A Pirate's Love

by Johanna Lindsey

  "Why not?"

  She turned pale at his answer. He must participate in this sport also. Mon Dieu!

  "You spoke—of a—bargain," she said weakly.

  "Your submission for the lives of those men. You I will have whether you fight me or not. I will not be denied you. But I will spare the lives of the prisoners and set them free in the next port on one condition— that you don't fight me." He paused and smiled. "You have lost already, Bettina, for I will have you no matter what you decide. But the prisoners have everything to gain. They will live and not be harmed if you agree. I want your answer now."

  "You are merciless!" Bettina gasped. "Why must you rape me?"

  "You surprise me. You are a prize worth having, and I want you," he said.

  "But I do not want you!"

  "I will tell you, Bettina, that you are the only reason I captured your ship. I usually prey only on Spanish ves­sels. My lookout saw you on deck and described your beauty to me. You should be grateful that I don't intend to share you with my crew. But enough, I want your answer!"

  "You leave me no choice," Bettina replied slowly, feeling completely helpless for the first time in her life. "I must save the lives of those men."

  "You will put up no resistance?"

  "No, monsieur, I will not fight you."

  "Good. You have made a wise decision. I'm sure the prisoners will be most grateful. I will tell the men to leave them be. While I'm gone, I want you to remove your clothing and wait in my bed."

  He left and closed the door after him. There was no escape. There was absolutely nothing Bettina could do now, and she wouldn't even have the satisfaction of fighting him.

  Reluctantly, and very slowly, Bettina started to un­dress. She was finally going to find out what making love was like—or rape, anyway. Well, at least by her submission she would save the lives of a few French­men. She kept that thought with her to help her endure what would follow.

  When the captain came back into the cabin, Bettina was still wearing her shift. He closed the door, then frowned at her.

  "You haven't changed your mind, have you?" he asked brusquely.

  "No, have you?"

  He laughed then, and walked across the cabin to stand before her. She felt small and helpless next to his towering frame.

  "No, little one. Nothing can make me change my mind." He gathered the mass of her hair in his hands and rubbed it between his fingers, feeling its soft, silky texture. Then he laid it over her shoulders.

  "Remove your shift, Bettina. I can't wait much longer."

  "I hate you, monsieur!" she hissed through clenched teeth.

  He laughed again. "Although monsieur sounds lovely coming from your sweet lips, I would prefer you to call me Tristan. Now, finish your wine, Bettina, for it may help you somewhat. I have never lain with a virgin be­fore, but I've been told it is painful the first time."

  "It would take two barrels of wine to wipe away what you are about to do, Monsieur Tristan!"

  "Just Tristan! And don't try my patience, Bettina. What will happen to you will happen, but I can still change my mind about the prisoners. Drink the wine and then remove your shift without further comment."

  Bettina could not delay any longer. She drank the wine, turned her back to him, and slowly removed her last piece of clothing. She veiled her body with her knee-length flaxen hair, then turned to face him.

  Tristan did not take her gesture as defiance, merely as modesty, but he would not allow even that. He parted her hair and feasted his eyes on her slender body for many moments. Then he took her face in his hands and kissed her tenderly.

  Bettina had not expected this. Why did he kiss her? Why not get it over and done with?

  His lips parted hers, searching, demanding a response. She wanted to pull away, but he would con­sider that resistance. She had to think of those poor captured men and nothing else. She must let him have his way with her.

  His arms circled her and pressed her unclad body against him, and his mouth became more demanding, hard, and yet not hurting. And suddenly Bettina felt a strange sensation, something she had never experienced before. It was an unusual feeling, as if she could actual­ly feel the blood flowing through her veins. It was an exciting feeling, and it made her relax against him and accept his kiss willingly, made her forget she was stand­ing naked in a stranger's arms.

  Then he stopped kissing her, and picked her up in his poweiful arms. She stiffened as he carried her to his bed and there laid her down gently. He took off his clothing with slow deliberation, keeping his eyes on her the whole time. She in turn could not look away from him, though she wanted to. When at last he was naked, Bettina stared in amazement at his lean, muscu­lar body; the wide shoulders that tapered to narrow hips, the hard, flat middle and long, firm legs.

