A Pirate's Love (18 page)

Stop it! Stop it, damn you, she screamed inside her head, but Tristan buried his face in her neck. He
used his lips now, and his tongue, and he left a trail of fire as his mouth descended to her breasts. Her desire swelled and surfaced, overpowering her resistance.

“What you are feeling now is not disgust, little flower. It is pleasure, pure and simple—you know it, and I know it. You curse me, but you want me. Your passion conquers your hate, and your body cries out for the fulfillment that only I can give you.”

Tristan stood up and removed his breeches and boots. Then he turned her over gently and untied her feet, running his hand up her leg and over her buttocks when he finished. Bettina tried to get up, but he pressed his knee in the middle of her back, forcing her to be still. He untied her hands and then quickly retied them above her head.

He turned her over, then eased between her legs before she could kick out, but she was beyond reason or resistance. He removed the cloth from her mouth, and they kissed hungrily. She didn't care. She didn't care about anything except the fire that Tristan had started and must end. Why had he bound her arms? She wanted to hold him, to cling to him, to feel his muscles rippling, to run her hands through his wet hair. But all she could do was sense the whole of him with her body, and it was maddening yet ardently exciting. Nothing else mattered at this moment—nothing.

T
hey had sailed beyond the storm, and the morning sun shone through the open cabin window. Bettina lay on the bed, with nothing covering her except a film of perspiration slowly drying in the salty breeze. Her body still tingled with the aftereffects of Tristan's lovemaking.

How could Tristan make her want him so passionately, she wondered, when she hated him so? The humiliation she had felt earlier was nothing to the ecstatic pleasure that followed. Was she so wanton that a man's touch could make her tremble, that a kiss could make her give him everything?

But Pierre didn't affect her with his kiss. Only Tristan stirred the fires within her.

What was the matter with her? It wasn't her fault, but Tristan's. He was a devil, and he had the power to work magic with his fingers. After all, she would never go to him and ask him to make love to her. It was only after he touched her and continued to touch her that she desired him. He
must
be a devil. How else could he have the strength of ten men, such an incredibly handsome face, and such a magnificent body?

She glanced at Tristan now, as he stood before the open window looking out to sea. He appeared worried. Good. She hoped he had a million troubles, and she hoped she was his main vexation.

Bettina started to get up, but remembered that Tristan hadn't untied her yet. She frowned. She had assumed that the humiliation he put her through was to be the punishment he spoke of, but…

“Tristan, untie me,” she demanded.

He looked at her with a raised eyebrow and a half-grin, and she blushed at her own nakedness. His eyes sparkled, and his hair fell in waves on his temples. It was the color of molten gold with the sun shining on it.

“Did you say something, little one?”

Oh! She knew damn well he'd heard her. Well, she would play his game and humble herself, but only long enough to gain freedom.

“Will you please untie me? My—arms hurt,” she said.

“Prisoners are usually kept in rusty irons,” he remarked. “You should consider yourself lucky that you're tied with rope.”

She couldn't tell if he was teasing her, but he made no move to come forward and do as she'd asked. She gritted her teeth. She wanted to curse him, but she had to get free first.

“Please, Tristan.” With an effort, she managed to sit up, but she still couldn't lower her arms. “You cannot mean to leave me like this.”

“Why not? At least with your hands bound, I need not worry that you will attack me when my back is turned.”

“My arms hurt! Do you intend to torture me just because I escaped you? Damn you! I told you I
would leave you if you raped me again—so I did! I would have stayed on your island if you had let me be.”

“I'm sure you would have. I'm sure you would be quite content if I never touched you again, as I did a little while ago,” he taunted her. “But you are just too tempting to leave alone, Bettina. If I want to kiss you, I will. If I want to make love to you, I will do this also. You forget what I told your mother earlier—you belong to me.”

“I want to see my mother,” Bettina said.

“What, like that?” he laughed.

Bettina blushed again, but she tried to control her anger. “Will you untie me or not?”

“I suppose so. But only on a few conditions.”

“Well?”

“You will stop fighting me, and—”

“Always the bargaining and the conditions. Aren't you man enough to handle me, Tristan?” she teased, sensing a perfect chance to get back at him. “Pierre was.”

“So it is Pierre now, eh?” he asked coldly. “Are you on such intimate terms after two days' acquaintance?”

