His mouth went dry as her dress clung tightly to her buttocks and thighs. Take her. She deserves no mercy from you.
He sucked in a breath inhaling the briny air.
She’s your wife. Your property.
Until they landed, and he turned her over to the king, her body belonged to him.
Desire crashed through him in storm waves.
There was no reason to deny himself. No reason not to sate his lust on her. To use her as she had used him.
Hell, she’d offered herself just days ago; if she had no qualms about tupping, why should he?
That nefarious thought formed, he moved toward her to drag her down to his cabin. He was on fire for her.
The wind must have hidden his footsteps because she did not turn until he was nigh upon her. He touched her shoulder and she let out a small gasp and whirled sharply.
“Ja—”
He set his fingers against her lips. “Shush. I have not given you leave to speak.”
Brenna closed her mouth and stared at her husband, wishing he would soften just a little so they might come to some understanding. Even if he took her to the king and she was tortured and beheaded, she wanted him to know that she’d had no part in his imprisonment—that she had not given The King’s Mistresses over so that he would be accused and tortured.
“I want to fuck you,” he said, looming over her.
His words burned a hole right through her heart, igniting her indignation. No discussion and then this. She’d heard the word once and knew its meaning, but it seemed so crude. So cold.
He seemed so cold.
Blasted man.
But her body, betraying wanton that it was, cared not a whit that he acted the coarse barbarian. Cream flowed freely from her woman’s core and desire swirled through her veins.
“You are mine.” He ran his hand from her shoulder to the tip of her breast in a claiming gesture, heedless of the others that were on the deck. The ship rocked gently with the sea waves and birds cried out overhead.
She raised her chin, unhappy with how he was acting and wanting to slap his hand away and deny his words. But there was more than her pride at stake. She needed to discuss the baby, the king, their relationship and so much more.
“We need to talk,” she said.
“We talk afterwards.” His fingers diddled her nipple through the fabric of her tunic. “Not now.”
Her breast tingled where he touched her and she wished she could deny her desire for him.
It was another bargain. Another unsavory agreement. Sex for conversation. What a horrid role she was cast to play.
Still, she was in no position to turn him down. It had been her one desire for three straight days that they converse.
Swiving him was certainly no sacrifice. Her body craved his touch. Her quyent felt empty without his member to fill her.
The wind whipped at his tunic, flaunting the width of his shoulders. “Well?”
“Fine. But you must hear me out after.”
He shrugged as if to say it would make no difference at all. An ache formed in her chest, but she tamped it down. He was wrong. He had to be. It would make a difference.
She expected him to offer his arm, or take her hand, or at the very least, latch his big fingers around her wrist and drag her in his wake.
Instead, he turned on his heel and stalked toward his cabin, obviously expecting her to follow like a bitch in heat.
The coldness of the movement set a hollow pain in her heart. And a tremble of anxiety about what would soon occur. For an instant, she gazed out at the sea and the clouds swelling on the horizon. A dark cloud hung to one side—an impending storm? Birds flew overhead.
As soon as she took her clothes off, he would see the slight swelling of her stomach, the evidence of the baby growing inside. Dresses hid her growing width, but naked, she would be utterly exposed. What would he say? What would he do? Would the moment of reckoning prove his true honorable nature or would he remain aloof and uncaring?
Trepidation caused her legs to tremble. Gritting her teeth and determining to win him over, she left the ship’s railing and trailed after him. Like a bitch in heat.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Flip your skirt and bend over,” James snarled, not even wanting to wait for her to undress. His cock throbbed and he wanted to bury it inside her with a raw, aching need.
For months, he’d thought of nothing but her. For the past few days, his resolve to be distant toward her had been drained, sucked away by the nearness of her presence. Her scent nearly drove him daft—gesso and paint and something uniquely feminine.
He had disciplined himself, not allowing himself to feel the desire that pulsed through his body, but now, unleashed, it consumed him, as hot as the fire that had consumed the tower.
As soon as he touched her, all his anger, frustration, passion, and need for revenge seemed to culminate right into the member standing fully erect betwixt his legs.
Trembling slightly, she sucked in a breath, and he wondered if she would lose her nerve for the deed.
Instead, she scrunched her dress over her hips and scrambled onto the bed.
He growled at the sight of her naked flesh, at her rounded stomach and sweet, heavy breasts. Need thrummed through him in a painful ache. “Nay, not that way. On your knees. I will take you from behind.” He had wanted to do it that way when they had been together before, but he’d been so concerned with soothing her anxiety, making sure she had enjoyed their coupling that it had seemed awkward. There had been no time to introduce her to his position.
She licked her lips, whether from anxiety or from desire, he could not tell. Obediently, she flipped onto her stomach and raised up on all fours. The round globes of her buttocks jutted into the air.
Holy heavens. The woman was a vixen.
He unloosed the ties of his breeches and shoved them down around his thighs. Not bothering to undress further or concern himself with her pleasure, he sank one knee on the bed, grasped her hips and thrust himself into her warm core. The mattress squeaked. So did Brenna.
