“My intention is to pleasure you until you beg for mercy, but even then I don’t think I will be able to find it in me to give you a reprieve. You have driven me to distraction this evening and I intend to work off my lust most thoroughly, even if it takes all night long to do so.” He crouched over her on his hands and knees, like a wild hound that had pinned down its prey, his smile victorious.
Instinctively, she turned her face away, but her thighs squeezed together, her anticipation building all the while. How was it that it thrilled her to have him threaten her with a lack of mercy? She wanted to deny that, simply because he was so arrogant, so sure in his power over her.
“The idea appeals to you, my lady. I can see it in the flush on your cheeks.” With the back of his knuckles, he stroked the outline of her jaw.
The touch, gentle and subtly persuasive, inflamed her.
“You are so sure of yourself,” she taunted, then wriggled and rolled from beneath him, her aim to scamper away from the bed and make him wait a while longer, just to show him she could.
Roderick was up and after her before she’d left the bedside. One large arm locked around her waist and he hauled her back to him. She reached for something to hold on to, but he had her.
“I’m sure of what you need, Maisie.” He dragged her back to him, sat down on the bed and captured her in his lap. “I can tell you enjoy this tussle as much as I do.”
Before she could even try to resist, he’d reached around and was lifting her skirts.
The urge to spar with him did not decrease. “You flatter yourself, Captain.”
No matter how she tried to wriggle from his grasp, he was easily able to cage her in his arms, even while he hoisted her skirts up and bunched them at her waist.
His hands around the top of her thighs made her squirm again, but when she glanced down, she was mortified to see that her ungainly position on his lap exposed her private places. “Unhand me.”
“Oh, no,” he whispered close against her ear, “you are mine for the week. It is my fee, and if you kindly recall, those were the terms you yourself offered.”
The comment only served to arouse her even more, and the hard rod of his erection pressed against her bottom played its own part in making her want fulfillment. Maisie battled him, incensed that he had such a hold on her, in every way.
Then he planted one large hand over her exposed mound, cupping it tightly in his palm. For a moment she fell completely still, distracted by the rush of sensation there at the seat of her pleasure, where he squeezed and manipulated her without mercy. His other hand closed over her bodice at her breastbone, holding her steady against him while she wriggled in his lap.
“Yes, rub yourself against my hand, enjoy it,” he whispered, his tone heavy with humor and lust.
“No!” But Maisie was already rubbing herself against him, her hips rocking to and fro, her body responding of its own accord.
“What is it that you need?”
Shuddering, she moaned uncontrollably when he held her nether lips apart with his fingers and rubbed her.
“This?”
Awash with humiliation at her predicament, but desperate for relief, she nodded.
“Good girl.”
Between his words and actions, her body ached to be filled, to be taken roughly and ridden until they were both overcome with a hearty release. But she wouldn’t admit that.
“Oh, yes, I’ll have you after I feel you spill into my hand.” His voice was husky, indicating how aroused he was, how ready for her.
Anticipation coiled deep within her.
He stroked her more rapidly, until she was breathless and panting, almost to the point of pain in her tender, swollen nub, but still she met each touch, moving on instinct, seeking release.
He lifted his hand and licked his thumb, and when he returned it to her and thrummed her flesh once again, her body swayed in his grip. Feverish and restless, she moaned aloud. On he went, until her back arched and she cried aloud, her sudden spending making her hot and restless from the top of her head to her toes.
“You’re a lusty wench.”
A more powerful one, too, she thought to herself, feeling her magic building inside her, a reserve that was being constantly stoked by his attentions. Everything she had been given to read on the subject was true. Her craft was invigorated by this. Just as two sticks rubbed together could create fire, the passion of lovers brought potency to her magic.
Before she could even catch her breath he rolled her onto her side, then placed his hand beneath her left knee and drew it up toward her chest, holding it there. Within the confines of her corset and bodice, her chest swelled. Her position meant that the base of her corset massaged her lower belly, and her sensitive inner flesh throbbed wildly.
She wouldn’t have thought it possible for him to take her while he had her that way, but he knelt over her, one knee on either side of her prone leg. Shocked that he had her so thoroughly pinioned in that position, she could only brace herself for what was to come.
Then she felt the head of his cock at her entrance.
When he entered, it was at an angle that made the experience even more intense than on previous occasions, for his erection moved up along a particularly sensitive area as he fed her his length.
“Oh, Roderick, I might faint.”
“I will see to it that you won’t, by holding your attention.” Gruff and mocking, his tone assured her he meant to push her to her limits.
Glancing back over her shoulder, she watched his face as he eased his way in, his jaw tight, his eyes focused, his chest rising and falling. Copious juices dampened her thighs, and it was a mercy, for the girth of his manhood alone made her feel weak, as if with a fever. She panted for air, her skin misting with damp heat. As the walls of her channel were stretched apart, her head dropped to the bed.
He pushed inexorably on.
She mewed aloud when the head of his cock pressed against her deepest point, the sheer pressure of his erection there making her dizzy. Then he began to pump back and forth, and she could not withhold her vocal appreciation.
