by Susan Ward
“I am not helpless,” Merry protested hotly, trying to keep her teeth from chattering. “This cabin is drafty, the water was cold and you specifically told me not to touch Morgan’s possessions. You left me a towel, not a dressing gown. Of course I am cold.”
“Well forgive me, did you enjoy the feel of saltwater bleeding into your pores?”
“No.”
“Stop complaining. After all your trouble, you’re lucky I didn’t leave you to suffer.”
His scarred hands closed on her again and jerked her to her feet. He silenced her protest with a hard shake. Merry admitted to herself, it was pointless to fight with the boy. She might have been a gnat for all the power she had against him. Her struggles were ridiculously ineffective. In the end, he would do as he pleased.
Trembling and humiliated, she suffered through the indignity of having her body patted dry.
“What a bunch of nonsense over a little flesh.”
Tears of humiliation trickled down her pink cheeks. “Perhaps the girls you are acquainted with think nothing of allowing a strange boy to stare at them, but I assure you I am not in the habit of undressing in front of anyone.”
He took no affront at her calling him ‘strange’ and surprised her by saying, “Did I say you were? But all your high minded sentiments won’t do you a bit of good here.” His low voice was muffled, as a decidedly feminine nightgown was being pulled quickly over her shriveled, pink body. However, he allowed her the towel to remain in place around her until she was covered by the gown. “You had best forget your delicate notions and start figuring out a way to save your hide. They’re not going to help you with Morgan.”
Her eyes fixed on his face curiously. His tone hadn’t been exactly kind, but neither had it been cruel. She had the strangest feeling that he knew, perfectly well, she wasn’t one of Jack Shelby’s doxies.
That look in his eyes, before he had pulled back his knife from her face, had been surprise and annoyance. Who was this boy? And what did he know?
His callous fingers fastened the small pearl buttons on her bodice, because her shaking hands couldn’t master it. When he finished, he released her without pause. He was really quite a bizarre boy. Her nervous gaze locked on his scarred hands, remembering when he had pulled off his vest on the beach that his back had been such a horrid collection of healed ridges she had felt a lump rise in her throat. She wondered how he had become so disfigured.
Was it this torture that had made him so cold, as if he had no soul left at all?
Merry frowned as her eyes followed a neatly swirling pattern of healed flesh that ran across, what would have been, quite a lovely chest. “How...” she faltered, but only momentarily. “How did all that happen?”
His cold black eyes whipped her delicate face. “Oh, this? I was beaten of course. What the hell do you think happened? People aren’t born this way. Beaten and burned.”
Merry trembled. They might have well been talking about the weather, for all the feeling in his voice. There was no doubt, in her mind who had beaten him.
“Not very pretty, is it? Doesn’t it make your skin crawl to look at them?”
“No, my skin isn’t crawling. It’s just... they make me sad, that’s all.”
“You should save your pity for yourself. It’s the memory of these scars and how I got them that gave me the will to survive.”
Survive what? The beatings? Morgan’s undoubtedly cruel treatment?
She scrambled away from him, huddling on the window seat, and watched as he quickly went about tidying the cabin. Anxiously, she tried to arrange the ice blue lace more modestly over her front, but the gown was having none of her prudishness. That it was two sizes too small in the bodice helped, not at all. It was meant to be provocative and highly sophisticated. What was such a garment doing in Morgan’s decidedly male domain?
With an anxiety she couldn’t hide, she asked, “What will Morgan do with me?”
“It depends on how silver-tongued you are,” said the boy as he continued to tidy the cabin. “Morgan can see clear inside a person’s skull. If you’ve got something to hide, you had better pray he doesn’t sense it.”
“You have to help me. If Morgan finds out who I am, he’ll peel me to the bone.”
“Then, you best make sure he doesn’t,” Indy said dispassionately, but his dark eyes were severely warning and shrewd. “As for helping you, pay attention this time. I am the one who brought you here. Remember? I have got trouble enough of my own. Morgan is likely to feed me to the sharks when he finds you here.”
She stared at him, her bluebell eyes like buckets, her face pale as parchment.