  Tristan came to her and lay down beside her on the narrow bed. He looked into her face for a long while and then brushed one hand across her breasts. He watched for her reaction, and it came immediately as her eyes widened in confusion.

  He laughed softly and cupped one breast, squeezing it gently. "Did you expect me to be quick about it?"

  "Yes. Oh, please, Tristan, please don't do this to me. I ask you once more, please spare me this shame!" she pleaded uselessly.

  "No, little one, it is too late for that."

  "Then be done with it!" she said sharply.

  His eyes narrowed angrily. He mounted her then, his great weight pressing her into the soft mattress. He thrust into her quickly, and a searing pain followed.

  She screamed and dug her nails into Ms back, but as quickly as the pain had come, it was gone.

  He moved inside her, slowly at first, then faster, much faster, and it actually felt good. Bettina relaxed and shamefully enjoyed the feeling of him inside her. But then he gave a final deep thrust and relaxed completely, crushing her with his huge body.

  Bettina didn't know what to do. Was that all there was to it? She admitted it had been pleasant after the initial pain, but if that was all there was to making love, she could do without it. Where was the extreme pleasure that could make a man risk death? Perhaps only the man experienced pleasure from making love.

  "I'm sorry, Bettina. I didn't mean to be so quick, but you have a sharp tongue. Next time, it will be better for you."

  "Next time!" she gasped. "But I—I thought that—"

  "No, little one," he cut her off with an amused smile. "Saint Martin is a long way off. And since you will be sharing my cabin with me, I will make love to you when­ever I wish. This will be a most pleasant voyage."

  When he got up and began to dress, Bettina quickly pulled the cover over her nakedness. What was she go­ing to do? Lying with him once was bad enough, but he had given her no choice and she would have been able to live with that shame. But to submit to him again and again, and not be able to fight him—she would be his mistress! How could she live with that?

  Tristan had been quietly scrutinizing her. Now he leaned over her and softly brushed his lips against hers.

  "I must leave you now, to see my crew and change course for Saint Martin. Under no condition do I want you to leave this cabin."

  "But I want to see Maddy. I want to see the prison­ers and tell them they have nothing to fear."

  "No," he said sharply. "Your servant can see to the prisoners, and you can see her later—not now."

  With that he left the cabin. Bettina thought of locking the door against him. But he would only break it down, and then she would have to suffer his anger. She shud­dered to think what that would be like. So far, this Tristan had been in a good mood and had shown only one side of his character, and yet he had taken her against her will. She wouldn't care to see his violent side.

  She was at the mercy of a ruthless pirate! He could kill her if he wanted to! She was completely in his power, and she didn't know what to do about it.

  She got off the bed and stared stupidly at the blood on the covers—her own blood. I hate you, Capitaine Tristan, she thoug
ht bitterly. You have ruined me, shamed me, dishonored me! She stamped her foot in outraged fury.

  Bettina's breathing slowed. There was no point in get­ting so upset, when she couldn't take it out on him. But she wanted to—how she wanted to!

  There was a small bowl of water on a washstand by the bed, and with this Bettina washed herself as best she could. She hurriedly dressed, then rebelliously poured more wine into the tankard on the table. She sat down and started to drink, but then she heard a soft knock on the door. A second later, it opened and Madeleine rushed in and closed the door quickly.

  "Oh, Bettina, are you all right? He—he didn't— he—"

  "He will take us to Saint Martin, but—"

  "Then you were spared—thank God! I was afraid for you, Bettina. Mon Dieu! I did not know what to think when he had me locked up. The capitaine is such a big man—I was afraid he would hurt you."

  "I was not spared," Bettina said quietly. "He was de­termined to take me, and he did."

  "Bettina—no!" Madeleine gasped. She started to cry.