“You see, you are too busy enjoying yourself to faint,” he taunted, in between thrusts. “Admit it,” he urged, “you enjoy the tussle.”
“I will admit you’re a clever lover,” she managed to respond, her voice wavering as she received his rapid thrusts.
“That is good enough for me.” His grip on her was unforgiving, as if he had his own war to win, and she couldn’t have moved even if she wanted to.
Maisie was helpless beneath him, her entire nether region aflame as he rode her relentlessly, churning into her over and over until she spilled again, crying out as she did so.
“Ah, your grip on me is too good.” He paused and stroked her hair back from her face with one hand before he changed his pace, moving in more shallow thrusts.
Maisie clutched him again, and found her own pleasure was lengthened in the process. She reached around to touch him.
He meshed his fingers with hers.
The tender gestures, offered while he was so bound up in his quest for release, affected her strangely, and when he pulled free to spill his seed elsewhere, she found herself wishing he had not left her at that point.
Be careful, she warned herself.
If her affection for him grew, it would be more difficult to deny his questions and keep her secret nature safe. Yet when he rolled her into his arms a moment later, so that she faced him and he could cover her in kisses, she melted anew, unable to pull away.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The autumn sky on the following morning was glorious, and as the Libertas sailed out of Lowestoft Harbor, Maisie breathed the air in, reveling in the moment. Her body felt sated, womanly, and rich in carnal magic, and the elements seemed to reflect her vitality.
Gulls wheeled overhead, circling above them as they made their way out to sea. They were on their way once again to Dundee, and as the distance between her and London grew and she sp
ent more time with her Scottish captain, she anticipated the onward journey and the reunion that she hoped waited at its end. She watched in awe as the land appeared to slide away from them as the morning breeze caught the sails. She would have fond memories of Lowestoft.
Turning, she looked up at the deck above, where Roderick directed the ship’s path through the waves with his strong hands on the wheel, issuing instructions to the men and watching over their actions. He’d attempted to get her to go below deck when they came aboard that morning, but she had insisted on aiding Adam in his chores. Roderick didn’t fight against her too hard, most likely because the men had already given her a good scrutinizing as she mounted the rail and landed on their deck again.
No sooner had she turned Roderick’s way than he noticed and smiled across at her, acknowledging her stare. His attention kindled her passions afresh. Now that she’d begun to understand his ways and she had gained the measure of him, she’d even begun to enjoy bantering with him. Being wary and cautious was still foremost in her mind. She couldn’t risk him learning about her secret nature, nor the true reason why she had left London. So long as she kept that in mind, she was able to enjoy his company. Even when he was arrogant and demanding. Perhaps even more so then.
The notion made her blood heat. Why was that so? She had vowed never to be cowed and controlled by a man again. It was different with Roderick, though. His demands were borne solely from his passion for her.
That was no small thing.
When her stare lingered on him, his smile became brooding, as if he was thinking of the bed they had shared the night before, as she was. It had been a long night of passion. Yet when they had risen that morning he had been most debonair and gracious. Their long night of lovemaking had apparently mellowed his gruff humor, as if being with a woman directed his life force onto a steadier course.
Before they left the privacy of the room at the inn, he’d kissed her—her mouth, her forehead, her cheeks and eyelids—then he’d sighed deeply. When she had started to ask him why he’d done that, he’d put his finger on her lips, then told her they had best get back to the ship.
Moving into action now, she set about her tasks aiding Adam. Whenever she could, she stole a glance in Roderick’s direction, watching him and his easy manner as he strode about the place, checking on the men individually as well as issuing orders from above. He had gained their trust. That was no small thing, she knew. Perhaps these men had never had reason to mistrust others. She certainly had, yet she recognized in Roderick a quality that she hadn’t found in the only other man she knew well. A forthrightness that was not only admirable, it appealed to her immensely.
Over the course of that morning Maisie learned how to milk the goats. As Adam demonstrated, she recalled watching her mother do the very same task in the Highlands, when she was but an infant and stood in the croft with her twin at her side, waiting for the warm milk. The memory, unbidden but welcome, touched her, and made her grateful once again that she’d been brave enough to break from her sheltered life in London to undertake this journey.
Under Adam’s guidance she managed to coax forth one eighth of a pail of milk. It took a great deal of time to master the ability, but she was determined to do so and not resort to magic or assistance. Adam chuckled at her failed attempts, but encouraged her on, and eventually the wondrous sound of the milk hitting the side of the pail gave her cause to cry out in delight.
“You have done well. It took me much longer to learn. The milk will be used to enrich the porridge for the morning.”
“I had a good teacher.” She smiled up at him as she continued with the task.
“If you were to stay with us beyond Dundee, I could help out with the sails.” He shielded his eyes from the bright morning sunlight and looked upward, and she could see that he longed to be climbing the masts.