“Don’t look at me like that. What lunacy possessed you to cross paths with Morgan?”
“I didn’t cross paths with him on purpose,” Merry shouted back. “Do you think I would have gone to Grave’s End, if I had known Morgan would be there? Do you think I am insane enough to look for that kind of trouble?”
Annoyed, Indy abandoned the effort to keep his tone civil. “Going into Grave’s End wasn’t a sane thing to do, at all. How am I to know what manner of lunacy you’re capable of?”
“Nevertheless... What am I to do now?”
Mildly, he jeered, “Christ, haven’t you even a notion of self-preservation?” Meeting her defiant stare, he cursed and added, “Don’t expect me to help you with every coil. Don’t spit daggers at me, if you don’t like what you hear. From where I sit, you’ve got two choices with Morgan. Tell him nothing and pray he doesn’t kill you, or tell him nothing and take him to bed.”
He gave this advice so matter-of-factly, that for a moment, Merry wasn’t certain she had heard him correctly. She stared down at the gown, realizing that the boy, for whatever reason, had decided the truth was not an option. He had taken providence into his own hands.
“I won’t do it.” Merry was screaming, without knowing it. “I can’t. How could you think for a moment I would ever consider such a ghastly plan?”
“It’s your life. You are perfectly capable of doing it,” he told her simply.
“Understand this—never. Not even if my life depended on it.”
Those may have been brave words, but she couldn’t have chosen them less wisely. The grimness of the boy’s eyes told her the seriousness of her fate.
“You should be damn glad you have the kind of look that stirs a man’s softer side. You can be certain Morgan won’t be moved by that sharp tongue of yours.”
Never, thought Merry, never, never, never.
So much for cool-headed logic. The minute Indy turned his back, she sprang for the open door. She was almost out of the cabin, when the boy caught her. He lifted her effortlessly from the ground, and flung her cruelly down upon Morgan’s bed. As she struggled beneath him, he held her in place with his body.
“Let me go,” Merry screamed, twisting and clawing at the dark face above her. “Get off of me this instant. I demand that...”
“Damn it, keep your voice down,” Indy warned, breathless from the struggle. “They can hear your screams from poop to f’cle. Do you have any idea how many men are on this ship, who would love a chance at your haughty ass?”
“I won’t stay here,” she cried, trying to kick him. “I want to go home. I won’t do what you want me to do. I won’t.”
“I didn’t save your worthless neck... stop that. Do you think it’ll do any good to bite me? You stupid girl, there is no way off this ship. And you will do exactly what it takes to save your life. Damn it. Use your head. You’re here. Accept it.”
“Accept it?” she spat, as he held her squirming body in place. Helpless tears dribbled down her face and weakly she said, “I hate you. Why did you bring me here for this?”
“I thought you might prefer to live,” Indy countered with brutal coldness and a less than gentle shake. “You got yourself into this complicated mess. What I have done is provide you the chance to get out of it, hopefully living.”
“Bloody hell. I heard ye two all the
way from the wardroom,” Shay warned, puffing from his run back to Morgan’s cabin. His eyes rounded when he saw Indy spread eagle atop the girl. “Should I come back?”
“Don’t be stupid,” Indy said, grabbing her wrists and jerking her to a sitting position. “Start using your head, girl. If you take off, like a hare before hounds, with Morgan, he’ll know in an instant you’ve got something to hide. If you continue to cry, he’s apt to shove a sock in your mouth. It’s a damn annoying sound. You don’t cry at all pretty like most women.”
“Hell’s teeth, lad, ye don’t have to be so hard on the lass. Can’t ye see she’s frightened? There’s no need to be frightened, lass. Do ye think Morgan’s some demon, what’s going to steal yer soul? I don’t know what those shellbacks did to ye at Shelby’s, but Morgan’s got a rare hand with the lassies. Ain’t nothing to be afraid of if ye catch his fancy. Treats them all well. God’s teeth, it might be best fer us all.”
Swallowing her frustration at being misunderstood, she gave them a hostile stare and snapped, “Understand this. I would rather die than become Morgan’s mistress. It disgusts every feeling.”
