“Please—” she gasped.
“I’m not a patient man, Heather,” he said and his voice was very menacing.
Her fingers shook as she untied the ribbons and unfastened the tiny buttons between her breasts. She caught the hem and raised it over her head. Her eyes lifted shamefully to his as she felt his fiery gaze upon her body.
“Now lie down,” he directed.
She slid down into the bunk and her whole being quaked with fear of him and of what was to come. She tried to cover herself with her hands, feeling the awful humiliation of being naked and a coward.
“Don’t,” he said and slid in beside her and drew her quaking limbs to his.
“Please,” she whimpered. “Aren’t you satisfied that you’ve taken the one thing that was only mine to give. Must you keep torturing me again and again?”
“You might as well accept your lot as a paramour, my sweet, and become aware of the finer arts of the profession. The first thing I’m going to show you is that it doesn’t necessarily have to be painful. You fought me twice now and the last time caused your own misery. This time you will relax and let me do as I want without a struggle and though you may not enjoy it yet, you’ll see what I say is true.”
“No! No!” she cried, trying to struggle free, but he clamped his hand tightly on her waist.
“Be still.”
Again he commanded, again she obeyed. She hated him but her fear was greater by far. She trembled violently with it.
“Is this the way you treat your wife?” she asked miserably.
He smiled and bent over her lips. “I’m not married, sweet.”
She had no more to say when his kiss ended but lay tense and waiting. He made no move to mount her. Instead he played gently with her, caressing, softly titillating, cupping her breasts and pressing kisses over her body.
“Relax,” he murmured against her throat. “Just lie still and don’t fight me. Later you can learn what pleases a man, but for now just lie still.”
Her mind tumbled over itself in its frenzy and no words sought her tongue. As she lay and submitted to his pawing, her life passed before her as if she were dying, and she wondered what great evil she had done that the past years should have abused her so cruelly. Yet even Aunt Fanny’s endless heckling would be better than having to lie here under this man’s hands while he pleasured himself with her. Trapped! Caught! Like a bird in a snare and now, plump and roasted, she must wait on the platter while he whetted his knife for the carving. And when the feast was done, what then? The same table? The same dinner? Again and again? Surely no simpleminded fowl ever suffered its fate but once.
Her thighs were parted and she could not suppress a gasp as he drove home.
“Easy, sweet,” he breathed.
She closed her eyes tightly and stilled her careening fears. There was nothing to do now but let him have his way. When he lay finished above her, he whispered against her hair.
“Any more bruises, m’lady?”
She kept her eyes shut and turned her head aside. She loathed the very thought of him. He moved against her, urging her answer.
“Did I hurt you this time?”
“No,” she choked out.
He laughed softly and freeing her from his embrace, sat on the berth beside her and drew the sheet over her.
“You don’t appear to be a cold wench, ma petite,” he said, running his hand over the curve of her thigh and waist, “only for the moment a reluctant one. Soon you’ll learn to enjoy it. For now just learn to accept it.”
“Never!” she half sobbed. “I hate you! I loathe you! I despise you! Not in a million years!”
“You’ll change your mind,” he laughed. He stood up. “Someday you’ll be begging for it.”
She turned in a huff, presenting her back to him and jerked the sheet over her shoulder. He chuckled again and reaching down, caressed her buttock.
“Just wait, Heather, and we’ll see which one of us is right.”
Anger shook her. He was so confident of himself, of her, of the future. He had it all neatly planned. And what did she have to say in the matter? All she could do was beg for mercy and that would fall on deaf ears. But given the opportunity she would escape.
She smiled to herself, thinking of that, and her spirits rose if only slightly. Her chance would come sooner or later and she would not hesitate to take it. The mere thought of escape soothed her frayed nerves and she relaxed into the pillows, listening to Brandon move about the cabin behind her. Her eyelids grew heavy and sleep pushed aside even those more requitable thoughts.
