A Kiss in the Wind (9 page)

Wasn’t there anything? If she had been there she would have fought tooth and nail to free Luc, even if she had to pay for it with her life.

“Come,” Blade said.

She was glad for the interruption. She couldn’t trust herself for what she might have said next.

“Let us return to my ship for supper. There we will eat, drink and talk of tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. For far too long, tomorrow held little promise. Although tomorrow would be a fine new day, Marisol was not ready for tonight to end.

* * *

Marisol sat at the captain’s table with the men as they discussed the plans for their hunt the next morning. Five of them gathered there, Captain Drake and his first mate, a brawny beast he called Valeryn, Blade, Willie and herself.

Blade thought it best she dine with his company, not as his guest, but to ensure she remained on board the
Rissa.
She had what she wanted. But she still had an obligation to return Blade’s cameo, and until she did, she remained under his custody.

Empty plates sat before them, nary a crumb left, and fresh tankards of ale had been poured. The smell of meat lingered in the air from their earlier feast of boiled chicken, potatoes and bread. The meal tasted hearty and satisfying, settling deep within her and making her fight a drowsy tug. When was the last time she felt full enough to want to curl up for a nap? She should consider stealing Henri away. He was a master cook fit for the kings.

Monte had not been allowed to dine with her in the captain’s quarters. However, she had a nice long stroll with him on deck before the meal. They reminisced about fairer times—as children gathering shells and crabs along the beach, their mother’s baked tarts, of adventures sailing with Alain. They talked of Luc and his mastery at swordsmanship. It must’ve been difficult for Monte to talk of their brother. He spoke little more of him, dodging any other subject about Luc, most notably, Luc’s death. That had been fine with her. Her grief had been reeled in. She controlled it now. But if Monte wavered and gave way to the hurt, she probably would, too.

Perhaps he wanted to spare her from his terrible ordeal, and time and again, he avoided retelling what had happened to him at Matanzas. She hadn’t an inkling of how he escaped the Spanish soldiers in the raid gone horribly wrong. Never mind. They were together once more. That was all that mattered.

Marisol looked about the cabin as she drank her ale. It was only a bit like what she expected from a pirate captain’s quarters. Functional but without the spoils of victories displayed throughout. Bookshelves secured books, maps and nautical instruments. Various painted lockers were pushed into available nooks, a small gilded mirror nailed to a post hung over a barrel and a peculiar painting of a naked woman embellished a wall. The most impressive piece in the room was the intricately hewn black desk. With a golden candelabrum casting a flickering glow on the matching set of scales and inkwell, the desk made a grand statement. Black hemp drapes were drawn, most likely hiding the bed Blade slept in. What wonders lay beyond those curtains? She would like to find out.

Licking her lips at the thought of the captain tangled up in the blankets of his bed, she set the tankard down. He sat across the table from her and she caught him staring on several occasions. Not that she minded. She’d sent him a coy smile, or two, herself. This night, he had given her more than anyone before him. He gave her comfort, friendship and a spicy kiss to top it off. She had done well in getting him to help find Monte, even if it was accidental.

Now she and Monte could return to Alain. Wouldn’t he be surprised? He’d be so thrilled with her and her relentless will, bringing Monte back. Especially with losing Luc and other crewmen to the gallows. She would be back in his good favor.

Yes, she owed much to Captain Tyburn.

“We’ll send the
Gloria
back to Santo Domingo.” Blade’s rich voice lured her away from her thoughts. “The three ships will sail together until we reach the Mona Passage.”

“Are you sure the
Sugar Lady
headed east?” Captain Drake relaxed in his chair, absently tapping the rim of his cup.

“Aye. A seaman on board pawning off pouches of tobacco mentioned to Willie, here, their next port of call to be San Juan.”

“Smugglers?”

“Perhaps.” Blade propped his leg up onto the table. “She’ll be going against the easterly trade winds and will have to tack across the passage. My waters.” He chuckled. “The
Sugar Lady
will be easy prey.”