“Then tell him that. We’ll make sure your body pieces are buried all in one spot,” Indy hurled at her callously. “That is, if Morgan’s hasn’t heard you already. Christ, why is he always so bloody punctual?”
From far away voices came to her and Merry’s fury shifted to terror. Her nerves pricked to Morgan’s nearness, even before he entered the cabin.
The door opened and the entire chemistry of the room was that easily altered. With a negligent wave in Indy’s direction, Morgan, his mind on business, leaned one hand on his desk, flicked over a page, and entered something in the logbook. His presence filled the cabin with humming energy. She couldn’t shake the sensation of being watched by him, even though his eyes never sought her.
Several minutes passed before Morgan unclasped his flowing black cape, tossed it to Indy, and turned to face Merry’s trembling form huddled on his bed. Every organ from throat to toes started to scream. He was even more frighteningly large, more disconcertingly handsome, than she remembered.
Shivering beneath his penetrating stare, she wished she could read the thoughts carefully hidden behind those intimidating black eyes. His features revealed nothing, not even surprise at finding her here.
Holding herself still beneath the terror of Morgan’s notice, she half expected him to lunge across the cabin, cutlass in hand, either to strip her bare or slit her throat. Morgan did neither. He poured some wine and then settled on the edge of his desk.
Struggling desperately not to fall to pieces, as his eyes slowly roamed her from head to toe, Merry tried to remind herself he was only a man. She dismissed her thoughts for the foolishness they were.
Morgan was no mere mortal. He was the stuff of myths and nightmares. She had a sudden impression of how she must look to him, helpless, frightened, and to her dismay, pathetically awe-struck. As afraid as she was, she could never forget the legend of this man. The uncontainable fascination of seeing, with her own eyes, that he was not some specter of fantasy, but real, and despite every speculation, no one had touched even a faint hint of the reality.
Across the cabin, someone moved. Merry felt a moment of pure relief as Morgan’s eyes lifted briefly from her.
“Tom, come. Don’t be shy. See what the lads have found for us.”
Turning her head, Merry noticed for the first time that Morgan had not entered the cabin alone. The man was as tall as Morgan, but of slighter build and greater age. She would have thought him unremarkable, in all, except for the sharp scar that ran from hairline through pointed brow, which possessed the most curious jig-jag pattern. His lips were narrow and tight, as if he had never known a smile, his eyes strict and without kindness. He did not conceal his thoughts with the same care as Morgan, though she wished he had.
What she found in his expression was clear and oddly insulting. In a single word: Irritation.
“What mischief have you lads been up to now? Have you taken to stealing the Falmouth lasses from their beds for sport?” His short laugh had nothing to do with humor, as he arched a brow and turned to his captain. “Or have I forgotten your birthday, Varian?” Pouring himself a glass of wine, he settled in a chair at Morgan’s table, his eyes never leaving her. “Well, Varian, this is a night of surprises, is it not? Though I must admit that this one is more pleasant than the last. Such a beauty. Where do you suppose she came from?”
Morgan’s long mouth developed a soft Byronic twist. “The short version, if you will. I don’t think our frail flower will last through the unabridged tale.” With suave mockery, he said to Merry, “I command you to stay alive, Little One. At least until I decide otherwise.” Morgan’s dark gaze locked on the boy and with a dramatic wave of his hand: “Speak.”
“The crate,” was all the boy said, in way of explanation.
“Ah.” The brief flicker of light died in the captain’s eyes. “Indy, why isn’t she dead?”
There was a short intense silence that Merry spent shaking like chimes in a windstorm, wondering the same thing. She knew very well what Morgan’s orders had been. Nothing could convince her Indy had spared her life for pity’s sake alone.
Morgan arched one dark brow severely, and the boy’s response came instantly.
“Give me a chance before you blister my hide. Look at her. Isn’t she a dead ringer for the wench we hauled off with in Cadiz? And she was with Shelby. I thought...”
