A Pirate's Ruse

by Camille Oster

  Their swords clashed, the noise of it absorbed by the jungle around them. She could defend herself, but she wasn't very skilled at striking, particularly not creative strikes designed to confuse and misguide the opponent, work through their defenses. Her arm was getting tired, and he was wearing her down, advancing to her retreat.

  Knocking her sword hard, she barely held onto it. His cuts were getting closer to her body before she managed to block or divert them. It was clear she was losing this fight. Unable to shift out of the defensive position, her gaze moved to his lips and he instantly felt energy flow between them. In an instant, she changed the game, diverting his attention away, instilling a compelling notion she wanted something else from him. Heady thoughts flowed into his mind, but he knew it was a distraction technique, and it worked—a technique that only worked for women.

  "Don't do that," he said darkly. "Particularly if you can't carry it through." He lunged for her as she flushed, taking the risk of her turning the point of her sword into him, and wrapped his arm around her sword arm, pinning it to his side. "But if you want to take it there, I am happy to comply."

  Leaning in, he forced a bruising kiss on her mouth—intended as punishment, if nothing more. She had placed the suggestion in his mind; she could bear the consequences. But he was getting lost in the sweetness of it, which was always the threat—the instinct she had tried to manipulate for her own advantage.

  He felt hard steel at his throat and let her go. Clever. She had shifted her sword to her left hand behind her back and now brought the tip to his throat while he was distracted. He had to watch that propensity. He took a step back when she increased pressure, feeling the sharp blade at the side of his neck. Smiling, he knew that even aware of what she was doing, he had been caught by her trap.

  Her eyes were dark and bottomless as she breathed heavily. He was at her mercy and she was thinking through what to do. He could practically see her mind churning the situation over. "There is just one thing in this game you probably haven't considered."

  "What?" she said, her voice breathy with exertion. The timbre of it reminded him of the thoughts that has been crawling through his mind a minute ago, the promise he'd seen in her eyes the moment she tried to distract his advance. He felt himself tightening, feeling excitement course through his body. "You have to be prepared to cut."

  He stepped forward and the pressure of the blade on his neck grew. Concern filled her eyes again and he took another step toward her. The sword gave. She couldn't do it—as he expected. He placed his hands on either side of her head on the rock wall behind her, the tip of her impotent sword still at his throat, but he knew she couldn't do it. It was a big thing to kill someone, and it required determined commitment, particularly when you had someone at your mercy. Not even he could readily kill someone subjugated. It required cold-heartedness beyond his capabilities, although he knew plenty of men who could. Killing in battle was easier, being a natural consequence of fighting. You fought to subdue; killing was often just a side effect.

  They were close now; he could feel her heavy breath on his neck. Now she was afraid, because she realized she had no defense against him. He stepped closer still. They were touching, the peaks of her breasts to his chest. "About that clue," he said.

  She swallowed and blinked, frantically trying to think of a course of action. Didn't she realize he had her now?

  He stayed there, not advancing or retreating, just intimidating. Stepping wide, he brought himself lower, in line with her, and she avoided his gaze. "I must get that clue out of you somehow," he said softly in a way he knew was probably more menacing.

  She pressed her lips together, still intent on denying him, making him smile at her intention to thwart him. It sent a thrill through him. Fighting her had probably been the most exhilarating thing he'd done in a long time. Chasing down ships was exciting, but this was more personal somehow, feeding into a different part of him. "I could torture you."

  Her eyes snapped to him and flashed with concern. She swallowed again and he reached his hand down, running his thumb down the front of her throat, feeling her pulse, which was wild against the skin of his palm. "But then you promised something much more interesting before, didn't you?" Her head rose in defiance, but she was deeply worried. Good. "That plan certainly backfired, didn't it?"

  Reaching forward, he ran his lips down her cheek toward her mouth. "Give me the clue and I'll leave you alone." His lips grazed her as he spoke and he felt her breasts press against his chest, sending the most delicious sensations coursing through him.

  "You would rape me?"

  "I am a pirate. It more or less comes part of the job." That wasn't strictly true. Many took their pleasures as they saw fit, to their hearts’ content, but he didn't normally prefer it as a method of subjugation. Women were easy to get and more fun when they were panting with want. It certainly wasn't a method of intimidation he used, except right now, with her, when this might be the most erotic thing he'd ever experienced. He was sure that indicated that he was a very bad man, but he already knew that. Please don't stop defying me, he begged silently, gliding his lips closer to her mouth, closing over her sweet lips. Pleasure flooded his brain and he knew he wanted her, had wanted her for some time. She yielded and his hope soared. Although this was a scenario that spelled otherwise, he really wanted her to give into this, to want this.

  She tore her head away and cleared her throat. He closed his eyes, disappointment spearing through him. "It said," she started, her voice barely louder than a whisper, "when the moon is large, the sea reaches for the sky." He closed his eyes in consternation, letting his forehead sink down on her shoulder. He'd really wanted her to stay with him, let this unfold. He was giving her every opportunity to let herself, but she firmly rejected him, giving him the clue to get away from him. He considered taking what he wanted, but as opposed to what he'd stated, he wasn't actually prepared to rape her.

