The Savage Sabre

by Winchester, Rosamund

  “Smuggled? You mean you killed everyone on board and stole whatever one of your sloops could carry,” she accused.

  This time, the insult stung.

  “Never would I order my men to kill an entire crew, death is not part of my business, and we only took what we were told to take—it was sold to us by the captain who needed the money. He later reported the casks of wine lost to the sea. We purchased the wine and sold most of it to a baron in Blackpool.”

  He could tell she didn’t believe a word he was saying, it was in the way she squared her shoulders and furrowed her brow. Her dark eyes scoured his features, examining him for veracity. He would not lie to her—he had to make her see.

  Bah! He didn’t care if she believed him. The only thing that mattered was finding out what she knew about the Demonios so he could plan a counterattack. No one killed his men and raided his ships without consequence. He didn’t become the Brenin—king—of the Ganwyd o’r Mor by being forgiving.

  “Believe what you will, for obviously someone has filled your head with lies about us—”

  “My brother would never—” She gasped, having realized what she’d just revealed.

  A smile of victory curled his lips. “Your brother, eh?”

  She cursed and tried to spin toward the wall again, but he grabbed the chain near her ankle and held her in place.

  “Where are you going? We have only just begun our meal and we are already learning so much about each other,” he said, chuckling.

  Before he could deflect it, she swung out and slapped him across the cheek, stinging his face. He blinked down at her, uncertain if she’d actually done what it felt like she did.

  He growled, grabbing hold of her good wrist and holding it out. He tightened his grip.

  “You are playing with fire, little one. I had considered allowing you to choose the method of your torture but I supposed one is as good as another. You think that I have shown you what being a prisoner of the Ganwyd o’r Mor is truly like?”

  Her deep, brown eyes were wide with fright, her lips opened on ragged breaths. Good, she was scared. She should be.

  Leaning in until her breaths fanned his face, he whispered, “You have no idea what I am capable of.” He growled then, low in his chest. “But let me show you.”

  He slammed his mouth down on hers, swallowing her cry of surprise, which allowed access for his thrusting tongue. She stiffened, pushing against the planes of his chest with one hand, but quickly that hand curled around the nape of his neck, her fingers weaving through his thick hair. The sensation of her warm fingers, caressing him, sent a shaft of longing straight to his cock. It was maddening.

  She tipped her head, giving him more leverage with which to deepen their kiss, and he did, ravaging her mouth, tasting and tantalizing with his teeth, tongue, and hands. With one hand holding her face in place, his other was free to slide down the satin soft skin of her neck, over her naked shoulder, and then down to just beside her breast. She shuddered, moaning into his mouth, and he groaned in return. She was fire, he was rigid timber, and she would consume him utterly if he let her.

  His control slipping, Saban softened the kiss, drawing back just enough to nibble her plump bottom lip, then lave it to ease the sting. Their breathing was labored, his chest rising and falling in time with hers, which meant the hardened tips of her glorious breasts rubbed against him, showing him that she was as affected by their kiss as he was.

  The cock in his breeches begged to be released, but he knew now was not the time for such things. If he wanted to use this form of interrogation, he needed to ease her into it. He didn’t know how he knew but he could sense an innocence about her, and that meant that forcing more than kisses upon her—at least for now—would bring more trouble than it would alleviate. Despite his chosen life, Saban was a man of honor, especially when it came to women. His own mother had been abandoned by his father, Gryffud Rees, eldest son of the former Brenin, Ioan Rees. His da had been a man of the sea, much like all Rees men, but his father had believed the sea his wife and Saban’s mother his mistress. One day, he did not come home to the family he had left behind. Some thought Gryffud had been lost in a storm, but some speculated he had been captured by Spanish pirates.

  Saban didn’t care, he only cared that his father had left his mother in his keeping, and he’d sworn an oath to her that all women were to be respected and treated as treasures far too precious to smuggle. And if his current prisoner learned about that oath, she would have something to wield that he could not fight against.

