“Ye’ve an ill tongue, miss.” Maude stalked across the room to fetch a night rail from the wardrobe. “I dinna ken where ye learnt such talk.”
“Why, from you of course.”
Maude muttered something and came back with the nightgown, gesturing for Diana to stand. “It’s no right for a lady like yerself tae say such things. The man’s a criminal.”
“What if he has a reason for what he does? I have heard that he is of noble blood,” Diana argued as she stripped off her shift. “Perhaps his family fortune was lost in the war, and he seeks to rebuild it.”
“Can ye no think o’ a lawful way a man might go about rebuildin’ a fortune?” Maude scoffed. She helped Diana into the virginal white night rail, guiding her arms into the sleeves. “Nah, lass. The man’s a pirate because he likes bein’ one.”
“I still say El Moreno is different. Bold. Handsome. So deadly with a sword that none dare challenge him!” She brandished an imaginary blade as Maude struggled to pull her hair out of the neckline of her night rail.
“Piracy and murder,” Maude lamented. “A fine thing for a young lady tae be talkin’ about! What would yer father say if he heard ye talkin’ about El Moreno like he was a suitor came tae court ye? I’d tell ye what he’d say. He’d demand me tae leave his house since I canna control one impetuous girl.”
“Oh, Maude.” Diana sighed as the exuberance drained out of her. She moved to stand by the open terrace doors and stared out at the dark beauty of the sultry Jamaican night. “My maidenhood cannot last forever. Someday soon my father will arrange another marriage for me. I will never sail the world or see far off places. There are so few choices for a woman.” She shook her head. “I will honor Papa’s choice of husband, whoever he be, with good grace and dignity. But in the face of this mundane future, do you not consider it my due that I indulge in such romantic fantasies while I may?”
A glance at her companion’s somber expression served as her answer.
“Then dream on this,” Maude relented. “They say El Moreno’s in Jamaica this verra minute. Perhaps he means tae steal the earbobs from Henry Morgan himself!” With this pronouncement she withdrew from the room, leaving Diana staring after her.
El Moreno was in Jamaica. Once more the stranger in the garden crept into her mind. She touched her mouth and wondered for an instant if she had tasted the kiss of the Black Spaniard. Then she dismissed the idea as foolish.
All her life she had longed for one adventure, one thrilling memory to take with her into her boring future. She had found it in the kiss of a handsome stranger.
She cast one last, wistful look at the starry night before turning back to her room. Before climbing into her bed she paused to blow out the candle, holding her hair out of the way of the flame. Darkness settled over the room, and she lay back against the pillows.
Never again would she look at the pale moon against the midnight sky without remembering Alex’s wicked smile.
The sound of a footstep woke her.
Diana opened her eyes just as the mosquito netting around her bed was ripped aside. A glimmer of moonlight pierced the darkness an instant before the shape of a man blocked it out. Before she could open her mouth to scream, a rough-skinned hand smelling of filth and ale clamped hard over her lips. She clawed at the man’s shadowed face. He caught her wrists one-handed and restrained her, snickering at her frantic struggling.
“Hold her,” he rasped.
Diana tried to roll away as a second man climbed up on the bed. Taking her wrists from the first man, he straddled her, his legs clamping hard around her thighs.
“Take yer time,” the man atop her sneered. “I’m likin’ this.”
“Don’t like it too much,” the first man answered in his harsh voice. “The captain wants first poke at ‘er.”
Fear shot through her at the words. She struggled harder to dislodge the man on top, her screams muffled behind the hand over her mouth.
“I think she likes me.” The lascivious laugh along with the unwashed stench of the man above her sent terror rippling down her spine. She jerked her hips in an effort to unbalance him. “Hurry up and tie her, mate,” he sniggered. “The wench is eager to have me.”
The hand moved away from her mouth. Diana sucked in a deep breath, preparing to scream. A wad of foul-tasting material was shoved between her lips. She tried to push it out with her tongue, but another strip of cloth was pressed between her teeth and tied behind her head to hold it in place. She shrieked her frustration behind the gag. The two men laughed.
