Bring Me the Horizon (4 page)

“Thank you, Richard.”

The lock rattled and Banning opened the door.

“Monk. By your leave.”

Richard stood, bowed, and left.

The room suddenly seemed too small. The uncomfortable silence pressed in around her as Banning stared at her from the doorway. Though she might suffocate from lack of breathing—because breathing would be too loud—she admired the way his large shoulders filled the expanse of the threshold, the thick, firm muscles of his thighs cording through his breeches, the tuft of a light dusting of hair on his chest under the open laces of his tunic.

“Rest up.” His lips barely moved with his command. “You’ll need your strength for tonight.”

Gracie could have melted from the wicked grin quirking at the corner of his mouth. Be it from uneasy fear or anticipation, she didn’t know. Criminy! She needed another drink.

“Those are some dark clouds on the horizon.”

Cutler turned from the open window at the sound of Kipp’s voice and sat down at his desk. “Aye,” he said. “We might be in for a squall.” Scents of brine and rain swept into his cabin. The heavy gray clouds, tinged in pinks and orange from the setting sun, stretched and grew. But just as quickly as they fattened, so, too, could they wane to nothing. Storms were unpredictable, as with everything on the sea.

Kipp placed a bottle of bumbo rum on the table and grabbed two mugs from their secured spot on a shelf.

“Have the men’s fears over the pagan woman been allayed?”

“They were cured by your suggestion,” Kipp said, pouring them both drinks. “Most will do anythin’ for ya, anyhow. Fight with ya. For ya. Follow ya headlong to hell. If ya say the woman ain’t a witch, they believe ya.”

Cutler couldn’t ask for a better crew. He never took their loyalty for granted, and he did his best to protect and reward them. Aye, their brotherhood was strong. Still, Cutler was not naive to believe that men, even his, wouldn’t look out for themselves when put to the screws. ’Twas the way of men, to save their own skin.

“What of the others?”

“Richard has been speakin’ to them.”

Cutler stopped his mug midway to his mouth. “Richard?”

Kipp sat, a smirk on his lips. “Damnedest thing, I say. The cod’s been sayin’ the lass be pagan, all right. But that she is blessed and the Almighty has led her to us for sumthin’ good.”

“Why they hell would he say that?”

Kipp scratched at his unkempt hair. “Ain’t rightly sure.”

Neither was Cutler. Had Richard finally loosened his uptight arse? What had Graciela said to him? Whatever ’twas, Cutler would be glad if Richard curtailed his religious babble. Especially if he gave up his mission to save Cutler’s soul.

“He even accompanied Hobbs to deliver the lass’s vittles. The ol’ cook didn’t want to risk gettin’ cursed by her. Richard convinced ’im that she’d do no such thing and to prove it, he went into her room first.”

Cutler harrumphed in disbelief. “It’s about time I see to the lass.”

Kipp threw back the rest of his bumbo and stood. “Gonna collect on yer payment?”

“Christ. Does everyone on this blasted ship know about that?”

Kipp smirked again. “Aye.”

Damn Tyburn. He must still be trying to get Cutler back for interrupting and ultimately ending his tryst with that fair-headed, buxom puss back in Port Royal. He laughed to himself. She was a sweet dish and Cutler relished her taste. Blade swore he’d get in some good-natured revenge for stealing the girl away.

“Pagan or not,” Kipp said as he closed the door, “you’re a lucky bastard.”

Perhaps. He was curious how Graciela would handle herself in this arrangement. Was she wanton? Armed with the graceful rolling dance of a gypsy? Would she seduce him with her lips? Straddle his lap? Bounce on him until he exploded? God, he wished.

He held out no hope for that. Cutler suspected she regretted her hasty bargain, and dreaded the task. She’d be shy and skittish as a filly. Wouldn’t matter. He had plenty of experience with meek lasses. Even virgins succumbed willingly to his sensual charms. And those girls were just as delicious, oftentimes more so, than the bawdy wenches.

He looked to the carved door separating his room from hers. Though he wouldn’t force her, he was anxious to have her beneath him. Just how far was she willing to go?

Cutler took another drink. The ship pitched on a wave and he grabbed the bottle before it toppled. Darkness fast approached with a sheet of rain. He plugged the bottle and set it on the shelf with his mug to keep them from falling on the floor. ’Twould be a pity to spill such good liquor. He reached out the window to shut and latch it. The wind whipped at his face as if frantically seeking asylum from the squall inside the cabin.