Maisie had overheard the other men teasing him about his woman’s work. It hadn’t occurred to her that someone must do it until a new ship’s hand enlisted. Adam would never move on if there wasn’t a new lad to take his place. It made her think about what it would be like for a woman to live a life at sea. A strange life indeed. When Maisie looked back at Adam, she could see that he was following his own thoughts, too, looking longingly at the young lad who was currently keeping watch from the nest high above.
That afternoon she and Adam sat on short stools either side of a large pot, peeling and dicing root vegetables.
“We’ll add salt beef, then I’ll take it below,” he informed her.
“Is there a scullery with a fire, below deck?” Maisie had not even wondered about the actual cooking.
“An open grate. We can only use it if the conditions are right.” He shook his head, his eyebrows drawing together. “If the sea is rough it is too dangerous to risk lighting the fire.”
Maisie nodded. Now that she thought on it, she saw that the ship would be vulnerable to fire.
“With luck it will be calm enough to prepare a hot meal for tonight.”
“If it isn’t?”
“Salt meat and oatcakes again. If the captain thinks the voyage will be smooth enough the men’s bellies start to rumble. I must sit with the pot the whole time, watching in case the fire catches the boards.” He looked rueful, and she knew it was because he preferred observing the activities above deck.
“In that case,” she said, “I will finish the vegetables and you can do something else, until you have to go below deck with the pot.”
He stood up, smiling gratefully. A moment later he joined a group of men who were discussing which of them would wet down the boards that day. Adam volunteered.
Once he was gone, Maisie returned to her work and sharpened her hearing in order to listen to Roderick instructing the men. Even though she didn’t understand many of the terms he used, his voice made her feel warm. It also made her remember how the timbre changed when he was making love to her. At those times his voice seemed to vibrate right through her, an intimate call that she alone could hear. Once again she thought how lucky she’d been with her random lover. Roderick had stirred her affections as well as her passions. That she could no longer deny. She cared for him, for his safety and happiness. Could she halt that? Probably not, but she would leave his side quickly at Dundee, unwilling as she was to put him in danger by association.
During the course of that day the men seemed friendlier toward her. Clyde, who had been suspicious of her at first, and had asked her to sing, stopped to talk to her.
“Not many women would brave this deck. You are a strange one.”
Was that a note of admiration she heard in his voice? “I am trying to make myself useful. Tell me, have you decided whether I am a good woman or a bad one?”
“I’m still thinking on it.” He ran his fingers over his beard as if suddenly concerned for his appearance.
“The captain told me you carried a woman passenger once before.”
“Aye. She was nothing like you, though. She would never have sullied her hands preparing food or milking the goats. She did try to order the captain about, both him and Master Ramsay who was aboard ship then. Treated them as if they were her servants, or tried to.”
“It’s little wonder the captain was reticent when I requested passage.”
Clyde’s eyebrows flickered. It clearly interested him that the captain had not immediately agreed to her plea.
“It took some persuading,” she added, “and I was most eager to travel north, to my family.”
Clyde nodded thoughtfully. “The captain is a generous soul and you appealed to his good nature. It is his first term as captain of the ship without Master Ramsay at his side to discuss matters. It is important that the men do not doubt him.”
Was that a warning? When Roderick told her to keep out of the crew’s way, she hadn’t realized it would reflect badly on him if she didn’t. It was too late now, but because she was particularly wary of Clyde she took his words to heart. “Do the crewmen think I have brought disrep
ute on the captain?”
She hoped that was not the case.
“Some of the men believe it is bad luck to have a Jezebel flaunting herself about. Others merely think it is no place for a woman.”
“And you? What do you think?”
“Sometimes I see the captain watching you, when he ought to be watching his men.”
Maisie swallowed. That definitely sounded like a warning. This man doubted her, recognized her Pictish tongue and thought her a Jezebel.
Before she had a chance to respond, he broke into a grin. “I cannot blame him, for you are much prettier than the men.”
With that, he limped off, leaving Maisie to think through what he had said. The man clearly had his misgivings about her presence. He was a riddle, though, because she knew he was trying to get the measure of her, but he was giving nothing away. Had he known the words that he overheard that first morning? She still wasn’t sure. What she did know was that he was watching her closely. It reminded her all too readily of Cyrus’s threats and warnings. Icy fingers flitted over her spine. She braced herself and pushed the thoughts away, fixing her attention on the work at hand.
Maisie was nearly at the end of her task, with only two turnips left to peel, when a commotion broke out overhead. One of the ropes that harnessed the sails had become entangled with the material, and a young man was climbing the mast, his intention apparently to free it. There were mutterings and shouts, and a moment later she realized the young man in question was Adam. He had taken it upon himself, even though the older men called him back.
One man in particular, a fellow Dutchman, shouted up in his own language.
Adam called back, and as he did he lost his grip and swung in an ungainly manner from the rope he had been working on, his legs coming free from the mast. The rope rapidly unraveled and the lad descended, his body twisting on the descent.
Maisie’s heart thundered in her chest, fearing as she did for his safety. Instinctively, she mustered an enchantment, but there was no time to prevent the accident. Adam hung precariously in a tangle of rope like a great fish caught in a net.
The Jezebel Page 13