The Buccaneer Page 3

  Catherine didn’t question his explanation. She had thought on the matter and realized that if the drop in wind had slowed them it had also slowed the speck.

  She decided it was best to sleep in her clothes, not knowing what early morning might bring. She doubted sleep would visit her this night anyway and sat up in bed to face the long evening ahead.

  The deep pitching of the ship woke Catherine from her unexpected sleep and the sound of the slapping water against the wood brought a smile to her face. The wind had picked up and they were finally slicing through the water once again. Captain Morley was an able, experienced seaman. He would outmaneuver the speck and in the morning it would no longer be visible on the horizon. The watery landscape would be perfect again after all.

  o0o

  The blast sent Catherine flying out of bed, landing in a heap on the floor. She quickly scrambled to her feet upon hearing another blast.

  Attacked! My God, they were being attacked.

  Catherine jumped; her hand flying to her chest in fright a frenzied pounding shook her locked door.

  “Lady Catherine! Lady Catherine!”

  Catherine opened it to an anxious young sailor. His pale face wore a mixture of perspiration and gunpowder.

  “Captain Morley says to bolt your door and push what furniture you can in front of it. And he says to take this.”

  He shoved a pistol into her hand.

  “This isn’t necessary,” she protested.

  “Yes, it is. The captain says to use it one way or another. These are mean ones we’re dealing with, real mean ones.” He added in a whisper as though afraid to speak the fearful words. “It’s the Black Skull that’s attacking us.”

  The ship suddenly felt as if it were rammed, sending Catherine and the sailor tumbling to the side.

  The sailor helped Catherine up and then pushed her into her room.

  “Bolt the door! Hurry, we’re being boarded!” he shouted and ran to join his fellow crew members.

  Catherine slammed the door shut and secured the crude iron bolt. She dropped the pistol on the bed, giving no thought to the danger of it discharging. Her only concern at the moment was to barricade herself in her quarters and pray Captain Morley and his men would succeed in besting the pirates.

  From above she heard the clash of steel against steel as she dragged the heavy wooden chest across the cabin floor and shoved it against the door. She sat on top of it, her breathing labored from the exertion.

  Screams, which turned one’s blood cold, pierced her ears and sent a shiver through her. How ironic this attack, when she herself was on her way to marry a pirate.

  No soul.

  Dulcie’s warning rang loudly in her ears, driving all sounds of the battle away.

  Was the young girl right? Did all pirates actually lack souls? They must since they held such a blatant disregard for life. My God, what had she gotten herself into?

  A vicious blow to her door sent her falling to the floor. She scrambled on her knees to the bed, reaching for the weapon.

  “Break it down!” The harsh voice ordered.

  She fumbled with the pistol, trying to recall what she had been taught about firing one. But she was frightened and confused and couldn’t remember.

  “Calm down, Catherine. Calm down and think,” she warned herself, her hands shaking badly. The splintering of wood warned of the pirates’ imminent entrance.

  She looked at the pistol in her hand. Did she use it on the pirates or escape certain capture by death?

  She concentrated and cocked the pistol. She’d not desert her father now. She would face her attackers and demand she be ransomed to Captain Lucifer.

  The wooden door splintered into pieces from the forceful blows. Catherine stood, pointed the pistol at the door and sent a hasty prayer above that she would fire it correctly.

  A man came crashing through the broken door, his one fist punching away the remaining barriers of splintered wood while a cutlass was grasped firmly in his other hand.

  Catherine gasped at the size of him. He was a giant, so large that his shadow completely devoured her. He raised his cutlass, pressing the sharp tip to the back of Catherine’s shaking hand that held the pistol.

  “Drop it,” he ordered. His voice was deep and harsh and to ensure her immediate compliance he pricked the back of her hand with his cutlass.

  Catherine cried out, letting the pistol fall to the bed. A thin trickle of blood ran down her hand to catch at her wrist and seep into the cuff of her mauve dress. With strength and courage her chin shot up and her eyes met his directly.

