Once a Mistress

by Debra Mullins

  Birk sent him a glare. “Hush up, ye fool,” he hissed. Turning to Diana, he took her hand in his. “Pay nae mind tae what ye see, lassie. Thon wench is nothing tae the captain.”

  “I would not agree, Mister Fraser.” Squaring her shoulders, she tried to ignore the pain. “It would seem that I must re-evaluate a few things. Obviously I was not as important to him as I thought.”

  “Ye’re daft, woman. Ye mean more tae him than ye ken.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “I should have expected this. Of course a man like Alex would have a mistress. It would be foolish to assume that there were no women in his life.”

  “He disna want Rosana,” Birk insisted.

  “I beg to differ, Mister Fraser.” She held up a hand when Birk would have spoken again. “No. I believe I understand the situation quite well.”

  Birk muttered something under his breath, but Diana ignored him. She had thought that she and Alex had an understanding, that there was more to their relationship than the physical. Obviously she had been wrong. Rather than cry about it as she longed to do, she pressed her lips together and maintained control. It had been naive of her to assume that one night meant as much to him as it did to her. She would not make that mistake again. After all, it wasn’t as if she had feelings for the rogue…

  Her thoughts halted as abruptly as if she had smacked into a stone wall. She loved him. By all the saints, Diana Covington, wealthy heiress and the pride of Port Royal, was in love with a pirate. The truth sparkled in her mind like a diamond, stunning her with its many hues and facets.

  As she accepted the truth, strength flowed through her leaden limbs, revitalizing her. Yes, she loved him. She didn’t know his full name or from whence he came, but she loved him. Even though he was a pirate, a wanted man, she loved him. She stood a little straighter and tilted her chin. Alex could kiss all the Spanish strumpets he wanted, but he was going to come to her bed that night.

  She would see to it.

  “I see that sparkle in yer eye, lass,” Birk remarked. She merely smiled, and he shook his head. “A hot Spanish wench and a red-haired Scot fightin’ over the same man. There’s goin’ tae be a ruckus.” He chuckled. “I wouldna want tae be the captain. Then again, mebbe I would.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  The sounds of the night masked the scrape of the shutters being forced open. Quietly, a man slipped through the window and paused, glancing about the moonlit room. He grinned as he spotted his quarry, then made his way to the ornate bed. Grabbing the mattress with both hands, he lifted it, dumping the occupant to the floor in a flurry of bedclothes.

  “What the devil…!” Chilton spluttered and cursed, fighting his way free of the clinging sheets.

  “You should not invoke the devil’s name, Peter,” the intruder said, a trace of humor in his voice. He moved to the candle and lit it, then turned so the light played eerie shadows over his face. “Lest he appear.”

  “Marcus! Are you mad?” Chilton managed to get to his feet, then dug around in the pile of blankets until he found his nightcap. Plopping it on his nearly bald head, he looked back at the pirate, as if hoping he had imagined his presence. “What are you doing here at such an hour? Do you not realize you could be caught?”

  “Only if you betray me, Peter.” Marcus sat down in a nearby chair and withdrew a six-inch blade from its sheath. Examining the knife, he smiled and said, “And you would never do that, would you?”

  Chilton swallowed hard. “Of course not. Never.” He turned and scooped the blankets back on to the bed, then hurried to get beneath them, hiding his bare, bony legs from Marcus’s penetrating gaze.

  “I did not think so.” Idly, Marcus began to clean his nails with the knife. “We have a problem that we need to discuss.”

  “What problem?” His gaze locked on the blade, Chilton clutched the bedclothes with white-knuckled fingers.

  “El Moreno has interfered in our plans.”

  “El Moreno? What has he done now?”

  “He had the temerity to attack my ship and make off with my lovely captive.” Marcus held his hand out, fingers spread wide, to examine his manicure.

  “You let him take her?” Chilton fisted his hand and pounded on the bed. “Everything is ruined now!”

  “Let him?” Marcus repeated in a deadly voice. “Let him? I did not let him do anything! He damaged my ship. Killed my men. Clapped me in irons! And you say I let him?”

