The Buccaneer

by Donna Fletcher

  He brought his hands to his neck and rubbed at the stiff muscles, tender and sore from standing at the ship’s wheel a good portion of the night. He had piloted the ship until exhausted and then returned to his cabin, falling into bed and into an instant slumber.

  He had not anticipated his reaction to her kiss. He had not expected such a kiss. He had not thought her such a consummate lover. The notion disturbed him. The idea that she had shared her body with so many men irritated him. The fact that he should care one way or another infuriated him.

  A delightfully teasing peal of feminine laughter drifted on the sea breeze around him. He stiffened knowing Catherine was on deck. He would ignore her presence. She was Santos’s responsibility. When male laughter joined hers he grew angry. She was probably using her womanly charm to wrap his crew around her finger. When their combined robust laughter escalated his control snapped like a dry twig ready for kindling. He swung around and marched straight for her.

  o0o

  Catherine had not felt this relaxed and content since leaving England. When Santos suggested a breath of fresh air she had almost screamed with delight. She had rushed into a peach silk dress, the design simple. No bows or trims adorned it, except of course her pearls. It was a frock for relaxation and not to entertain in, and she had fastened the garment with a smile of satisfaction.

  Her hair had been hastily combed and secured with a yellow ribbon, wanting it drawn away from her face so she could catch the warmth of the sun upon her skin. In no time she had

  finished dressing and had pulled Santos out the door of the cabin and up onto the deck.

  The afternoon sun felt glorious against her skin and she breathed deeply of the fresh salty air, filling her lungs with the vibrant scent. She laughed with wonder and delight at the seabirds overhead circling the ship and squawking loudly as they attempted to claim their meal from the sea.

  Bones had hurried off in search of her shawl, insisting she needed it and that he had seen it packed in one of her trunks. Cook had specially made his way on deck and handed her a spiced muffin fresh from the galley and Jolly stood close by smiling.

  Santos stayed beside her, making certain no one bothered her. Not that his presence mattered. Soon the crew found reason to pass by her way and each one sent her a nod or called out a friendly greeting. When Bones returned with her shawl, she accepted it with a heartwarming smile that brought the crew to swarm around her like a pack of bees hovering near the queen bee.

  Catherine laughed and joked with the crew, sharing news of England with them and sensing many of them missed family that they had been forced to leave behind. She felt a kinship with them and relaxed as they exchanged conversation.

  Lucian charged down on the peaceful scene like a raging bull bent on slaughter. The fire in his eyes and the fury in his expression sent the men scurrying and bumping into one another to get out of his path of destruction.

  Catherine even took a step back though it did no good since she was his target and he was heading for a bull’s-eye. He converged on her in one swooping motion, lifting her up into his

  arms and heading straight for his quarters below.

  “Get back to work,” he bellowed to the crew before disappearing below with Catherine safely in his arms.

  She grasped hold of his neck afraid if he lost his balance he’d drop her. But he wasn’t even breathless from carrying her or the rapid strides he took.

  He kicked the cabin door open and deposited her on her feet just inside the room. “I allow you some fresh air and you have every man sniffing after you.”

  She gasped at his audacious remark. “They were doing no such thing. We were talking and I was enjoying the sea air. You had no right to take that pleasure from me.”

  Lucian loomed over her, his hands planted firmly on his hips. “I have every right to do as I wish. You, madam, have no rights. You do as I dictate or else.”

  Upset that her short taste of freedom had been unfairly snatched away from her, she swung her hands to her hips and stuck her chest out and her chin up as she challenged, “Or else what? You’ll punish me?”

  Lucian’s nostrils flared, his eyes glared red and his chest heaved with controlled anger. He turned, slammed the door shut, and then turned on her once more. “You, madam, have no idea what punishment is.”

  Catherine’s own temper sparked into a flame. “No idea? You call stealing me, keeping me captive against my will all for the sake of revenge no form of punishment?”