  Cold and unmerciful they were, yet sharp and striking in their gray-blue color. She searched deep within them, hoping and praying she would catch a glimpse of his soul.

  He said nothing and his silence frightened her even more than did his size. He was tall, several inches over six foot. Shoulders broad and muscles that had to have been developed by years of hard labor bulged from beneath his half-opened white linen shirt. His legs were the width of mighty oaks that stretched the black material of his breeches to the limit, demonstrating every bit of prowess his body had to offer.

  And his hair? Lord, but it was sinister, long and uncommon in color, blood red, with a single braid that ran down the side.

  But it was his face so rich and ample in features that made her catch her breath. Aristocratic features, she thought. A strong jaw. Sculpted cheekbones. Narrow nose. Sleek, wide lips. And then he smiled. Not a nice smile. A dangerous one. Handsome, much too handsome, and that was when she knew without a doubt his identity.

  He removed his cutlass from the back of her hand, placing the tip on the floor and leaning his two hands upon the handle. He spread his legs slightly apart. His easy stance plainly demonstrated his arrogant confidence.

  She placed her hand against her midriff, ignoring the small wound that had already stopped bleeding and took a deep breath before she spoke, gaining some courage. “There was no reason for you to attack the ship, Captain Lucifer. I was on my way to you with all intentions of keeping my part of the agreement.”

  “Aye, my lady, but I have no intentions of keeping mine.”

  Catherine stared at him a moment. His voice was smooth and his tone distinguished. She did not expect such articulation from a pirate, nor those particular words. “I don’t understand.”

  “But you will,” he said so dangerously soft and calm that it made Catherine shiver.

  “Take her topside,” his voice boomed and the group of men peering in through the broken door rushed forward.

  Catherine backed up, but hands reached out and grabbed her.

  They pulled and yanked and pinched her skin as each tried to direct her to the door. Captain Lucifer just stood by, his cutlass draped at his side, watching with indifference.

  She was shoved toward the door and before she stepped over the chest and through the gaping hole, she caught the captain’s eyes.

  “Why?” she asked in a choked sob.

  “Revenge,” he said harshly.

  Catherine was pulled roughly through the broken door. The strange answer filled her head with confused thoughts. Revenge. For what?

  She tripped several times going up the steps, unable to control her balance with the men’s hands that pulled at her. She felt like a puppet whose movements were being controlled by more than one puppeteer.

  She fumbled over ropes and charred wood as they continued to drag her along. Where were they taking her? Her fear and anxiety soared and she attempted to twist herself free. The firm hands would have none of her feeble actions and jerked her forward. Her feet hit a solid form and she began to tumble. The men quickly released her and down she went with a thud.

  Her first thought was that at least she was free of all those groping hands and she scurried to right herself. When she turned to push herself up; her eyes connected with those of the young sailor who had warned her.

  He lay beside her. His head was bleeding. His eyes were wide with fright.


  “Dear God,” she whispered and turned to survey the carnage. Crew members lay moaning, their faces and limbs bloody. The once-billowing white sails were torn in shreds and the masts were split.

  “Help me.”

  The barely audible pleas returned Catherine’s attention to the injured sailor. She scrambled to her knees and ripped the hem of her petticoat. She gently wiped the blood from his head. “Easy now, you’ll be fine.”

  The young sailor kept his eyes fixed upon her.

  She smiled, trying to offer encouragement as she continued to clean the wound. “It’s not as bad as it looks, truly.”

  “It hurts.”

  “You have a large bump. But the wound itself isn’t deep,” she said, relieved his injury wasn’t as fatal as she first believed.

  A tear came to his eye.

  “You’ll be fine, really. I’m not fibbing,” she said with a smile, trying to reassure him.

  He shook his head slightly, but it hurt so he held it very still. “You didn’t use the weapon.”