Swiping the ring of keys from his desk, he strode to the door. Anticipation itched across his skin. ’Twas like opening a treasure chest for the first time, not knowing what prize he’d find. He wasn’t sure what to expect.

He unlocked and opened the door. It squeaked on its unused hinges.

Graciela popped up from her chair, a firm scowl on her mouth. “’Bout time, Captain,” she huffed. “How long didya plan on leavin’ me waitin’? Do ya get enjoyment outta someone else’s sufferin’? Course you do. You’re a wretched pirate.”

Well this wasn’t what he expected. “Have you been drinking, lass?”

She took a sidestep to hide the bottle on her table. Her cheeks and nose glowed a rosy shade of pink and her enraged brown eyes were glossy.

“Let’s get on with it, Captain.”

Cutler stepped back into his cabin to let her pass, amused and bewildered by her behavior. But instead of stomping into his cabin, she grabbed fistfuls of his tunic, rose to her tiptoes, and smacked her lips to his mouth.

Startled, he sucked in rum, potent rum. Aye, she’d been drinking—a lot.

She pushed him away and his tongue darted out to taste the spicy flavor she left behind. More, he craved more.

Graciela blinked, her fingers almost reaching her lips, before she whirled into his quarters.

“You’re drunk.”

“Am not.” She turned to face him. “Will you have me in your bed, or here on your desk?”

Both.
She was fiery with her tongue and her scowl creased deep into her brow. Ringlets of her hair had fallen free of her braid. She’d been hitting the bottle hard. Even as an angry sot, she was beautiful.

She patted the desk, testing the sturdiness. On the last slap, she missed the desktop entirely. Stumbling forward, she recovered quickly. Cutler put his fist to his mouth to hide his amusement. Alas, the dainty bit, lifting an indignant eyebrow, caught him.

He glanced in her cabin at the near empty vessel before shutting the door. “Where did you get the rum?”

“Do you require me naked?” She fumbled with the laces of her stays.

Christ, he wanted her to undress fully. A lesser man would already be plowing into her. And he wasn’t much more than that. But this didn’t feel right. “Belay.” The word came out hoarse. ’Twas a difficult word to pass through his lips at that very moment.

She looked up confused, and let the stays fall to the floor. “You don’t want me naked?”

“I do.” Blazes, he wanted her naked, underneath him, bent over in front of him, on top of him. But not like this. Which was odd. A soused doxy never dissuaded him before. For some nameless reason, he wanted her sober. Damn if he knew why. This woman rattled him. Cutler did not like to be rattled. “You are to fulfill our agreement with your wits.”

“I have my wits, Captain. Don’t you dare back out. We do this now or you forfeit the accord.”

Cutler raised his brow at her audacity. “You are in no position to negotiate terms. Need I remind you, lass, you are on my ship, in my cabin? ’Tis a dangerous position, indeed.”

“’Tis my body, ’tis my terms. Off with your trousers!”

Cutler couldn’t suppress his laughter. Never had a woman said, commanded, really, those words to him. By thunder, if he didn’t like it. His cock immediately responded to her demand. A gentleman might move behind the desk to spare a lady, and himself, embarrassment. Not Cutler. He stayed rooted to his spot and allowed her to see just how she affected him. “You are three sheets to the wind, Miss DuBois. You don’t know what you are doing. I expect you to be focused on the task.”

Her gaze left his crotch and pinned him with an affronted glower.

Graciela threw up her hands, exasperated. “Insufferable,” she mumbled. She shoved him against the door and smothered his lips with her mouth.

’Twasn’t a tight-lipped kiss as before. This kiss was angry, forceful. Just like the sea outside tossing his ship around in her stormy fit. The tempest raged, but something unexpected surged through him. Something powerful—like a whirlpool—pulled at him, tugging him into an abyss. She must have felt it, too, for though she remained on her tiptoes fastened to his lips, her grip on his tunic loosened and she moaned.

Graciela ripped away; her ragged breath landed against his chest. “Is that focused enough for you, Captain?”

A carnal fire erupted inside him, raging hot. Cutler grabbed her face and angled down for a primal kiss. His lips, his tongue stroked and swept until she relented, granting him access into her mouth.

For a moment, he was adrift in her wet warmth. She slackened against him, her arms snaked up around his neck. Desire to touch her, a need too strong, splintered his mind. Every thought lost importance.

