her arms around his neck. "Please show me again . . ."
Later, Keely rested on her side in Brock's arms, tired but content from their lovemaking. She watched the small campfire spit and sputter as it grew smaller, casting eerie fingers of light over their prone bodies. Brock lay with his eyes closed, his arms encircled around Keely's waist. His breath rose and fell so easily that she wasn't certain if he was asleep or awake.
"Brock," she whispered hesitantly.
"Mmmm?" He toyed with her father's amulet that hung between her breasts.
"I have to tell you something."
"You're a Tory spy and you're about to murder me . . ."
She elbowed him sharply. "Brock, that's not funny!"
"Ouch!" He grabbed his side, rolling onto his back. "You've got sharp elbows, woman!"
She rolled over to face him. "I can't believe you'd say that after what people have accused me of doing."
Brock's face sobered. "I'm sorry. You're right, it isn't funny. Now what is it you have to tell me?" He ran a finger down the slope of her breast to tease her nipple.
She pushed his hand away. "It's a serious matter, Brock!"
Sighing, he rolled onto his back, tucking his hands beneath his head. "Tell me then, cousin."
She took a deep breath. "It's Lucy."
"Lucy?"
"I saw her with an English soldier. They seem pretty familiar with each other."
Brock frowned. "You think perhaps she's the one . . ."
"T think we'd he foolish not to consider the possibility." Keely rested her head on her hand, bringing her face only inches from his. "You say that someone is betraying you, and I swear to you it's not me, Brock."
He took her hand, pressing his lips to it. "I know."
"You know? But you said . . ."
&
nbsp; "I wasn't thinking clearly. I listened to others instead of listening to my heart. I know you'd never betray me." He smoothed her gloriously disheveled hair, entranced by its red hue in the firelight.
"So what do we do now? I could find out nothing except that his name is Georgie and she's seeing him secretly. You know she hears everything that's said in the house, meant for her ears or not. What if she's been leaking information to your enemies?"
Brock shook his head. "I can't believe I could ever have said enough in the house that Lucy could have known what the informer knows."
"But the meetings in your study, the things Micah's said to me . . ."
Brock's eyes narrowed. "Micah?" Involuntarily, he stiffened. "What's Micah said?"
Keely wet her lips. She didn't want to get Micah in trouble, and she knew he wasn't supposed to be telling her the things he had. "Noth—nothing important," she said, looking away. "Don't you think the men who kidnapped me have something to do with the informant? They knew what you were carrying in your hold and where you'd been. They told me someone close to you was passing information to them."
Brock didn't miss Keely's hasty change of subject but he pretended not to notice. "Perhaps, but I tend to think not. This bunch was too unorganized to be the major force behind our troubles. I may be able to get something out of one of the crew members, but that Elijah, he'd let me kill him before he talked."
Keely sighed, laying her head down on Brock's chest. Chilled by the night air, she pulled over them a corner of the blanket they rested on. "I'll do anything I can to help you, if you'll just trust me," she said quietly.
Brock stroked her head, running his fingers through her hair. "Go to sleep now and in the morning we'll start for home."
"Home to Laura," Keely whispered.
Brock's eyes drifted shut. "I still can't believe she's safe. How did the little thing survive in the bottom of the boat? How long was she there?" he wondered aloud.
Keely lifted her head in confusion. "Alone? Alone where? What boat are you talking about?"
Brock opened his eyes. "The one she was set adrift in."
"What are you talking about?" Her throat constricted with fear. "The man Elijah told me she'd been sent home with the ransom note. You said she was safe at home."
The Ruffian and the Rose Page 23