A Pirate's Love (10 page)

A
soft, gentle pressure on her lips awoke Bettina from a sound sleep. She opened her eyes to find Tristan kissing her. It was a tender sort of kiss—the kind a husband would give his wife upon waking. She tried to rise, but Tristan held her firmly against the mattress.

“I wish to get up, Tristan.”

“I am well aware of your wishes, Bettina, but unfortunately for you, I have something else in mind.”

He spoke bitterly and the smile on his lips did not reach his cloudy blue eyes. He was still furious about what had happened yesterday, she could see that. So why had he kissed her so tenderly just a moment ago?

“Let me up!” she demanded sharply. “You know I can't stand to be near you!”

“Yes, I know,” he said. “And that is why I'm going to enjoy giving you your final lesson.”

“Surely you do not intend to—” She stopped when he reached beneath her shift and caressed her breast, giving her the answer. “At least have the decency to wait until night before you torture me!” she snapped.

“Torture? Is that what you call this?” he asked, teasing her nipples with his fingers.

“Yes! It is torture for me because I hate you!”

“You may hate me, my little French vixen, but your body will love what I'm going to do to it.”

Before she could protest, Tristan had slid her shift up, pulled it over her head, and tossed it on the floor. He parted her legs with his knees and began to stroke the soft flesh between her thighs.

“No!” she screamed. She tried desperately to pull his arm away, but it would not be budged.

Pleasure was spreading through her body, and she could not stop it. His fingers were working magic, bringing her body to life against her will. He buried his face in her neck, searing her tender skin with his lips, and she knew she would be lost if she didn't stop him now. She had to stop him!

“Your—your beard,” she finally managed to say. “It annoys me. It tickles.”

He raised his head to look at her, but his eyes held no mercy. “You did not complain of this before.”

“You were quick before,” she snapped. “The tickling will make me laugh, and you might think I am laughing at your lovemaking.”

“With whom do you compare my lovemaking, Bettina, when you have had no man before me?”

“The fact that you sicken me is enough,” she retorted, but she could see the futility of her efforts. How could she make him angry enough to rape her quickly?

“Your biting tongue will go unheard this time, Bettina. Once and for all you will learn what it is to be a woman.” His words were deliberately cold.

He rolled on top of her and covered her lips with
his, stilling further protest. He entered her slowly, gently, and this time there was no pain. His actions did not match his emotions, for he was being tender, while his mood seemed cruel. He was taking revenge against her with his patience, but she had no way to fight it.

He went deep inside her and remained still as he covered her face and neck with kisses. His lips found hers again, branding her with the passion of his kiss. He started to move inside her, slowly at first, then faster. A feeling was building, spreading through her loins like liquid fire. And soon Bettina clung to Tristan as ecstasy exploded inside her.

Bettina heard Tristan laugh deeply, triumphantly, and she felt more humiliated by this than by anything she had gone through so far. So this was his revenge—to give her that wonderful, that unbelievable pleasure. And at the height of the moment, she had clung to him as if she couldn't bear to let him go.

“Do you still criticize my loving, little one?”

She looked up into his smug, smiling face and suddenly felt angry beyond endurance. At him, for he would never let her forget his power—and with herself, for losing control of her body in passion.

“Damn you, Tristan!” she screamed and pushed him off her body.

He watched with amusement as she scrambled out of bed and grabbed her shift from the floor. She put this on quickly, then faced him with her hands on her hips. Her long, silky hair tumbled all about her.

“Nothing has changed! Do you hear me? Nothing! I still hate you—more now than ever!”

“Why? Because I made love to you and you en
joyed it?” Tristan asked. He rose from the bed and began putting his clothes on.

“My body may have betrayed me, but it was only because I couldn't fight you. Your accursed threats stopped me! And—” She stopped suddenly, and her eyes flew open.

Oh no! How could she have been so stupid? He would not whip her! He had been bluffing! He hated the Spanish for beating their slaves, he'd said, and he'd never harmed her yet, despite all the trouble she'd given him. Why hadn't she seen through his game sooner?

“Bettina, what is the matter with you?” he asked.

“Damn your blackhearted soul to hell, Tristan!” she stormed.

“Where the devil did you pick up such language? Not in the convent, I'm sure.”

“From your crew! They don't have the decency to watch what they say with ladies aboard.”