  “Of course you did not let him,” Chilton babbled, the color draining from his face. “You would never let such a thing happen. Ridiculous!”

  “El Moreno is a bloody barnacle on my arse,” Marcus sneered. “And the time has come to pry him loose.”

  “Indeed. Yes, I agree.” Chilton tugged nervously at his nightshirt.

  “I will get the wench back, and I will send El Moreno to Hell on the point of my sword.” The pirate grinned at the image. “I will make them both pay.”

  “Just…just remember not to kill Diana.” Chilton cringed as Marcus turned his gaze on him. “She is to be my bride, you know.”

  “Ah, yes.” Marcus turned the knife over and over in his hands and looked speculatively at Chilton. “I believe we must renegotiate, Peter.”

  “Re…renegotiate?”

  “Indeed.” Marcus tapped his chin with the flat of the blade. “I need to repair my ship. And there is a certain amount of revenge to be extracted….yes, half ought to do nicely.”

  “Half?” Puzzled, Chilton frowned at Marcus. “Half of what?”

  “The wench’s dowry of course.” He pointed the knife at Chilton. “You do mean to wed her, correct?”

  “Yes…I do…I just said that.”

  “Indeed. You will wed her, and we will divide her fortune between us. That should cover the cost of repairing my ship and replacing the men El Moreno killed.” Marcus tossed the knife in the air and caught it again one-handed. “But there is the little matter of revenge, Peter. I must have it.” He passed the knife from hand to hand. “I simply must. Hmmm…I know. The wedding night.”

  “Wedding night? My wedding night?” Chilton swallowed hard. “You cannot mean…”

  “Droit de seigneur.” Marcus smiled, pleased. “An excellent custom. I shall have half the riches as well as the bride’s maidenhead.” He chuckled and held the blade up to the candlelight. “I shall exact my vengeance on that sweet, fair skin.”

  “But…but she is my bride!” Chilton spluttered.

  “You would deny me my revenge?” Marcus sat straight up and pinned Chilton with his stare. “A mere night’s pleasure after all the trouble that red-haired witch has caused me?”

  “I only meant…”

  “You ungrateful bastard!” A flick of his wrist sent the knife streaking across the room. Chilton yelped as the weapon swept the nightcap from his head and pierced the wooden headboard with a thunk. The cap hung limply from the quivering blade.

  Chilton turned frightened eyes to Marcus. The pirate rose and made his way to the bed. Yanking his knife from the headboard, he extended the weapon to Chilton, the nightcap still hanging from it.

  “Next time,” he said with a smile, “it will be your tongue.”

  Chilton snatched the cap from the blade and shrank into the bedclothes. Marcus laughed.

  “Well, Peter? Do we have a bargain?”

  “Yes, damn your eyes.” Chilton plopped his cap on his head. “Though she will hate me for it.”

  Marcus shrugged. “Once she is your wife, she will have to obey you. ‘Tis the law.” He slid the knife back into its sheath. “As amusing as this is, I fear I must leave you, Peter. I shall notify you when I have the woman.”

  “See that you do.” As Marcus moved toward the window, Chilton called after him, “And do not try to anticipate the vows. I must wed her first, or the dowry is lost.”

  Marcus paused, one foot on the window sill. “Of course, Peter,” he answered with a smile. “I would not dream of it.”

  “Very well then.” Chilton
held the pirate’s gaze for a long moment before looking away.

  “Good night, Peter.” Marcus slipped out the window. “Sweet dreams.” His evil laugh echoed through the room long after he had left it.

  Diana paced the tiny room above the Broken Lantern Tavern. Her gaze passed over the comfortable bed, sturdy washstand, ceramic water basin and stubby candle. Apparently, Alex commanded only the best accommodations available. Despite the cozy comfort of the room, however, she missed the intimacy of his cabin aboard the Vengeance.