“More than intimate,” Bettina replied, averting her eyes from his.

“What is that supposed to mean?” he demanded. He crossed to her and lifted her face up to his. “Answer me!”

“Untie me first.”

“You will answer me first, blast you!” Tristan raged.

“Will I?” Bettina asked, her voice coated with honey. She was surprised and delighted that mentioning Pierre could make Tristan so angry. “I can
be very stubborn, Tristan. Would you like to see how stubborn I can be?”

He turned away, slamming his fist into his hand and mumbling curses under his breath. Was Tristan jealous of Pierre? she wondered. How would he react if she lied and said she had made love with Pierre? Perhaps he would no longer want her if he thought another man had bedded her.

He turned back toward her, and without a word he roughly untied her hands. He stood back while she rubbed her arms and her wrists, and then she slowly pulled the cover from the bed and wrapped it around her body.

When she didn't speak, Tristan lost his patience. He tilted her face to his and noticed the clear, dark blue of her eyes.

“You have been released; now answer my question.” He made an effort to speak calmly.

“What question?” she asked innocently.

“If you wish to play games, Bettina, you won't like mine. Now answer me!”

“What is it you wish to know, Tristan?”

“You said you were more than intimate with de Lambert. What did you mean by that?”

“I thought what I said was perfectly clear.”

“I will have a straight answer!” Tristan raged. “Did he rape you?”

Bettina laughed. “You amaze me, Tristan. How could you possibly think that Pierre would have to rape me? He is my betrothed. I told you before that I would succumb to him willingly.”

“That was
after
you were married! Do you expect me to believe that you went eagerly to the man's bed on the first day you met him?”

“I do not care what you believe,” she replied. She had gone too far to back down now.

“Did you
let
him make love to you?”

“Yes!” Bettina shouted.

Tristan's face went livid with rage, and his fists clenched at his sides. He stalked from the room, slamming the door behind him, and Bettina gave a sigh of relief. But Tristan came back a minute later.

“You lie!” he shouted. “You wouldn't have made love with him. Not with your mother in the same house!”

“It—it happened before I knew my mother was there—before she knew that I'd arrived. Pierre came into my room. He said that he had waited so long, and that he loved me,” Bettina said, trying to make her lie sound plausible. “We were to be married soon. I saw no reason to wait. After all, I was not a virgin—thanks to you. And I found that I could not deny my future husband anything.”

“You still lie! You wouldn't fall into the arms of a stranger, even if he was your betrothed!” Tristan stormed, pacing the room in his fury.

Bettina was afraid. She had never seen Tristan so angry before. She decided to admit the truth, but to leave some doubt in his mind.

“It would soothe your ego to believe I am lying. Very well, I made up the whole thing, simply to make you angry. I lied. Are you happy now?”

He stopped pacing the floor and turned to her, but his face was darker than ever.

“What is the matter, Tristan?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “You would not believe me before; you insisted I was lying. Well, I admit it. Don't you believe me now?”

“Why should I believe anything you say?”

“Why, indeed?” she asked, and decided to attack. “Come now, Tristan. You had no reason to fly into a rage in the first place—unless, of course, you love me. Do you love me, Tristan? Is that why you came after me?”

“I—blast you! I told you before there is no room in my life for a woman, or for love.”

“Then take me back to Saint Martin.”

“No—not until I'm finished with you,” he said coldly.

“I escaped you twice, Tristan. I will do so again!”

“You were a fool to try it this last time. You could have been picked up by slave runners, pirates, or any number of cut-throats.”

She hadn't even thought of that. “Well, I was not. It was a merchant ship I sighted, and the
capitaine
was good enough to take me to Saint Martin—without reward. There are still a few decent men in this world.”

“Perhaps there are, but you won't be given a chance to escape again. I warned you I would keep you prisoner if I had to.”

“I want to see my mother,” Bettina said, changing the subject quickly.

“No.”

“But she will be worried about me. I want to comfort her.”

“I said no. Now, do you want something to eat?”

“What I want is a needle and thread. If you—”

“Again the answer is no,” he interrupted her.

“But why not?”

“Because without clothes, you won't be tempted to leave my cabin.”

“No?”

“I think not,” he replied with a half-grin, and then he left the room.

Bettina quickly went to his chest, but when she opened it, her face flushed angrily. It was empty. There was nothing in the cabin for her to wear!