  Dragging himself away, Saban ended the kiss and stood up, backing himself toward the opposite wall—more to give himself space to breathe than out of any fear of what she might do to him.

  She’d slapped him, but it hadn’t hurt. Then he kissed her, and that hurt like hell. His bollocks were aching something terrible.

  Saban ran his fingers through his hair, sucking in air as he raised his arms. He looked at the woman then; she was staring at him, her large, brown eyes like saucers of chocolate, pouring melted decadence over his body. When her gaze got to his cock, her eyes widened further, no doubt the size and thickness of his erection was startling. She was most certainly an innocent.

  Or there is a shortage of big cocks in Spain.

  He wrapped a hand around his jaw to hide his grin, stroking his beard as he returned her stare.

  Finally, she dropped her gaze from his body and brushed the tips of her fingers over her kiss-swollen lips.

  His cock jumped, knowing that he was the one to make her groan, to make her lips like that. And he didn’t have the strength to not envision those beautiful lips wrapped around him, sucking him into the warmth of her mouth and drawing him to completion down her throat.

  Damn! He nearly came right then, and what a mess that would make. She would most certainly balk at any further kissing after that.

  Cursing, he sat down in the chair and grabbed the sack, determined to get her to eat something so she didn’t faint dead away in the next several hours.

  “Why did you do that?” she asked, her accented voice husky. He stopped moving, his body as taut as a bow string drawn back and ready to fire. “Why did you kiss me?”

  He had to be mistaken…he couldn’t have seen that flash of unadulterated lust in her eyes.

  By Poseidon’s balls, she wanted him to kiss her, and he’d played right into her hands. He wanted to be upset by it, but he realized something that would change the way they were playing the game. She wanted it, he would tease her with it, making her ache the way he was. And then, when she was right at the edge, between longing and culmination, he would ask her all the questions he wanted, and she would answer them.

  Because he would die of hunger for her otherwise.

  Chapter Seven

  What have I done? Essa wanted to scream, rave, and then order that man to kiss her again. It was both the most incredible thing she’d ever experienced and the most troubling. He was her enemy, her captor, the man who commanded his men to kill every one of her brother’s crew that had boarded his ship.

  What else would he have done? Offered them coffee and sweetened milk cake? They had raided the sloop, the Torriwr, and Saban Rees had responded with violence. It was expected. Dear God…she was defending him in her thoughts? This was no good. She had to get away from him before she started begging him to strip her naked and thrust himself between her thighs as she’d seen a few men do to the less than clean women along the docks.

  But what would it be like to have a man so large and strong riding her? Would he use his strength to bring them release, or would he be gentle?

  Gentle? The man is a brute!

  Essa’s thoughts of Lucia surfaced then. When the woman arrived to care for her, Saban had shown the woman deference. She seemed at ease around him, and he showed concern and adoration for her.

  No! That was a trick. He had to have been trying to lull Essa into a sense of safety so that he could latch on to her with those beautiful
lips of his and suck the soul from her body.

  And now you are just being ridiculous!

  Her mind, a squall on a once calm sea, swirled and raged with too many thoughts and ideas and feelings.

  Closing her eyes against the vision of masculine perfection sitting in the chair before her, she tried to focus on her next steps. She was chained to the wall, but there had to be a way to get the manacle from around her ankle. There was no lock, just a pin holding the two sides in place. She could easily remove the pin and then the manacle, and slip away in the dark.

  There was a problem with that plan, though. Saban had gone and retrieved supplies, and from the looks of it, there was enough there to last them several days. He had no plans to leave her alone long enough for her to get away again.

  Dios mío!

  “We will discuss…what I did…once you have eaten something,” Saban said, his voice coaxing despite the deep timbre.

