Prisoner of Desire (8 page)

An illusion was all it was. His embrace held her in spite of her struggles. A soft sound of frustration came past her ear before he clamped his right arm back around her. All the while, the men worked the oars. She heard every dip into the water but could only see straight ahead.

Idiotic bonnet. Society was so worried about her flirting, it had trapped her in a hat which kept her from seeing someone sneaking up behind her. She strained once more, needing an outlet for her rage. A frustrated sigh came from her captor. He leaned closer to her ear and she actually felt his warm breath.

"We're well away from the fort. Do you really wish a watery grave tonight? It would not be an easy death, I assure you."

"Do you offer me one then?" She turned her head because she wanted to see him, the brim of her bonnet prevented it. But he was correct;

the walls of the fort had faded into the night. She couldn't see the light from the wall torches any longer. A shaft of fear went through her. There was no preventing it. Nothing but darkness

surrounded them. The night seemed larger than it ever had on land, closing around the boat. It felt like they might be crushed in its grasp, just like the man holding her had the strength to do.

"As soon as you need me no longer, will that knife finish its work, granting me a swift death?"

"Light ahead, Captain."

There was both joy and fear in the man's voice. Lorena turned to look at him. The moon cast an eerie glow on his face, but she could not miss the longing in his expression. However much she detested her current circumstances, she could not fail to enjoy watching the men manning the oars. They looked radiant, lifting their faces toward the twinkling beacon in the distance like it was a promise of eternal youth.

Compared to their life at the fort, she supposed it was. Her heart softened, their plight had been a grim one indeed. But their success meant her ruin. Once she was needed no further, a slice across her throat might be the last thing she felt in this life. Warm blood was already oozing down her neck. She could smell its metallic scent.

"Careful now, wait for the signal. If we row to a man-of-war, our efforts will have been for naught and we'll face the gallows for sure. Strike the match."

One man reached into his hair and pulled a small bundle from it. He'd hidden it at the base of his ponytail. He picked at it for a moment before pulling a thin piece of fabric loose. Holding it carefully he drew it quickly along the side of the boat. It flared to light so brightly she closed her eyes against the stinging pain. The scent of burning wood filled her nostrils. Blinking against the light, Lorena opened her eyes to find the man holding the match high. He kept it there until the orange flame touched his skin and he flicked it overboard. The flame died instantly on the

surface of the water.

The other men held their oars in place. The current rocked the little boat while time froze once again. Her heart seemed to beat louder, filling her ears. Each breath took effort to draw and push down into her lungs. The light in the distance twinkled, beckoning them forward out of the

growing chill. But the men in the boat held steady.

"Another."

The man holding her was obeyed. Another match flared to life, a tiny orange flame giving more light than she'd ever thought possible. Compared to the vast darkness they floated on, it was abundant. Just like the voice of the man holding her. It was rich and filled with confidence. She was tempted to relaxed against him. In fact, struggling to remain rigid was taking more and more strength.

Another light joined the one in the distance and a third. Relief coated the faces of the men holding the oars and they smiled. A soft sob left her lips. Witnessing their joy was both heart-warming and horrifying. Each breath suddenly seemed precious as she wondered just when she'd feel the kiss of that cold steel again.

"Take us home, lads. Take us home."

They needed no encouragement. The men dug into the water with renewed strength. The boat

glided toward the lights, gaining speed with each stroke. A ship emerged from the night. Its hull was dark and foreboding. She'd never seen such a thing; even the canvas sails were oddly dark.

Men moved along her rail, peering over at them. A rope ladder came rolling down the hull. It danced wildly for several moments before restless into the same gentle roll of the ship.

The first man reached for the rope ladder almost frantically. He was already climbing by the time they collided with the ship's hull. Hands reached for him at the top, gripping and pulling him over the rail.

