“Have you rules, monsieur, of your own? I had not thought that you knew the meaning of rules, or of fair play.”
“You receive fair play right now, milady.”
“Sir, you are a bastard knave, and give me nothing. What man honors himself to fight a lady?”
She thought that she had found his weakness, for he paused, and it seemed that he mused over the question. She had to best him, she had to! And she had to do so soon, for her strength was waning.
She thrust forward with all of her strength.
He parried with a single, swift blow. The staggering strength of it caught her unaware. So far, all that he had done was tease her, play with her. He hadn’t used a tenth of his power, or skill.
Now he did.
And the force threatened to break her arm. She cried out, falling as her sword was sent flying high, until it blended with the silver and gray of the day, soaring in the sky…then splashing softly into the water.
Skye, cast down upon the deck, gasped desperately for breath, her arm aching, her head spinning.
He smiled down at her. “The man who is challenged by a lady must fight her, mam’selle,” he said, replying to her at last. “She gives him no choice.” He looked up and called out in his deep, ringing voice, “’Tis all over now, me lads!”
His dark-haired lackey called out. “All over but the cleanup.”
The cleanup. And what was that? Skye wondered. She came up upon her elbows, her gaze upon the pirate’s glittering, silver-blue eyes. He returned her stare.
“The hostages—” someone called.
The pirate Silver Hawk crossed his arms over his chest. His full, sensual mouth curved into a curious smile.
He stepped forward.
Skye inched away upon her haunches, never turning from him, never losing his silver gaze.
“Take the officers down below. Send One-Eyed Jack’s men down to the hold.”
“The women—”
“You know what to do with them,” he said softly.
The dark-haired man strode forward. “I shall take the Lady Kinsdale—”
“Oh, no,” the Silver Hawk said. And he stepped forward. He planted one booted foot on either side of Skye, catching the tattered remnants of her once-beautiful gown and strands of her golden hair beneath his boots. She tried to wriggle away, but cried out as her hair pulled. She stopped, gritting her teeth and looking up past the long, steel-muscled length of his legs to the breadth of his chest and onward to his rock-hard features.
He lowered himself slowly over her, imprisoning her between his powerful thighs.
Their eyes met in a sizzling tempest of fire.
“Get away, me mates,” he said very softly. “This one is mine.”
And he reached for her, just as a jagged flash of lightning tore across the heavens once again.
His touch was no less powerful than that fire.
II
Before she knew it, Skye was standing again upon her own feet. He had drawn her up against him. Contact with his hard muscular body caused her eyes to widen, and he smiled satanically at her betrayal of alarm. Furiously, she tried to squirm from his hold. The sea even seemed to play to his dictate, for a swell took hold of the ship, careening her ever more tightly against him. He held his stance well, riding the sea as an accomplished horseman might ride a wild mount. He laughed aloud, seeing the combination of fear and anger in her delicate features.
“Why, milady! You met my steel with such admirable courage. Would you meet the man himself with anything less?”
“I would not meet the man at all,” she retorted, which only served to amuse him further and bring out a burst of laughter from his rowdy crew. He laughed, too, as he held her. Then another bolt of lightning lit up the heavens as if it threatened to strike the main mast. Thunder burst in a furious roar, and the pirate quieted his laughter to a curious smile. “Alas, milady,but you will have to wait, I fear. The gods of wind and water seek to keep us apart.”
