A Pirate's Pleasure

by Heather Graham

  Even as she sat upon the window seat, staring out, the door burst open. She swiveled quickly to face the Hawk as he entered the cabin, eyeing her as he carefully closed the door behind him. She almost offered him a wavering smile, but it faded before it ever came to her face. His tenderness and care of the night before were gone. She faced a cold taskmaster that morning, one who seemed without mercy.

  He did not speak. He sat behind his desk and rubbed his bearded chin, staring at her.

  “We have left the island,” Skye said.

  “Aye, milady, we left the island. You, mam’selle, made my position quite untenable there.”

  She rose, her fingers clenching by her side. Did he want her to feel guilty? By daylight, she was able to fight. “Sir, you have made my position quite untenable!”

  “Have I?” he asked her. Dark lashes fell over his eyes, then his searing silver gaze swept her once again. “So untenable, mam’selle, that you would have preferred Logan?”

  “Logan, One-Eyed Jack, the Silver Hawk, Blackbeard, pirates one and all.”

  He pushed his seat away from the desk and stood, walking around to lean upon the edge of it. “I was able to complete my business this morning despite your antics, Skye. Supplies were delivered to the ship along with a few offers. One fool fellow is still willing to pay me a thousand Spanish gold doubloons for you. Perhaps I should oblige him.”

  She gritted her teeth. “Perhaps you should.”

  “Tell, me, mam’selle, are you worth it?”

  “What?”

  “Are you worth a thousand gold doubloons?”

  “According to you, sir, I have no more worth than any other woman, and as I saw last night, the tavern was crawling with women. Of course, I daresay that things do also crawl upon those women, but then, what is that to one of your … persuasion.”

  He crossed his arms slowly over his chest. “I may well have saved your life, you know.”

  “And I may well have saved yours.”

  He burst out laughing and came toward her, pulling her into his arms. “So you saved my life, did you?”

  She pressed against his chest, seeking to free herself. “I cast you my sword—”

  “You cast me your sword! Why even in the moment of greatest distress, I had to snatch it from you! Imagine, milady! I offer my throat to a dangerous murderer on your behalf—I find myself at odds with every man in the brotherhood—and you have the audacity to claim that you saved my life!”

  She pressed more firmly against him. His smile faded. “We have just cast Jacques and Hornby to their graves within the sea, milady.”

  She swallowed, lowering her lashes. Her palms remained pressed against him. “I am your prisoner. I must attempt escape—”

  An oath of such vehemence escaped him that her eyes flew to his. “You would escape me—into Logan’s arms? Tell me,do I beat you? Starve you? Why is it, mam’selle, that you would escape to a man who would treat you with total disregard and violence?”

  “Let me go!” she whispered feverishly.

  He did not let her go. He fingered a lock of her hair, and then he moved against her, his lips searing her throat and touching her shoulder. She gasped, startled by the touch, stunned by the sensation.

  He stepped away from her suddenly, and his eyes were bright. He swept his hand from his head and gave her a sweeping bow. “Perhaps, mam’selle, you are worth a thousand gold doubloons,” he told her.

  Her hand fluttered to her throat. His gaze swept her up and down in a fashion that left her feeling naked and afire inside. Then he arched a brow and scratched his bearded chin.

  “Not as it stands, I think. Dear woman, you do, decidedly, need a bath.”

  With a vicious oath, she threw the pillow from the window seat at him. He caught the pillow, smiling.

  “For your entertainment? No!” she snapped.

  “We’ll arrive at Bone Cay at nightfall,” he told her softly. “Home.”

  “Should that please me?” she demanded.

  “It pleases me. And who knows? Perhaps I shall seek to determine whether you are worth the trouble you have cost me.”

  “You, sir, have caused me the trouble!”

  “Worth a thousand gold doubloons,” he murmured.

  “My father will pay—”

  “Ah, but has he the purse?”

  “If not, then my fiancé will pay. Lord Cameron is one of the wealthiest men in the Virginia Colony.”

