He did not touch her. He wrenched the knit coverlet from the bed and tossed it upon her nakedness. She stumbled to her knees as she caught it, sweeping it around her shoulders and hovering there, her eyes lowered.
“You’ll die of pneumonia and be worthless to me, mam’selle, if you do not dry off,” he said curtly. She did not answer him. She saw his boots before her lowered eyes. His gleaming black boots. She did not look up.
The boots moved. He turned around and strode toward the door. He paused there and spoke very softly. “Don’t deceive yourself, Lady Kinsdale. I have not forgotten your promise. You do give your oath freely, mam’selle. And with little meaning, so it appears. What you promise to me, you will give.”
She heard the slam of the doors against the wind, and then he was gone.
Skye pulled the cover more tightly around herself. The cabin slowly became warm, and it was bright and comfortable.
And she slowly ceased to shiver, and when she did, she hated herself. The fear! It was so awful, and so ridiculous. She had humiliated herself before the very dregs of the earth because of it. She had made a promise to a pirate!
Suddenly she was shivering again, remembering the way that he had looked at her, as if he hated her. As if he knew her, or knew something about her, deep inside, and hated her for it. What?
Why should she care?
She should cling desperately to every moment that kept her away from him.
He teased her now. He taunted her. He would come back, and it would be all the worse for her because he hated her, too.…
At least he had all of his teeth. And he didn’t smell bad. His husky whispers carried the scent of mint.…
What was she thinking?
Skye bolted to her feet and raced to his desk. She tore open drawer after drawer. He was a pirate, wasn’t he? He had to be carrying about some kind of grog.
But his desk was empty. As she stood there perplexed, the ship took a sudden harsh keel and she landed flat upon her derriere. She swore softly and wished heartily she were back in London. London! Suddenly she loved it. There was so much there! Not the struggling new city of Williamsburg. In London there were balls and there was the theater and the opera and the elegance of court. In London there were rakes and rogues, of course, but they were of the civil kind, and a lady could not fall from virtue unless it was her choice. In London, there were no pirates!
She had loved her home in Williamsburg before she had left it. She had loved the beautiful streets, so carefully laid out when it had been determined to move the capital of the Virginia Colony from Jamestown to the place that they had previously called Middle Plantation. She had loved the College of William and Mary, and the capitol building they had built. The homes were clean and bright with white picket fences, and sometimes it seemed a raw place, and sometimes it seemed incredibly exciting to watch it grow. When she had been a child they had begun the grand mansion for the governor, and now, so father had written, Governor Spotswood was moving in. At one time, it had been so beautiful to her.…
But now she was being forced to return home to marry a stranger who lived out in one of the godforsaken plantations.
No. She was a pirate’s captive. A plaything. And the pirate didn’t think that her fiancé would avenge her honor. Perhaps, the pirate had suggested, Lord Petroc Cameron would not even offer to pay a ransom.
Her eyes fell upon a rosewood caddy, that she hadn’t noticed earlier, by the side of his desk. There was a decanter of brandy and four stemmed glasses there, held in place by brass racks. Skye quickly stumbled to her feet and filled a glass with the brandy. It was hot and it burned, and it was the most delicious drink she had ever tasted.
She coughed and sputtered, and filled another glass.
The light, the warmth, and the alcohol quickly restored her courage. She railed at herself for having been such an awful coward, but the moment was past now, and the damage done. She had to look to the future. Setting her glass down once again, she began to search through the desk. There had to be a weapon here, somewhere.
There wasn’t. All she could find were ledgers and maps. Frustrated, she slammed the drawers.
She paused for a moment. The ship was not swaying so violently anymore. The storm was breaking.
He could come back at any moment.
Inspired with renewed energy, Skye dove toward one of his handsome traveling trunks. She cast it open and came upon an array of stockings and breeches and vests and shirts and coats.
They were in differing styles and fabrics, but they shared one common trait. All were in the color black.
“Damn!” she swore softly, despairing that she could find some help for herself. Then she lifted the last of the shirts and discovered a blade at the bottom of the trunk.
She gasped, for she had come upon a short broadsword, a two-foot weapon honed to a razor’s sharpness on both edges. She held it in her hands, dreaming of freedom. Then the blood drained from her face as she wondered how she would manage once she had slain the captain.
His men would slice her to ribbons.
She could capture him. She could hold him hostage and demand that his men bring them into the Chesapeake Bay, and down the James. Perhaps she could capture the entire ship.
She sighed, shuddering. She would not capture the ship. But neither would this pirate, the Silver Hawk, ever touch her again and live to tell of it.