  She prowled the room, restless energy consuming her. She could not seem to stay still. Laughter echoed from below, combined with the sounds of men drinking and carousing. Occasionally, she heard a woman’s playful shriek or a feminine peal of laughter. Obviously, the men were not celebrating alone.

  Was Alex down there? She stopped pacing and frowned. Was he drinking with his men, his Spanish doxy in his arms? The image came clearly to her, as did the venomous feelings that followed. She clenched her teeth as jealousy nipped at her. She despised herself for the emotion. She did not want to envy that black-haired whore. But she did.

  She wanted to be the woman in Alex’s arms. She was not yet entirely comfortable with loving him, but she did not fool herself either. She was indeed in love with the irritating man.

  She admired his courage and his commanding presence. She reveled in his sharp wit and keen intelligence. His fierce temperament matched her own. No man had ever challenged her like he did. And most of all, he was a man with whom she could be free.

  She had no need to hide her anger from him as she did from her father or her other suitors. Every other man in Port Royal felt threatened when confronted with her temper and her stubbornness. Not Alex. His personality was powerful enough to complement hers. He seduced her with his sensuality and charmed her with his wit. His intelligence inspired her to think beyond the boundaries of her own world. Even as he tested her limits, his unapologetic strength comforted her and made her feel safe.

  Last night she had fallen asleep thinking they had merged in mind and soul as well as body. Even now she could feel the touch of his hands on her bare skin, the moist caress of his mouth on parts of her that had never seen the sun. She could hear his soft laughter at her flustered gasps, and she reveled in the fact that they did not always need words to communicate.

  A burst of feminine laughter echoed up the stairs from the taproom, jolting her from her memories.

  Here she stood reliving tender reminisces while that scoundrel had abandoned her to make merry with his tawdry trollop. She had to speak to him. Now. She had to know what place their relationship had in his life. Gathering her nerve, she marched to the door and flung it open.

  Birk sat in the hall, his chair tipped back against the wall and a bottle in his hand. He paused in raising the whiskey to his lips. “Can I help ye, lassie?”

  “Aye, Mister Fraser.” Hands on her hips, she tapped her foot. “I want to see Alex, and I want to see him now.”

  “Is that the way o’ it?” Birk lowered the front legs of his chair to the floor.

  Diana arched her brows. “It is. Now will you take me to him, or shall I search the taproom without you?”

  Birk put down the bottle. “I ken ye well enough tae know that ye’ll do just that. I’d best go along tae keep ye out o’ trouble.”

  “Must you go, Alejandro?” The Countess of Rothstone clung to her son’s arm as he paused near the door to the walled garden. The full moon illuminated her tear-stained face.

  “Si, Mama.” Alex squeezed her hands and pressed a kiss to her smooth forehead. It still amazed him that this beautiful woman with the ink-black hair and unlined skin had actually given birth to him some eight and twenty years ago. At two score and six, the countess had the youthful appearance of a woman ten years younger.

  “I have missed you, mi hijo, my son.” She smiled through the tears. “You were gone so long this time.”

  “I know.” He brushed the moisture from her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. “But I am very close. I had him, Mama. I will capture him again, and William’s death will at last be avenged.”

  “And then you will come home? For good this time?”

  “I hope so.”

  His mother reached up and cupped his face in her hands, her expression earnest. “You must come home, Alejandro. The estate needs your direction.”

  “I know, I know.” He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, still reluctant to think about that time when he would have to assume the responsibilities of his title. All he had ever wanted was to sail the world freely as he had done before his brother’s murder. He was not a man to be tied to the land. Stepping back from the embrace, he met his mother’s gaze.

  He might not be tied to the land, he thought, but he was certainly bound to his family. And right now, Miranda Rawnsley de Besosa, Countess of Rothstone, constituted all the family he had left. He would not disappoint her.

  He squeezed her shoulders. “I promise that it shall all be over soon.”

  “Very well.” She straightened and brushed the tears from her face. “I do not wish to waste our short time together with useless pleading. How long do you stay this time?”

  “Only a day or two. Just long enough to lay in supplies and make some repairs to the Vengeance.”

