by Patti Berg
“My grandfather was a wealthy man, a merchant who was a favorite of the king. There is no need for me to give you a history lesson now. Suffice it to say, I had money, stature. I traveled throughout Europe as a young man, studying the arts, and spending many nights and many days amongst scholars who talked of what life could be in the future, if only man had the knowledge and the power to dream.”
“You were a scholar?” she asked, stretching out on her side on the bed, looking lovelier by the moment, with the rum tingeing her cheeks a delightfully rosy pink.
“I had a desire to write great books.”
“Like Shakespeare?” she asked, kicking off her shoes and sending them flying across the room.
“I did not wish to be a playwright, but a novelist, like Cervantes. My father, God rest his soul, was the second son, and as he did not inherit my grandfather’s estate, and only a portion of his wealth, desired a home of his own. So my mother, my sister Melody, my father, and I sailed for the West Indies. There would be no time for books and writing there, not at first, but I shared my father’s ideals, and had great visions of a powerful sugar plantation.”
“Then why did you become a pirate?”
That was always the hardest part of the story, the part he’d never told a soul, the part he’d relived again and again in his dreams.
“The voyage to Jamaica was not a successful one. Our ship’s captain, Thomas Low, was much more than he appeared. He was a rich man—a pirate, some would call him. A privateer, others would say, awarded with commissions that gave him the right to steal from the enemy, as long as his profits were shared with the Crown. Sometimes he used his power against those who were not enemies of the king—like my father. Sometimes he used his power to steal from wealthy men—like my father. And most of the time…he killed.”
“Your family?” she asked.
“Aye. Like fools, we believed Captain Low to be a gentleman of the highest order. Again like fools, we loaded great riches onto his ship. I remember full well the servants packing my mother’s cherished wedding presents, her plates and cups of gold, her sparkling crystal, her linens and lace. I remember the chests of priceless jewelry, and those of gold, the fortune that would turn the bare land we had purchased into the finest estate in Jamaica.”
Again he swallowed a gulp of rum, remembering far too much. “Thomas Low took it all,” he told her, “and ever so much more.”
Morgan rested his head against the back of the chair and closed his eyes, reliving the horror, the pain. He clutched his shirt, the ring and the cross hanging behind the fabric, and thought of the last time he’d seen the ones he loved, remembered the way Low had stripped his mother and father, and bound them together, back to back, so they could not see each other as they died. He remembered the way Low had laughed as he’d wrenched the wedding ring off his mother’s finger, examining the emerald, the diamonds, the gold, saying, “I have admired your ring throughout our voyage. ’Tis beautiful, madam. Quite beautiful. And now it is mine.” Morgan remembered struggling against his chains as Low’s men had tied lead weights to his mother’s and father’s feet, remembered the way four men had hoisted them high in the air, remembered his mother’s screams and his father’s prayers as they were tossed into the sea.
And he remembered begging his sister to jump overboard rather than suffer the ravages of Thomas Low. He remembered being thrown over the side of the boat himself, long after he’d been flogged mercilessly and was presumed dead. He remembered the pain of the salt water on his wounds, remembered swimming for what seemed like hours, until he reached the island where he’d found his little sister, her life nearly gone.
She’d smiled at him as he clutched her body in his arms. “I love you, Morgan,” she whispered, and then she’d closed her eyes—and died. He’d held her lifeless body against his chest for more than a day, as he cried, and swore, and vowed to get revenge.…
He had to go back.…
But first he wanted to know Kate’s comfort, wanted her to hold him through the long, lonely night.
It was wrong not to tell her he was leaving tomorrow, wrong not to tell her that she’d burrowed so deeply into his heart that he’d thought about staying.
But he had to go. He had to.
He heard the light sound of footsteps on the floor, felt the soft touch of fingers stroking his cheek, and a hand sliding gently over his chest until it rested against his heart. “Make love to me, Morgan,” Kate whispered, crawling into his arms, bringing him the solace he desperately needed, as if she could feel his pain and knew just how to soothe it.
