by Susan Ward
He found her as Emily warned he would.
Merry was curled on a windowsill, staring out at the yard. Tiny arms hugging legs, her cheek resting on knees, and for all her stillness she had the look of a tiny cat, ready to strike at a moment’s warning. He noted her breakfast tray untouched. Without a word to her, he shoved her belongings into the small case retrieved from the armoire.
Bag in hand, standing so close to her that it was impossible for her to not know he was there, he said, “Come.”
She refused to look at him. She didn’t move. Succinctly, this time, he said, “You have dragged this out as long as you can.”
He could hear the exhaustion in her breathing. If the remainder of her night had been half as miserable as his own had been, he couldn’t imagine where she got the energy to continue with this.
“It will do no good to fight me, Merry,” he said.
She resettled her body in a more noble posture, lifting her chin. “If you don’t mind, I would like to know where you are taking me.”
“I fail to see how that matters at this juncture.”
“Of course, you would fail to see,” she answered, with a sarcasm that was withering. “You fail to see many things. I will not board your ship, unless you give me your word it is taking me to Falmouth. I will not stay with you.”
In spite of how wretched he felt, he almost laughed. She’d learned, in a handful of hours, how to fight like a woman, to fight with her tongue. Her observations added to the sting and his reluctance to take her by force to the ship, on the heels of what he had nearly done to her.
“Battle done,” was his laconic answer, as he took her arm, propelling her toward the door.
She tried to pull out of his grip, unsuccessfully. When they joined Emily on the front porch the band of his fingers softened. The opportunity was not lost to Merry. She jerked out of his hold.
“I will not go with you,” she hissed. “I have had enough. I will stay here with the Randalls, since you will not return me to Falmouth.”
Morgan’s eyes darkened ominously. “You will come, or I will carry you back aboard ship, Merry.”
She met him stare for stare. “Try you might, but today, I do not think so.”
Morgan studied the stubborn set of her features. He did not doubt it a slight effort to take her against her will, but he did not want her fighting him, and perhaps, being harmed in the process.
“Do you really want me to humiliate you by carrying you aboard ship? Or will you behave yourself for once? Will you be reasonable if I apologize? I was drunk and unclear. I was drunk. I am sorry.”
His words far from soothed her heart and only stirred greater her temper. She shouted, “I do not need your apology. I am your hostage. You seem to be unclear about a great many things.”
His handsome face stiffened and Merry was unsure, but she thought that she’d just stung him with that. Such a thing had never happened before. But his reaction was gone before she could make reason of it. He took a step back from her.
“As you will. Stay.” He looked away from Merry, in a manner dismissive. He said to Mrs. Randall, “She is never to leave this island, Emily. Not ever. It will be your head if you defy me. She best be here when I return next winter.”
With that, he walked off, leaving Merry on the porch staring after him. As soon as he was from sight, she let her tears pour. It was what she wanted. Why did it feel so miserable to have gotten her way? She felt an arm slip comfortingly around her waist and turned into Emily’s waiting embrace.
Emily said, “He is a hard man, Merry, but a good one. Go after him. He is a proud man. He will not come back.”
Shaking her head, frustrated and hurt, Merry cried, “I am his hostage. Did you not hear what I said? What power does he possess that no one can see what he is, or will help me?”
Emily began to dab at the tears on Merry’s face. “We are all hostages of the men we love, Merry. Why should you be different?”
Fire rose in her cheeks. Miserable and exhausted, she snapped, “I do not love him.”
“Ah, who is being foolish now, my dear?”
~~~
Merry had cried herself to sleep in Morgan’s villa, and awakened in Indy’s cabin the next day. Beside her laid a note. Yes, I kidnapped you a second time. The first experience compelled me to drug you. Don’t throw anything at me when I bring you your breakfast. I’m in no mood for it today. Morgan is a thundercloud. Step carefully.
She’d been kidnapped twice in under six months’ time. What were the odds of that? she wondered. So, Morgan was a thundercloud. She was to step carefully. She had no intention of stepping, at all. She’d remained in the boy’s cabin three days, until finally, clearly fed up with her, he scooped her from his bunk, took her down the passageway and dumped her on the floor in Morgan’s cabin. He finished the insult by locking her in.
Thinking of that day a fortnight ago, Merry felt the possession of fresh tears. Hearing a familiar sound moving briskly toward the door, she shoved her handkerchief into her nightgown, and turned to stare out the window.
February found the Corinthian at anchor in a forbidding cove on the coast of Spanish Florida. There were other pirate ships there, and much to Merry’s consternation, American warships, as well.
It was not as lovely of a place as Morgan’s island had been, but a slovenly settlement of shabby tents, naked children, pirates, and only partially dressed native women. Not even the nightly bonfires that accompanied the pirates’ revelry were able to lend it an air of pleasantness.
What few memories she had of America, they were not like this. She wondered if the rest of the country had fallen to such great disrepair.
That’s when Indy explained this was Spanish territory, but he had assured her, the expanse of land beyond the stern windows was America.
Pug jumped from her lap and scurried across the cabin to Morgan. The stupid beast all but worshipped the man. In her present mood, if she could have left the cabin, she would have tossed the dog over the rail herself.