  “So little time,” she sighed.

  “It is necessary.” He grinned. “But this time you will not be alone when I leave.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “I am leaving someone in your care, a young woman named Diana Covington.”

  “A young woman?” The countess’s brows drew together in puzzlement. “Who is she? And why do you bring her here?”

  “She is someone very special to me. She needs a safe place to stay while I go to hunt Marcus.” He kissed her cheek. “I will tell you more on the morrow when you meet her. For now I must take my leave. I will return in the morning.”

  “Be careful, Alejandro.”

  “I will.” With one last tender touch to her face, Alex slipped through the doorway in the wall, closing the iron gate behind him. He paused to listen to the soft rustle of his mother’s skirts as she returned to the house and the click of the door as she closed it behind her. He was alone in the silence of the night. Slowly, he began to pick his way along the narrow path that led back to the village.

  The bright moonlight filtered through the trees, lighting the path in scattered patches. The briny breeze brushed through his hair and across his skin, soothing him like the touch of a lover. The distant lapping of the sea murmured to the night, like the whispers of a satisfied woman.

  Diana.

  He thought of Diana as she had been last night, warm and welcoming, her honest passion a balm to his tortured soul. Never in all his dealings with women had he met someone who could touch the deepest parts of him like she could. There was more than passion between them, more than a mutual liking for one another. Yet as long as Marcus roamed free, he dared not give a name to this tender emotion that filled his heart.

  He emerged from the trees to see the lights of the tavern before him. The flickering beam shining from the window of his room drew his attention and held it. He imagined Diana there, waiting for him. He quickened his step.

  A shriek of feminine laughter emerged from the tavern. Briefly he thought of Rosana. She had not reacted well to the ending of their relationship. He knew that she used her position in his life as some sort of social status, but he had not expected her fury to be so strong when he told her he no longer wanted her. It would be wise, he decided, to see that Rosana left the island. He would give her enough gold to start a new life somewhere else, so that she and Diana would never come into contact.

  Diana had the heart of a warrior, but Rosana had the instincts of an adder. He wondered that he had never noticed the predatory side of his former mistress. Perhaps he just hadn’t cared, he thought. He cared about Diana.

  He smiled. Diana was strong and stubborn, ye
t also soft and feminine. Each emotion she felt exploded with vibrant life. She raged or sobbed or made love with all the energy and vitality she possessed. When she cared about someone, she stood by him with fierce loyalty.

  She was the perfect mate for him.

  Contentment filled him. Life with Diana would be fast-paced and emotional, but never boring. She would probably throw things at him when they argued and then scorch him with her passion when they made up. His body responded to the mental image of Diana beneath him, her legs wrapped around his waist as he…

  He took a deep breath. The vision was entirely too clear. He reminded himself that there were still many obstacles to overcome before he could plan a future with Diana. First he must capture Marcus. That duty came before all others.

  A new thought occurred to him. He did not feel duty-bound to wed Diana. He chose to make her his wife. Still, remembering what their sweet mating might have wrought, he determined to marry her immediately, before he left the island. If he died by Marcus’s hand, he wanted his child to have his name. He wanted Diana to have his name. She had entrusted her life and her innocence to a pirate, and he didn’t want her to regret that decision. He would speak to the priest on the morrow. He just hoped that Diana would consent to be married by a Catholic.

  She would wed him, he determined. And he would see to it that Henry Morgan validated their marriage, despite the fact that a Catholic ceremony would not normally be recognized by the Church of England. His wife and his child, were there one, would legally bear his name, no matter what happened. Morgan would see to it.

  Enjoying a sense of peace he had not felt in a long time, he strode eagerly toward the tavern.

  Diana stood on the bottom step of the wooden staircase, her eyes wide at the sight before her. The taproom was crowded to bursting, the air smoky from dozens of pipes. In the center of the room a seaman beat out a steady rhythm on a small, hand-made drum, while another played the pipes. On top of the table beside them danced the woman who had so possessively greeted Alex at the ship.