“And you think this language befits a lady?” he mocked her.

“I no longer feel like a lady. You have taken that from me—but no more!”

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, nothing—nothing at all.”

She decided to wait before calling his bluff until it would be to her advantage. She suddenly smiled, and then she began to laugh at the bewildered look on Tristan's face. How happy she was! Happy that she would no longer have to submit to this giant, this beast of a man, happy that she would no longer have to cower before him or endure his caresses. She could fight him now. And if his strength should prevail over hers, well, there was no humiliation in that.
She would at least go down fighting. She continued to laugh.

“Have you taken leave of your senses?” Tristan demanded.

He suddenly feared that he had pushed her too far. He came over to her and shook her by the shoulders until she stopped laughing. But she still smiled up at him. And then he became even more confused as he stared down into her dark-blue eyes.

“What color are your eyes, Bettina?” he asked wonderingly.

She stopped smiling and pulled away from his grip. “You have seen my eyes enough to know what color they are,” she snapped, turning her back on him.

“Your eyes were blue just now, blue as sapphires. Yet ever since you have been on the
Spirited Lady
, they have been green—until now.”

“Don't be absurd. Eyes do not change color. It was merely the light.”

“Look at me now!” he commanded. And when she refused, he swung her around, only to find that her eyes were green again.

“I told you it was merely the light,” she said. But she turned away from him quickly, for the confusion on his face made her want to laugh again.

Tristan had the uneasy feeling that Bettina was making a fool of him. It was not the light. He knew damn well what he'd seen. Her eyes had been as blue as the depths of the sea. Did her eyes change with her moods? Green when she was angry or afraid, and blue when she was happy? She had been happy for a moment. But why? What did she have to be happy about in her present situation? Well, he
was sure it would take coaxing to find out, and he didn't have the time now.

“Is that the name of your ship? The
Spirited Lady?
” she asked.

“What? Oh, yes,” he said, and grinned at her. “The name rather suits you, too, doesn't it?”

“Do you think so?” she asked coquettishly. “You have hardly allowed me to be very spirited.”

“And what of your outburst just a few moments ago?”

“Did it hurt you very much,
Capitaine?
I do not see your wounds,” she teased.

He smiled and changed the subject, for she was obviously playing a game with him. “I will see if there is any material in the hold. If so, you can make yourself some cooler dresses. It will also give you something to do.”

“Thank you.”

He looked at her quizzically, for he did not expect her gratitude. She had changed toward him, and it baffled him. He would soon find out what she was up to. With that thought, he left the cabin.

 

Shortly after the captain left, Madeleine came to the cabin with a platter of food, and she and Bettina ate together. She immediately noticed Bettina's gaiety, but she believed that Bettina had finally decided to accept things the way they were.

They had left Tortola at dawn, but Bettina didn't know this until Madeleine informed her. It annoyed her that the captain could distract her so that she didn't notice anything but him.

Tristan returned before noon with two bolts of pastel silks. He placed these on the table, along with a ball of lace and threads, then produced a pair of
gold scissors that he had tucked in his belt. But he hesitated before placing these with the rest.

“Can I trust you not to use these scissors as a weapon?” he asked curtly.

“I have said I will not try to kill you again, Tristan,” Bettina replied as she stood up to examine the silks. “My word is good, even if yours is not.”

He smiled, but he was still reluctant to hand over the possible weapon.

“If you still do not trust me, then Maddy can take the scissors with her when she leaves, and return them to you. Would that be satisfactory?” When he still appeared to be reluctant, she laughed softly. “I will make it easy for you,
Capitaine
. You need not admit that you fear me. Maddy will bring you the scissors when she leaves.”

Madeleine nodded her head to say she would do this. She wondered why Bettina was playing this game with the captain, but thank God, he did not seem to mind. But she held her breath as Bettina continued.

“How is it, Tristan, that you have this material, when you say you only attack ships carrying gold?”

He grinned now as he noticed her blue eyes. “The material was on a plate ship, along with many other goods that were being delivered to a Spanish
condesa
. If these colors do not suit you, there are others to choose from.”

“Then you will not mind if Maddy replaces her wardrobe also?” she ventured sweetly.

“The material could be sold in Tortuga for a handsome sum. It is enough that I have put it at your disposal.”

“It is not enough! Need I remind you that it was you who saw fit to leave our trunks behind, leaving
us with only the clothes on our backs?”