  "It's all right," Bettina said, putting her arms around her old nurse. "At least we are still alive. And he has promised to take us to Saint Martin."

  "My God, Bettina! He didn't have to rape you. The man has no honor!"

  "I tried to dissuade him, but he wanted me. He said he would have me regardless of anything. It is done now, and there is nothing I can do about it. But at least I was able to save the prisoners."

  "What prisoners?"

  "You have not seen them yet?" Bettina asked.

  "I didn't know there were any," Madeleine replied. "That big man called Jules let me out of his cabin and told me to go help in the galley. Their cook was killed in the last battle they fought. But I came here first."

  "Well, go and find the prisoners. Capitaine Marivaux is one of them. Tell them not to worry about their fate, that they will be set free in the next port. And if any are wounded, care for them, then come back and tell me how they are. The capitaine will not let me leave the cabin."

  "Is there anything I can do for you first?" Madeleine asked, her gray eyes rilled with concern. "I hate to leave you after what you have been through."

  "No, I am fine, Maddy. I thought it would be a hor­rible experience, but it was not so bad." Bettina said. "He was gentle with me, and he is young and pleasant to look upon. The only thing that hurt was that he gave me no choice—he didn't care about my feelings."

  "I am glad you have taken this so well."

  "There is nothing else I can do," Bettina said.

  Madeleine left, but returned after only a few minutes had passed. "There are no prisoners, Bettina. I asked one of the crewmen if he would take me to them, but he said no one was brought aboard but you and me. I asked another, and he said the same."

  Bettina stiffened. Every nerve, every fiber in her body was filled with rage.

  "He lied! He lied to me—he tricked me! Damn his soul to hell!"

  "Bettina!" Madeleine gasped. "What is the matter with you?"

  "He—he lied to me! He told me there were prisoners, that he would spare their lives if—if I would not fight him!" Bettina stormed, her green eyes alight with a raging fire.

  "Oh, Bettina!"

  "So I submitted. God knows, I wanted to fight, but I did not. I could endure it because I thought I was sav­ing the lives of those men. Mon Dieu! I will kill him!"

  "No, Bettina, you must not talk like that! What has happened cannot be undone. And you said it was not so bad," Madeleine said.

  "That is not the point! He tricked me. This Capitaine Tristan will find out what I think of deception! He will be sorry he ever brought me onto this ship. I will have revenge! I swear it—Tristan will pay for this!"

  "For God's sake, Bettina, be sensible! You will only succeed in getting us killed."

  But Madeleine might as well have kept silent, for Bettina was pacing the floor with angry strides, and her old servant's warning didn't even interrupt her murder­ous thoughts.

  “So, Tristan, what have you decided to do with the woman?" Jules asked when he joined his friend on deck.

  "I will take her to Saint Martin. This Comte de Lam­bert will pay handsomely for her," Tristan replied. "And the ransom will be worth the delay in returning home."

  "I agree, though the men may not. But don't you think this man will mind that his intended bride is no longer a virgin?"

  "He won't know about it until after he has paid the ransom, and then it won't matter to us. But I doubt it will matter to her, either. He will still want her."

  "You are a devil, Tristan," Jules laughed. "So the blond wench was as good as she looked, eh?"

  "Better! But it is dangerous for a woman to be that lovely. She could have the world at her feet if she wanted, but I don't think she realizes her own worth. That one will wreck many lives before she is through."

  "But not yours, eh?"

  "No. I would consider keeping the wench for myself, but she might distract me, and I cannot rest until I find Bastida and put an end to his miserable life!" Tristan replied heatedly.

  "I know what eats at you, Tristan, but let's not think of it now. There is time and enough to find Bastida."

  "You're right, old friend. There are much more pleas­ant things to think of now."

  Jules grinned mischievously. "I thought you liked your women willing."

  "What I don't like is using force and facing a woman's wrath. But as usual, logic won out over force."

  "The men, they envy you this one. I don't think any of them have ever seen such a one as her," said Jules.

  "Nor have I ever seen one so lovely before. She is a lady, but one with a temper."