  Lucian had had enough. It was time she heard the stark truth about life and about her father. He delivered his tirade slowly, emphasizing each word harshly. “Punishment, Catherine,

  is having your hand cut off for being accused of stealing whether you committed the crime or

  not. Punishment is having your teeth broken off with a metal bolt because you ate when the captain hadn’t given permission. Punishment is being forced to eat cockroaches because the captain insisted that bugs provided nourishment. Punishment is being sold into servitude to a barbaric captain for debts you never incurred, by a man you never met.”

  “My father would never condone such savage treatment, and especially not on his ships. You have been misinformed and harbor resentment against the wrong man,” she insisted, strongly moved by his horrifying experiences and equally moved by his false accusations against her father.

  “You prefer tales instead of truths?” he asked, angry that she defended Abelard with such decisiveness.

  “You,” she said, pointing an accusing finger at him, “accept the tale, not bothering to search out the truth.”

  He advanced on her so quickly that she barely had time to drop her hand.

  He hovered over her, his size engulfing her. “After discovering Abelard’s name, I searched long and hard making certain no mistake was made.” He paused and held her wide-eyed look with his own heated one. “Your father signed my sentence to hell.”

  A chill ran through Catherine at the bitter belief that filled his every word. His mind had condemned her father, his heart sought revenge. How would she ever make him realize his mistake?

  As usual she chose a simple response. “You’re wrong.”

  Her unwavering defense of her father annoyed him. “You don’t know your father.”

  She shook her head adamantly, the yellow ribbon falling loose, her hair spilling free to

  wave over her shoulders. “I do know my father. I know him far better than anyone.”

  Swiftly he reached out and grabbed her by the shoulders, pulling her up against him. “Randolph Abelard lies, cheats, and steals. Do you know that about him?”

  Catherine struggled against him. “You know nothing about my father, nothing. You lie to feed your thirst for revenge against an innocent man.”

  He pushed her away disgusted by her unyielding defense of Abelard. “Innocent?” He laughed and walked toward the door.

  He grabbed the door latch, swinging it open and turned, pointing a finger directly at Catherine. “He is as innocent as you are a virgin.”

  The door slammed so hard behind him that the metal hinges squeaked and the frame trembled.

  Catherine sank to the floor where she stood, her legs too weak to hold her up any longer. She sat on the cabin floor hugging her pearls tightly and sadly shook her head. “He finally speaks the truth and doesn’t know it.”

  o0o

  The day drifted lazily into evening. Lucian kept his distance from everyone, his black mood growing darker. He sat on the quarterdeck, his back braced against a rain barrel, his legs stretched out before him. He discarded his shirt, his skin still thirsty for the warmth of the sun.

  He stared out at the endless seascape. Once, not long ago, he had hated the sea. It had represented a prison that held him captive. Escape was impossible. Existence was intolerable.

  Now after years of struggle, the never-ending sea meant freedom. He could sail forever

  and never feel imprisoned. He had one last shackle to free himself o
f and then he would finally, truly feel free.

  Lucian ran his hands through his dark red hair drawing every strand back tightly into his hand at the back of his neck. He closed his eyes and gave into his thoughts.

  Abelard. Somehow he had to destroy Abelard. He couldn’t let Catherine interfere with his plan. If he must he would destroy her too. She was no different from her father. Where her father used his ships to get what he wanted, Catherine used her body. She was no innocent and he had better remember that or else he’d be taken in by her honeyed tongue and curvaceous body.

  Lucian gave the matter further consideration. His plan had been waylaid; therefore an alternative one was necessary. Where, he thought, was the best area to attack one’s opponent?

  His eyes drifted open and he looked to the sea for strength and wisdom. A seabird squawked and swooped down on the surface of the sea several times before capturing his meal.

  Lucian watched the bird’s actions intently and smiled at his victory. “From within,” he whispered. “From within your own home, Abelard. And Catherine, your own sweet stepdaughter, shall be the pawn in your downfall.”

