“I do not owe you an explanation!”
He wrenched back, still angry, and she wondered at the force of his explosion. He fell down beside her and she quickly sat up, searching for her gown to wrap around her nakedness. His eyes were scathing, telling her that she was a fool to cover herself from his eyes, ever again. She was furious with him, and furious with herself. Holding the covers tightly, she determined to get away from him. She leaped to her feet. He rose, too, not coming after her, just watching her with his feet firm upon the floor, his arms crossed over his chest.
“And where are you going now, milady? I told you that you could not run any longer.”
“I am going back to my own bed.”
“Ah, but it is my bed, too, milady!”
“Nevertheless, you are not in it!”
She strutted through the doorway, regally clad in his bed covering. But she had scarce crossed the threshold into her own room when darkness descended upon her. The lanterns were not lit; he had not come there, for she had been with him.
God! How she despised the weakness! She claimed herself to be her own mistress, but the suffocating fear of the darkness came at her with talons to tear against her every time.
She cast her hands over her face, shuddering. Then she felt his hands upon her, gentle and tender. He lifted her, covers and all, into his arms, and strode with her back to his room, to where the candles flickered softly, and the moonglow bathed them once again.
“When I am with you,” he promised her softly, “I swear that there will always be light.”
She slept then, in his bed, in his arms. Her last waking thought was that he had become her light, a searing sun ray, ever fierce against the darkness, ever strong against the night.
In the morning he was gone.
Skye slept very late, and when she awoke, she was alone. No one came to disturb her.
She left his bed to return to her own room, stepping upon the splintered door. Daylight did bring thoughts of the night crashing down upon her, but in truth she did not regret what had happened between them, although the consequences of what might come of it seemed to lie heavily upon her. Though she lived on the hope that she would elude her betrothal, breech of promise would not be smiled upon by many, and her father’s position could well be jeopardized. No one could force her into anything.
But neither could she let her father be ruined.
Then, of course, there was the danger of the man himself. Were she to conceive a child…
She would not, she told herself hastily. She had no good reason to believe that she would not, but thought that God could not leave her with a pirate’s child.
She had washed and dressed when this thought struck her. She cast herself back upon the bed and imagined that she held the Hawk’s infant and watched while the pirate captain was led to the gallows on a spring day and hanged by the neck until dead. She shivered uncontrollably, hugging her arms about herself. He could die. He would die if he persisted in his dangerous calling!
There was a tap upon the door. She murmured uneasily, “Come in!” and Mr. Soames appeared with a breakfast tray. He was wonderfully impassive. He didn’t even gaze toward the broken door. “The captain says if you’ve a mind, Lady Kinsdale, you might wish to meet him down by the lagoon this afternoon. He has business this morning, but will come soon after. He wants you to know that it will be his deepest pleasure.”
“His deepest pleasure? Or his command?” she asked lightly.
“Milady, I am but a messenger—”
“Of course. Well, then, thank you, Mr. Soames, for the message.”
He nodded uncomfortably and set her tray down upon the card table.
She didn’t bother to ask about Tara and Bessie. They seemed to be making their own way upon the island, and making it well enough.
And besides, she reflected, with heart fluttering madly, she had every intention of riding out that afternoon.
She did. She waited until the sun rode high in the noon sky, then she went back to Señor Rivas. He saddled the same gray mare for her, and she rode slowly toward the lagoon.
When she arrived, he was not there. She looked anxiously about and saw his snow-white stallion grazing up the slope past the far bank. The water skipped and danced from the cliff, dazzling beneath the sun.
Skye dismounted and neared the water’s edge. She let the horse nibble upon the plants there and sat upon the sandy slope. She edged nearer, feeling the water. It was cool and fresh.
Then her eyes rose slowly, for she discovered the Hawk’s whereabouts.
He rose up out of the water. It sluiced from his body, the droplets catching the sun and burning like studded diamonds in the heat of the day. He was naked and bronzed from head to toe and he approached her with swift determination.
