Silver Hawk set the tray down upon his desk. He munched upon a roll and sipped his coffee, black and steaming. “You’ve one hell of a temper, milady Kinsdale,” he noted.
“You made him think—”
“Precisely.”
“You are despicable!”
“Am I? I have merely made you my possession, mam’selle, and that keeps you safe from the others—until, such time, of course, that you do see fit to keep your promise.”
“Never!” she vowed to him, her eyes narrowing.
“Another ‘promise’? Then I’ve little to fear.”
She didn’t reply. She stared at him while he watched her, and she felt suddenly very warm inside, wondering at his thoughts. Then she swiftly lowered her eyes, wondering at his mercy. He had wanted her that morning, and easily could have raped her. He teased, he taunted, but he did not move against her in violence.
But how long would his behavior remain that way?
“We sail…where?” she inquired, gathering her coverlet and the broadsword within it. She came to the edge of the bed, and then she stood, looking at him innocently.
“To the Caribbean, Lady Kinsdale. To New Providence, and beyond.”
“And I?” she murmured, stepping forward.
He smiled and shrugged, then turned and deliberately spooned jam upon a roll. His back was to her as he answered.
“I think that you will remain in my company.”
“And I think not!” Skye cried, leaping toward him. Her strategy had been planned, and before he could turn she had reached him, dragging her coverlet in one hand, slipping the other about his shoulder to bring the broadsword against his throat.
He did not flinch, nor blink. Despite the sharp blade against his throat, he offered her a slow smile.
“I have the upper edge!” Skye hissed. “Cease your silly grin lest you would die with it upon your face.”
“And why not, mam’selle? What better way to die?”
“I do not tease or taunt, sir, as is your way. When I threaten, I carry out the threat.”
“Lady, beware, when I threaten, for I, too, carry out the threat.”
Skye swore with the vengeance of a fishwife. “Cease! Now you will summon your men and order them to make haste for the James River!”
“I think not.”
“What?”
He ducked and swirled with such swift agility that her quick reaction still offered nothing but a scratch to his throat. He caught her coverlet, and as his arm cracked down upon hers, sending the broadsword flying. He jerked upon the cloak she had fashioned for herself, and caught within the folds, she went sprawling down upon the ground facefirst.
She quickly rolled, grasping for the covers again, aware of his bare feet, set firm upon them. He did not release the covers to her fevered grasp.
She did not want to see his eyes, but her own were drawn to them, and she had no choice.
Cobalt and dark, they danced with fury. Beneath the fur of his beard his jaw was twisted and set, his lips were grim.
Slowly, slowly, he crouched down beside her. She gritted her teeth as he caught her chin. She tossed back her hair, defying him.
“That was foolhardly, my love. If you ever bring a weapon against me again, you will pay dearly. That is a threat. Is it clear?”
She hesitated, then she clamped down hard on her teeth and nodded. She didn’t want to shiver or show fear today. Not after her performance yesterday. But her teeth were chattering, and when her mouth opened, she softly spoke words that she abhorred. “You will not…you will not hurt me?”