“You didn’t think,” Tom broke in with undisguised annoyance, “or else you’d realize the mess you’ve left us with. You don’t imagine she sprang from a mushroom patch, do you? We don’t need anyone connecting her disappearance with our visit to Cornwall. I can’t wait to hear how you connect this girl to what happened in Cadiz.”
“A spy,” Morgan supplied, his deep voice sending shivers down Merry’s spine. “You remember the girl from Cadiz, Tom. The one the crew killed, while having a bit of sport, before the lad got a chance to get some answers from her. This one we found tucked away in a crate at Grave’s End.”
Tom looked at the boy with open disgust. “Of all the muddle-headed notions. What you two morons have here is a child. You do realize that bringing her aboard ship changes nothing? You should have killed her at the beach and been done with it.”
“With the patrol hot on our heels to witness the deed,” Indy snarled, speaking the lie so convincingly, that it took Merry a moment to register that he was lying and to wonder why.
“Patrol? What nonsense are you trying to pull, young’n? There wasn’t any patrol.”
Indy met the furious stare without flinching so much as a single hair.
“That chit who slipped through your fingers, rode off hell for leather and must have run to raise the men. If you hadn’t been so stupid as to let her get away, none of this would have been necessary.”
“I will take no more impudence from you. Keep a civil tongue, lad, or I will cut it out.”
Equally menacing, Indy flung back, “I don’t take orders from you. We could have been killed because of your damned, bloody incompetence.”
“And here I thought the rest of my night would be deadly dull, Tom,” Morgan put in lightly. Amid the crackling tension of the room, his gaze shifted from Indy, focusing on Merry, and began to sparkle.
He knows Indy is lying, she thought desperately, terrified of what he would make of that.
“You have had an adventure, haven’t you, lad?”
“Bloody Christ. Don’t tell me you believe this nonsense, Varian?” said Tom.
“Of course I do,” Morgan stated blandly, while pouring himself more wine. “The lad knows better than to lie to me. Don’t you, Indy?”
Indy met Morgan’s black stare. Whatever the game between them was well beyond Merry’s comprehension.
“You still haven’t explained why the girl isn’t dead, now,” Tom demanded and added with sharp sarcasm, “Or is the patrol tucked in the hold?”
Indy pulled the dagger from his belt and tossed it in the center of the table. “You slit her throat, if you have a mind to do it. The girl need be a problem to no one then.”
Across the room, Morgan’s dark glittering gaze moved swiftly and unnoticed among his companions.
Grinning a little, he collected Tom’s cool glance and said, “Can we blame the boy for wanting to delegate this atrocity? I admit, I never suspected she’d be so young and pretty. So, if there is any blame to lay anywhere for her being here now, I suppose it’s mine. I would more than gladly discuss the matter with you in private, Tom, if you have a care to.” Not waiting for Tom’s response, Morgan’s dark eyes swiveled to Indy. “And if you desire to see the girl dead, lad, you should have tossed me the knife. Otherwise, your posturing is really quite useless, and overly dramatic. Since it’s obvious you wish to see the girl live, pick up that damn dagger before I decide she’s more trouble than she’s worth.”
With comical quickness that would have made Merry smile if her life hadn’t been hanging in the balance, Indy retrieved the knife and tucked it into his belt.
Suddenly Morgan’s features resolved themselves into a smile. “You needn’t worry, Tom. Our pretty hostage need be a bother to no one, but me. And if she becomes a bother, we’ll settle it then. She’s really quite lovely, as you would see if you gave her a good stare, and stopped your scowling. Obviously, our tender-hearted lad thought to procure me a little sport and kill two birds with one stone. You know how wonderfully economical Indy’s thought processes tend to be. And as this discussion is getting us nowhere at all,” he said with a dramatically crafted sigh, “the two of you may leave. You, Indy, will stay...” Morgan’s dark gaze moved smoothly back to Merry. “...and of course, you, Little One.”
Morgan settled back at his table as the others filed from the room. His black eyes settled nowhere, not on Indy hanging up his cloak or Merry quaking on his bed. He slowly swirled the wine in his glass and seemed intent on simply watching it. His voice suddenly broke the silence, completely devoid now of the polite fiction of tolerant amusement he had maintained in front of the others.