A Pirate's Love

by Johanna Lindsey

  Bettina was picked up and hoisted over Tristan's shoulder again. She could tell he was climbing, and after another few minutes, she knew that she was in his cabin. He laid her down on the floor and roughly rolled her out of the blanket.

  Bettina glared at Tristan as she lay helplessly on her side. Her eyes were the darkest of greens, and if they could have killed, Tristan would have been dead. He studied her critically and then laughed heartily.

  "I knew it was you, little one. You have an unmis­takable fragrance about you."

  Jules carried her mother into the cabin, bound in a blanket also. He stood her up and gently unwrapped her. Bettina's anger soared even higher, remembering how Tristan had purposefully treated her roughly.

  "I see you had the right one, Tristan," Jules said with a grin as he started to untie Jossel. "This one looks to be my age. Perhaps she won't mind sharing my cabin."

  Bettina tried to protest and struggled to sit up, but she couldn't. Tristan looked at her and grinned mischievously. It was obvious that he didn't intend to untie her quite yet.

  Jossel rubbed her arms when they were untied, but otherwise she stood still, even when the gag was re­moved from her mouth. Bettina could see the fear in her mother's eyes, and she felt sick with misery that she couldn't comfort her.

  "Who are you, madame?" Tristan asked.

  He stood in front of Jossel, his legs astride and his hands on his hips. She was a small woman, and Tristan towered over her like a menacing giant.

  "I am Jossel Verlaine, and—"

  "Blast it!" Tristan bellowed, making Jossel shrink back from him. "Do you know what you've done, Jules? This woman is the girl's mother!"

  "So?"

  "I have enough trouble with the vixen. I don't need her mother to contend with!"

  "It is your own fault that the wench is difficult to handle," Jules replied. "I told you long ago what to do with her, but you wouldn't listen. You are too soft with women, Tristan. I see no problem in bringing the mother along."

  Tristan looked at JosseFs pale color and wide green eyes. His face softened considerably, as did his voice when he spoke to her again.

  "I'm sorry if I frightened you, madame, but it was a surprise to find you here. Bettina has spoken of you before, and I assumed you lived in France." When Jos­sel didn't answer, Tristan continued. "I do not intend to harm either you or your daughter. You may rest easy on that account."

  "Then please untie her, monsieur," Jossel said timid­ly, not knowing what to think of this big man.

  "Not yet."

  "Surely you do not intend to punish her for escaping from you?" Jossel asked.

  "So she told you about me, eh?"

  "I wager it wasn't a pretty picture she painted," Jules broke in with a humorous chuckle.

  "Haven't you something to do, Jules?" Tristan scowled darkly at him.

  "Nothing at the moment," Jules replied. He sauntered to the table and sat down.

  "Bettina told me everything," Jossel said with a bit more courage.

  "Everything?" Tristan asked, an amused expression on his face now.

  "Yes."

  "Well, I can assure you, Madame Verlaine, that I am not the monstrous pirate she would have you believe."

  "Then if you are an honorable man, you will let us go. You will also release Madeleine Daudet."

  "Madame, I said I was not a monster, I did not say I was an honorable man," Tristan said. "Bettina belongs to me. I warned her against trying to escape, and since she didn't heed my words, I will deal with her as I see fit."

  "Monsieur—"

  "I'm not finished," Tristan cut her off. "I will not tolerate any interference from you. If you wish to re­main with your daughter, I suggest you heed my words. What I do with Bettina is my affair. Have I made my­self clear?"

  "Quite clear," Jossel whispered.

  "Good. You may sleep in Jules's cabin. He will va­cate it for you, I'm sure, since he wouldn't want his wife hearing of any dalliance."

  "I suppose I must," Jules replied grudgingly.

  Tristan walked to the door with them, and then whis­pered to Jossel out of Bettina's hearing, "I won't harm her, madame, so don't fear for her."

  Jossel was utterly astonished by Tristan's gentle words, but she smiled at him hopefully before Jules pulled her along to his cabin.