“So you are wagering this mystery ship is making a quarry of the
Sugar Lady.
” Drake nodded his head slowly and smiled. “I like this. Hunting the hunter. Jolly good fun, my friend.”

“A glorious thing, to be a sea devil.” The room bellowed in laughter and the men raised their tankards high.

After they settled down, Blade continued. “Mr. Castellan can pilot the
Gloria
back to Windham.”

Monte? Why him? She just got him back.

“He can give Windham his account of what happened.”

“But Blade—”

“Not now, Marisol.” He set his cup down and leveled his stare at her. “We’ve already discussed this.”

“You can’t—”

“Enough.”

“What about—”

“You may excuse yourself from the table.”

She clamped her mouth shut. She’d learned long ago arguing with a bullheaded captain would do nothing more than blow hot air. Never argue in the company of men, either. A man doesn’t appreciate a woman criticizing him in front of his mates. Blade’s mates waited with stringent expressions, fully expecting she follow his orders.

She brooded. “Very well, Captain.”

“Willie, see Miss Castellan out,” Blade said. “Assign a man to her cabin.”

With his cameo gone, she was to fawn under his command. It would be a whimsy notion to think he would let her go with her brother. Obviously talking to him about it now was out of the question. No, she would need to take a different direction if she were to stay with Monte.

“Very well, sir.” She pushed off the arms of her chair, rising tall. “Gentlemen.” She inclined her head to the men and left.

* * *

Blade added a final detail to his log and replaced the white quill in the inkwell. Leaning back in his chair, he clasped his hands behind his head. Another long day. Exhaustion threatened to seep into his soul. But sleep remained a stranger. He hadn’t had a true night’s rest since, ah, well, it didn’t matter. A few winks would be enough. It always had been.

Thoughts of Marisol wandered forward, sending missing silver and ghost ships evaporating to the back of his mind. The bonny lass sure had a go of it that day. He admired her for all that strength she shouldered. He had a special affinity for strong women. Especially those with overmodest smiles and eyes that batted at him during supper. Remaining focused on the business at hand had been a real challenge. He kept finding himself wanting to kiss her lips again. At least now, he could let her be the fetching obsession in his brief dreams.

He rose from his desk and stripped his tunic from his body. A muffled knock tapped at his cabin door. Who would disturb him at this hour?

“Enter.”

When she stepped through the threshold, he silently cursed. Having Marisol in his dreams would be a pleasure. But having her come to his quarters to argue about her brother…well, that didn’t sit well with him at all. Couldn’t she wait until the morning to fence him? He would have a harsh word for the fellow guarding her quarters. If she hadn’t incapacitated him permanently.

“Sorry to disturb you, Captain.”

“As am I.” He shook his head, instantly feeling bad about his curt tone. “My apologies, Marisol.” He moved around the desk and motioned for her to close the door. “What can I do for you?”

“I am looking for relief,” she said.

“Oh?” This could get interesting.

“I understand if you feel I am stepping over any boundaries but my curiosity is eating me alive.”

Curiosity? I’ve a bit of my own.
“Go on.”

“Your cameo. Its value undoubtedly pales to what meaning it holds for you. Please. Tell me what secrets it keeps. Tell me why you would torture me for it.”

She had come to him to inquire about his cameo?

“Torture? Dear lady, I believe you’ve toppled too much drink tonight. I’ve shown you leniency. Besides, I reserve my torment for when it behooves me most.”

“Please, Blade.” She closed the distance between them. “I must understand why I’m being kept from my brother. I’ll be happy to return the damned thing to you, if you’ll just tell me why it is so important.”

“Why should I relieve your misery while I remain in mine?”

She sank down into a chair, dropping her hands into her lap. “You’re right. It’s just…I’ve just lost one brother.” She sniffled back her surfacing tears. “Getting Monte back, well, it would help if I knew the reason for giving him up so soon.”