The arms around her suddenly opened. Her thoughts were a bubbling mess of apprehension and

determination to see the sun rise. The men were absorbed with getting to the ladder. Kicking at her tussled skirts and petticoats, she struggled to place her feet on the bottom of the boat.

A hard arm hooked her around the waist and lifted her without effort. Her feet connected with the concave bottom of the boat, but standing up increased the gentle sway to a bobbing which threatened to send her crashing down in a tangle of off-balance limbs. The unrelenting arms of her captor pulled her close, saving her from that fate. She couldn't help but be grateful for his stable frame, but she resented it as well.

If she were back at the fort, she wouldn't need his assistance.

If you were back at the fort, you 'd be locked in a cell...

That thought gave her little comfort. However had her life turned so grim? Her life under

Godford's rule was suddenly gleaming with appeal like a Christmas morning.

"Mind your head, Captain!"

Her captor covered her head with his forearm, hugging her tightly against him. Her face heated in spite of the dreary circumstances. Tears actually stung her eyes because it was possible this was the only embrace she might ever feel.

Something hit the boat. The little vessel pitched from the impact, taking her along with it.

Instinct took over, causing her arms to clutch at the only steady thing available. The brim of her bonnet crumpled against the wide chest of her captor. The boat dipped low but his stance never faltered. There was amazing strength in him. Maybe it was the fact that he was so much larger than she was or maybe it was the fact that she expected him to kill her.

He reached down, plucking something heavy from the bottom of the boat. He slid one hand

across her back, sending a bolt of heat down her spine. She felt every finger right through her corset. Goose bumps spread over her arms in response.

"My apologies, but I've no desire to taste the ocean tonight."

He dropped a thick rope right over her head. Another followed and he pushed them down her

body with quick motions. The rope smelled faintly of dried salt, and it was wide as her fist. One loop hung below her waist. He pulled the top one back up so that it was beneath her arms.

"Wait. What are you doing?"

"Getting well away from the bastard you're engaged to." Deep satisfaction coated his words. In the dark she caught the first glimpse of his face. It was nothing but moonlight and darkness. The set of his jaw was solid. Their eyes met for a mere fraction of a moment, but a shiver shook her for what she witnessed burning there. Hard determination. This man was accustomed to being

obeyed, and when that failed, he took what he wanted.

"Hoist away!"

The ropes around her tightened and pulled her right out of the boat.

"Wait.. .no.. .release me..."

Her words were lost as the loop below her waist caught at her knees and the one around her body held her weight under her arms. She bent just like a babe being cradled by its mother. Looking up, she followed the length of rope to where it was hanging down from one of the rails used for the sails. It ran through a pulley and down onto the deck of the ship. It jerked in steady motions, each one taking her higher. When she reached the rail she could see a neat row of four men using their strength to pull her upwards. Another man reached over the rail with a long pole that had a wicked-looking hook on the end of it. He angled it expertly to capture the rope holding her and pulled her over the rail.

The men supporting her weight released her and she ended up lying on the deck with the rope still trapping her legs together. Her face burned scarlet when she struggled against her bonds only to end up on all fours with her bottom stuck up in the air. Pain shot up from her bent elbows and knees where they bore her weight against the hard surface of the deck. A few chuckles

scraped over her ears before a sharp grunt silenced them.

The arm of her captor hooked her around the waist yet again and she snarled as her temper

burned past the last of her determination to behave with dignity.

Dignity be damned. If she was going to die, at least she would face her fate with courage.

"Make sail!"

Her captor commanded the gawking crew at the same time he freed her from the coils of rope.

Men began climbing the rigging and her heart froze.

"No. Not while I am still here..."

No one gave her any heed. The first men reached the yardarms, moving across them on confident feet. In the darkness it looked almost surreal, like a nightmare, but the hands on her confirmed it was very real. There was no safe sunrise waiting to free her from this horrifying event.

"I said no!" Lorena stared at the man in front of her. He dropped the rope and faced her. She had to tip her head back to meet his gaze. His expression gave her no hope. It was set and hard. But worst of all, pity shone from his eyes.