Slowly she released the top button on his shirt, and moved down to the next, while one slender arm wove around his neck and fingers combed through his hair. “I know you’re going to leave me,” she said. “And I think I can understand why you have to go back.”
“Can you?”
“All too well, I’m afraid. My husband was shot, and I stood beside him for hours, watching him die, knowing there was nothing I could do. And then he was gone.”
Kate rested her cheek against Morgan’s, remembering the thoughts that went through her mind that night in the hospital and for many weeks after Joe’s death. “I wanted to kill the man who’d murdered him. I wanted to put a shotgun to his chest and blow him away, but someone else had done it for me. I was mad for the longest time, and then I went through every other emotion imaginable, including blaming myself for what had happened.” She kissed the scar on Morgan’s face, wishing she’d been able to give him comfort all those years ago. He’d been alone, yet she’d been surrounded by loved ones and those who cared. Still, she’d hated the man who had killed her husband, just as Morgan hated the man who had killed his family.
“I know what you’re feeling, Morgan. You want to go back. You want to take the life of the man who took the lives of those you loved.”
“Aye. ’Tis the only reason I have for going.”
He kissed her, then cupped her cheeks in his hands and looked deep into her eyes. “You are a blessing, Kate Cameron. And I would stay with you if I could.”
“I don’t need any promises. No commitments. I know you’re going to go, and I want something more than words and smiles to remember you by.”
“With no regrets.”
She shook her head. “No regrets.”
“Ah, Katie…you are more intoxicating than the finest of rum,” he said, setting aside his glass. “You are far more beautiful, more valuable, than a treasure chest full of jewels.”
“You’re full of pretty words, Morgan Farrell. But right now I just want you to carry me to that bed and…and…I’m sure you can figure out what to do once we’re there.”
He laughed, swept her up in his arms, and in two long strides, lay her down in a bed of velvet, silk, and fur, a soft, warm place that seemed to be made of clouds.
His wonderfully strong body balanced above hers. His hips lightly brushed over her thighs, and his powerful chest pressed ever so softly against her breasts. His lips, oh God, his lips, opened over hers, teasing them as if for the first time, loving them as if it were the last.
Wrapping his arms tightly about her, he rolled in the magnificent bed until she was above him, looking down at a face she needed to memorize before the night was through.
“’Tis a shame the sun is not shining,” he said, tugging at the hem of her blouse and drawing it upward.
The touch of his hands on her sides sent shivers through her, made breathing nearly impossible. Somehow, she muttered, “Why?”
“So I could easily see every movement you make.” He slipped the blouse over her head. “So I could see you smile and laugh, and know that I am pleasing you.”
She closed her eyes as his hands swept over her lace-covered breasts. “Don’t worry, Morgan. You’re pleasing me very much.”
His fingers circled her nipples, tracing the edge of the lace, and a soft moan escaped her lips.
Sliding his palms over her shoulders, he brushed away the thin strap
s of her bra. She leaned close and he rose up to meet her. She loved the feel of his tongue and lips on her skin, wanted to remember the thrill of that exquisite heat.
She felt his fingers flowing over her shoulder blades, felt them fumbling with the hooks at the back of her bra. Heard his frustrated sigh.
“Bloody hell! I could remove a corset in less than a minute, but—”
Kate silenced his words with a kiss. She reached behind her, touching his fingers, guiding them toward the hooks, and in mere seconds showed him what to do.
“It’s not so difficult once you get the hang of it,” she said. Suddenly her bra was gone, and when his mouth swept over her breast, warm, wet, and…and she’d never felt anything so wonderful.
He curled his arms about her. One second he was beneath her, the next he was above, straddling her, breathing raggedly, and in the dim light of the room she could see his smile. “You are beautiful, Kate,” he said, teasing each taut nipple with the rough tips of his thumbs. “So beautiful.”