  “But I do believe that he is aware of your feelings toward your impending nuptials, mam’selle. And, alas, all men are not so eager to pursue vixens who despise them.”

  “I do not despise Lord Cameron,” she said coolly.

  “Don’t you? Well, I am sure that such words would truly warm his heart! Lady Kinsdale, this is enchanting, but you must excuse me. We come ever nearer Bone Cay, but I fear that Logan is either so enamored of you or hostile toward me that he may seek an engagement upon the sea. I am needed.”

  He bowed deeply and turned to leave her. At the door he paused and turned back, and amusement curled his lip. “I shall send men with the tub and water.”

  “You needn’t. I rather like the way that I am since it does not please you!”

  The smile stayed upon his lips. “Lady Kinsdale, I am giving you a direct order.”

  “And I—” She broke off, for he was returning to the room. He sat upon the edge of the desk, waiting. “What are you doing?” she cried.

  “If you cannot obey a simple order, then I shall stay to assist you.”

  “You just said that you fear an attack!”

  “Let Logan come with his guns blazing! If this is how you will have it be, then this is one war that I will wage first.” He raised his voice. “Robert! Mr. Arrowsmith. I need you!”

  Skye stared at him and knew that he meant every word, no matter how dramatically each was spoken. She stamped a foot upon the floor. “Go!” she breathed in fury. “Go! I shall just live and breathe, Captain, to obey your slightest order!”

  He smiled. “Good,” he said pleasantly, and jumped down from his desk. He turned at the door, and she saw the sizzle of amusement in his eyes, and she realized that more than anything, he taunted her. He’d offered the bath for her comfort, and not his own entertainment.

  He had come to her against the terror of the night.

  He was her enemy. Her deadly enemy. But he was a curious man, and she could not deny his courage, his determination.…

  Or his strange tolerance and his even stranger tenderness. In her greatest hour of need, he had offered comfort.

  “Mam’selle—” he said, nodding as he opened the door to leave her.

  “Wait!” she cried.

  He paused, a brow arched. She lowered her eyes.

  “Yes, mam’selle?”

  “Thank you.”

  “Thank you?” he repeated, amazed.

  “For the lights,” she whispered.

  It seemed that he paused a very long time. “You are most heartily welcome, mam’selle,” he said at last. Then he left her, and the door closed.

  Robert came with coffee and rolls, and then he and a number of sailors trudged in with the hip bath and water. She felt the men watching her. Blue eyes, green, brown, and hazel, they all fell upon her. Old men, young men, thin and ruddy, they stared at her as they came and went. They despised her, she thought.

  But when she dared to look up, she did not think that they hated her so. The last man to leave the cabin bowed her way. “You fought well last night, Lady Kinsdale!” he said. He smiled deeply. “A lady, and ye dared take Blackbeard’s own sword against him!”

  “Out, Rodgers!” Robert Arrowsmith commanded gruffly.

  “Aye, sir, aye! Good day, Lady Kinsdale.”

  The door closed. Skye let out a long, uneasy breath.

  She stood still for several seconds, then turned back to the window seat and stared out to sea. Would Logan really come for them? She shuddered. She had lied so deeply to the Hawk. She knew he was a
better man than any of the others. A man to be respected.

  And … were he not a pirate, she would have admired him.

  As the long afternoon waned, Skye dozed in the window seat. She was awakened by a loud blast of one of the ship’s cannons. Jerking up in terror, she stared out at the sea.

  They had slowed their pace to a mere crawl and she could just see the shore. Far to her left stretched white sands and long grasses. To her right she saw towers, high brick towers rising on either side of a slender channel. They approached that channel.

  She sank back, her heart thundering. Home, the Hawk had called this place.

  A cannon fired in answer from one of the towers. Skye lay still as she felt the ship move through the channel. Then she bolted up again as she heard laughter and words of welcome.

  They had come to rest against a long wooden dock, and the plank was being lowered. Men were teeming off of the ship, being greeted by their fellows.…

  And by their women.

  Skye gnawed her lip, straining to see. Many of the sailors were being hugged and caressed by women, old women, young women, pretty young barefoot girls, and somber-looking matrons.