  "Well, after seeing her, the men have only one thing on their minds. I think it would be wise to drop anchor in the nearest port. Let the men have a day or two carousing in the brothels. That should help them forget the one tucked away in your cabin, and satisfy them until we return home."

  "I agree," Tristan replied. "We can head for the Virgin Islands and make Tortola by nightfall. The men—" Tristan stopped short when he saw Bettina's servant talking to one of his men. "What is she doing out of your cabin?"

  Jules looked in the same direction as Tristan, then answered, "I released her to work in the galley. We haven't had a decent meal since old Angus died."

  "You trust the old woman not to poison us?" Tristan asked with a grin.

  "No. I will see that she tastes the food herself before it is served."

  Tristan frowned as he watched the servant slip into his cabin. "What the devil? My cabin is not the galley. Go ask Joco what the old woman spoke to him about."

  Jules did as he was asked and came back to Tris­tan's side a few minutes later. "She asked to be taken to the prisoners. What would make—"

  "Blast!" Tristan cut him off sharply. "I suppose Joco told her there were no prisoners?"

  "Of course."

  "Mother of God! You should have asked me before you released that old woman. Now I can expect the wrath of hell to fall on my head when I walk through that door!" Tristan exclaimed, nodding at his cabin.

  "What are you talking about?"

  "I told the girl we took prisoners. I told her I would spare their lives if she did not fight me. She agreed. But now she must know I tricked her. She is probably plotting right now how to tear my heart out!"

  Jules burst out laughing. "You give the girl too much credit. She's probably too frightened of you to do any­thing."

  "I have doubts about that."

  "Why did you tell the girl we had prisoners when we have never taken any before? Why didn't you just threaten the servant's life? That would surely have done the trick."

  "I did not want the girl to think me monstrous enough to kill old women," Tristan answered irritably.

  "Why should you care what she thinks of you?"

  "Never mind," Tristan replied in a gruff voice. Then he saw the servant leaving his cabin. "Go speak with her. I would know what to expect before
I enter my cabin and find my pate split open."

  Jules left and returned with a halfhearted grin on his lips. "The old woman said the girl has vowed re­venge and might do something foolish. Do you want me to go in first—to make sure she is not waiting to slit your throat?"

  "I have been a fool! I didn't think to remove the daggers from my cabin." *

  "For the love of God, Tristan! You don't think she would—"

  Tristan cut him off. "Yes, I do. I told you the girl has a temper. But since the daggers are in a box on the bookshelf, maybe she hasn't found them. At any rate, I can manage her."

  "Tristan?"

  "Do you think I can't handle a mere wisp of a girl?" Tristan laughed. "Come now, Jules. If I can take on six Spaniards in a single bout, what chance has that little French flower?"

  "Women don't fight like men—just be careful," Jules replied.

  "You have been with me a long time, Jules. When have you known me not to be careful?"

  Jules could only sigh as Tristan walked away. His young friend knew nothing of women. Tristan had spent most of his life with only hatred in his heart and little time for anything else. How could he know that one woman's fury could match that of twenty Spaniards in a single bout?

  Deciding on a surprise attack, Tristan opened the door to his cabin very quickly. Bettina stood on the far side of the room, giving no outward sign of the fury she felt. But he guessed she had found the dag­gers, for her hands were hidden in the folds of her skirt. He didn't notice that her hair was braided so it would not hinder her attack, and that her eyes were a deep, smoldering green. Tristan just hoped that she didn't know how to handle a dagger, and especially that she wouldn't know how to throw one.

  He crossed the room slowly, watching her arms. She wouldn't suspect him of knowing what she was about to do, so he had that advantage. When he reached the table, he turned his back on her, giving her a chance to attack. She did so immediately, and Tristan turned just in time to catch her uplifted wrist holding the long dagger.

  He stared at her in disbelief as he twisted her wrist until she dropped the weapon. Tristan hadn't believed she would actually try to kill him. Threaten him, or fend him off, yes. But to raise the blade and try to spill his blood, no.