B
ettina marched fretfully back and forth across the cabin, with only a blanket covering her. It was late in the afternoon, and the ship had been anchored in the small cove for over an hour now. Bettina's patience had left her and had been replaced by a seething anger. What was Tristan waiting for?

The last two weeks had been miserable for Bettina. She had been forced to stay in the cabin with absolutely nothing to do. She wasn't allowed to see her mother at all, and Tristan brought all her meals. He was the only person she had seen in two weeks.

The cabin door opened, and Bettina turned abruptly to see Tristan saunter into the room. She glared at him murderously, her eyes large, flashing emeralds.

“When will you take me ashore?” she demanded shrilly.

“Now, if you like,” he returned calmly. “You can put these on, since you were once so fond of wearing them.”

She grabbed the clothes that Tristan held out to her, then turned away and donned the large breeches and V-necked shirt, using a piece of rope he was generous enough to include for a belt.

“I have no shoes,” she reminded him in a saucy voice.

“That's too bad, little one. I wasn't about to grope around in the dark that night looking for your shoes. I guess I'll just have to carry you when we get to shore.”

“That will not be necessary!” she snapped. “Where is my mother?”

“She is already on the island. Come.”

After twenty irritatingly slow minutes, Tristan pulled the small boat ashore and, with the help of the two men who were with them, carried it up the beach and put it with the other boat. He must have taken only a handful of men with him to come after her, for there was no one left on the
Spirited Lady
. She also saw that Captain O'Casey's ship was no longer in the cove.

Tristan took her hand and dragged her along after him. When they reached the forest, he picked her up and carried her despite her protests until they came to the lawns in the front of the house. Then he set her down.

Jossel and Madeleine waited by the front door for her, but when Bettina tried to run ahead, Tristan jerked her back beside him, his grip on her hand like steel. He kept hold of her, and when they reached the front door of the house, he took her on inside, not letting her stop to talk to her mother and servant for even a moment.

“Let go of me!” she shouted, trying to pull away from him.

But Tristan ignored her demand and continued to the stairs, pulling her roughly behind him. When he came to his room, he thrust Bettina inside and then closed the door, leaving her alone. She heard the key
turn in the lock, and she tried to open the door, but it wouldn't budge. She could hear him walking away. She pounded on the door furiously, then listened again, but Tristan was gone.

Damn him! He was going to stick to his word and keep her locked up. She couldn't stand much more of this confinement, seeing only Tristan, with his damnable smile and his lustful demands.

She paced the floor. An hour passed, and then another. She wanted out! She froze when she heard the key turn in the door; then it opened, and Tristan came in with a tray of food in one hand. He locked the door again and set the tray down on the small table beside the bed.

“How long do you intend to keep me locked in this room?” she asked, trying desperately to sound calm.

“Until you give me your word that you won't escape again,” he answered in a curiously patient voice.

“Damn you, Tristan!” Bettina cried. She stamped her foot in fury. “I cannot stand this anymore!”

“Then give me your word.”

“You go to hell!”

“Such a temper,” he laughed. “Your servant told me once that you were a gentle and loving girl. Is it only me that brings out your fiery temper?”

“Until I met you, I never had cause for rage,” she said contemptuously.

“No? I hear you have lived most of your life in a rage.” He smiled when she looked at him in surprise. “Yes, your servant told me about you and your father. Am I just a replacement for him, Bettina? Have you lived with anger so long that you must have someone to direct it toward?”

“Enough, Tristan!” she wailed in a torn voice. “My father is dead!”

A look of concern appeared on Tristan's face. “I—I'm sorry, Bettina.”

“I don't want your sympathy!” she snapped angrily.

Tristan sighed heavily. “You really should try to curb your hotheadedness, Bettina. I won't put up with it much longer.”

“No? What will you do? Tie me up and gag me again? Or beat me this time? You enjoy making me suffer, don't you?”

“No, I only want to give you pleasure,” he replied softly. “You bring the suffering on yourself.”

 

Bettina pulled one of the velvet chairs over to the window facing the mountain and sat there watching the changing colors of the sky. The sun had set below the mountain a long time ago, but its dark mass was silhouetted against the pinks, purples, and reds of the sky behind it.