“Very well!” Tristan replied harshly. “Is there anything else you wish, my lady?”

“Only never to lay eyes on you again,” she answered tartly, a half-smile on her rosy lips.

“That, I am afraid, I will not grant.”

With that, Tristan turned and left the cabin. Bettina sighed and turned to look at her servant, who was somewhat pale.

“Bettina, you must be careful what you say to the
capitaine
. You must not make him angry!” Madeleine warned urgently.

“And
you
must not worry,” Bettina returned. “The
capitaine
will not harm us.”

“But you said he will whip you if you resist him.”

“Yes, but I was not resisting him. I was merely taunting him. And as you can see, he did nothing,” Bettina said.

“But why were you mocking him? It was as if you were trying to make him lose his temper. You have known this man for only four days. It is impossible to judge how he will react to your taunts.”

Bettina decided not to tell Madeleine of what she planned for tonight, for this would really alarm her.

“Do not worry. I can hold my own where Tristan is concerned. Now, come, let us begin,” Bettina said, taking the lime-green silk for herself.

Madeleine shook her head with a weak smile. “I will ask the
capitaine
for plain cotton. Never in my life have I worn silk, and I do not intend to start now.”

“I
took the old one into the hold.”

Bettina started at Tristan's words, for she was so busy working on her new dress that she hadn't heard him enter the room.

“What?”

“Your servant. I took her into the hold to get the cotton she requested, and when she saw this, she said you would need it,” Tristan replied, laying the silver comb on the table before Bettina. “Are you satisfied now?”

“Satisfied? I did not ask you for the material,
Capitaine
. You offered it. I merely suggested that you do the same for my servant. I have thanked you for this already—I will not do so again. As for the comb, it is indeed beautiful, but I had a comb, Tristan. It was not as nice as this one, and only made of wood, but I cherished it because it was a gift from my mama. The comb is needed, but it does not replace my own.”

“Would you have me go back to recover your trunks?” Tristan asked sarcastically.

“Yes.”

He sighed, for he should have known what her
answer would be. “The crew of the
Windsong
will have recovered sufficiently from their wounds by now. It would mean another battle.”

“I forget that you are a coward,” Bettina replied.

“I have never run from a battle—I've told you this already.”

“No, it is only women you are afraid to fight.”

“Fighting you would gain you nothing, Bettina. Though you think you would do me damage, you would not. I don't want to hurt you in the struggle, that is all.”

“But I would love to hurt you, Tristan—to see you in pain for what you have done to me.”

“Well, my bloodthirsty little vixen, that you will not do.”

Bettina smiled and said no more. She continued her sewing as Tristan sat down and poured himself a tot of rum.

“Have you eaten?” he asked, leaning back in the chair to study her.

“Yes,” Bettina replied. “That young boy brought the meal some time ago. I was beginning to hope you would not return this night—since it is already so late. Did Maddy return the scissors to you?”

“What sort of game were you playing this morning, Bettina?” he asked, ignoring her taunt. “Why has your attitude changed so suddenly?”

“My attitude has not changed,” she replied softly. “I still hate you, Tristan.”

With her unbound hair falling over her shoulders, and her head bent over the dress she was making, Tristan could not see Bettina's expression. What he wanted to see were her eyes. Were they dark sea-blue or turbulent green? Her tone of voice revealed nothing of the hatred she spoke of, yet he knew she
spoke the truth. There was no doubt that she hated him, but where was the fire and ice of the day before? Where was the fiery temper of early this morning, before this change came over her?

“Would you care for a walk before we retire?” Tristan asked.

“Not if you intend to kiss me in the moonlight again.”

“I plead guilty to the intention. So if you wish to remain stubborn, we will retire now.”

“I will walk alone,” she ventured.

“No, you will not!”

“Then you may retire.”

“So will you, little one,” Tristan replied. He stood up and drained the last of the rum.

“Not until you have removed your beard.”

“What?” he exclaimed, sure that he had heard her incorrectly.

“You will cut away that beard—until your face is smooth. I was not jesting when I said that your beard annoys me. So remove it!” Bettina demanded, looking at him now with eyes like emeralds.

“I will do no such thing, woman!”

Any delay was worth gaining, even if it was pointless, thought Bettina. His beard did not really bother her, but it was worth the argument just to see if she could win.