  He stood, stretched slowly, easing his shoulder muscles back. He felt better, but then decisiveness always lightened his sour moods. Discovering Catherine’s promiscuous nature had hindered his plans, but since he couldn’t use her that way, he would use her another.

  Catherine loved her father, believed in his innocence. What would she do when she discovered the truth? What would she do when he showed her the documents that proved Abelard sold him into servitude? She would turn against him, the stepdaughter he loved beyond reason would detest him. She would choose not to return to him. He would suffer humiliation and pain. Then he would go after Abelard’s business ventures until he had nothing, absolutely nothing, left.

  A smile as wicked as the devil’s own crossed his face as he headed to his cabin.

  o0o

  Catherine sat with her legs crossed in the middle of the bed chewing on a piece of sweet plump date she held between two fingers. Her other hand turned the pages of a book full of charted maps. The charts appeared specific with odd markings on each one and written in different languages. She was familiar with Spanish and understood those charts.

  She had decided a couple of hours ago that her time was best spent searching for the documents proving her father’s innocence rather than trembling like a frightened child. The maps had been left on his desk and hoping they would provide useful information she had gathered them up to carefully decipher them.

  She took another bite of the date and continued to view the Spanish chart when the cabin door opened. She remained with her legs crossed, bent over, her finger running along the lines, her heart racing as Lucian walked into the room.

  “Entertaining yourself with drawings?” he asked, stopping at the foot of the bed.

  She raised her head, smiled and popped the last of the date into her mouth before nodding.

  “If they entertain you by all means look at as many as you like. There is a whole chest of them,” he said, and pointed to a medium-sized brass chest beside his desk. “I’ll leave it unlocked for you.”

  She smiled like a child delighted with a gift. “Thank you. I love to follow all the lines with my finger and see where they take me.”

  “Where they take you?”

  “Of course,” she said excitedly. “Sometimes they take me to other lines and then on to another and another while other lines end abruptly.”

  Lucian shook his head. “If you enjoy tracing lines with your finger I see no harm in your viewing my charts. But be careful of your sticky fingers. I don’t want my charts ruined.”

  Catherine licked her fingers slowly like a cat savoring sweet milk. “Dates. Cook brought me some. They’re delicious. Want one? She asked, scooping a fat date out of the small bowl resting beside her and offering the fruit to him.

  “No,” he snapped, and snatched away the chart that lay in her lap.

  “I wasn’t finished tracing the lines,” she complained, annoyed since she had determined that the chart outlined a specific Spanish route and wanting to investigate further.”

  “It’s the chart or the date,” he ordered.

  Not wanting to appear anxious about viewing the chart and having secured his permission to do so anytime she wished, she took a bite of the date.

  Catherine found chewing difficult and felt certain she’d never swallow the piece. Not after Lucian turned his back to her and she once again viewed his scarred flesh. The scars had healed, leaving long, thin lash marks. The sun had darkened his skin hiding a few, but some couldn’t be hidden. They stood as a testimony to his endurance.

  He turned back around and she quickly popped the date into her mouth, holding onto the

  end and sucking on it like a licorice stick. She didn’t want him to know she had been staring at his back so she purposefully concentrated on the date, sucking it slowly, succulently, insatiably.

  Lucian focused on her mouth and the date. Her small tongue rode up the sides of the plump date skillfully. He could almost feel her pink flesh slither sensuously along the meaty fruit. His skin quivered and he hardened in an instant.

  “Are you sure you don’t want a taste?” she offered, the juice sticky on her lips.

  Lucian, don’t, his inner voice warned.

  He smiled recalling the name his crew had bestowed on him. Lucifer. He could handle the results of a sampling of the forbidden fruit. Could Catherine?

  “I’ll have a taste,” he said, walking over to the bed, dropping down over her and forcing her to scramble out of her awkward position as he descended upon her and feasted directly on her mouth.

  Chapter Eleven

  She tasted sticky and sweet and his tongue eagerly sought to sample all of her. He roamed her mouth slowly, savoring her unique flavor, drinking his full of her.