  Bettina watched Tristan as he closed the door, leaned back against it, and grinned. His hair was sopping wet, and his clothes were plastered to his body, displaying the bulging muscles on his arms and chest. He was still clean-shaven, but she could hardly see the scar any­more, for his face was completely bronzed by the sun.

  "Your mother is a striking woman; quite beautiful, in fact. It is easy to see that you are her daughter," Tristan said. He pushed himself away from the door and sauntered to the washstand by the bed.

  He removed his shirt and tossed it on top of the two wet blankets piled on the floor. He then took a towel from the washstand and began to rub his hair briskly. Damn it, when would he untie her?

  "Ah, Bettina, what am I going to do with you?" He stood before her now, rubbing the towel across his chest. "I will admit I was furious when I discovered you'd left the house. You're lucky I didn't find you that morning, or I probably would have given you a sound beating, as Jules thinks you need. But I've had time to calm down."

  As Tristan walked to the table and poured a tankard of rum, Bettina began to fear that he was going to leave her trussed up on the floor. He had told her mother that he would deal with her as he saw fit. What was he going to do?

  He looked at her, his powder-blue eyes alight.

  "What punishment would fit your crime, Bettina? I told you I would keep you prisoner if you tried to es­cape me, and that I will do. But you not only tried to escape, you succeeded—for a little while. Your one mistake was hi letting the horses out of the corral, for one of those beasts came running across the backyard and woke me. And when I started out after you, the white stallion came charging out of the forest as if the

  Devil were after him. Were you bruised by the fall? I doubt you were, for your luck held that morning. I reached the shore just as you boarded that blasted ship. I would have been here the day before, but encountered a storm that took me off course."

  So that was how he'd found her so soon. She should have closed the corral; she should have known the horses wouldn't wander far.

  "So what punishment shall it be, little one?" He crossed to her again and crouched down beside her, lifting her chin wtih his finger. "I could still beat you. Jules seems to think that would do the trick."

  She jerked her head away. But then she felt his hand on her breast, and it was like fire, even through the material of her shift.

  "Why did you run away from me? Because of this?" he asked in a deep, teasing voice.

  He moved his hand lower. She tried to move away from him, but she was already pressed against the built-in bed and could move no farther. She was afraid now. How would he punish her?

  Untie me, she wanted to scream at him. And then her eyes widened hi terror when he drew his knife. She tried to scream, but little sound escaped through the gag. He smiled at her, though his eyes showed no warmth.

  "Relax and accept your fate, Bettina, for I've decided on a fitting punishment for you."

  She stared in horror as Tristan drew the knife up the front of her shift. He cut the material at her shoulders and tore the ruined cloth away from her. He stood up, tossed the shift and the knife aside, and stared down at her nakedness. His eyes examined every inch of her body, and she could feel the heat rise to her face.

  He moved to a chair, sat down facing her, and con­tinued to look at her silently. She could read no emotion on his face, not even lust. She wanted to die—no, she didn't. She wished he were dead! If only she could scream her hate at him. She would tear his eyes out when he untied her.

  She closed her eyes, for she couldn't bear to watch him staring at her unclad body. But after a few minutes, Tristan crossed to her with
the silence of a cat. He picked her up and laid her gently on the bed, then sat down on the edge beside her. She looked at him, and his eyes were soft again. He was no longer angry, but she knew what he was determined to do.

  "For once I can do as I like, without having to hold you down or listen to your insults," he murmured. He began to stroke her tender flesh, using both hands to caress her, scorching her skin with his touch. "This is what you ran away from, Bettina. This is what you fight to deny yourself."

  Stop it! Stop it, damn you, she screamed inside her head, but Tristan buried his face in her neck. He used his lips now, and his tongue, and he left a trail of fire as his mouth descended to her breasts. Her desire swelled and surfaced, overpowering her resistance.

  "What you are feeling now is not disgust, little flower. It is pleasure, pure and simple—you know it, and I know it. You curse me, but you want me. Your passion conquers your hate, and your body cries out for the fulfillment that only I can give you."