  Catherine realized what had brought the tears on. He was frightened for her, not for his well-being. “I didn’t—”

  Her words caught in her throat as she was yanked viciously away from him and swung around by her arm to face Captain Lucifer. His hand bit into her flesh and she had to tilt her head back to look up into his face. She regretted her actions.

  His eyes were cold gray. His long hair hung wildly about his shoulders, and his mouth was open enough for Catherine to see white even teeth. She shut her eyes against the disturbing sight, having sworn they were sharp and about to snap angrily at her.

  “I gave you no leave to tend the injured,” he said, his fingers biting more deeply into her flesh.

  “You’re hurting me.” She refused to plead or cry for her release.

  “No, not yet I’m not.”

  Catherine was shocked by his response. It was delivered with such calmness and self-assurance that she wondered exactly what he meant.

  “Clean up here,” he ordered with a shout to his crew and then dragged her along beside him.

  She tripped a few times, but his firm grip prevented her from falling. He stopped next to the balustrade on the side of the ship. He raised his leg, placing the sole of his black, knee-high boot on the scarred top. The muscles in his thighs bulged and Catherine was certain their strength alone could easily crush a person.

  He looked down at the dark water lapping angrily against both ships. Then he looked up and over at his ship, and then he looked at her.

  Though she was frightened, she held his intense stare. For a moment she had thought he intended to throw her overboard, but then she recalled his reason for attacking the ship. Revenge. He wouldn’t obtain his revenge by feeding her to the sharks.

  “Santos,” he yelled, still holding her eyes with his. “We’re coming aboard.”

  Catherine snapped her head to look over at his ship. A short, barrel-chested man stood on deck. He held a thick hemp rope that hung from one of the masts in his hand.

  “You need help?” the man called over with a laugh, and the pirates on both ships joined him in laughter.

  “Throw the rope over, Santos,” he ordered in a rough tone that brought the merriment to an abrupt end.

  He caught the rope in his free hand, coiling it around his arm like a snake before his fingers locked onto it. He released her arm, but before Catherine could rub her sore skin his arm wrapped around her waist and hoisted her up flat against his chest.

  “Hold on,” he ordered, “unless you want the darkness of the sea to be your grave.”

  Instinct to survive such a heinous fate brought her arms up and around his neck quickly. She tried to keep her had away from his chest, but when he stood on top of the balustrade and swayed, she hastily relented.

  As they swung off the ship, Catherine tightened her arms around him even more. She pressed her face as hard as she could against his chest. It was warm and the steady beat of his heart sounded reassuring. It wasn’t thudding rapidly in fright, but evenly and strongly and in confidence of his ability to deposit them both safely. A sobering thought to Catherine.

  A robust cheer rang out from the pirates as the couple landed on the deck of the pirate ship. She held on until he had steadied them both and then she swiftly dropped her hands and took a step away from him.

  He allowed her the distance. She supposed it really didn’t matter since he now had her safely on his ship. Where could she go?

  He grabbed her arm once again and propelled her toward the quarterdeck. She hopped over coiled ropes and small kegs, almost falling several times had it not been for his strength that held her firm.

  “You must—”

  He stopped abruptly, swinging her around. She held her hand up, pushing against his chest to stop herself from slamming into the solid wall of flesh.

  “I give orders. I don’t take them.”

  “I only wish to talk with you.” Her voice shook upon hearing the brutality in his tone.

  “When I’m ready,” he said. “Santos, hurry the men. I want to be under way in ten minutes.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Santos called back, then raised his voice in language that wasn’t fit for a lady’s ears.

  Catherine had no choice but to continue following the captain. Down a flight of steps she was drawn and along a dark passage to the end where he grasped the latch to the door and threw it open, dragging her in behind him.

  He released her, walked behind her, and fastened the bolt.