“I insist that you shave it off, Tristan. I will not move from this chair until you do so.”

“You are in no position to insist upon anything,” he grunted.

“Would you have me resist you over such a trifling matter?” Bettina asked, mockery in her soft voice. “Why won't you do this small thing for me?”

“I like my face the way it is!”

“Well, I do not!” she snapped. “Are you afraid to get rid of your beard because then your scar would be more pronounced? Again the coward, eh,
Capitaine?
”

His body became rigid at the mention of his scar, and his eyes were cold as he glared at her.

“You go too far, Bettina!”

She could see that she had. He was obviously very sensitive about the scar on his face. She reminded herself that she didn't really know this man, that she wasn't qualified to judge his reactions. But she wouldn't back down now.

“Why do you hide the scar? Many men have marks on them. It is nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I do not hide it! Would you have me smooth-faced when my crew is not?”

“Yes. I told you your beard annoys me. Remove it and prove to me you are not a coward.”

“No!”

“Then go to bed, Tristan, but you go alone. I will not yield on this matter.”

“Blast you, woman!” he stormed, but Bettina remained calm and returned to her sewing.

She intended to stand firm on this, he could see that. She just might call his bluff, and he didn't want to lose the hold his threats had on her for such nonsense. Women and their idiosyncrasies!

“I will be back shortly, and when I am, I want you in that bed with your clothes removed! Do you understand? Undressed and waiting!”

Tristan turned on his heel and stalked from the room. It was not far to the cabin that Jules was presently sharing with Joco Martel, and, seeing the light under the door, Tristan knocked loudly. After a mo
ment, the door opened and Jules stood there, a bemused expression on his face.

“I was of the impression you had retired for the night,” Jules remarked.

“I did, but I need your help.”

“Can't it wait until morning, Tristan?”

“No!” Tristan shouted. “I need you to remove my beard—now!”

“What kind of joke is this? Why the devil would you want your face shaved, and why now?”

“Blast it, Jules! Don't ask so many questions—just do it! If I had a looking glass, I would do it myself.”

Jules started to laugh boisterously. He turned his head and looked at Joco, who was sitting at the table.

“It seems the hot-tempered
mademoiselle
has won a bout with my friend here,” Jules remarked to Joco, then turned back to Tristan. “This
is
her idea, isn't it? Since when do you do what the wench asks? What's happened to your logic?”

“It wouldn't work on this matter, so get it done with,” Tristan growled.

Later, when he returned to his cabin, Tristan felt like an utter fool. He could still hear Jules's laughter and his biting words: “Now you look like the young lad that you are.” And indeed he did look younger than his years now. Blast it! No other woman had ever complained about his beard, and most men wore one. Bettina had complained just to annoy him—he was sure of that now. Well, it would not take long for the beard to grow back. And with that thought, Tristan opened the door to his cabin and walked inside.

Bettina had been pacing the floor, dreading the moment when Tristan would return and the battle
would begin. But now she was taken aback by the sight of him.

Tristan's full golden beard had hidden much, and without it she could see how very handsome and young he was. She could not take her eyes away from his face, and stood motionless in the middle of the room.

A fleeting thought came to her mind, that she could fall in love with this man if she did not hate him so. But the thought was absurd.

“When I give an order, I expect it to be obeyed!” Tristan said harshly.

But Bettina paid no attention to his tone of voice. Without the beard, he no longer looked like a dangerous pirate and she couldn't fear him. He was still a giant compared to her, but with such a handsome face, she could not take his harshness seriously.

“I no longer obey your orders,” she stated finally.

His jaw tightened.

“What the devil does that mean?”

“I mean, Tristan, that you do not own me and you are not my husband. Therefore, I will not obey you.”

Tristan crossed the short distance between them and stood towering before her. Gently he lifted her face up to his, but she avoided his eyes.

“Have you forgotten that you are on my ship—that you are in my power?” Tristan reminded her, the harshness gone from his voice.

“I may be on your ship, but it was not by my choice. And in your power? Perhaps. But as I said, Tristan, you do not own me. I am not your slave.”

“You are my prisoner.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” she said dryly. “And prisoners who do not obey orders are whipped. Is that not right,
Capitaine?
”

“Is that what you want?”