Ah, that fleeting relief of peace. He knew well the euphoric end of suffering and how quickly the false sense of freedom could be replaced with something beyond horrendous. He knew suffering. More than she could ever know. Her blind madness on the gallows with Luc’s body was only the tip of what torment could be, but time would numb her loss. Blade was not about causing her more pain. He needed her to understand that his motives ran deep and that their arrangement was merely provisional, not like the lifetime of suffering he endured. He’d never have peace. But she would. Soon enough, she would.

He took a knee before her. “I was just a boy when I was taken from my home and sold off as a sailor to a savage master of a merchantman.” She raised her eyes to him, dams ready to burst. Oh how he hated to see a woman cry. He didn’t want to tell her about the cameo. It wouldn’t put her at ease. But then, he hadn’t been at ease since she stole it from him.

“He had many boys, all of us slaves. We worked long hours in the scorching sun, during dangerous squalls, among vile conditions. Disease ran rampant, as did abuse. We had to be tough. We had to learn quickly. If we didn’t, we died. Young boys were easy and cheap to come by.”

Sadness furrowed her brow. Her earlier claim of occasionally sailing had been falsified by the bow of her head. Aye, she knew of these hazards he spoke of. But he doubted it was firsthand.

“You speak of torture. You know nothing of torture.” He no longer saw Marisol, no longer sat with her. His mind whirled back to a dark place. The dank cell in the belly of that hellhole.

“He starved us. Deprived us of food, water, dignity. I had angered the master. I don’t recall what I had done. Only that he beat me and chained me in the bilge.”

The smell of human filth assaulted him as if he were still shackled to the rotten hull. He heard that familiar drip, that slow steady leak that had kept time with the unraveling of his sanity.

“Another boy was there,” he continued. “Starved just as I.” Few words had been spoken between them. It had been forbidden. “We grew feral in our hunger.”

“The master.” His cruel face flashed before him and he growled. “He thought to play with his lackey toys. He unshackled us, brought us on deck for entertainment.
His
entertainment. He held up a small loaf of bread. It had smelled so good. I had never wanted something more in my entire life than that one piece of bread.”

He swallowed the saliva that pooled in his mouth.

“We were to fight. Fight until we could fight no more. If we refused, we would both be tossed to the sea. The reward, the loaf of bread. Someone pushed him at me and I attacked. We fought, clawed, bit.” Cheering among the older men filled his ears. A glimpse of the master’s vicious guffawing forever seared into his mind.

“I managed to land him on his back. I sat on his chest and pummeled his face. Over and over I hit him.” Blood ran from the boy’s nose, his mouth. Red all over Blade’s knuckles, splattered across his shirt.

“He stopped blocking me, stopped moving. I had killed him.” No more cheers. The only sound had been his own heavy breathing. The master tossed the bread to him. He snatched up the loaf and devoured it, weevils and all. “Well done,” his master had laughed. “You’ve become a man, today.” It was then Blade had understood what he had done. Aye, from that day forward, his lot had been cast to a life of hell.

“The cameo had fallen out of the boy’s pocket. No one had seen it. But I had. I kept it. As a reminder of the beast I had become. To honor the boy’s life I’d taken. To never forget my deserved perdition.”

Marisol slid to kneel before him. Her beauty returned him to his cabin. He hadn’t realized he had sunk back on his knees to the floor. She placed her small hand to his cheek.

“I’m so sorry, Blade.” Tears flowed freely down her soft face. “I never should have taken it. I promise I will get your cameo back. I promise.”

Never had Marisol been sorry for stealing. The thought of an object meaning more to someone than for its coin value failed to ever cross her mind. Yet, Blade’s cameo pulled tight on the fiber of his soul. She might as well have stabbed him in the back in his sleep. How could she? Her own permanence crumbled under the weight of her shame. A simple flick of her hand and she had put his world in an upheaval. It was a wonder he’d shown her any kindness at all. Her heart ached to ease his pain.