  Her tongue danced with his, initiating their pace. She picked up the tempo, darting, fencing, hiding, making him pursue her. She moved beneath him with the same gusto, pushing up against him, obviously anxious and impatient for him to touch her.

  He pressed against her, running his hand behind her neck and forcing her head up. He drank deeply of her rich taste and the urge to sample more of her overwhelmed him and sent his hand roaming.

  Catherine’s head dropped back on the pillow and she moaned, her breath short and rapid.

  “Delicious, but I want more,” he said firmly rising up over her and bringing his legs to rest on either side of her belly, straddling her.

  Catherine bit at her bottom lip and shook her head slowly.

  “Much more,” he emphasized, “my tongue is going to taste every delectable inch of you.”

  Her eyes flew open as though she had been pricked by a pin. Surely he was jesting with her. She had strained against him trying not to fight him, but fearful none the less. She ran her tongue across her puffy lips attempting to control her nervous tremors before speaking.

  He misread her actions. “Tonight I feast on you. Perhaps I shall allow you to feast on me another night.”

  Catherine’s eyes couldn’t have grown any wider, and they didn’t. They slammed tightly shut against his sinful remark. She felt his hands at her shoulders, felt him free the fastenings of her dress, felt him ease the silk down along her shoulders slowly inch by inch, exposing her breasts to him.

  “You are lovely,” he whispered, “but then I suppose you’ve been told that often enough.” He took the strand of pearls in his hand and ran the cool beads over her breasts and across her nipples.

  Catherine focused on his words, fighting against the tingling sensations racing over her flesh. Fighting the heat that raged inside her. Fighting the thought that she could conceivably enjoy the captain’ touch. She had to concentrate on the seriousness of the situation and find a solution, a way out.

  His fingers brushed her nipple, skimmed the tip, circled the rosy bud before he took the hard peak between his fingers and teased it un
mercifully.

  “Damn, but you feel good,” he said, his voice a deep husky whisper. “Let’s see how you taste.”

  Her eyes popped open again as his head descended to her breast. She gasped and sighed, so unexpected was the jolt of pleasure that shot through her when he took her nipple into his warm wet mouth and gently suckled the hard tip.

  Catherine think, she warned herself. Think of a way to stop him before it’s too late. But all her thoughts could center on was his mouth and the magic it worked on her.

  He stretched out over her, his mouth seeking her other nipple and delivering the same sweet torment to it.

  Catherine. The sharp voice in her head called. Think. Think of the consequences of his actions. If he discovers you are a virgin, his plan will succeed. You will fail. He treats you as he does other women. You mean nothing to him. Nothing.

  His mouth moved down to her belly leaving a trail of sensual kisses across her midriff and around her navel. He raised his head, smiled at her and asked, “Is your fruit as sweet as the plump, succulent date, Catherine?”

  Catherine stared at him, attempting to comprehend his remark. When his mouth began to descend between her legs, she realized what he had meant.

  Good Lord, he wouldn’t! He couldn’t. She had to stop him. She couldn’t allow him to invade her so intimately, not like this, not for the purpose of revenge.

  Her mind raced. His head descended. She released a low rumbling moan and he looked up at her with a wicked smirk on his handsome face.

  At that precise moment, seeing the satisfaction, the overwhelming sense of victory written on his stark features she knew what she must do.

  “Yes, Lucian, yes. Taste me. Taste deeply of me. I miss it so,” she cried in feigned passion and with courage she didn’t think she possessed she spread her legs wider. “Philbert often took his pleasure this way with me. Night after night he would cradle his head between my legs and— “She paused, searching for the right words. Her mind worked quickly and she felt proud of herself when she said, “favor me with the talents of his tongue.” She paused again and lowered her voice to a whisper as though about to tell a naughty tale and used his earlier, salacious suggestion on him. “Then I could pleasure you, Lucian, as I pleased Philbert. He insisted my mouth worked magic.”