The Wedding Ransom

by Geralyn Dawson

  She slipped into the thick warm pool and sank into mud up to her shoulders. Taking a seat upon a submerged ledge made from cemented rock, she leaned her head back, gazed out over the lake, and gave herself up to the pleasure of the moment. Stretching out her legs, she felt for the opposite ledge and purred, “You’re a lucky woman, Maggie St. John. This is true Bliss.”

  Her right foot brushed something. Something solid. Something…hard.

  A raspy male voice emerged from the shadows. “No, ma’am. It’s not bliss quite yet. But you’re darn sure in the neighborhood.”

  At thirty-four, Rafe Malone wasn’t a stranger to naked women. A good number of husbands and lovers might justifiably accuse him of being more familiar than he had any right to be. But in all of his amorous adventures, Rafe had never faced a situation quite like this one. Being naked in a tubful of mud with the adopted granddaughter of four elderly, over—protective, homicidal pirates was a first, even for him.

  As his words died in the air, the woman gasped and clutched her arms to her breasts before sinking to her neck in the mud. Rafe anticipated her scream before it ever left her mouth, but the thick ooze sucked at him, slowing him down as he lunged for her. She got out a loud, shrill squeal right before he clamped his hand across her mouth.

  “Hush now, honey,” he cautioned, his free hand snaking around her waist. He pulled her against him and murmured into her ear. “Wake any of those fossilized pirates and I’m liable to lose my neck. I may be here at their invitation, but that hasn’t stopped them from promising to kill me if I dared to touch you.”

  She fought him like a slippery hellcat, and Rafe hardly had time to notice the feel of her bare curves against his skin. He muttered a curse as she landed a hard jab with her elbow on his thigh, entirely too close to sensitive areas. “Please, Miss St. John,” he ground out. “I don’t aim to hurt you, and I’d be obliged if you’d return the favor. If you’ll promise to keep it to a whisper, I’ll let you go. I’d just as soon not face your grandfathers under these circumstances.”

  His words must have finally worked through to her mind, because slowly she stilled. With gentle hands, Rafe turned her around to face him. He gazed solemnly into wide, frightened eyes. “Don’t be afraid, all right? If I let you go, promise you’ll be quiet?”

  Slowly she nodded. Rafe released her, and she scrambled to the opposite side of the pool.

  The fear faded from her features, replaced by an angry glare that gleamed like cat’s eyes in the night. He saw that he’d managed to deposit a handful of mud in her mouth. “Sorry about that,” he said, grimacing. The mud emitted a slight but distinctive odor of sulfur, and he hated to imagine its taste.

  Maggie St. John twisted around and grabbed at the pile of clothing lying on the ground beside the pool, inadvertently giving Rafe a glimpse of mud-slicked breasts in the process. He drew an appreciative breath, and when she wiped off her tongue with his shirt, he wished she’d used his skin instead.

  Her harsh whisper whipped across the space separating them. “My grandfathers have returned? You’re the thief?”

  Good. She was thinking. Maybe she wouldn’t bring the buccaneers’ wrath down upon him. Rafe cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, I should have given you my name right off. Yes, I’m Rafe Malone. I rode in with the pirates about three hours ago.”

  Turning away from him, she yanked on his shirt. Rafe heard her angry mumbles. “Never heard them come home. A man in my mud bath. They should have woken me up.” She tossed an accusing glare over her shoulder. “My grandfathers’ invitation to Hotel Bliss didn’t include an offer for you to share my bath. Please leave, Mr. Malone.”

  Rafe considered it. Briefly. “I could do that, but I won’t. I’m not through soaking yet.”

  “Fine. Then I’ll go. If you’ll just turn your back…”

  The rascal in Rafe couldn’t resist grinning. “I could do that, too, but I won’t.”

  “But I’m not dressed.”

  “Yeah,” he replied. He licked his lips. “I know.”

  Her expression steamed, filling with such outrage that Rafe wouldn’t have been surprised to see the mud begin to boil. Swallowing a laugh, he said, “I have some questions, Miss St. John, and this looks like the perfect opportunity to ask them. Your modesty makes you a captive audience, so to speak.”