“She’s a hot piece, eh?” came the abrasive voice of the first man. “I wouldn’t mind havin’ a taste o’ her myself.” Roughly he wrapped thin, coarse rope around her wrists, binding her hands together.
“We’ll all have a turn when the cap’n’s done.” The man atop her ran his hands over her thinly clad body. “I just hope he leaves enough for a bit o’ fun.”
Fury and fear lent her a strength she did not know she possessed. As the first man moved to tie her legs, she bucked her hips and swung her bound hands at the head of the one who straddled her. The double movement sent the unsuspecting brigand to the floor.
Swearing, the first man dove for her. She raised both legs and slammed them into his stomach. He cursed, his harsh voice becoming more so as he stumbled backwards and struggled for breath. Diana rolled off the bed and ran.
“Bitch!” A hard yank on her hair halted her flight mere steps from the door. The man she had pushed to the floor whirled her to face him. “Bitch!” he snarled again. Drawing back his hand, he cuffed her hard to the side of the head.
Pain exploded in her skull. She whimpered, hanging limply in his grasp. He slung her over his shoulder like a sack of flour. As the blood rushed to her head, the throbbing from the blow increased. Her vision blurred. Dimly she grew aware of hands on her ankles, binding them together with more coarse rope.
“Hurry up, mate.” The man holding her shifted his burden, sending a new wave of pain washing through her brain. She groaned.
“‘Tis done,” said the first man, his harsh voice augmented by his labored breathing.
“Then back to the ship for us.” A slap stung her bottom, and the ruffian’s hand lingered. “And with ye as well, milady.”
Despite Diana’s struggle to stay coherent, the laughter of her captors started to fade to a distant buzz. A cool breeze tugged at her night dress, and she realized she had been carried out to the terrace. She caught a glimpse of the stone balustrade. Her vision wavered, then swirled into a cloud of black…
Chapter Three
The iron manacles hanging from the wall cast eerie shadows in the candlelit room.
Shuddering, Chilton looked away from the gruesome sight and picked up his goblet of wine. Other tortuous devices decorated Marcus’s cabin, but Chilton had learned long ago that his comrade’s activities were best ignored by those who could not stand the sight of blood.
“You did not tell me she had red hair.”
At the words, he glanced across the table at Marcus. The pirate’s blond good looks and melodious voice gave lie to the evil and perversion in his soul. At the moment Marcus stared with peculiar fascination at Diana, who lay bound and unconscious on the bed.
“You never asked what she looked like,” Chilton answered, sipping fine burgundy pilfered from some unlucky French vessel. “As a matter of fact, you were most annoyed when I asked you to abduct her.”
“But red hair.” Marcus reached for the silver goblet containing his wine and caressed it. “I adore redheads. They often have the type of pale delicate skin that bruises so well. And most of them are so very stubborn.” He lifted his goblet, drained it and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I love breaking the spirit in a woman.”
Chilton curled his lip at Marcus’s crude table manners. “At this point I don’t care what you do to her. Just don’t kill her, for I still intend to wed the bitch.” He glared at the unconscious woman. “She will pay for cuckoldin
g me.”
Marcus looked at him, his piercing green eyes glittering with amusement. “Peter, only a husband can be cuckolded.”
“She betrayed me. She knew I wanted her to be my bride.”
Marcus leaned back in his chair and raised his eyebrows. “You don’t suppose she took you in dislike?”
The sarcasm only rubbed salt in the raw wound of Chilton’s pride. “She is but a woman and does not know what she wants.”
Marcus grinned and picked up a jeweled dagger lying on the table. “I could teach her respect.”
“Be my guest. Just do not leave scars where anyone might see them. I will not have tongues wagging about the future Lady Chilton.”
“You surprise me, Peter.” Marcus jabbed the point of the dagger into the gouged and burned wood of the table, leaving it stuck there. “I always thought you to be more squeamish.”
“Mayhap you underestimated me.” Chilton gulped his wine.