His face warmed on her palm as he closed his eyes and leaned into it. He reached up to take her hand and placed a gentle kiss on the inside. Cupping her face with his other hand, he wiped at the tears streaming down her own cheek with the pad of his thumb. The intimate touch sent shivers down her spine.

“I shouldn’t have told you about the cameo.” He shook his head with his whispers.

“No. I needed to hear it. I’ve been selfish. I know that now.” She offered him a smile. He needn’t worry about her. She would be all right. “I did a terrible injustice to you. I will make things right.”

His green eyes captured her, held her fast. “Yes, you will.” Desire swirled in their emerald crystalline depths. Time seemed suspended. She couldn’t break free from their magical binds. When his gaze traveled down to her mouth, their pull loosened and she felt as if she’d lost something. Just as before, when she wished he would smile upon her with those sinful dimples, she longed for him to look at her again with that needful want.

Blade leaned in. His hand remained on her cheek and he still watched her mouth. His earthy scent filled her head. A heady aroma she inhaled deep. She lifted her face to him and met his lips. Tender at first. But then something she couldn’t identify flushed through her with such force it took her by surprise. Consumed with desire, she crushed into him as he grabbed her close.

Their kiss turned wild, rough. His tongue slashed through her mouth and she responded in urgent kind. She pulled herself into his lap and rubbed her hands against the bare flesh of his back, grabbing for him, pressing him even closer.

He shoved a hand into her hair and yanked her head back to expose her neck. His kisses burned along the sensitive column of her skin. She drew a ragged breath. And then another. The stubble encasing each kiss shot thousands of tiny arrows of arousal to every part of her body. She roared alive.

Moving up to her ear, he ran his tongue along the ridges. His hot breath tickled and she swore she would shatter from the excitable prickle spreading down below. “Oh dear God.” Her voice sounded distant, raspy. He delved his tongue in and then nipped her earlobe. She nearly unraveled.

A whimper escaped when he pulled away. He studied her. She hoped he could read her mind. Unabashed as her dirty thoughts were, she refrained from begging him to take her. At least not out loud.
Oh please, Blade. Do what you will, but please have me.

Peeling her from his lap, he stood. From her vantage, he towered over her. The dim light danced across the taut planes of his bare chest, parting in a ripple of magnificent muscle. Broad shoulders rounded into sinewy arms extended, to help her to her feet.

He cupped the back of her head and found his way to her neck again. Growling, his breath moistened the base of her throat in the recess above her collarbone. “Strip for me.” His words rumbled through her as the thunder would roll through swollen rain clouds. “Strip for me now.”

Music to her ears. “As you wish, Captain.” She could not deny him anything while he branded her with those searing full lips.

He stepped away and leaned against his fancy desk; to watch, to wait. A glow from the flames of the candlestick on the writing table permeated the shadows around him. An aura encircling a bronzed god. His golden hair swept across his shoulders and feathered along his face almost concealing his lust-laden gaze. He dipped his head for her to begin.

Crouching down, she retrieved the small hidden knife from under her pant leg. She held it up to show him she removed the threat then tossed it aside. Blade’s eyebrows shot up as she pulled out the second knife from her other leg. Handsome, he was, in his mild surprise. She suppressed a giggle when she stood to remove her last knife from under her waistband. Blade, however, appeared less amused.

He tilted his head, questioning her over more concealed weapons. She shook her head. No, she had no others.

Sliding out of her shoes, her feet touched the smooth, cool planks. She pulled the drawstring to her trousers and shimmied, letting them fall into a puddle at her feet. Blade’s gaze fastened on her bare legs. The shirt fabric brushed against her thighs, a stark reminder that she wore nothing underneath. Could he tell? He’d find out soon enough.

A twitch played at his mouth. He inclined his head for her to continue. Watching him observe her through a thick fog of desire endowed her with the courage to disrobe fully for him.

She crossed her arms and took the hem of her tunic up and over her head. Thick waves of hair fell soft, cascading down her back and coming to a rest on the rounded curve of her breasts. Was it the sudden rush of cool air or Blade running his tongue across his bottom lip that made her skin pucker into gooseflesh? Fingering the laces of her corset, she took care to be slow in slackening then removing the unyielding clothing.