When Heather woke, she opened her eyes without moving. The room was still and quiet and she thought herself alone at last, but when she rolled on her back she saw Brandon at his desk with quill in hand, reading over his ledgers. He was dressed and seemed for the moment to have forgotten her, engrossed in his work as he was. She might have been some stick of furniture for as much attention as he paid her. She watched him quietly. There was no denying that he was handsome, physically magnificent. She might have even dreamed once of such a man. But never in those innocent dreams of romance did she imagine that her love would fly to her on the wings of violence, or that she would be kept against her will to fulfill base desires.
“Are you feeling better?” he asked, looking up to find her eyes on him. He smiled and rose from the desk. “I hope you’re hungry. I waited to breakfast with you.”
She sat up in the corner of the bed, clutching the sheet over her bosom, and her hair fell in soft disarray over her shoulders.
“I want to get dressed,” she murmured, watching him cautiously as he came forward to lean against a timber above the bunk.
He smiled warmly. “If you must, my love.” His eyes went over her. “Do you want any help?”
Heather almost climbed the wall to escape from him. “Don’t you touch me!” she cried.
“Ah-h, I see my little kitten has her claws bared.” He looked deep into her eyes. “Shall I make you purr, my sweet?”
“I’ll scream,” she whimpered. “So help me I will.”
His white teeth flashed as he reached out and took her by the wrists and pulled her to him. His eyes held hers prisoner.
“Do you think that would do you any good?” he asked, as if amused. “Unless called for, my men stay away from this cabin when I’m entertaining. Besides, my dear, I can stop your screams quite easily with my kisses.”
She shrank from him and a shudder of revulsion passed through her as his gaze went down her body, but he only laughed. Catching her around the waist, he swung her to her feet.
“You’re very tempting, m’lady, but it isn’t time for your second lesson yet. My servant is waiting to serve us our meal.”
He left her to open a locker by the bed, and drew out a man’s dressing gown which he handed to her.
“It’s a trifle large, but it’s the best I can offer at the moment.” He smiled. “I’ll take you this afternoon to purchase some clothes. If you’re like most other women that should perk you up.”
She quickly wrapped the robe around her and found herself lost in it. There was no doubt it was his and it was far too big for her. The sleeves trailed below her hands and the bottom dragged the floor, so she had to gather in a good foot of it to walk.
A smile played lightly about Brandon’s lips and his eyes gleamed as he observed her. He helped her fold back the sleeves.
“If it’s possible to be jealous of a simple garment, m’lady, then I am of this one, and if it had life I’d warrant it would be aquiver now with its good fortune.”
She glanced away nervously. “May I be allowed privacy to wash, sir?” She clutched the robe tightly at her throat and whispered, “Please.”
He made a sweeping bow and grinned. “Your slightest wish is my command, m’lady. There are matters concerning the cargo that need my attention anyway so you may have some time.”
She eyed him covertly as he walked to the door and before he opened it he glanced back at
her and grinned quite devilishly, then made his exit with a laugh.
Heather released a small sigh of relief and went to the washstand where she poured water in the bowl. She scrubbed every inch of her body until her skin glowed a healthy pink. She longed for a steaming tub bath so that she could soak in it and remove from her body every trace and remembrance of him, of the fine mist of sweat that had moistened his body and then hers, the feel of his hands upon her, the memory of his smothering kisses. Everything. Every tiniest bit of evidence that she had been his.
The cool water helped a little to revive her downtrodden spirits, and she donned her shabby shift and pink gown, feeling a trifle better. She raked her fingers through her hair, combing it as best she could in that manner, then returned his robe to the locker, noting as she did so the well chosen and obviously costly clothes within. It was irritating to think that she couldn’t secretly laugh at his choice of apparel.
Her nerves stretched taut with her toilette complete, and needing some task to occupy her thoughts, she began putting some order to the cabin, which was littered with clothing. His were thrown over the back of a chair, her beige gown in another. The torn chemise was still where he had dropped it after ripping it from her. She picked it up and found it irreparable.