  There was a whole community here! she thought. Bone Cay. It seemed that the Hawk ruled his own little kingdom. The Hawk! There he was himself, tall, lean, and striking in an elegant black frockcoat and knee breeches. A small blond woman yelled something and he laughed to her, picking her up in greeting, swinging her about. He set her down and she stared up at him adoringly. Another sailor joined them, and another woman. Skye experienced a strange searing sensation that brought a flush to her features. She swallowed tightly against the pain. She hated him, she wanted nothing to do with him, and she was glad that he was back to his beloved mistresses.

  She started, falling back from the window as the door opened. It was Robert Arrowsmith.

  He bowed gravely. “Milady, if you will accompany me, please?”

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “To your room within the castle.”

  “The castle?” she inquired imperiously.

  “ ’Tis what we call the house, milady, for it is made soundly of stone, a fortress if you like. You will be safe there.”

  “I will be a prisoner there.”

  Robert paused. “A safe prisoner, mam’selle.”

  She accepted his arm, eager to quit the ship but determined that he would not know her mind. He led her from the cabin and across the deck. The sails were furled now, and the deck was silent and still.

  Robert Arrowsmith led her over the gangplank. A hush fell over the dock. Men and women stared at her, and she stared in turn. Robert led her through the crowd that thronged around the ship.

  The people gave way, parting to give them an open path.

  Then she saw that the Silver Hawk was still there. Indeed, he awaited her. He sat mounted upon a huge white steed, his plumed hat low on his head.

  Skye paused, ignoring the pressure of Robert’s arm upon her.

  “Come, Lady Kinsdale!” the Hawk shouted to her. “Welcome to the Hawk’s Nest! Do hurry along.”

  “I’ll not!” she shouted defiantly. It was the gravest pleasure to humiliate the man in turn.

  But he was not humiliated. He cast his head back with a thunder of deep laughter, and she was left to gasp as the white horse thundered down upon her. She stood her ground.

  She should have turned to flee.

  She should have … but she did not. And upon his snow-white stallion, the Silver Hawk seemed to fly on the wind. And leaning from his seat, he plucked her from the ground, sweeping her before him, and racing toward the fortress that rose ahead of them.

  And still the deep husky sound of his laughter rang against the coming of the night.

  VII

  They did not ride far. Skye had just dug her fingers into the stallion’s mane when she saw tall stone walls rising above her. The wind swept by them and the sandy earth churned as they came upon a set of wrought-iron gates, opened in expectation of the master’s return, or so it seemed.

  The horse unerringly turned and brought them through a courtyard to a high rising porte cochere. The Hawk reined in, setting Skye upon the ground. He touched his plumed hat. “Milady, my house is yours,” he said simply.

  Smiling, he turned the horse around. He led the animal around the side of the house. Skye watched him go, and then paused, staring about herself in ironic dismay. No one was near her; she was neither chained nor confined. But she had probably never been more of a prisoner, for there was absolutely nowhere to go. The Silver Hawk had chosen his base of operations well. The island was surrounded by coral atolls and shoals, deadly to the unwary sailor. His harbor was protected by the deep, natural U shape of his island. The channel was protected by the towers with their massive guns. It would take an army to come in here and clean out his rogue’s den. And for a prisoner, there was very simply nowhere at all to go. The island was his. The people who lived upon it were his.

  And she was his, she reminded herself. Worthless—or not worth any great sum, or so he had said. But still, his prize, and as such, he had fought for her, and he had kept her. And he had brought her here.

  She shivered suddenly. Not because it was cold, and not because she feared him, but because she was afraid to be there, upon the island with him. She knew not why.

  She turned about and followed the handsome brick path to the door of the imposing structure. She shouldn’t be afraid. This was where she would wait for her father or her fiancé to rescue her. The Hawk would surely grant her some privacy here. It was a huge domicile.

  She lifted her hand to knock, but the door opened before she could and to her surprise the Silver Hawk stood within the door frame. She frowned and he quickly arched a brow. “I left Samuel in his paddock, milady. You did take your sweet time to enter.”