  Her eyes narrowed, glinting like light on a bowie knife. “You are no gentleman, Rafe Malone.”

  “Sure, I am. That’s what they call me, you know. Gentleman Rafe Malone—on account of the polite way I treated the folks I robbed during my highwayman days.”

  She gave a loud, unladylike snort. “Times have changed, haven’t they?”

  Rafe couldn’t hold back soft laughter. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, Miss Maggie. The buccaneers never stopped talking about you.”

  “All those tired old stories, I’ll bet.” Maggie closed her eyes, losing some of her starch at the mention of the old men.

  Rafe didn’t answer at once, his mind busy recalling the tales the pirates had related. As much as they’d seemed to enjoy yammering on about their Maggie, they hadn’t liked answering Rafe’s questions. He’d all but pulled teeth to learn that the woman’s parents were dead, and he never did get a straight story about how she came to live with the freebooters. The old men flatly refused to talk about it. Rafe thought that was strange.

  Of course, some of the things they had bragged about were pretty damned peculiar, too. “Did you really scar the cheek of an English earl?”

  She shrugged. “A girl doesn’t grow up with grandfathers such as mine without learning to carry and wield a knife when necessary. The man deserved it. He was entirely too free with his hands.”

  Rafe touched his face with a muddy finger. At least he knew she carried no concealed weapons at the moment. He recalled the image of her full, high breasts and thought, No, her weapons are all out in plain view.

  Maggie’s voice softened, and despite the sting in her words, her love for the pirates rang loud and clear. “Pay them no mind, Malone. My grandfathers don’t always tell the truth, especially when they speak about me.” Petulantly, she added, “I guess they wore out their tongues so much talking about me that they couldn’t bother to talk to me when they came home.”

  “Actually, they did more worrying about you than storytelling,” Rafe told her. “When one of them finished fretting on about you, another started right in. Each one of the old men peeked in your room to check on you right after we arrived. The boy who works for y’all told them you’d felt poorly and bedded down early. That really got the old men flustered, almost as much as hearing you’d stayed here at the hotel instead of going to the boy’s home like you’d promised you would.”

  She groaned softly. “I never actually promised I’d stay at the Liptons’. I swear I’m going to wash Billy Lipton’s big mouth out with the strongest dose of Bliss water I can find. He had no business telling them any of that. I was tired, that’s all. I replaced some shingles on the roof yesterday and that’s hard work. Now they’ll baby me for a month.”

  In the increasing light of dawn, Rafe studied Maggie St. John intently. During the trip from the hill country, he’d gathered from different things the corsairs had said that she suffered from an illness of a sort. Outwardly—and it had been Rafe’s good luck to see quite a lot in that respect—the woman appeared to be the picture of health. If Gus was right and she intended to tag along on the treasure hunt, then Rafe needed to know the true state of her well-being. Abruptly, he said, “They told me you’re sickly.”

  Her head came up and her shoulders squared as she visibly bristled. She rose from the mud, his shirt clinging to her breasts like a second skin. Damn, but the woman was put together nice.

  “I am not sickly,” she protested. “It’s my grandfathers who need worrying about. Lucky’s old shoulder wound still pains him, and Ben’s breathing troubles scare me half to death. I do wish he’d leave off with the tobacco. I don’t see how that can be go
od for him. Why I—” She broke off suddenly and tossed Rafe another glare. “Why am I defending myself to you? You should be asleep like the others, not invading my bath. This is so embarrassing. I’m surprised I didn’t swoon.”

  Rafe shook his head. “Nah, you don’t strike me as a swooner.” Rafe was good at reading people, and he could tell this woman possessed strength to go along with her beauty. And she was beautiful. Maggie St. John was exquisite.

  Dawn had slowly painted their surroundings with light, treating Rafe to a clearer picture of the woman with whom he shared the bathhouse. She wore her fiery reddish gold hair piled high on her head. Disheveled tendrils escaped to spiral invitingly beside her flushed, high-boned cheeks. Rafe marveled at her eyes. They were a brilliant blend of blues and greens framed by long, curling lashes. A dusting of freckles bridged her thin, straight nose and her mouth…good Lord, her mouth was rosy and ripe and damned kissable.

