Catherine kept her attention diverted from him. She required a clear, precise mind to calculate her next step.
Stupid.
"I am not," she whispered to herself. Old memories haunted her and she questioned her ability to succeed in rescuing her father from hanging. Too often when she was young she was made to feel intellectually inadequate. Incapable of the smallest chore or lesson.
Her mother had insisted she was lazy, repeating over and over the story of how Catherine caused her mother a long and laborious birth simply because she was too lazy to be born.
When she couldn't tie her ribbons quickly and prettily, her mother accused her of laziness. When she made mistakes on her cross-stitch samplers, she was again accused of laziness. Even when she showed interest in books she was scolded for idling her time away looking at pictures.
Catherine had thought herself foolish and worse, unlovable. She assumed no one would love someone so stupid. Until Randolph Abelard married her mother.
At first she was shy and frightened around him. She feared if he learned of her stupidity he wouldn't love her as a father loved a daughter, so she tried extra hard at her lessons.
Still after all these years she found it difficult to believe how he gallantly defended her against the tutor and then dismissed him. And when she remembered how he began teaching her himself, Catherine smiled and was filled with warm thoughts and pleasant memories.
Her father had taken time out of each day to sit with her and discuss all sorts of subjects. When she had excitedly dragged a book from the shelf and pointed to pictures, attempting to relate a story to him, he had smiled broadly and announced that he would teach her to read and write.
It had been difficult at first and she had cried often, feeling a failure. Her father had wiped her tears away and had offered encouragement. He sat her on his knee and explained that her mind worked at a slower pace when learning her lessons, but that she possessed a spark for knowledge that few people did. All that was necessary was for her to take her time and think things over.
When he began to teach her how to write, she often became confused and messed up her letters and numbers.
Again he cautioned her to take her time and proved his point by questioning her orally on math. She answered his every question correctly and without hesitation. And whenever she doubted herself she would take pen to paper and practice her letters and numbers as she did as a child.
She glanced about the room, stopping briefly to make certain Lucian was asleep. He didn't stir and his breathing seemed steady. She continued on until she spotted an inkwell and pen on top of the chest on the far wall.
She slipped off the wide sill and quietly hurried over to the chest. Stepping on tiptoes, she reached up and grabbed the inkwell and pen, and finding a sheet of parchment paper, she took that as well, returning to her perch by the window.
Rain fell heavily outside sending the inhabitants of Tortuga indoors. Gone was the raucous laughter, singing of songs, and argumentative exchanges. Silence filled the night, to Catherine's relief.
She placed the items she had collected on the sill and carefully moved the oil lamp from the bureau to the small narrow table next to the sill, providing her with sufficient light to write.
She climbed back on her perch, brought her knees up to rest the parchment on, and dipped the pen in the inkwell; slowly she began to write her name.
Tired from the long eventful day Catherine had difficulty concentrating. Her vision blurred. Every attempt at completing her name failed and she grew more frustrated and doubtful. If she couldn't write her name, a simple enough task, how could she hope to succeed in clearing her father's name?
She bit at her lower lip and concentrated. She had to write her name correctly, she just had to. She tried again and then again, but each time the letters appeared more scrambled. Finally she began to cry in frustration softly and steadily while her hand fought to write her name correctly.
Lucian stirred in his sleep, a sense that something was amiss rousing him. He heard Catherine's soft whimpers as his eyes drifted open. He wasted no time. He climbed from the bed and went to her, his heart racing in concern.
She looked up at him, her eyes red and filled with tears. He looked down at her and the paper resting against her bent legs. His look appeared puzzled and he reached for the paper.
"Bloody hell, Catherine, weren't you properly taught how to read and write. Look at the mess you've made."
All the years of struggling to learn, all the years of keeping it a secret, all her fears surfaced at once. And she lashed out at him, grabbing back the paper. "I was taught to read and write."
She put her pen to paper and once again attempted her name, slowly, carefully, concentrating on every line and curve of the letters. Her fingers grasped the pen tightly as she worked diligently on proving her intelligence. But her mind had suffered enough badgering for one day and failed to cooperate.
She cried out in frustration when she made an error and sought to correct her mistake.
Lucian stood beside her stunned. Obviously she had been tutored in reading and writing, but perhaps the lessons were never finished. Even if that was so, she had learned remarkable well for a woman. She was far more intelligent than he had given her credit for. And he respected and admired her determination and her courage.
He bent down beside her and slipped his hand over hers. "Let me help you."
Catherine froze in shock, her tears running down her cheeks.
He smiled at her, a soft, encouraging smile and Catherine's fear suddenly melted away. His large hand covered hers and together they wrote Catherine's name perfectly.
"Thank you," she whispered, and smiled. "You truly are a gentleman."
Lucian stared at her. She looked vulnerable and innocent with her silver blond hair tumbling wildly over her shoulders and around her pale face. And her green eyes had grown deep in color from her crying, her cheeks flushed pink and her bottom lip reddened from her biting nervously at it. She resembled a little girl, innocent of life.