And then he leaned over and kissed her.
Slowly.
Oh, so slowly.
One night with this man would never be enough.
But she would not ask for more.
Soft kisses whispered against her chin, down the curve of her neck, and over and around each breast, bringing forth soft moans from her throat as he worked his way down her belly. Warm fingers found the snap of her jeans, the catch on her zipper, and she let him draw them away from her legs, toss them somewhere across the room, then slide his fingers under the last remaining bit of lace.
He drew her panties away, then swung his legs from the bed, pushed off his boots, jeans, and shorts, and joined her once more, stretching his long, strong body above her.
He kissed her lips and her eyelids, and his glorious hair flowed about her, caressing her tender and oh so sensitive breasts.
“I have dreamed of you this way, Katie, long before I knew you. ’Twas an angel who came to me as I slept all alone, an angel with emerald eyes and hair of honey.” He drew a finger lightly over her lips. “She whispered softly of heaven-filled nights and sun-kissed days, when she would hold my head against her breast and smooth away my nightmares.”
“I’m no angel, Morgan.”
“Ah, but you are.” His hands slid over her legs, then lifted them about his waist. He moved close, closer, until she felt him hot and hard against her. “I need you, Kate, more than I’ve ever needed anything.” In one swift thrust he was inside her, and he sighed as if he’d found his home.
As gentle as the sway of a ship on the water, they moved together, their eyes open to watch each smile, their hearts and ears tuned to each gasp, each cry of pleasure, each moan for more.
And then the storm came, fast, wild, all consuming. It raged on and on. He held her tight, tighter.
Suddenly he rose above her, a tall, powerful wave building up momentum. He grasped her hips and drove deep, holding on with all his might, his body shivering and beading with sweat. With one last gasp for breath, he wrapped his arms around her, and the wave crashed powerfully on her shore.
For long minutes they lay bound in each other’s arms, his heart beating fast and heavy against hers. It calmed ever so slowly.
But she felt that hers would never slow down again.
Cupping her face within the palms of his hands, he looked deeply into her eyes and whispered, “What the bloody hell am I going to do without you, Katie?”
She forced a smile. “You’ll get by, just as you did before.”
“Nay. I will have sweet memories, but my heart will long for you.”
“Then don’t go.”
He rolled to his side, keeping her close, cradling her head in the crook of his arm. Tugging the fur over them, he absently traced circles around and around on her shoulder.
He was silent for far too long. Was he thinking about staying? Was there any chance that she could be more important to him than the vengeance in his heart?
All too soon she knew the answer.
“I must go, Katie,” he said, his lips lingering after he kissed her brow. “I have no choice. No choice at all.”
Chapter 15
She was his life,
The ocean to the river of his thoughts.
LORD BYRON, THE DREAM
Somehow Kate slept, waking once with her head nestled against the warmth of Morgan’s chest, once more with his hand draped possessively over her hip, and now, with the last hours of darkness pouring through the cabin window, she stirred from sleep to see him standing, looking out to sea.
She crept from bed, pulling the soft fur blanket with her, wrapping it about both of them as she rested her cheek against the scars on his back, scars that seemed miniscule in comparison with the scars she knew must be on his heart.
“Did Thomas Low do this to you, too?” she asked softly.
He did not turn toward her, just continued to stare out the window. “Aye.”
“Why?”
“Tis not a story to burden yourself with.”
“Don’t keep anything from me. Please. I need to know everything about you, things to remember after you go.”
“Then remember what we shared during the night.”
She smiled and slid around him, wanting to see the man who sounded so pensive when throughout the night he’d laughed and teased as he’d loved her thoroughly. Curling her hands around his neck, she stretched up on her toes to meet his lips. “I’ll always remember what we shared. But I need to know more.”
He gazed down at her with brooding eyes. “Even those things that are painful?”
She nodded. “Pain is a part of life. It’s what makes us who we are.”