  Maggie St. John. She was a true pirate’s prize. No wonder the buccaneers defended her so ardently. Rafe forgot all about the questions he’d intended to ask, as his voice dropped to a husky rumble. “My life has been a tad tame of late, Miss St. John. I’m looking for adventure.”

  She rolled her eyes. “In my bath?”

  Rafe’s gaze fastened on her lips. “It wasn’t what I started out to do, but now that you bring it up, it seems like an excellent place to begin. A moonlit dawn, a beautiful woman. She’s all but naked. I am naked.”

  She plastered herself against the wall. “You’re not wearing bathing attire?”

  “Only the natural kind. Just like you.” Amusement played at the corners of Rafe’s mouth as he feigned an affronted tone. “You didn’t notice when I grabbed hold of you? Shoot, woman. You’ve struck a blow to my masculine pride.” He flicked at the surface of the mud with his finger and clicked his tongue. “Reckon I’ll have to make up for it. Now, where was I? We’re alone, it’s still officially nighttime, and your grandfathers—”

  “Will kill you if you touch me.”

  “I know,” Rafe replied. “They’ve warned me at least a hundred times. That adds to the excitement, don’t you see? The forbidden is always more tempting than what is ours for the taking. Add that thrill on top of what we can give each other and, well, we can have ourselves a right fine adventure. What do you say, Miss Maggie?” He lowered his voice to an intimate purr. “Care to go adventuring with me?”

  Rafe didn’t know what reaction he expected from her at his blatant attempt at seduction, but the one he got surprised him. Pressed back against the timbered wall of the pool, she spurted a laugh. “I can’t believe this. My grandfathers have brought home a lothario. If you’re not as bold as black on a bride.”

  “Now, Miss Maggie.”

  She cocked her head and studied him. “No, that’s not it after all, is it? Judging by your reputation, Malone, you are not a fool. Your sense of humor might be a bit misplaced, but you’re not stupid. That wasn’t a serious proposition.”

  Yeah, it was, Rafe thought. Halfway serious, anyway. He certainly wouldn’t have refused her if she’d accepted.

  Rafe leaned back against the wall and frowned at her, his masculine pride pricked. She didn’t have to act as if the idea was totally preposterous. Why, he knew plenty of women who would be tickled spitless to have him sharing their tubful of mud under similar circumstances. “You figure it out however you like, lady. I’m not in a habit of explaining myself. And just in case you’re thinking of getting snippy on me again, remember that you are the one in the wrong here. You walked in on me. You took your clothes off in front of me. You can’t blame a man for his natural reaction.”

  Wariness flashed in those stunning eyes. Bravado filled her voice as she replied, “Maybe not, but I can blame a man for being in the ladies’ bathhouse.”

  “This is the ladies’?”

  Maggie nodded.

  “Well, how was I suppose to know that?” Rafe flung his arm toward the wall, slinging drops of mud. “It’s not painted pink, is it? I didn’t see a sign in the dark.”

  By now he’d worked up a good mad, a natural reaction when affronted male pride is combined with sexual frustration—a state from which he’d suffered to one degree or another ever since Miss Maggie hung her robe on the wall peg. “All I know is I had trouble sleeping and I thought I’d avail myself of the amenities those four senior sea dogs yammered on about since they interrupted my siesta days ago. They invited me to use the facilities any time I liked. And I did like. The mud proved as pleasant as they promised. I was happily relaxed—just about to drift off, in fact—when you showed up.”

  “Drift off to the Gulf of Mexico, I wish,” she muttered beneath her breath.

  Rafe heard her. “Drift off to sleep. I’m a guest here, you know. You should be concerned that the lack of lumber in the hotel walls makes it damned near impossible to rest when someone is sawing down a forest of logs in the room next to you.”

  “That’s Barlow Hill,” Maggie said with a grimace.

  She was, Rafe realized, unafraid of his outburst. She probably reacted to him just like she did to those harmless old marauders. That pissed him off even more.