He paused, her small cry halting his single-minded purpose to dive directly into her and pump until he was spent.
She twisted to look at him. Her eyes were dilated and he could see the pulse thrumming in her throat.
“Did I hurt you?”
A bewildered, but not pain-stricken look graced her face. “Nay,” she whispered, “’twas a surprise is all, my lord. You are very large and fit very deeply inside me.”
His blood fired. Reaching forward, he cupped her breasts and tweaked her nipples. She moaned and her eyes fluttered shut. He pinched the pert tips slightly harder, not wanting gentle lovemaking, but something raw and violent.
She cried out in a moan of pleasure/pain and squirmed to take him deeper.
Her sheath contracted around his member, echoing his need for something fierce and wild.
A storm of pleasure, of rightness that he was buried inside her—inside Brenna, his wife—spun through him in a crashing wave.
There was so much passion between them, so many open emotions. Closing his eyes, he allowed himself to become awash in sensation. She wiggled her hips, rocking back and forth, sliding himself in and out of her velvety warmth. The globes of her buttocks jiggled in a uniquely feminine display.
Giving in to his need, he climbed fully onto the bed, pumping with reckless abandon. Little whimpers and grunts issued from her throat, driving his need to an even higher pitch.
Moaning, she pressed her face into the mattress, lifting her hips. Still moving in and out of her, he twisted her body slightly so that he could slide one knee beneath her and enter her even deeper.
She gave a little mewl as her pelvic mound came into contact with the dancing muscles of his thigh. Rotating her hips, she ground herself into his leg.
They rocked back and forth, the position heightening his pleasure. She whimpered, and the sound sent him over the edge.
With a growl, he
shot hot semen inside her.
He remained there for a short time, allowing the waves of afterglow to wash over him, then withdrew and rolled beside her on the bed. Wrapping his arm around her body, he spooned her from behind.
She whimpered. He knew she had not reached the same pleasure as he had.
With a slow stroke, he trailed his finger down her body so that he could friggle her to climax. His palm skimmed over her stomach.
And stopped.
He had noticed her belly was rounded, but had somehow been blind to how much more rounded it had become. It felt firm to his touch. As if a child grew inside her. Suddenly, the glow of her skin, the seasickness, the amount of food she ate, the quickened growth of her hair made perfect sense.
A baby.
His baby.
“You are breeding!” He rose up on one elbow, his hand still clutched around her stomach.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he roared, angry at this new trickery. This new betrayal cut him through a heart he no longer thought he possessed. How dare she keep something so important to herself! What if he had harmed her?
She rolled in his arm and gazed up at him, her eyes wet with tears. “You would not let me.”
Fury shot through him. “But, I suppose, you planned to,” he said sarcastically. How dare she let him tup her so fiercely! “I could have hurt you!”
“You would not hurt me,” she whispered, and again he was taken aback by her trust. She shook him. “James, you must believe me when I tell you that I was leaving the abbey to find you.”
He sucked in a deep breath, looking at her suspiciously. The innocence on her face contrasted sharply with everything he knew about her. With all the things he had suffered.
He frowned, torn between belief and denial, unsure what to do with her or how this complication changed his plans. He couldn’t very well take her to the king to be beheaded while she carried his child.
“The child is mine?”
She looked like she would toss a pillow into his face. “How dare you even ask!”
Her indignation pleased him. He paused, unsure what to say. “How long have you known?”
“A few days.” With a sob, Brenna closed her eyes and buried her face in his chest. “The same time I learned you had been imprisoned for my crimes. J–James, you have to believe me. I had naught to do with it. Trust me! You’ve asked for my trust and received it in the past. I–I was coming back to you and to the king to confess the truth.”
Against his better judgment, he hugged her tightly against his body. God’s blood, but she felt good in his arms. A foolish part of himself wanted to believe her.
A loud knock sounded on the locked cabin door. “Master! Master! A British ship with king’s soldiers approaches. They are demanding to board us and insist on your surrender.”
With a lurch, James hitched up his breeches, tied them and grabbed his sword as he raced for the door. He frowned at Brenna, her betrayal once again piercing his heart. No wonder she had wanted to tup him; she needed him distracted so that the king’s soldiers could overtake his ship. The bloody wench.
Brenna scrambled off the bed, but he exited and locked the cabin before she could follow.
“Wait!” Brenna called, pounding on the locked door, a lurch of fear climbing into her throat. Her heart beat like the wings of a thousand bees. How dare he lock her in here while the king’s men attacked?
She rattled the door, desperate to get out and somehow make this right. Whirling, she raced to the desk to find some instrument she could use to pick the door’s lock. James had taken all her hairpins.
She rummaged around until she found a trunk filled with navigational tools. A quadrant, an hourglass, several ropes, a journal, a quill and several other items were neatly stored within the box.
Taking a few smaller instruments, she poked them into the lock, praying her new skills would prove true. Jiggling the mechanism this way and that, she fiddled with it for what seemed like hours.
Finally, the latch sprang open with a soft click.
