Lucian instantly regretted his idle threat, though it had served its purpose. It had silenced her, but at a price. Her childish enthusiasm had vanished instantly, replaced in a flash by fear. Her eyes had widened, her lower lip trembled, and she fought to control the breath that appeared caught in her throat.
He could have booted himself for his rash threat. Though he had seen such cruelty performed on captives by other pirates he himself would never inflict such a harsh and barbaric punishment.
Frightened that she would faint from holding her breath, he tugged at her chin, forcing her mouth to open. Her breath whooshed out, the faint scent of wine fanning his face.
Feeling his senseless remark was best laid to rest, he asked, “Do you wish me to continue?”
She nodded, her eyes not quite so wide as they were only moments ago.
His hand fell away from her chin to rest near her cheek. “Do you know why he was called Dirty Dunbar?” he asked in a considerably gentler tone, hoping she would respond.
Again she shook her head.
He certainly had silenced her, which hadn’t been his intention. Strangely enough he had found their conversation intriguing and oddly entertaining. He couldn’t fathom the idea that he
wouldn’t hear her lively tales or soft quivering replies. The notion disturbed him. “Aren’t you going to cast your opinion?”
Catherine shook her head again.
“Why not?”
She shrugged.
He’d had enough. “Are you afraid of me?”
Catherine was about to shake her head, though her answer demanded a nod, when his hands grasped hold of the sides of her face and prevented her response.
“You will give me a verbal answer, madam.”
Catherine’s long eyelashes fluttered several times as her eyes drifted open with a look of uncertainty. His hands covered her cheeks and locked under her chin. Her foremost thought was that he could squash her easily.
“I’m waiting,” he reminded her.
She cast him a doubtful look.
“I haven’t sewn your lips shut yet, Catherine, you can still speak.”
She spoke with a more steady voice than she thought possible. “Would you?”
It was his turn to look at her doubtfully. “Would I what?”
Catherine whispered her answer. “Sew my lips shut.”
His thoughtless remark had disturbed her. He released her face and tenderly ran his finger over her velvety lips. “Though you sorely tempt me at times I would never inflict such a barbaric punishment on you.”
“You would on others?” She surprised herself with her question and how easily she had asked him.
His finger continued to caress her lips while he spoke. “No, Catherine, I would never deliver such brutal treatment to a captive.”
Her inquisitiveness wasn’t satisfied. “But such treatment has been utilized by other pirates?”
“The more demented ones.”
Catherine attempted another question but Lucian pressed his finger to her lips forcing her silence. “Enough. I would much rather discuss Dirty Dunbar.”
Catherine smiled and Lucian reluctantly dropped his finger from her lips.
“He smelled?” she asked, anxious to hear the tale.
“Atrocious.”
“He never bathed?”
“Not since the day he was born.”
Catherine laughed at his answer. “You’re fibbing.”
“I’m relating the tale as it was told to me.”
“Many an old tale has been embellished.”
“Are you insinuating that I’m a liar?” he asked with a sly smile.
“No,” she laughed softly, “though you are a gifted tale teller.”
“Thank you,” he said with a slight bow of his head. “Now if I may, I’d like to finish this tale before dawn breaks.”
“By all means,” Catherine agreed and snuggled her head into her pillow to comfortably listen to the story.
“Dirty Dunbar was short, round and possessed a robust aroma.”
Catherine giggled and kept her excited stare on Lucian.
He could almost feel the intensity of her deep green eyes; feel her thrill, her passion to hear his every word. And he gladly fulfilled her whim. “Men gave Dirty Dunbar a wide berth when he walked the streets and when he entered a room.” Lucian shook his head, adding a grave expression to dramatize the tale. “The men scurried out like panicked rats.”
Catherine was captivated by his every word.
“Dirty Dunbar took to the sea and was captured by pirates. He was given the choice of joining the motley crew or death. He chose to join the pirates. The pirates, none too familiar with soap and water themselves, gave Dirty Dunbar a warning. ‘Wash up or else.’ Dunbar didn’t heed their caution. The grumbling crew issued him another warning and another and another until—”