His hands destroy well, she mused.
With renewed anger she marched to the bunk and began smoothing the sheets until her eyes fell on the blood that stained them, and she realized it was her blood, her proof of virginity. In a high rage, she jerked the sheets from the bed and threw them to the floor.
Her eyes bright and her cheeks flushed, she whirled around at a soft laugh from behind her and faced Brandon who stood in the open doorway. He had returned silently and without her knowing. His eyes dropped from her angry face to the sheets behind her, then he raised his eyes again as he closed the door and leaned against it. He smiled at her mockingly, and with an infuriated groan, Heather turned her back. She heard him laugh. He was laughing at her and she hated him. He was detestable.
He came up close behind her, slipped his arms about her waist and drew her back against him.
“Do you think you could have remained chaste for long with the face and body you have, my sweet?” he murmured against her hair. “You were meant for love, and I am not saddened because I snatched you before other men tried you, nor do I feel guilty over the pleasure you’ve given me. Pray do not blame me for being infatuated with your beauty and wanting you for my own. It would be a task for any man not to. You see, in truth, m’lady, I am your prisoner, caught in your spell.”
She trembled as his searing lips pressed against her throat and beneath her breasts her heart thumped wildly.
“Are you void of a conscience?” she choked. “Doesn’t it matter that I do not wish to be here? I am not one of your strumpets, nor do I have any desire to be.”
“You do not wish it now, my love, but later you will. If I allowed you to go now I’d never see you again because of what has passed between us. If we had met differently, I could have courted you gently and wooed you into my bed with tender words. But here we started backwards and frightened you and as a bird flees from its captor, so would you fly from me. To keep you I must show you that it is not so bad being my mistress. You’ll have everything your heart desires.”
“I have heard tales of Yankees,” she said snidely, “but I never guessed that all those aspersions could be true until I met you.”
He threw back his head and laughed heartily. “Spoken like a true Englishwoman, m’lady.”
She jerked angrily away and faced him. “Just tell me why you want me?” she demanded. She threw her arms wide. “Heaven above, tell me why I must suffer your affections when you can find many a maid more willing than I anywhere you should happen to look! Wouldn’t your romps in bed be more entertaining with a woman who appreciates your advances than with one who loathes the very sight of you?”
He chuckled at her anger. “You have a sharp tongue, m’lady. You wound me to the quick. But the reasons are quite simple. Take a look at yourself and you’ll see a very excellent one. You’re like a breath of fresh spring air after a night in an overcrowded tavern.”
He took a seat at his desk, relaxing in the chair as he regarded her.
“I find you very desirable, Heather, truly worth having—a jewel among pebbles. The challenge of winning you excites me. I’ve never been denied before.”
“You should have been,” she spat vindictively. “Perhaps then you would have learned to be a gentleman.”
His eyes sparkled. “I’ve found with you, sweet, that when I want you badly enough I can overlook being a gentleman.”
She turned her back on him in frustration. There was no talking to the pompous, arrogant scoundrel. He made his own rules to fit his own games. She couldn’t think of enough names to do justice to the way she felt about him. All she knew was that she’d leave him and his miserable cabin if it were the last thing she ever did.
A few moments later George entered the cabin, carrying a large tray laden with their morning meal. The servant smiled rather sheepishly at her as he placed the tray upon the table, but she glared at him and presented her back where in turn he looked to his captain, quite confused. A small smile curved Brandon’s lips and he nodded to the servant to continue with what he was doing. When the table lay set, Brandon held a chair out for her.
“If you please, Heather,” he smiled mockingly. “I can hardly dine while you stand and glower at me. Now sit and be a good girl for a change.”
George looked between the two, becoming more perplexed, and hurriedly poured coffee in the mugs. Heather grudgingly took her place and adjusted a napkin irritably over her lap. She sipped the coffee, though she preferred tea, then grimaced at its strong taste and pushed it away from her. Lifting her eyes, she found Brandon watching her with an amused smile.