But she was no innocent and he was no gentleman. He was a pirate, the infamous pirate Lucifer, with tales of his plunder and savage escapades crossing oceans and continents. And she was Randolph Abelard’s daughter and a harlot.
He ran his finger down the side of her cheek tenderly as if touching her for the first time. "If only," he whispered, then stood and took himself off to bed, turning his back on her and his emotions once again.
Chapter Fifteen
Catherine gripped the wooden rail and watched Tortuga fade in the distance. Where would Lucian take her now? What were his intentions? How long would she remain his prisoner? How long could she continue this charade?
A shudder ran through her and arms wrapped around her.
"Have you a chill?" Lucian asked, drawing her back against him and crossing his arms to rest beneath her breasts.
Catherine released the railing along with a soft sigh. She ran her hands over his large ones, her tension fading as she felt his strength locked around her. He was offering her protection, comfort. For how long? She didn't know and she didn't care. She gratefully accepted his offer of peace.
She decided upon an honest answer. "My thoughts chill me."
"Why is this?" His voice held no icy contempt. It rang warm with concern.
"My fate has yet to be decided."
He hooked his fingers over hers. "Your fate still remains in my hands, nothing has changed."
"Our destination has."
"You need only to ask, madam, and I shall be pleased to tell you."
"Where is it you take me, Lucian?"
"To Heaven," he said with a gentle laugh.
"Heaven?"
"My island," Lucian explained. "I named it Heaven since it is the closest thing to paradise."
"Afraid to ask, but knowing she must, she took a deep breath and said, "How long is my stay in Heaven?"
He hugged her closer to him, leaned down near her ear and whispere
d, "Don't you know Heaven is for eternity."
Another shudder raced through her.
"Do you fear eternity with me, Catherine? You had agreed to marry me. Marriage is a lifetime commitment. Would you have honored your vows? Would you have given yourself to me for a lifetime?"
“If we had exchanged wedding vows, I would belong to you at this moment. It was not I who broke the agreement."
Lucian brushed his lips over the rim of her ear. "But you played me false, madam."
Thinking was difficult with him nibbling at her ear. "I did no such thing. I came to you— “
"With your lost virginity."
Catherine attempted to ignore his warm breath, his teasing lips, and his hard body pressing into her. "You did not specify virginity as a prerequisite to the marriage."
"I did not think it necessary. I assumed you were a lady."
Catherine closed her eyes against her own response. "You assumed wrong."
He retaliated swiftly. "And you sealed your own fate."
"What is my fate, Lucian?" she asked, her desperation to know haunting her.
He turned her around to look at him. "Once again, madam, I think you will be the one to seal your fate." He kissed her gently, released her, and walked away.
Catherine watched him saunter off to the opposite end of the ship. Why did he speak in riddles? What could she possibly do to seal her own fate?
Allow him to make love to you, her silent voice answered.
Either way he would win. If he made love to her and discovered her virginity, his revenge would be sweet. And if he returned her untouched society would still assume the opposite. She would lose; seal her own fate, no matter her choice. Her only hope was that at least she would be able to prove her father's innocence; otherwise this whole charade would be for naught.
She needed to keep him at a distance. She needed to keep her wits about her. She needed to find those papers and escape. She needed to ignore Lucian's gentle side and remember who he was and why he held her captive. He was the infamous Captain Lucifer and he sought revenge.
Don't forget, Catherine. Don't forget, she silently warned herself while a single tear trickled down her cheek.
"You informed Abelard, didn't you?" Santos asked as Lucian joined him at the wheel.
Lucian leaned against the huge rain barrel strapped to the mast. "I did."
"The man you spoke to on Tortuga?"
"Will take my message to Abelard."
"And the message?"
"I have his daughter."
Santos heard the cold calculation in Lucian's voice and dreaded the outcome of this venture. "What do you expect Abelard to do?"
"Offer me money in return for his daughter's safety."
"And will you take it?" Santos asked, though he knew well the answer.
"No," he said, curtly.
"Then how —"
"Catherine," Lucian finished. "I will still have my revenge through Catherine. She sees her father as a hero. A good and decent man incapable of hurting anyone. When the time is right, I will show her the papers proving her father's guilt. Then she will see the truth."
"And?" Santos waited.
"She will hate her father and seek solace with me."
"I intend to allow her to choose her fate."
Santos shook his head. "She will not stay with you."
"Her body tells me otherwise."
Santos gripped the wheel. "You've touched her?"
Lucian laughed. "You act as if I had offended a virgin."
"Are you sure you haven't?"
"You're a blind fool," Lucian snapped, springing away from the rain barrel and raking his fingers through his long hair. "Catherine Abelard is no virgin."
"You're more the fool if you believe that," Santos said. "Open your eyes, Lucian, before it's too late, my friend."
o0o
Catherine once again wore a cotton shift, this one trimmed with yellow flowers. Her pearls hung down around her neck past her belly while she vigorously combed her hair before retiring.
