Under the Lash (6 page)

She nodded with duly noted reluctance.

“I’m going to remove your gag, but you are to speak only when spoken to. I don’t want to hear a lot of nonsense begging from you, and I certainly won’t tolerate any screaming or carrying on, either.” He saw the wild, frightened look in her eyes, and considered that her fear might be his best ally, as well as hers. “Screams and cries only excite the crew, anyway,” he added pointedly as he reached behind her head to remove the gag, then unbound her ankles and helped her stretch her legs out.

He hadn’t left her for very long, but being yanked wide apart like that and hoisted up quite unnaturally might well have caused her cramping, and at the very least it would have left her sore and stiff. With her wrists still bound to posts on either side of her head, he reached under her skirts to massage the screaming muscles on the insides of her thighs, listening to the way she alternately sighed in pure bliss then, as if she’d come to her senses for a moment, tried to jerk her limb away from him, not that he allowed it, taking several moments to wallop those tender insides very hard with the flat of his hand.

She didn’t make any further attempts to move them, and he could see how hard she was trying to suppress her sensual pleasure at his ministrations. He grinned at the fact that she was having much more success at that than she did when his fingers were buried in her quim.

Then he reached up to free her hands, surprising her by using her far wrist to pull her over onto her stomach. Cassie looked back at him in alarm.

“Had you already forgotten that I promised to spank you before every meal and again at bedtime today?” he asked, the flat of his hand already biting into her, her sensitivity already at an excruciating pitch before he’d delivered even three hefty swats to her behind.

She had a horrible time trying to suppress the moans and out and out screams she wanted to let loose at the atrocious tattoo he was beating out on her bum, but she recalled vividly what he had said – and done – in regards to the crew and how they enjoyed a woman’s distress filled cries, so instead she reached for one of the pillows to scream into, and that only seemed to incite him further.

Both of them were thoroughly exhausted by the time he stopped, and her bottom was horribly mottled red and nearly purple in some spots from the results of the multiple spankings he had delivered today.

And, according to him, she could look forward to more of the same for the foreseeable future.

“All right, then, let’s get some food into you.”

Cassie allowed herself to be guided to the table, but instead of him pulling out her chair as she expected, he tugged his own out then pulled her into a seated position perched precariously on his knee, facing him. He’d even gone so far as to make sure that her skirts were draped around his leg, so that she had no choice but to press her bareness against the rough material of his pants, feeling every movement of her own – as well as his – right directly on that spot he’d insisted on worrying into almost painful sensitivity.

Cassie was surprised and horrified to realize just how quickly – even after a very thorough punishment – that part of her awakened again to almost the same fever pitch she had been at when he’d left her bound and splayed on the bed. And try as she might, she couldn’t seem to ignore it. There seemed to be a curious – and alarming – mixture within her body of the pleasure she was feeling from the hard length of him beneath her spread legs and the stingy ache of her backside which her body reminded her of, too, with every little movement.

He served himself generously from the platter of ham, cheese, and coarse white bread, laying a veritable spread on the plate in front of them, then pouring a primitive mug of ale and a beautiful silver tankard of what she recognize by the smell as rum.

But before he allowed either of them to eat one morsel, though, he startled her by grabbing the collar of her dress and ripping it violently down the front, then did the same with the chemise beneath, rendering her almost as naked on top as she was beneath her skirts.

Cassie’s hand came up to stop him automatically, but hovered there indecisively when he caught her eye with a warning look.

He kissed her bright, rosy cheeks almost tenderly while ordering in a hoarse, stern tone that belied that tenderness as a figment of her imagination, “Clasp your hands in your lap and don’t move them again or you’ll think the rest of today’s attentions were merely love pats.”

She sucked in her breath at that pronouncement and did exactly as she was told. Tears welled up and overflowed down her bright cheeks, but she didn’t want him to see them, so she kept her head down, her hair falling like a curtain between them before he used his big fingers to brush it back.

Anjel could see the dark splotches of her tears on his pants, but decided not to make anything of it. The sooner she accepted her fate, the easier it would be for her. He presented a good sized piece of sharp cheddar to her, and she dutifully opened her mouth.

“What’s your name?” he asked quietly.

He was pleasantly surprised when she waited until she’d swallowed before she answered him. Manners like that were rare in common women. “Cassandra Solange Con– ”

“That’s enough, Cassie. My name is Anjel, but you are to refer to me as Sir, when you’re given permission to speak.” He didn’t really care to know much beyond her first name. He was certainly never going to meet her father, not that he was particularly worried about the idea that the gentleman would call him out in a duel over his daughter’s honor even if he did. The idea was absolutely preposterous.

Her head tipped down again and he could hear her snuffling through her hair until he lifted her chin with his finger. “Am I that unpleasant to look at?” he asked teasingly.

Unfortunately, he was not. It would have been much easier to hate an ogre, but although he acted the part, he didn’t look it in the least. The truth was that she found him too damned good looking, but she wasn’t about to let him know that.

Even in these dire straits, Cassie couldn’t let the opportunity to prick his ego a bit go by without comment. “I
suppose
not, if one likes an unprincipled, lawless man who preys upon innocent women, Sir.”

She saw his jaw clamp shut, and even this early in their relationship she was learning that that was not a good sign. “I was asking for your assessment of my looks, not my character.”

“And are you so lacking in self–confidence that you would ask your captive to give her opinion and also expect her to say anything but exactly what you want to hear for fear of physical reprisal, Sir?”

Damned the woman for the shrew that she was! She even managed to make the name “sir” sound like an insult! She had one of the sharpest tongues he’d ever encountered. Few people on this Earth would address him so, and she was the lowest of the low, and therefore, supposedly, if she had half a mind, the least likely of all of them to want to stir his ire.