“Then you will stay for the entertainment?” Marcus rose and chose an iron from the brazier in the corner. Examining the poker, he cast a jubilant smile in Chilton’s direction. “I will make her scream your name if you like.”
Chilton shuddered. “My thanks, but no. I would not dream of infringing on your enjoyment.”
Marcus lowered the poker. “Why, Peter, I am touched by your generosity. Allow me to respond in kind.” The irons clattered as he replaced the one he held with a careless motion.
“How?” Wariness crept over Chilton. When Marcus was this happy, someone usually died.
“I shall save you a lock of hair! Is that not an excellent suggestion?” Marcus rattled the chains on the wall and then picked up a cat-o’nine-tails. His exuberance as he handled the instruments reminded Chilton of a lad set loose in the confectionery.
“Leave her hair alone. I will not tolerate a bald bride.”
“Not that hair.” Chuckling, the pirate put down thumb screws and cracked his knuckles. Muscles in his chest and arms bulged beneath his white cambric shirt. “I will begin as soon as she awakens.”
“Why not now?” Chilton swept a hand at the helpless woman. “She is at your mercy.”
“Peter, Peter, Peter.” Marcus shook his shaggy head. “Anticipation is half the game. Besides, she will suffer more if she is awake.”
Chilton finished his wine in one gulp. “I care not how you do it, as long as there is no visible damage. Just keep her alive long enough for me to enjoy my wedding night.”
“I have hope for you.” Marcus laughed, a robust sound that sent dread rippling down Chilton’s spine.
“I will inform Frederick of his daughter’s fate,” Chilton said, pushing the fear to the back of his mind. “After he gives us those ledger pages, I will marry Diana and we can each take a share of her dowry.”
“That reminds me, Peter.” Marcus came to the table and yanked the dagger from the wood. “About that ledger you were keeping…”
The wine turned sour in Chilton’s stomach as he stared at the gleaming blade. Then someone pounded on the door to the cabin, breaking the tension. Chilton fell back in his chair as Marcus stalked to the portal and threw it open.
“What the devil do you want, Scroggins?” he snarled.
The scrawny seaman did not even blink at the pirate’s irate tone. “We’re ready to set sail, cap’n.”
“Excellent.” Marcus turned to look at his guest. “Well, Peter, as you have heard, the ship is ready to depart. Unless you intend to come with us, you must disembark.”
“Very well.” Chilton pushed away from the table and moved toward the door. “I will contact you when I have the ledger pages.”
Marcus sketched a mocking bow. “Have no fear for your future bride. I will be certain to leave her healthy enough to say the marriage vows.”
“See that you do. I need her wealth.”
A moan came from the bed. Marcus’s face lit with pleasure.
“Ah, she wakes.” Marcus pricked Chilton’s hand with the dagger, drawing a drop of blood. “Off with you, Peter, and leave the master to his work.”
Chilton paled at the trickle of crimson that threatened to stain the bright yellow silk of his coat sleeve.
“Good night, my lord.” Marcus raised the dagger again.
Chilton made a hasty exit, fleeing the ship and Marcus’s laughter as if he escaped the bowels of Hell itself.
She heard voices.
Forcing herself to surface from the black void of unconsciousness, Diana struggled to make sense of the jumbled conversation that awakened her. Memory flooded back, and fear with it, as she recognized the raspy voice of one of her abductors.
“She sure be a comely piece, cap’n.”
“She is indeed, Scroggins.” The man who answered was not the same one who had accompanied this Scroggins earlier. His voice was richer. Deeper. Smoother. Almost aristocratic. From the familiar creaks and splashes that came to her ears, she deduced that she was aboard a ship. The gentle rocking of the room around her confirmed this. She knew that she lay on a bed and that her hands were still bound. Her legs, however, were not. Tamping down on the urge to flee, she continued to feign unconsciousness.
The bed dipped as if someone sat upon it. A hand ran through her hair, lifting it and letting it fall back against her cheek. “A red-haired virgin. She is much too fine for the likes of that fool Peter.”
Despite its beauty, the deep voice chilled her. She had the fleeting thought that the devil must speak like this, his tones dulcet yet deadly.