"The viscount bored me," she said, having entertained Lucian with tales of her sexual exploits since he had entered the cabin an hour ago. She intended that he keep his distance and she could almost guarantee he would if she constantly chattered about her naughty liaisons.
Lucian sat in bed, his expression blank, his hands clenched at his sides. The white sheet rode low across his flat hard belly and his long red hair fell over his shoulders still damp from the washing he had given it before retiring to his cabin.
Catherine kept her eyes averted from him, looking at him could prove fatal. He reminded her of a mighty warrior, strikingly handsome and ready for battle. His opponent didn't stand a chance, especially a woman.
She hung her head down between her legs and repeatedly combed her hair over her head.
"Are you going to tell me why the viscount bored you," Lucian asked irritably. Annoyed with himself for having asked the question and even more annoyed that he found an answer necessary.
Grateful that her long hair hid her blush she continued. "He always wanted me beneath him. He had no adventure in his soul. It was always the same position. He completely bored me."
Catherine blessed Bonnie every time she fabricated a story. She had had no idea that men found different positions exciting or that there even were different positions to enjoy when making love.
Lucian's question startled her. "Which position do you prefer?"
She brushed her hair harder. Recalling Bonnie's favorite she chose it as her own as well. "I prefer being on top. I can feel so much more and move more freely."
Lucian cursed his curiosity. Now all he could think of was her riding some damn viscount, her head tossed back, her breasts pushed out, and her moans of pleasure filling the room.
"Blast all, woman, you're going to comb every hair out of your head. Put the damn comb down and come to bed."
Catherine tossed her head back; her silver blond hair flying around her, her cheeks flushed a vivid pink and her eyes aglow with surprise. "My hair tending annoys you?"
"Yes," he snapped, though in truth he found pleasure in watching her comb her silky mane. He loved the strange blond color of her hair and often itched to run his fingers through it. He just couldn't stand hearing another lover's tale. He had had enough.
Not wishing for an argument Catherine put her comb away and climbed into bed. "Lucian—"
He turned, capturing her chin harshly between his fingers, "No more. I will hear no more about favorite positions, boring positions, and any positions except the one you intend to fall asleep in."
"My side," she said with difficulty, his fingers still gripping her face.
He released her. "Good, go to sleep on your side."
"I will, but, Lucian?"
"Yes," he said, settling himself against his pillows.
"I've never made love side by side. I've heard it is possible, but I have never known a man skilled at that position." Why she continued to chatter on about sexual positions, she couldn't say. Unless it was Lucian's skills that interested her.
"Go to sleep," he shouted angrily, and reached out to extinguish the lamp on the table beside the bed.
Quiet descended on the cabin. The sea could be heard slapping the sides of the ship while it rocked it gently. Catherine found peace in the simple sound and motion and listened allowing the sway to ease her into sleep.
"Catherine," Lucian called softly.
"Mmmm," she answered, too tired for words.
"Side by side is indeed pleasurable."
Catherine's eyes burst wide open.
"Perhaps one day I shall show you."
It was an hour before Catherine was able to sleep or breathe easily.
o0o
The lash struck his back over and over and over. The leather thongs tore at his flesh, ripping it apart. The pain was excruciating, blinding him, tearing at him, searing his very soul.
He pressed his cheek against the mast he was
strapped to, willing himself to block out the pain, to survive, to have his revenge.
The lash struck him again, his back feeling like the fires of Hades. Then the voice followed.
"How dare you touch my daughter? How dare you defile her innocence? How dare you steal her love from me?"
Lucian turned his head, looking over his shoulder, fighting the pain it caused him until his eyes connected with his abuser — Randolph Abelard.
He stood holding Catherine in his arms. She cried on his shoulder. He shook his head sadly.
"You fool," he whispered, and turned away, taking Catherine with him.
He tried desperately to see who swung the lash, he craned his neck stretching, looking, searching and then he saw him —
Lucian almost jumped from the bed screaming. Sweat poured from his brow and his breath was short and rapid. His eyes bulged wide, afraid to close, afraid of what he might see.
Catherine woke in terror, turning and tumbling from the bed so fearful was she of his scream. She got to her knees and peered over the edge of the bed. "Lucian?" she asked softly, wondering if he remained in the throes of his nightmare or if he had awakened.
He shook his head and looked beside him. "Catherine?"
She scrambled back into the bed. "I'm here," she said, offering her hand to him.
He grasped onto her, pulling her into his lap and hugging her almost breathless. "I frightened you?"
"A wrenching scream tearing through one's sleep would have that effect."
He squeezed her to him again and laughed. "Oh, angel, you do save my sanity at times."
Catherine snuggled against his chest, her small fingers rubbing his taut warm muscles. "And cause you madness at other times."
His voice was a bare whisper. "I cause my own madness."
Catherine could only imagine the horrors he had endured while captive to a madman. She wished she could make him forget just for the moment.
She gave no thought to her action. He needed her; she felt it in his tense muscles, in his rapid heartbeat, in his heavy breathing. And she could not deny him.
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