“It has made me a vengeful man.”
Warmth filled her as she thought of what he truly was. “I’ve seen you cuddle a child. I’ve listened to you sing and tell stories. And I’ve been held in your arms. You’re the most gentle man I’ve ever known.”
One dark brow slanted, and the devilish grin she’d grown so fond of tilted his lips. “You, dearest Katie, are a most persistent wench.”
“Aye, that I am.”
He swept her up in his arms, carrying her to the comfort of a big leather chair, where he cradled her close, kissing her softly before he began his tale.
“We were but a few days from our destination. ’Twas the twenty-third anniversary of my parents’ marriage, and my father wanted to celebrate his fortunes. We’d brought cases of wine to stock the shelves in our new home, but Father wanted to share his bounty with everyone. He was a good man—but much too foolish, especially that day.
“Low watched the gaiety from his place at the helm. He had a crew of eighty men, and they drank my father’s wine, danced, and sang for a good part of the afternoon. And then, when my father had had too much to drink, Low approached him.”
Morgan drew in a deep breath, closing his eyes for one moment, his fingers clenching her arm, and she knew his pain. She should tell him to stop, tell him she’d heard enough, but he was opening his heart and his life to her. She imagined the story he was telling her was one he’d never before shared, and that made her feel a part of him, as if they were one—if only for the moment. She had to accept whatever he could give her now. For soon enough he’d be gone.
“There was something evil about Thomas Low. I’d watched him every day on that ship. He spoke little. He was elegant, refined, yet there was something vile in his heart. I remember him watching me, remember the hate in his eyes whenever I came into his view. But I never knew why. Of course, I hated him myself when next he spoke.
“He looked at my father as if he were his equal, which he could never be, and he said, ‘I would have your daughter.’ I remember my father’s laughter, and then his face sobering when Low pulled out his dagger. I remember my mother’s shock, and I remember Melody, my sweet little sister, cowering behind my mother’s skirts.”
Morgan’s body tensed. Kate could see his jaw tighten, and she understood h
is hatred. She would feel the same if somebody dared hurt Casey or anyone she loved.
“What did your father do?” she asked.
His gaze flickered down to her face, then toward the window. “My father was too numb, too drunk to do much of anything. But I hadn’t touched the wine. Low was standing close to my father with his dagger drawn, but that didn’t stop me. I pulled my own and went after him.
“I was inches away from his throat when his men grabbed my arms and legs and dragged me away. I struggled, but I could do nothing as they clapped chains about my wrists and ankles. Low gave my father a choice. ‘Your daughter,’ he said, ‘or watch as your beloved son is flogged to death.’”
“What kind of choice is that?”
“It wasn’t a choice my father could make. He refused to give over his daughter, and he begged Low to spare his son. But Low only laughed. I remember him walking toward me. I remember how white his teeth were when he smiled. And I remember him putting the tip of his dagger next to my eye and dragging it slowly down my cheek.”
Kate touched the scar, drawing a finger lightly over its length, and a tear spilled from her eye.
“Low wanted to show my father that he gave no mercy. He wanted everyone to know that he was the master.”
Morgan rested his head against the back of the chair. “He flogged me once, twice, while his men held on to my mother and father. I remember Melody screaming. I remember Low running a hand over her hair. Then he…”
Morgan clutched the ring at his neck, and held it tight. “My parents drowned,” he told her, his breath ragged as he said the words. “I begged Melody to run away from Low, to jump over board. I knew she’d drown, but I saw no other choice.”
Kate could feel the rapid beat of his heart, the anguish pulsing through him. “I’m sorry,” she said. “If I’d known, I never would have asked you to tell me.”
His hands tightened around her arms. His eyes were full of fire and pain, and his lips came down hard and heavy over hers, pouring out his grief. “Don’t be sorry. Please,” he begged between kisses. “I have kept the horror bottled up inside me for seven long years.”