  “Samuel?” she murmured. “Not the Silver Wind? Not the Hawk’s Messenger, or some such. You named your horse Samuel?”

  “Sam for short. He much prefers the abbreviation.” He reached out and caught her hand, drawing her into his fortress. The entryway was in shadows, but she could see his eyes, smoke gray now, and haunting. “I’m sorry if I disappoint you, but I’m afraid that I was just a lad when Sam was born, and therefore I named him quickly. He’s twenty-three now, and I’d not disturb his tranquillity with a change of name to suit my fancy.”

  “Twenty-three?” Skye said. The huge, sleek animal looked to be a young horse. “He has aged well.”

  The Hawk smiled slowly, and to her great distress, Skye felt her heart quiver as he drew her close. “I take very good care of all living creatures within my domain, milady. Alas, I tried take good care of you, but you are forever fighting my efforts.”

  “Perhaps, sir, it is because I am not your property to be cared for. I am neither pet, nor beast of burden, nor—yours.”

  A smile touched his lip. “Well spoken, milady, but then that is part of your appeal.”

  “Ah! But still a woman, and worth only so much!”

  “Your worth is still debatable,” he said. The words were simple and light, but the silence that followed them was not, for she felt both the warmth of his hands and the heat of his appraisal, and it seemed that a lingering question hung upon the air. She flushed and pulled from his grip, spinning to see the entryway.

  It was grand. It was huge, with doors leading to rooms on either side. The walls and ceiling were paneled, and then lined handsomely with weapons of warfare, cutlasses, rapiers, scores of hunting rifles and muskets and brown Besses.

  “Impressive,” she muttered.

  “Every man and woman on the island knows where to come in case of attack.”

  “And every one of them shall die with you?”

  He shrugged. “They are here by choice. I force no one to live here.”

  “You have forced me.”

  “You, milady, are visiting, and naught more. Come along. I shall show you the rest of the house.”

  He t
ook her hand into his own. To the right was a library with a guest bed, to the left was the butler’s pantry—complete with butler. The man stood so silently awaiting their arrival that Skye gasped to see him living, alive and well. He was tall and strong of build, white-haired and immensely dignified. “Mr. Soames,” the Hawk said in introduction, and Mr. Soames bowed to her very gravely. “What you need, he will give you.”

  “With the greatest pleasure, milady,” Soames said, and bowed.

  He might have graced the finest English manor! Skye thought, and she wondered how on God’s good earth such a man had come to work in a pirate kingdom.

  “All the pleasures of home,” she murmured softly.

  “What was that, Lady Kinsdale?” the Hawk said. She was certain that he winked to the butler, and that the butler winked in return. It was all a joke perhaps.

  No, it was not joke. The cannons upon the protective towers were no joke. The skill of the Hawk was hardly amusing to the men he had robbed of ships and plunder.

  Soames excused himself and closed the door upon his domain. The Hawk was staring at her. “Well?”

  “Quite remarkable.”

  “The house itself is remarkable, don’t you agree? But not so difficult to construct as you might imagine. Brick makes wonderful ballast. I was able to have this all brought within the span of a few years.” He walked her along the hall and paused, pushing open a set of doors. A long, claw-footed mahogany table stretched before them. It would seat at least twenty people, she thought. “The formal dining room.”

  “For those ‘state’ occasions?” she taunted.

  “For negotiations,” he corrected. “Your very worth might well be negotiated right here, milady.”

  “With whom do you negotiate?”

  “No man fears to come here if he is invited, Lady Kinsdale. Your fiancé is well aware of the truth of those words. There is no safer haven upon the seas than this.”

  He drew her out and closed the doors. Pointing toward the rear of the house, he told her, “The ballroom, milady. And occasionally we do have balls.”

  He barely let her see the long room before he was whirling her around again and pulling her toward the stairway. It was big and broad with a velvet runner. A manservant polishing the banister bobbed to her and saluted the Hawk. “Sir, ’tis good to see you home, sir!”