  Christian stepped back and turned away, hiding how ready his body was to take this in a completely different direction. "What is that supposed to mean?" he said, his voice strained, still aching with disappointment and painful, unspent need.

  "I'm not helping you to figure it out," she stated and bent to pick up her sword. She might as well leave it there; they both knew she wasn't prepared to use it.

  Placing his hand on a tree, he let his head drop, dwelling on how much he had wanted this to go another way. He heard branches crack as she walked away. He shouldn't let her go, but he wasn't entirely sure he could keep his word and leave her be if he didn't let her walk away.

  * * *

  Chapter 24:

  * * *

  Clara kept walking, making her way deep into the jungle, tears stinging her eyes. She felt like an utter failure. She'd given the clue for nothing more than a mere kiss. She'd had him, her sword at his throat and couldn't do anything. He'd just kept coming, knowing she was unable to hurt him. If nothing else, this cleared it up nicely that she was not cut out for this, for piracy. And her attempt to distract him had backfired monumentally. The worst was that he’d known exactly what she'd done, could read her like a book. Maybe she just had to concede that he was better at this than her.

  The skin of her neck still burned with his touch, her lips were swollen, and now her eyes were red with tears for her own failure.

  Finding a rock, she sat down and brought her knees up, placing her head on them, feeling utterly sorry for herself. She had failed and had absolutely no idea what this clue meant. For all she knew, he was probably on his way to the third clue right now.

  To make everything worse, a great clap of thunder reverberated over the island and it was only a few moments before raindrops hit the jungle canopy above her. Groaning, she hid her face to her knees, grazing a raw scrape to top it all off. She'd left her boots back on the beach, but she wasn't prepared to go back just now.

  The canopy above her held the rain off her for a while, but before long, fat drops fell on her head and should
ers. Dusk was settling and it would shortly be completely dark. With this rain, there would be no moon and she would be stuck in the jungle at night with God knows what creatures. Her thoughts turned to the church, which would provide shelter—but he would be there.

  The alternative was to stay in the pitch-black jungle getting soaked. A cracking noise sounded behind her and she jumped, half expecting Christian to jump out of the darkness and get her—which was ridiculous as he had what he wanted from her. She posed no threat now, particularly as she had no notion of what this clue referred to, but then he didn't know that.

  Curling herself up tighter, she tried to ignore the jungle around her. Maybe the church was better than this, even with the pushy, awful pirate lurking nearby. He had, after all, let her go when he’d had what he wanted. Perhaps he had absolutely no interest in her now.

  Her stomach growled with hunger, but she still couldn't get herself to make a decision. Her hair and shoulders were now soaked and she would be stuck, lost in this jungle unless she moved. Water started running down her nose and there was no escaping the pervasive wetness.

  The light was fading to nothing by the time she reached the beach and she tried searching for her boots, but it had grown too dark. She was as soaked as if she'd emerged from the sea and she wasn't entirely sure how far away she was from the settlement. She would probably walk right past it in the dark, but she had nowhere else to go.

  After trudging down the beach a while, the faintest light shone through the trees. Christian must have a fire somewhere. As she got closer, she saw that the light came from inside the church. Even he preferred the inside of a church on a wet night. It was a miracle he didn't burst into flames entering it. Maybe it was him burning, she hoped, feeling slightly cheered by the thought.

  Walking around the building, she entered the vestry he had dragged her out of just the day before. It seemed like an eternity ago. It was completely quiet inside the church, except for the crackling of the fire. Technically, she could find some other place to hide, but it was really dark and she wanted both the light and the fire. Confronting him, there was always the risk he would tie her up again, but for some reason, she didn't think he would—at least not until morning. Maybe it was a little irrational being here, but she was here now and it was so lovely to be out of the rain, even if otherwise she felt utterly lost. He would probably rub her defeat into her wounds, but she expected nothing less with him.

  "Look who the cat dragged in," he said quietly. A fire burned on the stone floor, close to the altar where the most structurally sound part of the building was. Further down, the roof was broken by a large tree growing through the middle of the church.

  She didn't say anything, just stood in the doorway, ready to run if he so much as moved from where he was lying on one of the pew benches next to the fire. Unlike her, he was completely dry, whereas water dripped around her feet, making dark spots in the sand.

  "Must be afraid of the dark if you are willing to take your chances with me."

  "You have what you wanted from me," she said through a strained throat. It hurt to admit that he'd bested her. He gave a small huff and looked up at the ceiling. "Besides, I have no idea what the clue means. I'm not even that good at reading; I could have got the clue wrong."

  A growl came out of his throat. "You could have got it wrong? And then you burned it so we'll never know what it actually said? Do you want to spend all eternity here with me?"

  "I'm pretty sure I have it right," she defended herself. She had read it close to fifteen times, ensuring she had each word correct. Now that she was out of the rain and away from the dark jungle, her exhaustion bit hard. Her legs turned soft and her knees threatened to give. Taking a few more steps, she lay down on the stone floor on the other side of the fire. It felt so nice just to lie down.