“So lovely,” the owner of the voice murmured. Hands smoothed down her body, forcing her to swallow her revulsion. “Mayhap I should see what charms the lady can offer.” He ripped open the lacy bodice of her nightgown.
Diana shrieked behind the gag. Her eyes flew open to reveal a large blond man bent over her, his brutal hands clenched around handfuls of lace. He jerked his head up. His stunning good looks matched the loveliness of his voice, but what she saw in his gaze frightened her.
“She be awake, cap’n,” said the wiry, scarred man standing at the foot of the bed.
“I can see that, Scroggins.” The villain’s eyes narrowed with lust. Before she could blink he yanked the gag from her mouth, tilted her chin up and forced a bruising kiss on her tender lips.
She whimpered, almost gagging as he pushed his tongue into her mouth. She strained against her bonds, disgust giving her strength. At last the knave raised his head.
“I love a woman with spirit.”
The words sent fear snaking down her spine. She searched the room desperately for a means of escape. Instead, what she saw only terrified her more. Scattered about the room, all the more horrible for the casual way they had been left about, lay instruments of torture. Most of the frightening apparatus she did not recognize, but one or two she did. A well-worn cat-o’nine-tails rested on a table. Heavy iron manacles hung from the wall. Pokers thrust menacingly out of a black brazier.
“I see that you are admiring my playthings, my dear. Mayhap you will join me in a game or two?” Her captor laughed at his own jest.
“Who—” Diana wet her parched lips before asking the question that would confirm her suspicions. “Who are you?”
“My dear lady.” His eyes widened in astonishment. Placing a hand over his heart he sketched a brief bow. “I am Marcus, king of the seas. And you are my captive.”
The Vengeance sliced through the calm water like a sword through silk. Alex braced his arms on the rail of the quarterdeck and watched the white foam dance back from the hull like the petticoats of a flirtatious maid. Even as he gloried in the caress of the salt air on his skin, he lifted his gaze to search the horizon for Marcus.
After his meeting with Morgan, he had returned to his ship, where he found the man he had sent to follow Chilton waiting for him. Along with the news that Diana Covington had been taken captive by Marcus, Alex had also been given the location of his enemy’s vessel.
At last he would have his revenge.
“Go
od evenin’ tae you, captain.”
Alex turned at the familiar Scottish burr and saw Birk Fraser, ship’s surgeon, climbing up to the quarterdeck. He grinned at the brawny Scot’s reddened eyes and pained expression.
“Why, Birk, I do believe you are sober.”
“O’ course I’m bloody sober,” came the acerbic reply. “Ye’re takin’ us intae battle, chasin’ after some wench that’s been snatched from her bed. Do ye expect me tae pull pistol balls out o’ yer carcass from the bottom o’ a bottle?”
Alex shrugged and faced the sea once more. “You have done it before. And Diana Covington is no ‘wench’, Birk. She’s a lady of good family, an innocent girl.”
Birk joined him at the rail. “A bloody sainted virgin, eh?”
“I realize you are unfamiliar with the breed,” Alex scoffed.
“I steer clear o’ the lot o’ them. Virgins can lead a man tae the altar, and Birk Fraser is no a man tae be married.” He shook his head. “It’s yer bloody honor that has ye determined tae rescue the lass, isn’t it?”
“The thought of her purity being warped by his perversity turns my stomach.”
“Aye, nae woman deserves that kind o’ abuse. I saw what he did tae the wench on Tortuga, and it’s a mercy the lass died. I took a whole bottle tae ma bed wi’ me that night.”
“Everything seems to be cause for the bottle in your opinion, Mister Fraser.” Alex gave him a level look.
Birk met and held his gaze. “Ye ken I have good reason tae drink, Alex.”
“I know, my friend. But I hate watching you destroy yourself.”
“Who, me?” Birk threw back his head and laughed. His black hair blew wildly in the wind, giving him the look of a madman. “I’m no the one sailin’ about callin’ himself a pirate.”
“Step carefully, Birk,” Alex warned.
Once a Mistress Page 3