Standing in all her glory for him, she might have felt intimidated, powerless. Instead, his seductive study of her body, his eyes raking ever so slowly over her breasts and dipping down to her juncture, empowered her. She straightened her back, just to give him a little more chest to look at.

Blade came forward. The desire that stiffened in the air became more solid. He brushed aside a tussock of hair covering one breast. Her nipple hardened in response to the strands whisking across its peak. He reached out, his hand spread wide over her breast. Fingers twitched as his hand hovered, ready to take hold. Her breath caught when he grasped her and she leaned into him, pushing forward against his hand. The pressure was painfully sweet with each careful squeeze.

He took her mouth again. She urged and cajoled, taking in little pants each time their lips parted. He moved down to take her breast into his mouth, suckling her. The sensation raced down to her buzzing core. His hand slid down her back to her buttock. With fingers callused and domineering, he caressed the crease above her thigh as he cupped her. She uttered a sweeping sigh, arching farther into him.

The rough strain in his trousers grated against the naked flesh of her belly. The texture heightened her awareness that he remained clothed. That would not do.

She planted her palms on his chest and pushed him back. He groused his displeasure from being refused. A wanton smile she could hardly contain slipped across her mouth. “Your turn,” she said on a breathy moan. “Now you must strip for me.”

Chuckling low, he pursed his mouth, contemplating her proposal. “No.”

“No?”
He has brought me all this way to deny me?
She must have pouted for he chuckled again.

“That’s right. No.” A most larkish grin snuck in the impressions of his dimples. “I want
you
to undress me.”

Heat flushed throughout her, stoking the flames of raging need out of control. What a wicked demand. One she would relish.

She placed her hand on his firm stomach, slowly dragging her fingertips down, following the dark flaxen trail of hair disappearing below his waistband. Breathing quickened as she loosened the tie of his breeches. Was it his breath or hers? She couldn’t be sure. His skin felt smooth as she slipped her hands to the narrow of his hips. Tucking her thumbs over the fabric, she rubbed her open palms down his powerful legs, pulling his trousers down with them. He hissed as he sprang free and she continued her descent until the breeches loosened from the breadth of his thighs, falling the rest of the way to the floor. Much farther down and she would be eye-level with his stretching member. She stared at it for one moment. Saint’s blood, he was magnificent. Thrusting high and proud, she craved to touch him but dared not. Wielding a sword as aggressively large as he was bound to be dangerous.

Rising, she arched in close to his body, lightly brushing her nipples along his hardened chest. She reached his lips and planted a languid kiss to his open mouth.

Blade moaned. “A lusty one, aren’t you?”

“I prefer hot-blooded.” She could kiss him like that until morning. Quite possibly even longer.

“Let’s see how hot-blooded you are.”

In fluid motion, he moved to the curtain screening his sleeping quarter and yanked the heavy drape back. She hardly noticed his bed lacking the plush pillows and soft coverings such as in her own cabin. No, the window his bed jutted against ensnared her. It must be beautiful to lie there at night with the sea below as a mattress and the stars shining their endless sparkling lights as the blanket.

He turned to her and, quite sudden, she knew she was prey. Scooping her up, he tossed her to the bed. She rose to her elbows and almost protested to being thrown around like a child’s rag doll. Almost. Perched with his knee on the edge of the mattress, his primal gaze boring into her, she burned for him. She burned hot for the feel of his rough hands handling her. She wanted to relinquish her control to him, for him.

He crawled across her, wedging himself between her legs, pinning her beneath him. His weight settled upon her, comfortable and moist, and he ravished her body with enchanting kisses. Made barbaric by his torturous lips, she caressed his back, his arms, his shoulders, and any exposed part of him she could reach in a frantic need to touch him, to mold to him.

