“Sir! How dare you!” she protested in wild fury. She thundered her fists against his back to no avail. He came quickly to the steps leading below and ducked to bring her under. He walked the corridor with long even strides, ignoring her shouts and her fists. At her door he cast her down. It was daylight; there was nothing to fear. It was a test of wills that went on between them now, and they both seemed to realize it. Pretenses were stripped away as they stared at one another. How she hated those silver eyes! So like his cousin’s in so many unfortunate ways. Their spark meant anger, and atrocious determination.
She didn’t speak, but simply cried out in rage, casting herself upon him as if she could dislodge him from the doorway. He caught her wrists and pinned them to the small of her back. He was too like the Hawk! she thought in a growing panic, for his body was tall and heated against hers, too close, too masculine. She twisted savagely within his grasp, having no desire to meet his eyes. “Let me go!” she commanded him.
“Never, dear wife,” he returned. She lifted her eyes to his. They were fire and smoke, a shield of secrets, and suddenly very dark as tension overcame him. His lip curled just slightly. He bent his head and his lips touched down upon hers, encompassing them, savoring them. The probe of his tongue parted her mouth and consumed her very breath. He touched all of her. The very movement, swift and deep and ravaging, seemed an ungodly insinuation of more.…
She writhed to free herself. She screamed deep within. She twisted free from him at last, twisting and shaking and appalled that he had been able to touch her so easily.
And appalled that he had touched her so deeply. She was trembling, she was hot and cold.
And all the things that she had learned in the arms of the Hawk were surging forward to wrap around her, and whisper softly to her of a desire that could exist.
Lord Cameron freed her suddenly, pushing her away. “This marriage may not be such a travesty, milady. I would love to explore it further, but I am afraid that pirates knock upon our doors. Will you excuse me?”
She cried out in fury, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, wishing she could wipe the sight and sound and touch of him from her memory forever. Footsteps pounded overhead of them. The crew was preparing to go to battle.
“I must leave you—”
“Damn you! Leave me a sword!”
“So that you might use it against me later?” he mocked.
“Are you afraid that I might use it too well?”
He laughed, reached to his scabbard, and tossed her his sword. She meant to threaten him then and there and demand her freedom, but he was too quick for her, dodging behind the door and bowing deeply. “I should love to oblige you, my love, but I’m quite afraid that we are under attack. You will excuse me!”
The door slammed sharply, a lock twisted. Skye charged it, but too late. With an oath she slammed hard against it. He was gone, she knew, but she turned around to scream to the door anyway. “Men! You think to lock me in for protection, but if you fail, then the rogues will come so easily for me!”
There was no reply. She fell upon her bunk, holding his sword. It was rapier sharp. She bit her lip, and then she found herself hurtling across the cabin on the floor. The ship had come about at a startling, reckless speed.
Crushed amid her petticoats at the door, she stumbled to her feet just in time to fall again as the roar of the ship’s cannons exploded all around her.
She came up and hurried to the window. She pulled back the draperies and gasped, for they were fast coming broadside against the buccaneer. The ships came together with a mighty crunch. There was an awful screeching sound as grappling hooks were tossed, and then the cries of a dozen men went up as they leaped from the rigging to the deck. The clash of steel could be heard above all else.
Skye scrambled for the sword and held it tight. She coughed, and her eyes started to water, and she realized that smoke was entering her cabin through the doorway.
She screamed, and hurled herself toward the door. It was not yet hot. She could still escape.
The door flew open. Young Davey stood there, his freckled face pale. “There’s fire below, milady. They’re fighting it, but I’ll take you closer topside—”
Skye brushed past him. “Closer topside! I’d rather die by the sword than burn to death any day!” she assured him, starting along the narrow hallway.
“Milady, wait!” Davey wailed, scurrying to get before her. “All is under control, the rogues are just about bested! The ship is captured, she is!”
Skye ignored him and hurried up the steps, rushing up atop the deck. The air was not much better here, for it was thick with black powder from the cannons. She blinked, trying to get her bearings in the smoky shadows. She could hear no clash of steel; the day had gone silent, quickly, completely.
“Welcome, milady!”
Hands were upon her so suddenly and completely that she screamed, her wrist nearly crushed as a giant hairy paw fell upon it, shaking Lord Cameron’s sword from her hand. She was jerked back against a burly, unwashed body and held tightly. A touch of sharp steel came against her throat and she gasped, then barely dared to breath. A long knife lay against her neck, and the slighted movement might well sever her very life.
“Lord Cameron, sir!” The man’s laughter rang out. “Lookee what I’ve got here, sir! Perhaps this changes things just a bit, mee-lord! Now listen up, and listen real good! You want the girl back? Well, if you want her, you pay heed to my words. My men and I will nonchalantly return to our ship. I take her with me. When we’re free of you, I’ll send her back in a longboat with one of your own mates. What do ye think about that?”
There was no answer. Skye stood dead still as the powder began to clear.
Lord Cameron was perhaps twenty feet away. The deck was, indeed, filled with men in various positions. Bodies lay upon the deck, but mostly they seemed to be the pirates who had gotten the worst of it. Lord Cameron’s men knew how to fight.The rogues had not surprised them; they had surprised the rogues.
She didn’t allow her gaze to linger about the ship; it fell upon Cameron. He was coatless now; he had fought in fawn breeches and a white shirt. There was a small nick upon his cheek where a sword had touched him briefly, but other than that, he did not even seem to be breathing heavily. His one foot rested upon a coil of rope, a cutlass dangled from his right hand, and a pistol was gripped idly in his left. He smiled as he faced the pirate.
“Mr. Stikes,” he said in answer to the pirate. “You are a rank amateur, sir!”