  The solid thud made her jump and move away from him. She was amazed that the back walls of the cabin held a row of four large windows. The view was astonishing, the sea spread endlessly out before her. A potent reminder of her captivity.

  She swung around. “Revenge for what?”

  He smiled. A smile that raised the corners of his lips slowly, heightening his handsome features so provocatively that Catherine found her breath catch in her throat.

  “When I’m ready,” he said, his smile fading.

  Catherine felt chilled although the cabin was filled with the warmth of the morning sun. He would give her answers, of that she was certain. When he was ready, then and only then would she lean the reason behind his brutal actions.

  She stood still and silent in the center of the room. If he wouldn’t answer her questions, then she would wait. She had no other choice.

  He walked to the bed, large enough for two people and secured to the floorboards like the other furnishings in the cabin. He pulled his white shirt off, throwing it to the floor and then unwrapped the black sash that circled his waist until it fell, joining his shirt.

  Catherine, alarmed by his actions, took a step back.

  He loosened the fastenings of his breeches just enough for the material to slip slightly from his hips.

  Her eyes were caught by the width of his chest, his flat midriff and narrow waist, but she refused, absolutely refused, to allow them to stray any lower. It was bad enough his navel peeked at her. She would see no more, positively no more.

  “The sword is a powerful revenge,” he said softly.

  Her eyes widened considerably. He couldn’t mean. . .

  She had heard Dulcie speak of the prowess of Henry’s sword. She had foolishly asked to see a demonstration. Dulcie had turned scarlet as did she when Dulcie reluctantly explained the part of the male anatomy that was referred to as a sword.

  Catherine opened her mouth to once again ask why.

  “Don’t,” he ordered sternly.

  “When you’re ready?”

  “When I’m ready,” he said as he walked toward her.

  Catherine remained perfectly still. Perspiration, brought on by fear and uncertainty, prickled her skin and caused her dress to stick to her damp flesh. Her mouth was dry and speech difficult, but she attempted to defend herself in any way she could. “Honor? Keeping one’s word? There is none of this among pirates?”

  “None,” he answered without hesitation, a
nd walked slowly around her in quiet perusal.

  “Then you had no intention of honoring our agreement from the beginning?”

  “None.”

  “And the evidence proving my father’s innocence?”

  “You will earn it.”

  She shut her eyes against the thoughts his words suggested.

  Calm yourself, Catherine, calm yourself and think.

  He stopped close in front of her. She could hear his breathing, even and strong, and she could smell the stinging odors of battle – gunpowder, sweat and blood. He was not only in total command of the situation, but of himself as well. This man never doubted his ability to attain what he desired, and the idea of such superior confidence and strength terrified Catherine. She was no match for him.

  His bare arm brushed against the sleeve of her dress as he walked past her.

  “You have but twenty minutes, madam.”

  She opened her eyes and turned. He stood by the door, his hand on the latch. “Twenty minutes?” she repeated.

  “Precisely. Twenty minutes to strip and get into that bed.”

  Fury swept through Catherine at his outrageous demand. “I won’t.”

  Captain Lucifer stood there a moment, his eyes set intently upon her and his mouth grim and tight. Then he released the latch and marched toward her.

  Catherine took several quick steps back, but his arm reached out, grabbed hers and yanked her toward him.

  “You will do as I say.”

  “I won—”

  His free hand grabbed her other arm and he shook her like a disobedient child who needed to be taught a lesson. “You will never say ‘I won’t’ to me again. You will never say no to me. You will never deny me what I demand of you. You will obey my every command. Now strip and get into that bed, or when I return I will take immense pleasure in ripping your clothes from your body.”

  “Why?” she asked, attempting one more time to make some sense of this nightmare.

  “To pay for your father’s sins,” he said. “I will use you until I grow tired of you, if you please me I shall provide you with the evidence of your father’s innocence. Then you shall return to England as used goods. How then shall the marquis feel to have a daughter who’s been a pirate’s whore?”