The Pirate Captain - By Kerry Lynne Page 0,25

that you are a lady by speech and carriage, in spite of your clever disguise,” he said dryly, rising behind her.

“Disguise,” she cried, spinning around. “You were the ones who—”

“Details,” he said, with a dismissive flutter of fingers. He circled, regarding her again as if she was prized livestock. “In spite of a sojourn at sea, you’ve the skin and teeth of a lady as well. Someone has paid dearly for your maintenance.”

“There’s no one.”

“Did your mother not teach you not to lie?”

Cheeks heating, she crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not lying. There’s—”

She was cut short at seeing his gaze drop to her hand.

“You wear a wedding ring,” he observed in a cunning tone.

“Please don’t take it.” She clutched her hand to her chest.

“Why would I do that?” he asked, his face screwing in puzzlement.

“You pirates take everything, don’t you?” She didn’t scruple uttering the word now, employing every bit of the loathing that boiled to the surface.

“Aye, that we do, but I can assure you one silver ring wouldn’t signify,” he said amiably, but then his tone hardened. “And I beg that you spare me the stuff-and-nonsense of you being the good Captain Whatever-His-Name’s wife.”

“I told you, there is no one.”

She bit her lip with the realization that with that succinct declaration, she might well have sealed her fate: by her own admission, she was worthless as a hostage. The list of possibilities of what might be done with her had just narrowed.

She looked into one of the gallery’s thick panes. The face looking back from amid a bramble of hair was that of a stranger: blank-eyed and haggard, a hag, no better than the beggars and whores who roamed the streets, someone to be used and abused with little regard. She felt the ship shift under her feet and the sails catch. Their momentum building, she watched the lights of the Constancy, and any hope of escape, fade into the twilight. With it, too, went her meager bag of possessions.

Everything was gone.

In spite of the quilt about her, a cold desolation settled over her. It was the final kick in the gut, Providence telling her once again that she was to have nothing…ever. Anything she ever managed to gain would be taken.

“What of your husband?” Blackthorne’s blurred reflection in the glass moved as he circled behind her.

She rolled the silver ring between her fingers. Ornate, yet simple, with small rosebuds twining over a latticework background, it was now all that was left. Clutching her hand to her chest, she closed her eyes in benediction of all she had lost.

“He’s gone,” she said dully.

“Gone? Gone, as in to another island? Or, gone as in…?”

“Gone, as in prison,” she cried. Spinning around, the quilt fell from her shoulders. “Gone, as in never to be seen again. Gone, as in I’m totally alone. Gone, as in there is not a single soul to know if I’m alive or dead!”

The weight of the day had taken its toll. Terror, battle, near drowning, and now captivity were all too overwhelming. Rage overcame sensibility. Squealing, she balled a fist and swung. He chuckled as he easily fended her off, infuriating her all the more. Fingers curled, she lunged, seeking to claw his throat, face…anything! Artfully dodging her attempts to knee him in the groin, he seized her wrists and pulled her against him. She screamed in anger more than fear.

“Quiet! Belay!” he hissed.

He pressed her face deeper into his shoulder, the pistol at his waist digging her ribs. Cate bucked against his body, lean and hardened by years at sea. Wrestling with her brothers had taught her how to fight; he flinched and grunted when her blows found their target. She felt a tug at the neck of her shift and heard the sound of fabric tearing.

Cate landed a solid kick to his knee and broke free. She leapt for the broad sill of the windows and hooked her fingers on the ledge, clinging to the slim chance of escape. Freedom was just below: a sea glittering in the starlight. The water was further down than she had imagined, but rational voices didn’t prevail. He dove after her and seized her by the waist, striving to pull her away. Her fingers burned, the joints tearing. She kicked out and knocked his leg out from under him. He sprawled on top of her, one arm trying to pull her back, the other reaching to break her hold. Failing at that, he grabbed her