One hand dropped down to the smooth rise of her chest. He slipped under her shift, grasping gently, squeezing her breast. Firm supple. The hard bead of her nipple grazed his palm. God what would that feel like in his mouth, between his teeth?

He spun them around and trapped her against the door. Leaving her panting, he kissed down the slender column of her neck. Graciela rolled her head exposing more of her creamy skin. He scraped his teeth on her shoulder, and very soon, took one tit into his mouth. Sweet, soft, maddening.

She moaned, her fingers burrowing through his hair. Encouraged, Cutler fondled her breast and sucked hard on the other. His tongue flicked across the pebbled nipple. Graciela gasped and her knees buckled. Grasping her waist to keep her from slipping to the floor, he was reminded she was too drunk.

Graciela’s chest heaved. Her breasts were not busty, but were perfect for her petite body. And plentiful enough to fill his palms. He had to drag his feasting eyes from her russet-colored nipples.
Blast it.
He pulled her shift up over those delectable mounds to contain her modesty.

Her lids fluttered open, her brow drawn down with confusion.

“Come. Sit.” He led her to the chair.

Suspiciously, she lowered into it. “What are you about?”

“You are drunk.”

“That should not be of consequence to you.”

“It is. ’Tis a matter of decency—yours, mine, and for our agreement.”

“Absurd,” she huffed.

He planted his hands on either side of her chair to stare at her eye level. “I’ll have you in control of all your faculties. You will not cheat me out of what you bargained. You will feel me,” he brushed his finger over her bottom lip, “as I will feel you. And, dare I say, enjoy it as I will.”

Her pupils dilated, but she did not break the hold.

Cutler shoved off the chair and sat in his own across the table. “In your rash anguish to find your sister, you have made crucial miscalculations. First of which was seeking me out. But this you already know. Offering your body was unwise, to say the least, but while foxed, lass, you have insulted me.”

“I...”

He relaxed back into his chair and held up a silencing palm, ignoring how
Rissa
quaked with the pounding waves. “Alas, I know desperation leads even the wisest of men down foolish paths. You must love her deeply to risk so much for her.”

Graciela, her parted lips trembling, nodded once.

“Tell me about her.”

“Wouldn’t you be more interested in the gold?”

“There will be time for talk of that later. What is her name?”

“Sarah.” Her eyes dropped to her lap. “I look nothing like her. Tall, raven-haired, voluptuous figure. Desired by many, feared by all. I lack all her beauty, cunning, and courage.”

Bah. Cutler doubted that. She had all those traits. Well, except for height. Such a tiny thing.

“The rumors made her out to be a wicked monster. Death had blanketed Santo Domingo and they blamed her. So many lives lost.” She sighed, closing her eyes for a brief moment. “‘Let them fear me,’ she had said. ‘They will leave us alone to live in peace.’ Even then she knew we’d never be at peace.”

Cutler remembered hearing of an outbreak in the port town. He and the brethren stayed away until the threat was over. They had enough illnesses on board and none wanted to chance losing men to plague.

“’Twas Jacob’s fault.”

“Jacob?”

“She loved him.” Her focus dissolved into another time, another place. “I was sweeping out the cottage when he came calling one afternoon with two of his friends. I tried to send him away, told him she was out picking herbs. I’ll never forget the toothy grin he gave the others.” A tear slid down her cheek. “He forced his way inside, grabbed me, demanded I tell him about the gold, that he had enough dallying around, waiting for Sarah to reveal it to him. I refused to tell him anything. He said he’d get something out of me, if not the nugget’s whereabouts.”

The poor lass shuddered and swiped at another tear, paying no notice to the ship rolling to the port on a large wave.

“I fought him. As sure as I sit here, I fought him. But I didn’t possess the strength to push him off. I begged for help. His friends remained outside laughing and calling out crude encouragements.”

Cutler’s clenched hand stung and he realized his nails were digging into his palm.

“So I screamed and screamed. He tried to shut me up by smothering me with his greasy mouth, but I bit his lip. That’s when Jacob hit me.”

His temper flared, increasing with the howling winds buffeting against his window.

“The vile pig didn’t get very far. Only ripped my clothing when Sarah burst in. They struggled and she took a good beating. I jumped on Jacob’s back slapping at him to stop hurting her. He flung back, smashing me into the wall. Sarah grabbed the fireplace poker and struck him with it. Put a nasty gash into his side. She chased him outside, pointing her finger, yelling after him as they ran away that he would pay dearly for what he had done. Two days later, he got the fever. He was the first in Santo Domingo to die.”