  Christian turned to his side toward her, but he didn't get up. She wasn't sure she could muster the energy if he did. Through her exhaustion, she heard him more than saw him. He said little else, but she felt his eyes on her as she drifted off. Nothing could entice her to open her eyes at the moment.

  She dreamt of food and a strange shadow chasing her. She was afraid of it, but also very curious to discover what it was. It was like it was a threat, but might not be if she gave it a chance. It was gaining on her and she felt like she couldn't breathe, waking her from her dream with a start. For a moment, she didn't know where she was, feeling stiff from sleeping on a stone floor.

  The fire was cold and she sat up, remembering that she had come here, seeking shelter—with him. Turning around, she searched for him, but the place was empty. Maybe he'd figured out the clue. She looked out the window, seeing that it was still raining heavily outside.

  Her clothes were stiff with sand, having dried during the night. She looked around, spotting his shirt lying over the back of a pew. Wherever he was, he was without a shirt. A noise stole her attention and she saw him coming in, holding her spear with an impaled fish dangling off it. If she wasn't so hungry she'd be chiding herself again for him being able to do something she had failed to. Instead thinking that she really was prepared to kill him if he wasn't going to share his catch. She was absolutely starving, shaking with hunger.

  As she watched, he grabbed the shirt off the pew and drew it over his head, donning it over his wet body. The material stuck to his form in places, softening and becoming transparent around his shoulders and chest. He grabbed some dry wood from a pile farther away and snapped pieces for the fire.

  "I have a grinder," she said, pulling the contraption out of her pocket.

  "You are full of surprises," he said, taking it from her. His warm fingers touched hers and she blushed, remembering him touching her the night before—in threat. For being a threat it had been incredibly soft, but just as intimidating. His strength was beyond doubt—she had been unable to compete with it, but it was softness that had undone her—scared her beyond sense.

  He lit the fire and built a structure for the fish. The smell of it was starting to fill the space and Clara's stomach ached with need. She tried to distract herself by looking outside. Gone was the beating sun and soft breezes. The skies were still dark and gray. It wasn't cold exactly, but wetness still chilled.

  "In the Caribbean it can rain for days," he said, his voice sounding distant as he focused on the fish. Clara felt a sense of dread spread across her, thinking she would be stuck here for days, in his company. He was dangerous, but she had still sought him out, for reasons she couldn't entirely fathom. She had been scared of the dark, but again, the only threat to her on this island was the man in front of her.

  The fish was ready and he broke a piece off, lifting it to his mouth. "Uhmm," he said, enjoying it. Clara's mouth was salivating watching him. "You want some?"

  Of course she did, but she was guarded. "Depends on the price."

  He smiled. It was slightly uneven, revealing well-ordered white teeth. "I'll take your grinder."

  "I can't start a fire like you do."

  "Guess you'll go hungry then." His eyes came up to meet hers, dark pools that seemed to draw her in. There was amusement in them.

  "Fine, take the damned thing." Right now, food was worth more than practicalities.

  He pulled off a good portion and held it to her. She had to take it out of his palm, again feeling the energy in him when she inadvertently touched him. Immediately, she broke a piece off and placed it in her mouth. It tasted wonderful, slightly salty from the sea, flesh sweet and perfect. Not as sweet as the sea creatures he'd fed her last time, but at least she was feeding herself now, which must be an improvement.

  "Why do you want to win this so much?" she asked.

  He didn't answer for a while. A strong clap of thunder almost shook the building and Clara was so grateful she wasn't out there in the jungle, soaked to the bone and starving.

  "It is permanence," he said after so long she had to recall what they were talking about.

  "Permanence?" she repeated, not quite k
nowing what he meant.

  Sitting down with his back to the pew seat, he rested his elbows on his knees. "It is a defensible position with assured wealth."

  "Is anything assured here? At some point the British or the French will find Tortuga Bay and clear it."

  "Then I'll trust my own actions above someone else's to prevent that from happening."

  She didn't know what else to say. His reasons weren't the same as hers. Perhaps his reasons had more validity, but she also needed a place in the world and she had none, whereas he was looking to improve his. A case could be made for her as well.

  "Is there anything you won't do to get what you want?"

  "No."

  "There must be more to be had in the world than ambition." It was a statement posed to herself as well as him. As much as she wanted a place in the world, she wasn't sure if she was willing to go to the lengths he was. Sure, she had thwarted him and enjoyed doing it if she was utterly frank, but there were limits. Apparently cutting him was that limit—killing was out of the question. She couldn't even imagine giving him a killing blow, watching him sink to the ground lifeless. Had he no limits at all? Would he kill her to get what he wanted? Then again he hadn't done it so far. He could have just slit her throat on the beach the moment she waded on shore the first day, but he hadn't.

  "You have never known hunger," he said.

  Clara frowned. "And you have?" she challenged, not quite imagining him being denied what he wanted.

  He gave her a chiding look, then tended to the fire. "You have been protected and cosseted you whole life."