The Buccaneer(10)

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, and 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.