“Damn me! You tossed me about like so much baggage, and seized hold of me in front of that—that woman! I am not your whore, Captain, and I—”
“Yes, you are,” he told her, his tone sharp with warning. He came over to her and she started to back away, but he caught her arm and wrenched her against him. “Here, milady, you are my whore, a cherished whore, and therein lies your safety. So go ahead, scream and fight and lash out, it makes no difference. You will obey me here, or sorely regret it, I promise.”
She ground down hard on her teeth, wishing she could think of something horrible enough to say to him. He released her, and as he did, there came a subtle tap on the door again.Leticia slipped back in. “Food, Captain Hawk. And”—she paused, turning to Skye and curtsying with mock respect—“of course, for you, too, Lady Cameron! The finest, of course. The very finest.”
Skye inclined her head toward the woman. “Thank you,” she said softly. Her gentle tones seemed to confuse Leticia. She stared at Skye a moment longer, then shrugged and turned back to Roc, setting the tray she carried upon the table. “From Blackbeard’s own supply of dark rum, Captain. And for the lady—” She glanced Skye’s way quickly again. “For the lady he sends Burgundy off of the French packetSt. Louis. And there’s roast meat and bread, and all the very best cuts, I assure you!”
“Thank you very much, Leticia,” the Hawk said. He offered her a wry, grateful smile. Skye felt her stomach twist, for in the midst of all this, he was still a strikingly handsome man, charismatic as the Hawk, charismatic as Lord Cameron.
She lowered her head slightly. Then she lifted her eyes, realizing that the woman was still watching her. “Thank you, Leticia,” she repeated. Leticia did not say anything to Skye. She nodded to her, then looked to Roc. “I’ll be back when the others are in drunken stupors, when I can bring you to Blackbeard.”
She left them. Roc looked to Skye; then, every inch the gentleman, he pulled out her chair for her. He helped her into it before taking the wine from the tray and pouring out a pewter mug of it for her. He sat down himself, lifting a red cloth from the food and then looking to the rum flask provided for him. “Dark Caribbean,” he murmured, and drew deeply on it. “It’s a fine brew,” he told Skye.
“A fine brew!” she exclaimed. “At a time like this—”
“At a time like this,” he muttered. “I’m sure that it’s an exceptionally fine brew.” He drew on it deeply, eyeing her with wary, narrowed eyes.
She didn’t look at him but at the tray of food. The meat did smell delicious. Roc set down the rum flask and skewered her a piece of beef with a table knife, setting it upon her plate. “Eat,” he told her.
“I can’t eat—”
“I’m sure that you can. We haven’t had a bite in a day, and I’m famished, if you are not.”
He took a rib bone and plowed into it with gusto. Skye watched him and realized that she was starving. It was not so difficult to enjoy the pirate’s feast before her. The beef was succulent and delicious and flavored with salt and peppercorns.
The wine, too, was good.
Skye sipped it, watching Roc. “What does this mean?” she asked him. “With—Leticia.”
He shrugged. “It means that Blackbeard wants One-Eyed Jack’s treasure.”
“But there is no treasure.”
“Thereisa treasure.”
“But not a treasure that you can find!” she wailed.
He set down his food and drank deeply from the rum flask again. “There is a treasure, milady, and that for the moment shall suffice.”
“And that for the moment shall suffice!” Impatiently she stood, and her chair fell behind her. “Don’t you take that tone with me, Lord Hawk, or whoever you would be today! I am in this, too—”
“And you do not know the rules!” He was up as well, coming around the table to her. She was suddenly drawn into his arms. His fingers raked into her hair and he drew her head back, searching her eyes. “You do not know the rules, my love; you have only your reckless courage, and that will not serve us now! For the love of God, milady, pay heed to me!”
His hold upon her was so very tight. She smiled very slowly, sensually, wistfully. “It is just, sir, that in truth, I would not see you killed.”
He stared at her intently, then he drew her to him, burying his head against her throat, emitting some deep-felt sound of passion.
“Skye, Skye,” he murmured, “my brave, beautiful love! God! That I could but have you safely away from here this very moment!”
“But I am not away!” she whispered. “And I cannot see you go.”
He lifted her up then into his arms. His eyes locked with hers and he strode with her to the crude straw mattress upon the floor with its scanty blanket. He laid her there with tenderness, coming beside her. His mouth covered hers. His kiss ran passionate, and deep, and it ignited her fears and her desires, and she knew that she wanted to cling to him forever. She could not let him go. She wanted him. She wanted to make love to him. She wanted to hold on to the splendor and glory of all that raged between them. She had not forgiven him.…
But she had not fallen out of love with him, either, and it seemed that every second now death came closer to their doorway.
He pulled away from her. He saw her eyes, wide and teal and steady upon his. Her lips parted slightly, damp with his kiss. She offered her arms out to him again and he groaned, holding her close.
“I want to make love to you,” he whispered. “I want to lie down by crystal waters, with the fragrance of flowers, with the sun overhead burning down upon our flesh, or with the moon offering a gentle glow. I want to give you a soft mattress and silken sheets, or an Eden of sweet earth. I want to love you, and not upon this bare and ugly straw.…”