Bettina took a step backward and looked at him oddly, as if she were thinking of an answer to his question. And then, unexpectedly, she swung her arm sideways and cracked her closed fist against his cheek, knocking him off balance.

Tristan's first impulse was to strike back, and he raised his hand, but stopped when he met her cold defiance. She stood there without flinching, rubbing her throbbing fist with her other hand and waiting for him to strike her. When he didn't, she laughed bitterly.

“Where is your whip, Tristan? Produce it and carry out your threats. I believe it was ten lashes for every strike, was it not? Or perhaps you would rather wait until the count increases? I am sure it will before the night is through.”

Tristan sighed heavily and moved away from her. He sank into the chair facing Bettina and spread his legs out before him.

“So it has come to this,” he said in a level voice. “Is that why your disposition changed, because you think I will not carry out my threats?”

“You deal only in trickery! You are a liar, and I will no longer believe a word you speak!” she returned heatedly.

“What makes you so sure I was bluffing?”

“By your own words, that you hate the Spanish for beating their slaves. You would not do the same,” she said triumphantly.

“Those were not my exact words, Bettina. It is not for beating their slaves that I hate the Spanish, but for another reason that runs much deeper.”

Bettina faltered. The sudden anger in his eyes at the mention of the Spanish made her shiver slightly.

“If you whipped me, you could not—could not—”

“Make love to you?” Tristan finished for her. “Why? It would indeed be painful for you, but how would that stop me?”

Her anger flared. “You wouldn't!” she stormed.

“Why not? It would cause me no discomfort. Your reasoning is only from your point of view, not mine.”

“You could not turn me over to my betrothed if my body were marred.”

“You amaze me, Bettina. According to your logic, you would have me turn you over without a stitch on. I can assure you that you will be clothed. There will be no evidence to view.”

“I have a voice, Tristan!”

“You will be gagged,” he said matter-of-factly. “The exchange will take place on the
Spirited Lady
, with the Comte de Lambert brought here by my men. I will be far at sea before the
comte
can give chase.”

Bettina felt sick inside. She had called his bluff and lost. She had been fooled into thinking that he was not a cold-blooded pirate, fooled by his handsome face. But what was he waiting for? Why hadn't he struck her in return?

“What—what do you intend to do?” she asked, her eyes dark with fear.

“Nothing.”

“But I—”

“You were right, that is all,” he said.

She stared at him, aghast. “Then why did you deny my reasoning?”

“Because your reasoning is not mine.”

“But I do not understand,” Bettina returned.

Tristan leaned forward in the chair and rested his hands on his knees. His expression was void of anger, nor did it show compassion.

“Have no doubt, I will use the whip if I have to, Bettina. So do not underestimate me in the future. But I would not whip you simply because you choose to fight rather than submit to me. That is your rightful choice.”

Bettina's eyes flamed. “Why did you trick me if you feel this way? Why didn't you let me fight for my honor in the first place?”

“Understand this, Bettina. You mean nothing to me, except as a pleasure in my bed. I admit that you are the loveliest woman I have ever come across, but there is no room in my life for you or any other woman. I chose to enjoy you and to avoid
conflict
if possible—it didn't matter by what means. But since you are determined to fight me, Bettina, so be it. This is your right, and I will not whip you for it.”

“Oh!” Bettina swung around so she wouldn't have to look at his arrogant face. More than anything, she wanted to kill him! But she couldn't. She had sworn to wait until she and Madeleine were safe. But then—yes, then

“You still need not fight me, Bettina,” Tristan said, breaking into her murderous thoughts. “The damage has been done, and you could gain nothing but frustration.”

“I would gain satisfaction!” Bettina faced him again, prepared for battle.

“Then it is to be rape?”

“It has always been rape!” she snapped.

“You won't like it, Bettina.”

“Nor will you!”

“Again the test of strength, eh? Well, at least I
will prove once and for all that your strength is no match for mine.”

He stood up, and Bettina ran for the door. But before she could open it, Tristan had picked her up and thrown her over his shoulder. She kicked her feet, but they struck only air. She pounded on his back with her fists, but it was like beating on solid rock. When Tristan reached his bed, he tossed her down, stunning her for a moment. Bettina fought to untangle herself from the web of her unbound hair, and Tristan quickly removed his breeches and tunic. When she finally looked up at him, he was standing naked and ready, a devilish grin on his firm lips.