  “Believe me,” Maggie continued, “I’d give anything if he weren’t upstairs snoring.” She turned her stare toward the lake. “Everything has gotten so complicated.”

  Her unexpected revelation took the heat from Rafe’s anger. Who was Barlow Hill? The pirates had never mentioned him.

  A myriad of emotions played across her face. Bitterness colored her tone as she said, “We need your help, Gentleman Rafe Malone. I’m sorry your sleep was interrupted, and I apologize for disturbing your peace.” She paused before adding, “Next time, though, speak up if I walk in on you. All right?”

  Damn, I like her spirit, Rafe thought, a slow grin breaking across his face. Bowed but not broken. The pirates had told Rafe little of why they wanted him to recover their treasure, and he’d assumed they wanted the money for the usual reasons anyone wanted money. Now he wasn’t so certain. Who the hell was this Barlow person? He started to ask, but then he hesitated. At this particular moment in time, all he really wanted to think about was the captivating woman sharing a mud bath with him.

  In the last half hour, Rafe’s interest in the happenings at Hotel Bliss had escalated. His interest in Maggie St. John had shot off the map.

  “Honey,” he said in a soothing drawl. “When you walked in that door, I couldn’t have talked if I tried. It took all my effort just to breathe. I was getting ready to go rinse off in the lake when you walked in and whipped off your clothes. With the moon being full, it wasn’t all that dark.” He paused, remembering, and added, “You sure are a beautiful woman, Mary Margaret St. John.”

  He could see her mouth working, but no sound emerged. Tension built between them, and Rafe wanted nothing more than to close the distance separating them and take her in his arms. He might have done it, too, had not a voice sounded from the bathhouse door. “Maggie? You in here, sweetheart?”

  “Papa Snake?” Maggie jumped and Rafe slid noiselessly into the concealing shadows, with a dozen of Snake MacKenzie’s more innovative threats flashing through his mind.

  Maggie’s voice croaked. “Papa Snake? When did you get back?”

  “Thank God.” Relief sighed in the old freebooter’s voice. He stepped inside the structure, but like a gentleman, kept his back turned toward the pool. “Glad I am to hear you speak up. I thought I heard you squeal a few minutes ago so I went to check on you. It took five years off my life when I discovered you weren’t in bed. Why are you down here in the middle of the night? Are you hurting, Maggie? What’s wrong? What are you doing in the mud?”

  “I’m fine, Papa, and it’s not the middle of the night. I’m taking a mud bath. You know how I enjoy coming down here this time of morning. I’m sorry you worried, but you needn’t have. Why don’t you wait for me outside? I’ll get out and get dressed. We’ll talk.”

  “Are you sure you feel all right?�
�� Snake called. “You’re not hurting? Billy said you were sick.”

  “Billy talks too much. I was tired, Papa. That’s all. I had a good night’s sleep and now I’m fine. I promise. Go on and let me rinse off. I’ll meet you—”

  “No, no. Stay where you are and enjoy your bath. I’m plumb whipped myself. We got in real late, and I think I’ll catch a few more winks. I don’t expect the others up anytime too soon. We’ll wait and all talk together later. One thing, though, in case you’re worrying. Our trip was a success. Rafe Malone came back to Bliss with us.”

  Maggie peered into the shadows toward Rafe. “Well, I have absolutely nothing to worry about then, do I? Go on back to bed, Papa Snake.”

  “All right, Maggie. I’ll see you a little later.”

  For a full minute after the pirate’s departure, neither of them spoke. Then Rafe asked, “Why didn’t you give me away?”

  She shrugged. “Like I said before. We need you. Had Papa Snake discovered us like this, he’d have been hard-pressed not to kill you, or at least carry out one of his more creative threats.”

  “Did he really sew some fella’s lips together just for kissing you?”

  “No, of course not. I’ve never in my life seen Snake touch a needle.”

  Rafe slowly stood, debating whether to pick up where they’d left off or wait for another time to learn the taste of Maggie St. John. He took a step out of the shadows toward her, and she flattened herself against the wall of the pool.

  “That was Lucky,” she said. “Sewing is one of his special talents. He did a lot of work with sails.”