Another tear.
It plopped from her eyes and rolled down her cheek, and for the life of her she couldn’t seem to stop them.
That night in the villa, alone in her room, she had admitted to herself she loved him. It was pointless to lie. She had hoped if she stopped her inner pretense, perhaps it would bring quiet to her senses. It had been an imprudent hope.
Waking up on ship, only to be confronted with the truth that it was Indy who had brought her here, had turned her tears into a raging current she could not check.
More tears. Damn. It was humiliating to cry in front of him.
It did not surprise Merry that Morgan did not speak. She heard a chair scraping against the cabin floor, and the strain of well-knit muscles against fabric as he settled at his desk.
The broken feelings of loving him had spiraled them downward into days of all but silence. Their discourse consisted of two sentences at best, usually in the morning if she bothered to rise with him.
“Will you eat?”
Answer, a slow shake of her head.
“Will you dress?”
Answer, second slow shake of her head.
After that he left her alone each day.
The rustle of papers meant he was at work, and gave her a chance to slant a careful glance his way. Frowning, she took note he was dressed as Mr. Seton had been, when he’d boarded the American privateer. Buckskin breeches, knee high boots and simple white shirt of a rough sort of cotton. She noted the garments flattered him.
Did Morgan intend to board one of the American warships? How did he always manage his fictions so expertly? She fought to banish her worry over his recklessness. Worry for him was a foolish endeavor. He commanded all things as effortlessly, as he commanded her.
She made another guarded glance his way, hating that every part of her wanted to end this now, to curl in his lap and cry as she had done Christmas Day. It was all his fault, it was he who’d hurt her. It was not fair h
e was the one who passed his days in normalcy.
Only pride kept her silent on the window bench.
The cabin door opening made Merry jerk, and quickly turn her face before Morgan could take note of her watching him. It was Indy.
“So, you still intend to go on the Adventurer?” asked the boy.
“I should be no more than five days,” Morgan said. He rose from the desk and gathered his papers, shoving them into a leather case. “She is to remain locked in the cabin.”
With that, he left her. Once his footsteps faded away, she picked up her book and rocketed it as hard as she could at his empty chair.
“Charming,” was all Indy said. He set the book on the table beside her untouched meal.
“I will not stay locked in this cabin another week.”
“Oh, praise Heaven you can speak. I feared you’d been struck mute by the drugging, and I’d be reduced to suffering your communication signals forever.”
He turned the chair around and sank down on it, draping his arms across the top. He began, “Morgan said you had to stay locked in the cabin, but he did not say alone. If you will eat, I will bring Shay to you. Or, would you prefer Mr. Seton, or Mr. Boniface.”
She shook her head and looked away.
He said, “You can refuse to eat, but all you will do is make yourself ill. You are here. Accept it.” Then, cursing himself a fool, he added, “Now listen, Merry, do you think I could have gone back for you if he hadn’t given me the order?”
“It is supposed to improve my mood to know he ordered my kidnapping a second time?” she said angrily.
Indy went for the door.
“When you finish that bowl, I will bring you what company you want. But I expect there to be no more melodrama out of you.”
At the door he paused, staring at her and shaking his head. His temper won out over his concern for her, and he snapped, “Damn it, Merry. Do you really understand so little about men? The man brought you back. Even you should be able to figure out what that means.”
It took another day, but Merry was more manageable after that.
The morning Morgan returned to ship, Shay was in the cabin, sitting in the center of the floor trying to amuse Merry by building a card house.
Morgan paused in the doorway, drinking in the sight of her. She was fighting to be bright of mood for the Irishman, and failing at it miserably.
“Get out,” Morgan barked.
He stood above Merry until the cabin door closed. He sank cross-legged with his shins touching her knees. On a whispering command he said, “I am going to take you in my arms, put you on my lap, and you will not fight me.”
Her body was weightlessness, and pliant in his hands as he lifted her off the carpet. Her body melted into him as his arms circled her. The tears started to flow again the instant he touched her.
“What must I do to stop your crying, Little One?”
“Take me home.”
“I can’t take you home, Little One.” He buried his lips into her hair to trap his words. “It is not your time to leave me.”
Continue the story with the rest of the Deverell Series:
Face to Face: Book 2 of the Deverell SeIf ries Release date 11/3/2014
Love’s Patient Fury: Book 3 of the Deverell Series Release date 12/1/2014
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Please enjoy this excerpt from Book 2 of the Deverell Series, Face to Face:
The tears burned as they rolled down her cheeks. There was a long pause in which nothing changed, not his hands or his kiss. Then, Merry felt his body tighten. He stopped the furious outpouring of passion and set her away from him.
Varian stepped back from her and his black eyes were glittering in a soullessly unreadable face. “I didn’t mean to frighten you, Merry. However, there is a limit to what I will tolerate of you. You may refuse me as long as you wish, Little One, but do not dance beneath my nose and play games with me.”