A slight breeze blew in through the open window, and Bettina pulled the blanket closer about her shoulders. A little while ago, Tristan had brought in her evening meal, but she ignored him until he left to go back downstairs to drink with Jules.

A week had gone by since they'd returned to the island, and she was still locked in this room with absolutely nothing to do. Tristan had taken away the clothes he let her wear to come ashore, and he had removed both her clothes and his from the room.

He kept the door locked even at night. He kept the key beneath the bedpost on his side of the bed while he slept. He had invited her to remove it when she saw him put it there, saying she could have her
freedom if she could lift the bed, with him in it. But she couldn't—he knew she couldn't.

After the first day, Bettina wouldn't talk to Tristan. She hadn't spoken to him at all for six days. She wouldn't even fight him when he made love to her, which surprised him quite a bit. When he took her, she avoided responding to him until the last minutes; then her body took control. Afterwards, she turned cold again.

But these last few days, Bettina had begun to look forward to Tristan's visits. She was starved for company and questioned him about what was going on as soon as he came into the room. But he told her little and would say nothing at all about her mother.

But tonight, tonight she had decided to take a stand.

He would be back soon, so she didn't have very much time. She got up and pulled the chair over to the door. She then moved the heavy Spanish chest and set this up against the door, leaning the chair against it. The other chair followed, and the small bedside table. She only wished she had the strength to move the bed.

She sat on the bed and waited. It wasn't long before she heard the key turn in the lock. She flew off the bed and braced herself against her sturdy barricade. Tristan tried to open the door once and then again, but it remained shut.

“Bettina, open this door—now!”

“Like hell I will!”

He shoved on the door again, and this time it started to open. Bettina strained against it, feeling her feet slipping on the rug. But then she heard Tristan walk away, then return with help.

“How many times must I say it, Tristan? The
vixen needs to be put in her place,” Jules said gruffly.

“Tristan, I—I am not dressed!” Bettina yelled in dismay. She grabbed the blanket, wrapped it around her, and tucked it above her breasts, just in case they succeeded in opening the door.

“I suggest you get under the covers, Bettina—and hide,” Tristan yelled back. Jules burst out laughing.

She didn't hide, but braced her weight against the barricade again when the two men started leaning against the door. This time her feet actually slid across the rug and she almost fell on her face as the door opened.

Tristan stepped inside and closed the door, and Bettina could still hear Jules laughing as he went back to his room. She backed away from Tristan and watched while he silently moved the furniture back.

“Well, why don't you speak?” Bettina added. “Go ahead. Show me how angry you are.”

“I'm not angry. It was a good try, Bettina. At least your spunk has returned. I was beginning to think you had grown docile.”

“Tristan, I must get out of this room. I cannot stand it anymore!”

“You know what it takes.”

“Very well! I promise not to escape again if you will tell me when you will let me go.”

“You are in no position to make bargains, little one,” he replied, sitting down in the chair he had just returned to its place.

“But why won't you tell me when you will return me to Saint Martin?”

“Are you so anxious to see your Pierre again?” he asked coldly.

“No. You—you can take me to any island, as long
as I can gain passage there. It need not be Saint Martin,” she said, trying to pacify him.

“But then you will go to Saint Martin. What is the difference?”

“You told me there is no room in your life for women. You cannot continue to keep me here if you spoke the truth.”

“I'm not going to keep you forever, Bettina. I just haven't decided how long it will be.”

“I do not ask for a specific date, Tristan, just an amount of time. One month, two, three?”

“Let us say one year, perhaps less.”

“One year!” she exploded. “No—that is too long! Surely you do not intend to stay away from the sea that long?”

“No, probably not. I could leave you here alone from time to time, but only if I have your word that you won't escape.”

Bettina turned her back on him and gritted her teeth. A year was such a long time! How could she endure a year with him? But he said he would leave from time to time. Perhaps he would be gone for most of the year. And since she had discovered what kind of a man Pierre was, she wouldn't be going back to him. She wasn't really in a hurry to go anywhere. But she had to get out of this room.

“Will you allow the time I have already spent with you as part of the year?”

“It you insist.”

“Very well, Tristan,” she said dejectedly.

“Your word.”

“I give you my word I will not escape you, on the condition you will let me go in one year—or less.”

He laughed triumphantly. “Come here, Bettina.”

“To be submissive was not part of the bargain, Tristan,” she replied tartly.