  She opened her eyes to see him holding out a small piece of what looked like white cheese, and a chunk of bread. He was offering her food not demanding her head, and she was starving. She’d eaten little on the ship for fear of it being tainted or worse—underseasoned. Sighing, she reached out and took hold of the food, but he held it fast, his gaze pinning her to the spot.

  “What is your name?” he asked, raising a single black eyebrow as if it were a simple question.

  It is.

  Grunting at her own thoughts, she snapped, “Why do you need to know?”

  He cocked a lopsided smile that showed one wolf tooth and then shrugged, the movement making the fabric across his chest strain over his muscles. “Now that I know your taste, I would like to know your name.”

  Humiliation and desire pushed blood into her cheeks. She sputtered, trying to think of a white hot set down that would leave him reeling. “I—I…I did not appreciate the kiss, and so I do not think you should know anything about me.” She huffed, tugging harder on the food. Now she wanted to eat so she would have something to do with her mouth other than spout utter rubbish.

  Chuckling, he let go of the food and she dropped it into her lap. She stared down at it, not because she wanted to but because she didn’t want to look at him. He was staring at her, watching her every movement and expression—he was doing enough looking for both of them.

  “Maria?” Saban interrupted her thoughts.

  Startled, she glanced up. He was stroking the length of his beard, his face pinched almost comically as if in deep thought. “What?”

  “Is your name Maria?”

  She snorted. “No.” She took a bite of the cheese. He was right. It was rich and creamy, soft, and somewhat sweet. It was no brie, but at least it was edible.

  “Rosa?” he asked, stroking his beard again. Her gaze caught on the movement, his long, blunt-tipped fingers slowly sliding down the length of a beard that looked much softer than it should be. As she watched, he did it again…slower this time. His fingers moving as if caressing the suppleness of flesh. Her nipples hardened, and she knew they would be visible through the now-dry linen wrapping over her chest.

  A deep, rumbling growl escaped his mouth and Essa nearly flew from her skin when she realized his gaze was settled on her chest. He did see.

  Dropping the cheese back in her lap, she crossed her good arm over her chest.

  “I would like to offer a trade.” She had no idea what she could trade, but she had to try something.

  “Oh?” He curled his lips, went back to slowly stroking his beard, and allowed his stunning, tempestuous, green eyes to remain on her breasts. “What do you have to trade and what would you like in trade?”

  Without her say so, her gaze dropped to the noticeable—large—bulge in his breeches. Flames licked up her cheeks.

  “I would like a clean shirt—one without a large tear in it,” she demanded.

  Saban quirked an eyebrow, his eyes glittering with interest. “And what would I get in trade?” Again, his gaze landed on her breasts, and she could actually feel them swelling under his attentions.

  “Certainly not that,” she snapped. “I will offer you information in return,” she blurted, shocking herself as well as him. He sat back in his seat and dropped his hands to his massive thighs.

  He blinked at her before narrowing his eyes disconcertedly.

  “And what information do you have that would be the same value as a clean, untorn shirt?”

  He was teasing her, he had to be.

  “I will tell you my name,” she offered, her mind desperately trying to find some information that Saban would accept that didn’t also betray her brother.

  Saban seemed to think on that. He didn’t go back to stroking his beard—which she was sure he’d done seductively on purpose—but he did look at her with a decided curiosity on his face.

  “We are of accord then,” he announced. She wanted to sag in relief. “What is your name, fy artaith?”

  “My name is Esperanza,” she answered, her heart in her throat as she watched him digest what she’d said. “But I much prefer Essa.”

  “Essa?” he drawled, the name sounding exotic and much too enticing in his accent. “I like it.” He grinned, his entire face transforming before her eyes. She lost her breath. The man was dangerous to her sensibilities.

  She swallowed, coughing at the dryness. “My shirt?” she prodded him. “We were of accord, remember?”

  He canted his head, casting her a look that told her he hadn’t forgotten, he was just taking his time, making her uncomfortable under his unbroken regard.

  “I remember,” he finally replied, his voice thick. “I remember everything, Essa.”

