“I prefer your ship,” Katherine said abruptly. Somehow this room—this castle—made her angry.
Liam glanced at her, setting down the taper. “So do I.” He went to the fire and struck flint to kindling, then shoved the burning twigs under thick, dry logs. A fire blazed to life beneath his capable hands.
She watched his broad back. His shirt was the finestlinen, and she could see his every muscle delineated beneath it as he moved. He still knelt, and her gaze traveled lower, to his hard, powerful buttocks. She turned away abruptly. “When will you tire of me?” Her voice sounded unnatural, even to her own ears.
“I will never tire of you, Kate.”
Katherine whirled to face him, gasping. Her eyes were wide; his stare was hard, brilliant, holding hers. Tension had tightened the muscles in his face—and it seethed in the room between them. What kind of declaration was this?
With another piercing, potent look, a look filled with a promise Katherine was afraid to understand, Liam strode from the chamber. Katherine stared after him until she realized that she was very much alone, the solid oak door closed behind him.
Exhausted, she sank down upon the bed. She was trembling. Surely he had not been sincere. But Katherine recalled his eyes, his expression, his stance, and thought that he had meant his every word.
And John Hawke’s angry image rushed into her mind.
If only she could escape. She must escape.
She had seen the small village nestled below the castle, by the harbor. He had explained that his men lived there, with their wives and families. From what Katherine had glimpsed, the small village had seemed little different from any other village. The houses had been stone, the roofs thatched, but bright, gay flowers had been planted in many a yard, and she had even seen red English roses climbing one wooden fence. She had also noticed a steeple with a pale golden cross at its apex, a strange and surprising sight, considering that these were not godly men.
Katherine licked her dry lips, wondering if she dared to enter the village alone. She thought about the sleepy village, so innocent in its appearance, and she thought about Liam’s men. She had lived amongst the pirates on theSea Daggerthese past two days, and those few other days during the winter when he had first abducted her. She could not recall having seen a single sign of debauchery or disrespect in all the time she had been aboard his ship.In fact, the opposite seemed to be true. Liam O’Neill seemed to generate the utmost respect—his men scurried to obey him without thought or protest. And Katherine had never seen or heard the whip. How did he command such an unruly lot, then?
Katherine had no answer. She had but one burning question now. If she wandered into the village, could she find, or buy, an ally to aid and abet her in an escape? Excitement swept over her.
“What are you thinking, Katherine? Do you pine for Hawke?”
Katherine jumped to her feet. “You keep sneaking up on me!”
His smile was wry and brief. “No. I do not sneak about in my own home. It is you who is overly distracted.”
Katherine realized that he held a small coffer in his hands. It was the kind of pretty box in which a lady kept her jewels or gloves. She lifted her gaze to his, unable to hide her curiosity.
He seemed hesitant. Then, swiftly, as if making up his mind, he came to her and sat beside her, thrusting the box into her hands. “’Tis for you.”
She was at once loath to accept it—and eager to inspect it. Katherine tried to clear her confused head. “What is it?”
“A gift.”
She shoved the box back at him, pride besting her female curiosity. “I do not want it.”
His jaw flexed. “Why not?”
“I am not a willing whore, to be paid with your trinkets.”
His nostrils flared. “It is you who keeps using that most distasteful term, not I.”
She stood, her hands on her hips. “It does not matter what word I use, facts are facts. You have made me your whore, and I refuse to be paid for your use of me.”
He also stood. “I was not trying to pay you for lying with me, Katherine.”
“Then you thought to compensate me for my virtue.” She blinked back tears, as sad as she was angry. He couldsay whatever he liked, but the truth was the truth. He sought to pay her for the hours she had warmed his bed. How small—and cheap—she felt.
“No.” He shook is head vehemently. “I want to give you beautiful things, Katherine. I have wealth to share with you. I want to share it with you. Why do you refuse me?”
“I cannot be bought. And you are trying to buy me!” she accused.
Suddenly he gripped her chin, forcing her to face him, immobilizing her. “Why do you not let me ease my conscience,” he cried.
She tried to pull away, and only succeeded because he let her go. “You have no conscience. Had you a conscience, you would not murder innocent men—and abduct innocent women.”