Nipping, mauling her breasts, the pain he inflicted sent ruptures of liquid heat pooling between her thighs. Her whimpers rose with each sharp pinch of his fingers and teeth.

One punishing hand rummaged down her side, pausing long enough to squeeze her hip and then moved to her hammering center. He stroked her there. His fingers were brutal, raking up and drawing down across her soft sheath. Her body responded uproariously as she lifted herself to take in more.
Please, more.

Lower he took his kisses, down, down, to her throbbing mound.
Mother of Heaven.
His tongue flicked and swirled within her pulsating folds. Never had she felt such delirium. Her head spun in dizzying circles and her rhythmic breathing gave way to uneven gasping. He drove her mad.

“Blade…”

A swell of sensation whirled with the friction of his relentless tongue. Building, churning, she grabbed a fistful of his hair. What sweet death he brought her. She seized, squeezing her thighs, lifting her buttocks from the bed to clutch into his mouth, the crest of throes spilling over in wave after wave of spasms. She rose into a void of sheer pleasure only to sink helpless into his sheets.

“Mmm.” Blade slipped his way up her body. “Delicious.”

His lips tasted warm and smelled musky as she rewarded him with a kiss, deep and appreciative.

She wanted to take him to the same wondrous place he had taken her. A precious gift she intended to share. Slipping her hand to reach for him pressed solid against her belly, he grabbed her wrist.

“No.” Something mischievous clouded his countenance.

He sat up and reached for the candelabra sitting on his desk. Plucking out a candlestick, he returned to straddle her. His corded legs tucked next to her hips and his rigid length remained at full attention. But the flickering flame of the candle held her mesmerized. And as she looked past the yellow flare to his bold grin, she squirmed in uncertainty.

“Have I brought you pleasure?”

She nodded. More than any man before him.

“Will you trust me?”

Glancing at the candle, she had no idea what she should trust him to do. What could he mean to do with the little fire stick? His smirk dared her with a reply. She doubted her actual answer mattered. She nodded again.

He grabbed her head, lifted her up to smother her with a torrid kiss. Letting her back down to his pillow, he cupped her face and rubbed his splayed hand down her throat and the middle of her chest to rest below the rise of her breasts.

“It will burn, but only for a moment.”

Burn? What did he mean?

Blade tilted the candle to let droplets of melted wax slide down the side of the stick and drip into the valley of her chest. She yelped as the heat seared her skin. The burn, it felt…remarkable. A devilish pleasure broiled deep within her core and she shivered with the hot chills of the initial singe blending with the seething heat of his palm caressing, groping at her flesh. Dear Lord. How could something so painful bring such intense enjoyment?

“Aye,” he said. “You like that, don’t you?”

She succumbed to his rich voice, writhing under him. “More.”

His throaty laugh accompanied another dose of wax. She cried out as it ran down her side before cooling. Gripping at his knee with one hand, she pulled at her hair with the other. Mad. She would go mad. His free hand continued to knead her body. Still, he poured more wax on her, bringing her to begging. He sprinkled it closer to her nipple. She yipped with the sting on her tender skin. She had known no pleasure such as what he doled. She fought back tears of dire abandonment.

“You’ve had enough, dove.”

Snuffing the candle flame with his fingers, he tossed the spent stick to his desk.

“Please, Blade. Haven’t you tortured me enough? Won’t you have me?”

She shrank into the bed from his grin. He descended upon her, raining her with more lascivious kisses.

“I’ve wanted you from the moment you fell on me.” He ran his hand down her thigh and nudged her to open for him.

She did as he bade, no longer wanting to play with his fire. She inhaled him, breathing in as much of him as she could take. He smelled of brimstone. And why wouldn’t he, the devil.

He growled in her neck as he eased himself into her. She tensed but as she stretched for him and fastened down around him, she felt full. He edged out then pushed back in and she lifted her hips to meet him. He picked up his rhythm. Wanting more, needing more, she rocked up burying him as deep as she could make him go. She dug her fingers into the curvature of his back, taking in all of him.