Nothing was said and she attacked her small steak of beef as if it needed yet to be slaughtered, though in truth it was quite tender. She found it strangely prepared, not boiled nor cut into tiny bits for a stew but simply cooked in its own juices and left still rare. She tried a small piece and found it tasty, but her appetite was far from hearty and she simply picked at it.
George watched her for a moment in indecision, wishing to please but not knowing how. He turned finally to leave, and noticing the sheets upon the floor, went to pick them up. His eyes widened as he saw the stains and he glanced quickly to his captain, who was watching him, then to Heather whose back was turned to him and once more to Brandon who met his look and nodded once to his unasked questions. The servant’s eyes widened even more and he hurriedly gathered the sheets in his arms and made a hasty exit.
Brandon regarded Heather’s display of temper and casually sliced off a bite of steak.
“I will not tolerate your spiteful mood at my table, Heather,” he said calmly, “nor your treating my man unkindly. In his presence you will be a lady.”
Fear rose within Heather and every muscle in her body drained of strength, leaving her quivering in her chair. She grew pale and even her small desire for nourishment left her. She folded her hands in her lap and gazed down at them, unable to meet his stare.
Brandon swallowed some of the hot coffee as he continued to study her, this time concentrating on the gown she wore. It was a garment a younger girl might wear and pretty though it was, he didn’t care for its girlish lines. It made him feel uncomfortable, as if he had stolen a babe from its cradle. The only thing about it that found favor with him was the snug bodice which pressed her bosom upward, reassuring him that she was no child. But it was hardly the sort of gown he wanted his mistress to wear, and the frayed chemise he had seen on her earlier would have to go. She was too beautiful to wear rags.
The meal at its end, he returned to his desk to work at his ledgers while Heather, not knowing what to do with herself, paced the floor or fidgeted at the window seat and felt like climbing the walls. He left the cabin for a time, long enough for her to gathe
r courage to try the door, but her thought of escape was badly timed for she found him in the companionway giving orders to one of his crew. Angrily she slammed the door closed when he glanced up and smiled at her mockingly.
When George came with the noon meal she was polite, but not to the point of being gracious. Silently she cursed the man.
Brandon pushed his chair back from the table, a time later, his hunger for food satisfied, and Heather felt his eyes sweep her. A silence filled the room and she swallowed hard, keeping her gaze averted. She knew his affections had warmed again and her heart refused to slow to a regular beat. His voice when he spoke was low and rich with passion.
“Come here, Heather.”
She froze in the chair. She would not go to him. She would stay where she was. He could not bully her. She shook her head and managed to croak a weak, “No.”
His eyelids lowered and he smiled slowly. “I admire your spirit, ma cherie, but do you think it wise to resist me? You know as well as I that you do not possess the strength to stop me from taking what I want. Would it not be better to acknowledge defeat and come willingly?”
Heather shook and terror could not be denied. Her courage failed her. Slowly she rose on trembling legs, her teeth tugging nervously at her bottom lip, and went to stand before him. He smiled at her leisurely and sliding his hand up her arm, pulled her between his legs and down upon his knee where she sat rigidly as he pressed his lips against her throat.
“Don’t be afraid,” he breathed. “I won’t hurt you.”
His mouth moved over her shaking lips and parted them as his arms slid tightly around her, one hand settling on her back while the other sought her hip. With a half sob, Heather went limp against his chest, trembling violently within his grasp. His kisses went on it seemed to her without end. When his hand slid from her hip to her thigh and moved slowly upward along the inside, caressing it, she groaned under his kiss and strained against his chest. But the embrace could not be broken. His lips left hers to kiss the corners of her mouth, her chin, her ear.
“Don’t fight me,” he murmured. “Let yourself enjoy it.”
The Flame and the Flower Page 5