  Tristan stood up and removed his breeches and boots. Then he turned her over gently and untied her feet, running his hand up her leg and over her buttocks when he finished. Bettina tried to get up, but he pressed his knee in the middle of her back, forcing her to be still. He untied her hands and then quickly retied them above her head.

  He turned her over, then eased between her legs be­fore she could kick out, but she was beyond reason or resistance. He removed the cloth from her mouth, and they kissed hungrily. She didn't care. She didn't care about anything except the fire that Tristan had started and must end. Why had he bound her arms? She wanted to hold him, to cling to him, to feel his muscles rippling, to run her hands through his wet hair. But all she could do was sense the whole of him with her body, and it was maddening yet ardently exciting. Nothing else mat­tered at this moment—nothing.

  They had sailed beyond the storm, and the morn­ing sun shone through the open cabin window. Bettina lay on the bed, with nothing covering her except a film of perspiration slowly drying in the salty breeze. Her body still tingled with the aftereffects of Tristan's lovemaking.

  How could Tristan make her want him so passion­ately, she wondered, when she hated him so? The hu­miliation she had felt earlier was nothing to the ecstatic pleasure that followed. Was she so wanton that a man's touch could make her tremble, that a kiss could make her give him everything?

  But Pierre didn't affect her with his kiss. Only Tristan stirred the fires within her.

  What was the matter with her? It wasn't her fault, but Tristan's. He was a devil, and he had the power to work magic with his fingers. After all, she would never go to him and ask him to make love to her. It was only after he touched her and continued to touch her that she desired him. He must be a devil. How else could he have the strength of ten men, such an incredibly hand­some face, and such a magnificent body?

  She glanced at Tristan now, as he stood before the open window looking out to sea. He appeared worried. Good. She hoped he had a million troubles, and she hoped she was his main vexation.

  Bettina started to get up, but remembered that Tris­tan hadn't untied her yet. She frowned. She had as­sumed that the humiliation he put her through was to be the punishment he spoke of, but...

  "Tristan, untie me," she demanded.

  He looked at her with a raised eyebrow and a half-grin, and she blushed at her own nakedness. His eyes sparkled, and his hair fell in waves on his temples. It was the color of molten gold with the sun shining on it.

  "Did you say something, little one?'"

  Oh! She knew damn well he'd heard her. Well, she would play his game and humble herself, but only long enough to gain freedom.

  "Will you please untie me? My—arms hurt," she said.

  "Prisoners are usually kept in rusty irons," he re­marked. "You should consider yourself lucky that you're tied with rope."

  She couldn't tell if he was teasing her, but he made no move to come forward and do as she'd asked. She gritted her teeth. She wanted to curse him, but she had to get free first.

  "Please, Tristan." With an effort, she managed to sit up, but she still couldn't lower her arms. "You cannot mean to leave me like this."

  "Why not? At least with your hands bound, I need not worry that you will attack me when my back is turned."

  "My arms hurt! Do you intend to torture me just be­cause I escaped you? Damn you! I told you I would leave you if you raped me again—so I did! I would have stayed on your island if you had let me be."

  "I'm sure you would have. I'm sure you would be quite content if I never touched you again, as I did a little while ago," he taunted her. "But you are just too tempting to leave alone, Bettina. If I want to kiss you, I will. If I want to make love to you, I will do this also. You forget what I told your mother earlier—you belong to me."

  "I want to see my mother," Bettina said.

  "What, like that?" he laughed.

  Bettina blushed again, but she tried to control her anger. "Will you untie me or not?"

  "I suppose so. But only on a few conditions."

  "Well?"

  "You will stop fighting me, and—"

  "Always the bargaining and the conditions. Aren't you man enough to handle me, Tristan?" she teased, sensing a perfect chance to get back at him. "Pierre was."

  "So it is Pierre now, eh?" he asked coldly. "Are you on such ultimate terms after two days' acquaintance?"