"My apologies, madam."

His apologies? Lorena blinked, trying to overcome the shock. She shook with her rising temper.

A person apologized when they were tardy for an appointment or clumsy with a tea service. The word was grossly misplaced during an abduction.

"I shall not accept your apology, sir. Place me back in that boat. I insist" Her voice rose like a fishwife's, and she did not care.

"You'll never make it back on your own."

The sails crackled and filled. The ship jerked and began moving faster. The motion added more fuel to her temper.

"I am not helpless—"

"But you are also not endowed with the strength of two men either. Rowing against the current, I'd still worry about sending two of my men back to that fort. You would wash out farther within an hour. It would take days for you to die of exposure."

"But.. .1 cannot remain here..." She couldn't, but for some reason it was becoming difficult to think. Her brain felt fuzzy and the strength was rising up out of her body like heat off a newly baked loaf of bread. She turned toward the rail and the little boat was already out of sight, the ship having pulled away from it. A hand caught her upper arm, pulling her back.

"Unhand.. .me—"

She turned to face him but a wave of dizziness swamped her. The deck kept spinning even

though her feet felt planted firmly beneath her. A warm trickle of fluid touched her chest, followed closely by several more.

"Jesus." Her captor grasped her neck, his hand closing all the way around her throat.

But fear didn't flood her. Instead rage for all the things she had never experienced filled her.

Lifting her gaze to his, she glared into his eyes,

willing him to understand how much she despised him. Darkness swept her away, the last of her strength evaporating and leaving her helpless.

"I didn't think you cut her that deep." Garrick lifted their sagging hostage up while Warren kept a grip on the wound oozing blood across her neck. Together they took her into his cabin where lanterns could be lit without being sighted by any royal navy ships searching for them.

"I sure as hell didn't mean to. She's stronger than she looks." But that was only an excuse.

Warren felt sweat pop out on his forehead. Bright red blood was seeping through his fingers. His impulse was to tighten his grip on the bleeding wound but he couldn't risk suffocating her. Self-loathing filled him.

"She's a lively one." Ronan entered with his assistant trailing him. Warren was forced to scoot across his own bunk while Garrick laid his hostage down. His hand needed to remain against her throat if he didn't want to see her face in his dreams for the rest of his days. Killing men in battle was something he shouldered when necessary. He'd pressed his blade against her innocent neck, which made it his responsibility to control. She'd put up more of a fight than he'd ever expected from her bonnet-covered, glove-wearing appearance. She'd actually bitten him. One side of his mouth threatened to curve up in response. It was his Achilles heel.. .spirit. In a woman he found it irresistible.

Which was grossly misplaced under the circumstances.

"Ease up, Warren, and let me look at it." Ronan leaned over to peer at the wound. Warren felt his gut tightening when he got a good look at the amount of blood spilling down her neck, but

Ronan's thumb caught his attention too. A deep wound marred the top of it. A gaping hole left by a thumbscrew. The surgeon would be lucky if he escaped infection, especially in the tropical climate rich in insects.

Warren still battled against guilt as he watched Ronan work. Frustration drew the muscles on the back of his neck tight enough to ache. It was a devil's nest all right. He couldn't help his brothers without hurting an innocent woman. A month ago, he'd have placed his hand on his mother's

bible and sworn to conduct himself like a gentleman no matter the situation.

Desperation was more of a pitfall than he'd ever given it credit for. The blood staining his hand a dose of humbleness for the times he'd judged other men.

"Some stitching and this should close." Ronan gently lifted his patient's neck before shoving the pillow beneath it to tilt her chin up. "I'm surprised she didn't pass out earlier. Tough girl. She'll be causing trouble in no time."

That was high praise coming from the surgeon. Ronan searched through his instruments without even a wince. His thumb had to be painful but the man was a hardened sailor. Unlike their guest.