Relief nearly made her weak. She crossed herself—a habit she’d gotten into while in the abbey—and slid the door open to peer into the hall. She needed to find the king’s man in charge, and confess her crime. She could have them take her to the king instead of James.
From above deck, she could hear men shouting and stomping.
She inched down the deserted hallway to the stairwell that led above deck, wishing that she had l’occhio del diavolo or some other weapon to defend herself.
“Surrender Montgomery or prepare to die!” she heard a loud voice call. A cannon blasted, rocking the ship.
Her heart thumped wildly, beating a furious tattoo and she quickened her pace. She could not let them take James, not when she’d just found him again.
“Brenna!” a familiar voice called from down the hall. “Thank the stars I found you.”
She looked up and saw her brother sliding toward her carrying a sword. He looked harried, his dark hair sticking up. His tall body looked whipcord strong and he had a determined expression on his face. “Nathan!”
“Come with me. I will take you to safety.”
Anxiety flowed over her. ’Twas a repeat of what had happened that night when she had left Windrose. She stiffened her spine, refusing to be sucked into his plans again.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded. “Did you stage the attack?”
“Nay, Father did. He is in alignment with the British Naval fleets.”
Her lips tightened. Of course. Her father was set on all of this.
A loud crash sounded above them, followed by a battle cry.
She cringed.
Nathan grasped her arm. “Come on. I have a waiting boat, separate from the one Father is on. Father is”—a dark look came over his features and he furrowed his brow—“not well.”
She wrenched her arm away from him. “Nay. I’m going to the deck to confess my crime and have them take me to the king instead of my husband.”
“Do not be daft, sister. You’ll be killed.”
“I cannot run away from my responsibilities, Nathan.” Her voice held an accusatory note. Nathan had taken off to Italy and left them along with their father for too many years. “Step aside.”
“I cannot let you do something so foolish.” He blocked her path. He was as tall as Montgomery but not nearly as wide.
She thumped her brother hard on the chest. “Listen to me, there are things afloat here bigger than you. You are no longer a child, Nathan. Face the truth.”
“He’ll take our lands if we tell the truth.”
She frowned at him. “Lands that would be safe had you lived up to your own obligations,” she accused.
He ran his knuckles down her cheek in a soothing manner. “I know I have done wrong by leaving you so long with Father, but in the end you were able to be with Mother Isabella in the abbey as you always wanted.”
At that moment, Montgomery’s hulking body appeared in the stairwell leading down to the cabin. Anger clouded over his features, bringing the plains and valleys of his face into sharp relief.
“You bloody little whore,” he snarled. “To think, I did not even question that the babe was mine.”
She whirled. “James!”
Raising his sword, James paced straight for Nathan.
Nathan drew his own sword.
The blades flashed little flickers of light across the wooden walls of the hull.
“Nay, my lord,” she cried, “he’s not my lover, he’s my brother!”
A wicked gleam formed in her husband’s eyes and he raised the sword even higher. “Even better.”
Fear trembled through Brenna. Straightening to her full height, she raised one hand to ward off Nathan and the other to stay her husband. “Stop it! Both of you! There is a better way to end this.”
“I know exactly how to end this,” James said, the mote in his eye glowing red as he stepped for
ward.
“Cease!” Brenna roared. The ship rocked beneath them.
Nathan unfastened his cape and threw it to the floor planks like a gauntlet. He crouched into a fighting stance.
Turning her back to her brother, she squared off on Montgomery. “Prithee! You swore you would talk to me!”
Glaring at Nathan, James eased forward. “’Tis too late for talk.”
She shook her finger at him. “I paid the price for your conversation and ’tis conversation we will have.”
His gaze flicked back to hers and he gave her a look that told her he thought she might be an escaped patient from St. Mary’s. “Careful, wife.”
Frustration and anxiety tightened in her gut. “Mayhap you have forgotten the bargain, but I have not. My body still burns for you.”
Whirling around, Brenna glared at her brother, who was lowered into a fighting stance with his sword ready. His dark brown hair hung in waves about his shoulders. “This arrogant fool is my husband and your rightful overlord. You will not harm a hair of his head or you’ll have comeuppance from me.”
“Aside, wife,” James commanded. “This is men’s business.”
Spinning back around, she narrowed her eyes at him. “And that”—she pointed at Nathan—“is my irresponsible, pig-headed brother. And you will not harm a hair of his head.”
The two men glared at each other, both of them rising to their full heights and preening like peacocks.
She huffed out an exasperated breath. “I definitely remember that in our first bargain you agreed to parlay with my brother.”
Nathan sneered. “I have no reason to talk to this man. Let his blood run red beneath my feet.”
Scowling, Brenna stomped to her brother and slapped him hard across the face. Her palm stung.
James laughed.
Nathan stepped back, his eyes fierce, his hands balled into fists.
“You touch her and you are dead,” James ground out. “I’ll take pleasure in feeding the pieces of your body to the sharks.”
A flicker of understanding ignited in her brother’s eyes. “You love her,” he accused.
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