“Yes, milady.”
With no further display of emotion or opinion, Mr. Soames bowed to her and left her side.
She liked the brandy. It soothed her spirits and eased the tempest in her soul. She stared broodingly out the windows at the startling blue beauty of the island. Bone Cay. Such an ugly name for such a striking piece of paradise.
The day grew warm and she opened the windows to feel the breezes. She cast aside her jacket and tried to cease her endless pacing. What would his reaction be? He had come back in a state of anger to demand that she attend him for a meal. Would he accept her refusal with a casual shrug?
The afternoon was waning, but her spirits slowly rose and her confidence returned in direct proportion to the brandy she consumed. He would not break the lock; it would be against his very peculiar code of honor.
Feeling hot and sticky as sunset neared, she called down to Mr. Soames again. He ran back up the stairs. She asked him sweetly if she might have a bath. He stared at her blankly, and she knew that sending a half-dozen servants with a tub and water would be a hardship on him as head of the household staff at this particular hour of the afternoon. She wasn’t terribly sorry. She didn’t care to be there. If they didn’t care to have her there, then they would hurry to see that she left. The Hawk had said that she would be gone soon. He had said it with a vengeance. Surely, Mr. Soames would help see to it that he kept that vow!
“I should like it very quickly, Mr. Soames!” she told him as innocently as she could.
“I shall do my best, milady.”
“Perhaps you could send my own young lasses along, and spare your own staff.”
“That won’t be possible, milady.”
“And why is that?”
“Well, they’re at the fish market, milady.”
“The fish market?”
“They wished to stay busy, and you had given them no word that you might require their service.…” His words trailed away. He had given the girls leave to go, she realized. She smiled. She had no rights here—except those given her by the Hawk, and it was the Hawk she longed to annoy.
“Whenever you can manage, Mr. Soames,” she said very sweetly.
She was quickly obliged. Very little time had passed before Señor Rivas and one of his young grooms dragged up a brass tub, and then a stream of servants—household and estate men, so it seemed—arrived with water. She thanked them all charmingly. Mr. Soames himself came with towels and rose scents and a thick sponge. “If you require anything else…”
“Not a thing. Just my privacy,” she said.
“Yes, milady.” He bowed his way out. Skye stared after the closed door, suddenly sorry for making the elderly man miserable. His master had already screamed at him, and now poor Soames had the sorry task of telling the Hawk that his female prisoner had no intention of obeying his commands for the evening.
Her guilt faded away as she cast her clothing off in disarray. She had consumed way too much brandy, and she knew it. She didn’t care. It had eased her torment, it had made her almost cheerful. Content and relaxed, she crawled into the tub. She coiled her hair on top of her head and lazily rubbed the sweet-smelling rose-scented soap over her body. She smiled. There were benefits to being the hostage of a prosperous pirate. He did supply the finest in luxury accommodations, fresh from Paris.
She set aside her sponge and soap and leaned back, basking in the warmth of the water. With one eye barely open, she saw that the sun was setting, sinking into the horizon beyond the windows. The colors of the coming night were breathtaking, strident red, shocking gold, so very bright, so very deep.
She allowed her eyes to close. It was so easy, so gentle, to be there. The water was warm, near tender in its touch. Her head was so delightfully at ease.…
She was aware of shadows upon the rippling bathwater, then she was aware of nothing at all. Then she thought that she dreamed, for she heard a fierce pounding, and it was as if her name was being called from a distance.
There was a sound of thunder, stark, strident. Skye bolted up just in time to hear wood crackle and split, and to hear the Hawk slamming into her room, the door falling flat to the floor. He stared at her, his hands on his hips, his eyes on fire.
She parted her lips and tried to speak. He sounded as if he was strangling.
“My God! I thought you were dead!”
“You said I might lock the door—”
“Did you hear me! I thought that you were dead! I knocked, I shouted!”
“I—”
She slipped within the tub, nearly going under. He exploded with a furious oath, and she heard a new thunder. It was the sound of his footsteps, falling upon the floor. Then his hands were upon her, wrenching her up, and into his arms.
She soaked him. Water sluiced from her body to his own, and dripped onto the floor. He paid no attention to it, but stared at her sharply. Alarm swept through her, as shocking as his hands upon her.