Especially considering the already dreadful condition of her backside.

After offering her several more slices of both ham and cheese, as well as a couple good bites of well buttered bread, and ale she swallowed gratefully this time, although not without a grimace, he asked, “Where are you from? Your accent certainly isn’t that of a San Miguel native.”

“I’m from England. Holtshire, to be specific, Sir.”

“Isn’t that fairly far up north, near the border?”

“Yes, it is, Sir.” She wasn’t sure whether she should be pushing to tell him the truth about who she was – an Earl’s daughter – or if that information was more likely to get her killed outright or ransomed and then killed or something of that alarming sort. He certainly looked Spanish, and Spain was no friend of the English, in any matter, although his speech was extremely cultured and he spoke with no trace of a Spanish accent. He was a puzzle, but not one she was much interested in solving.

He was becoming intrigued, wanting to find out more about her background, but just then they were rudely interrupted when Rory burst through the door with what was apparently such a hot commodity in his hands that he then proceeded to place directly in front of him while Cassie spent the entire time trying to hold the four pieces of clothing she’d been left with in the front together, lest he – or anyone else – see more than she would prefer.

But that just got the backs of her hands slapped and a warning look that had her dropping her hands and her eyes to her lap.

“Cook made a pudding for you out of the berries we found on that last place we...uh... explored.” He meant “raided” but didn’t want to say it in front of Anjel’s guest.

“Thank you, but you needn’t have hand delivered it, you know,” Anjel commented wryly, under absolutely no illusions as to why Rory had suddenly appeared at his door bearing gifts.

And if he elbowed his Captain any harder while ogling Cassie as if she were the dessert he much preferred to any sweet, he was going to find himself flat on the floor with several teeth missing in short order.

Anjel sighed, but complied with Rory’s unspoken request. “Robert Alexander Charles Louis Ashcroft, son of the Earl of Ashcroft, First Mate of the Devil’s Pursuits, meet Cassandra Solange, etc, etc, late of San Miguel but born in Holtshire, England.”

Anjel had to give it to him. When Rory committed, he committed all the way. His only somewhat younger friend straightened to attention, then executed a bow worthy of an audience with a Queen, much less a small town trollop, taking her extended hand and making an elaborate show of kissing the back of it.

At least his extravagant manner had her lifting her head, but it usually set most common women blushing and giggling like schoolgirls, but Cassie merely nodded and seemed to accept it as her due, not even gracing the handsome blonde with a shadow of a smile.

Anjel, in this instance, found himself rooting for Cassie and her distinctly cool demeanor. “I think you’ve been put in your place, Rory. She’s the first woman I’ve ever seen – highborn or low – who managed to remain entirely unmoved by your show of outrageous manners. Aren’t they usually groveling at your feet by now, begging for your favors?”

For her part, Cassie found the beautiful blonde very attractive and his lighter, happier manner quite soothing, especially in comparison to his friend’s brooding and brutal tendencies. But she wasn’t managing very well at handling the one she seemed stuck with, and she had no interest in trying to entice another of these strange pirates to her side, despite how angelic this one looked – and acted – in comparison. Although she didn’t completely dismiss the idea of perhaps doing something to get on his good side so that perhaps he might be of assistance in getting away from the Captain.

Rory’s blazing smile remained undimmed. “No doubt she’s intimidated by you and your oafish manners.” He flopped down in the other seat at the table without having been invited.

“Do join us, Rory,” Anjel murmured sarcastically.

“Thank you. I believe I will.” He began to serve up the pudding, hot and soft, rife with berries of an indeterminate origin. “Pudding?” he asked.

Cassie gratefully slipped off his knee, then turned to his friend, dropping into a beautiful curtsey in front of him – paying no account to the fact that doing so also presented the thoroughly startled man with a view of her beautifully – if primitively – framed bosom and saying with only the slightest touch of sarcasm herself, “It was very nice to meet you, Mr. Ashcroft.” She wasn’t sure what the proper term of address was; if she should call him First Mate Ashcroft, or Sir or what.

Rory snapped to his feet in front of her, assisting her up as he replied in all sincerity, “The pleasure was entirely mine, Miss Cassandra.”

Anjel had had just about enough of their mutual admiration society. “Bed, Cassie. Before I change my mind about whether or not I should reprimand you in front of my friend.”

She fairly sprinted to the relative safety of his huge bed – wishing desperately that she had another less revealing outfit to change into, but she had no idea where her bag had ended up – while the men continued to speak, sotto voce. Even though she pricked up her ears and did her best to listen in on their conversation, she was only able to pick out a very few words, none of which seemed to mean anything when she strung them together in her mind.

Soon – much too soon as far as Cassie was concerned – Rory got up to leave, hesitating a moment at the door and looking past his friend to the bed, as if he would say something more to her but loyalty – and perhaps not a small amount of fear for his physical safety – prevented him from doing so. But then he seemed to remember all of a sudden that he was carrying what remained of the dessert in a hot pot and dashed out the door without another glance at either of them.

Cassie was doing her level best to ignore the fact that they were now alone in the Captain’s quarters again, and she was getting a sense of just exactly what that would mean to her, and she didn’t like it one bit. She feigned sleep, lying on her side, of course – not interested in the least in letting her weight rest on her poor abused backside – but she kept one eye slitted opened enough that she could see him lock the door from the inside, then replace the key back where it belonged – on the long gold chain he kept about his neck. She wondered why he locked the door sometimes but didn’t others. Was his crew really that untrustworthy, or was he going to go to sleep and he didn’t trust her not to try to escape as he slumbered?

Smart man on both counts, she reckoned.

Finally, after a few more short stops about the room, he stood at the end of the bed, saying in that impossibly deep voice, “I know you’re not asleep, Cassie. Take your clothes off.”