“I will do whatever I please, you odious insufferable man! You’re a fine one to talk about playing games. You have done nothing but play games with my heart and flesh since my first night aboard this ship. If you touch me again, I will kill you. I was wrong about you. It is Varian who is the fiction. It is Morgan who is real. And Morgan I despise.”
It didn’t seem possible to Merry, but both his face and his eyes hardened even more chillingly. Varian said, “If that were true, Little One, you would have been in my bed the first night. Do you know how desperately I want you? Enough to wish Morgan were real and because he is not to be trapped in the torment of living with you.”
“If I am a torment return me to Falmouth” Her voice had degenerated into a feeble whisper, heavy with her misery and desperation. A tear choked sob interrupted her words and it took her a moment to continue. “Take me home. Please. You are like a spider, spinning a web around me and I am caught in the web. I know you are going to devour me. I know it because I want you to, but I can never let you. I don’t belong with you. I don’t belong here. Take me home to Falmouth while I am still able to leave you.”
In excruciating frustration, Varian ground out, “You are more bother. More pain. More irritation. And more pleasure than any woman I have ever known. You are every element of the universe, brilliant and extreme. When you are angry you are hurricane at sea. When you laugh it is with the wild resonance of a raging windstorm. When you are sweet you are like marzipan. When you are calm, you are an English autumn before a fire. You have the beauty of a perfect molded china doll. The lushly sloping curves of a Venus statue. The delicacy of crystal. The will and stubbornness of iron. I can’t imagine what the passion will be when we finally share it. Even the torment I savor when it’s given by you because it is you and you make me want it.”
Frightened of him, but more frightened of herself, Merry whispered, “I will run from you the moment there is some place for me to run, Varian. I only returned to ship with you in hopes that you would take me home to Falmouth. I can’t remain with you. You must know that.”
The touch of his hand on her cheek, after his fury, startled her. It was quiet and tender and wistful. “You won’t run, Merry. We are one. One, but both of us incomplete, because you are young and stubborn and think there is a choice in this. You think you can get all you want, as you want it, instead of how it is. You fight the wind head on, instead of letting it carry you were want to go. I gave up fighting you on Isla del Viento. You, it seems, require longer. Don’t make it too much longer. You are squandering the happiness of our lives.”
Stunned, Merry watched as Varian’s unhurried stride took him from the cabin, leaving her there, trembling, furious, and frightened. Her body hungrily yearned for his kisses and his touch, and her heart ached for his return. She should have been relieved that he left but, now that he was gone, all she wanted was him back.
Angry and frustrated, with an anxious sweep of her arm Merry sent the crystal on the table to crash against the floor.
Please enjoy this excerpt from Book 3 of the Deverell Series, Love’s Patient Fury:
She dealt. Merry was in that pose again, on elbows and knees, like a cat ready to spring. This time Varian allowed himself to enjoy it. They played without conversation; she threw her cards down in fury and won the first game. They played two more in silence and she won both of them.
Picking up the cards, her blue eyes fixed on his face with rapidly forming suspicion. “Why do I always win now?” Merry asked with measured slowness.
Varian’s eyes were black and innocent. Thoughtfully, he replied, “You won before as I recall.”
Frowning. “Only the last game. You won nine games to my one.” Merry was working herself into a glorious temper. Varian knew she would figure out about the cards if he played with her and
be furious. Mimicking his voice to perfection, she hissed, “‘You are quick, you are clever, but, Little One, you are not wise.’” Fairly shouting, Merry accused fiercely, “Damn you, how did you cheat, and don’t bother to tell me that you didn’t.”
Varian reached out then and brushed a knuckled down the cheek of her angry face. He wanted to touch her. So he did. It would only aggravate her further.
Calmly, Merry hated it when he was calm, he said “You’re behaving childishly.”
Merry slapped his hand away. Again his voice: “‘Oh, Little One, in the spirit of good will, you may ask me anything.’ I could ask you anything because you would only let me win once. How did you do it? Why did you cheat me at cards?”
Varian said nothing, but as Merry rapidly studied his face his voice came to her in memory: Little one, have you really shared my life for nearly a year and not realized that everything I do has purpose.
“The questions. They weren’t meaningless at all.” Varian’s expression was lightly interested, as though she were trying to work a riddle. Merry stared at him, searching through her memories of that rainy afternoon. There were nine questions. He had won nine games. He had cheated to win. What were they? She rallied them off, slowly, one by one, and together they formed perfect logic.
Merry sat up then, trembling with fury and screaming in a voice surely heard all through the house, “You calculating son of the devil. You asked me questions that would tell you how to make me desire you. You got me into your bed with what you learned cheating me at cards. You keep me in your bed with what you learned cheating me at cards.”
Varian was relaxed. He was amused. He was deliberately not contrite. He spread the cards in front of him, backs up and lifted his eyes to meet her. “This, Little One, is not my deck. You are quick, you are clever, you are...” he let the pause artfully develop and cut it off just right, “more wise. You watched my hands. You should have watched my eyes, Merry. Yes, the questions were to learn how to get you to desire me. You were a woman a man could not seduce without all-out battle. It was better for us both if I left the seducing to you, the same way now I leave it to you and your whim to come to my bed when you wish to.”