  Before she could respond to his strangely enticing remark, he rose to his full height and turned to walk back toward the pile of belongings by the door. Crouching, he rifled through a large leather satchel, pulling out a ball of something that looked like fabric. Standing, he shook it out. It was a shirt, a large one. It was his shirt.

  “You want me to wear your shirt?” she asked, unwilling to acknowledge the tremor of excitement that move through her. “Do you have nothing else?”

  He turned back to her, his wolfish grin in place again. “Do you think I would carry about women’s shirts? You could go without…” Again, his gaze dropped to her breasts. She huffed, frustrated at the cyclical path of the conversation. Everything kept coming back to her breasts.

  “Fine,” she barked, holding out her good hand for the shirt. He came forward and tossed it to her. She caught it and clutched it against her chest as though it would protect her from the blaze in his green eyes. “Turn around,” she ordered.

  While she hadn’t expected him to obey—not really—she also didn’t expect him to return to his seat, cross his leg over his knee, and stare at her like she was the most interesting thing he’d ever seen. She licked her lips, uncertain of what to do next.

  She was a fool to think her captor would ever turn his back on her, but she refused to bare herself to his gaze. She’d already shown him enough of herself.

  “No.” There was no anger in his one word answer, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t frustrated with her.

  “Could you at least close your eyes?” she countered. “No man has ever seen my bare breasts, and I would like to keep it that way.”

  The man growled—growled!—and then sat forward to place his elbows on his thighs.

  “Is that so, Essa?” He said her name like a tease, and she didn’t hate it.

  “Si, that is so. I would like my husband to be the first with that pleasure.” She had no idea why her mouth kept speaking words he had no right to hear.

  The air between them crackled as his intent eyes raked boldly over her.

  “And it would be a pleasure…but not for your husband,” he drawled, biting his bottom lip, drawing her gaze to his succulent mouth. Lord, the things he could do with that mouth.

  Stunned by the wayward sensuality of her own thoughts, she snapped, “Close your eyes.”

  Ch
uckling, Saban sat back, crossed his arms and pinched his eyes shut. Essa waited, watching him. He cracked one eye open, and she hissed at him. He chuckled again before closing his eye again.

  Realizing her time was short, she tried to quickly remove the linen from around her chest, but she was stymied by the sling around her neck and arm.

  “Dios!” she cursed when she jostled her sprained wrist.

  Saban grunted, his eyes flying open. “Woman! Let me help you before you undo the good work my cousin did.” He didn’t give her time to refuse, he slid off the chair to his knees, reaching around her neck to untie the sling. “Hold your arm just like that.” Again, he didn’t bother letting her argue—not that she could, he was right. If she continued on her own, she’d probably sprain her other wrist in the process.

  Grudgingly, she did as Saban commanded, holding her wounded arm in place while he removed the sling, leaving on the thin, linen bandages around her chest.

  “I can do the rest on my own,” she insisted, but he clicked his tongue and met her gaze with glimmering eyes.

  “I think not.” He waved off the arm she raised to push him away, and moved beside her to inspect the linens. She had wrapped them around herself several times before tying the ends in a knot and tucking that knot under the wrappings under her right arm. Her useless arm. Damn, she might as well have let him help her from the beginning…

  It hit her then. When she’d insisted on a clean, untorn shirt, the pendejo knew she would need his help to get it on. He had been waiting for her to admit her need of him so that he would have an excuse to see her naked breasts.

  “Maldito pedazo de mierda!” she screamed. Her brother would be shocked at her knowledge of those words, though he only had himself to blame. She’d overheard him say them enough.

  “Oh no, Esperanza.” He said her name with much too much familiarity. “From the tone, I can assume those are not nice words,” he drawled easily, not in the least affected by her outburst. She tried slapping him, but he pulled away, his gaze still intent on figuring out how to unwrap her breasts, like a gift given on Michaelmas.