  "More than intimate," Bettina replied, averting her eyes from his.

  "What is that supposed to mean?" he demanded. He crossed to her and lifted her face up to his. "Answer me!"

  "Untie me first."

  "You will answer me first, blast you!" Tristan raged.

  "Will I?" Bettina asked, her voice coated with honey. She was surprised and delighted that mentioning Pierre could make Tristan so angry. "I can be very stubborn, Tristan. Would you like to see how stubborn I can be?"

  He turned away, slamming his fist into his hand and mumbling curses under his breath. Was Tristan jealous of Pierre? she wondered. How would he react if she lied and said she had made love with Pierre? Perhaps he would no longer want her if he thought another man had bedded her.

  He turned back toward her, and without a word he roughly untied her hands. He stood back while she rubbed her arms and her wrists, and then she slowly pulled the cover from the bed and wrapped it around her body.

  When she didn't speak, Tristan lost his patience. He tilted her face to his and noticed the clear, dark blue of her eyes.

  "You have been released; now answer my question." He made an effort to speak calmly.

  "What question?" she asked innocently.

  "If you wish to play games, Bettina, you won't like mine. Now answer me!"

  "What is it you wish to know, Tristan?"

  "You said you were more than intimate with de Lambert. What did you mean by that?"

  "I thought what I said was perfectly clear."

  "I will have a straight answer!" Tristan raged. "Did he rape you?"

  Bettina laughed. "You amaze me, Tristan. How could you possibly think that Pierre would have to rape me? He is my betrothed. I told you before that I would succumb to him willingly."

  "That was after you were married! Do you expect me to believe that you went eagerly to the man's bed on the first day you met him?"

  "I do not care what you believe," she replied. She had gone too far to back down now.

  "Did you let him make love to you?"

  "Yes!" Bettina shouted.

  Tristan's face went livid with rage, and his fists clenched at his sides. He stalked from the room, slam­ming the door behind him, and Bettina gave a sigh of relief. But Tristan came back a minute later.

  "You lie!" he shouted. "You wouldn't have made love with him. Not with your mother in the same house!"

  "It—it happened before I knew my mother was there —before she knew that I'd arrived. Pierre came into my room. He said that he had waited so long, and that he loved me," Bettina said, trying to make her lie soun
d plausible. "We were to be married soon. I saw no rea­son to wait. After all, I was not a virgin—thanks to you. And I found that I could not deny my future husband anything."

  "You still lie! You wouldn't fall into the arms of a stranger, even if he was your betrothed!" Tristan stormed, pacing the room in his fury.

  Bettina was afraid. She had never seen Tristan so angry before. She decided to admit the truth, but to leave some doubt in his mind.

  "It would soothe your ego to believe I am lying. Very well, I made up the whole thing, simply to make you angry. I lied. Are you happy now?"

  He stopped pacing the floor and turned to her, but his face was darker than ever.

  "What is the matter, Tristan?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "You would not believe me before; you in­sisted I was lying. Well, I admit it. Don't you believe me now?"

  "Why should I believe anything you say?"

  "Why, indeed?" she asked, and decided to attack. "Come now, Tristan. You had no reason to fly into a rage in the first place—unless, of course, you love me. Do you love me, Tristan? Is that why you came after me?"

  "I—blast you! I told you before there is no room in my life for a woman, or for love."

  "Then take me back to Saint Martin."

  "No—not until I'm finished with you," he said coldly-

  "I escaped you twice, Tristan. I will do so again!"

  "You were a fool to try it this last time. You could have been picked up by slave runners, pirates, or any number of cut-throats."

  She hadn't even thought of that. "Well, I was not. It was a merchant ship I sighted, and the capitaine was good enough to take me to Saint Martin—without re­ward. There are still a few decent men in this world."

  "Perhaps there are, but you won't be given a chance to escape again. I warned you I would keep you pris­oner if I had to."

  "I want to see my mother," Bettina said, changing the subject quickly.

  "No."

  "But she will be worried about me. I want to com­fort her."