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Excerpt...
There was a laughing Devil in
his sneer,
That raised emotions both of rage and fear;"
Lord
Byron, "The Corsair: Canto I"
"Avast matey!"
Black Heart woke
from a peace-filled sleep with the pressure of cold steel at his neck
and the voice of an angel ringing through his ears. Holding his breath
lest the steel pierce his skin, he cracked open his unpatched eyelid and
saw Casey’s tiny hands struggling to hold the cutlass she’d stealthily
stolen from his scabbard.
Bloody hell! If
he’d known this was the thanks he’d get for thinking more about the
woman and child than his own plans for revenge, he’d have sailed during
the night instead of waiting for morning, when he could take the
castaways with him. There was no doubt he’d lost his senses at the same
time he’d lost his ship.
Now a wee bit of
a thing with the cunning of a panther had taken him--reputedly the most
illusive pirate to sail the seas--captive. He’d laugh, but he didn’t
find his current situation humorous. If the blade slipped from the
child’s fingers . . .
Damn! That was a
possibility he didn’t want to consider.
Nervously he
smiled, and eased into a nonchalant conversation with his captor. "And a
good day to you, Mistress Casey."
"Don’t move. I
don’t want you to disappear again."
"‘Tis not my
intention to move, child. As you can see, I’m perfectly content to lie
here on the sand." At least until he could retrieve his cutlass. "Pray
tell, is it your intention to skewer me with my own blade?"
The girl’s eyes
narrowed, and the heavy sword trembled in her hands, making a zigzag
pattern merely an inch above his neck.
"I don’t want you
to go away. I want my mommy to see you."
"And what of your
father? Is he on the island?"
"My Daddy’s
dead!"
God forbid, he
hadn’t wanted or expected to hear those words.
"I’m sorry."
"I heard Mommy
tell my Aunt Evie that the man who killed him went to hell."
"A more fitting
place was never created for murderers." ‘Twas just the place he wanted
to send Thomas Low.
Slowly he raised
a hand and touched his index finger to the broad side of the blade, but
Casey held the sword firmly in place.
"Is it your
belief that I should be in hell, too?" he asked.
"Are you a
murderer?"
"What do you
think?"
"You don’t look
too mean."
"Ah, but looks
are often deceiving. After all, who would ever expect a pretty little
girl like you to take me captive? Why, even I find it difficult to
believe that you could have stolen my cutlass while I slept."
"It was easy. You
were snoring."
"I have been
accused of much in my life, but never that. I did not wake your mother,
did I?"
"Casey!"
The child jumped
as the woman’s voice rang through the air, and the tip of the blade
grazed his skin.
He gritted his
teeth at the sudden pain. Only a scratch, he assured himself. He’d
experienced much worse, but he could still feel the sting of the open
wound, could feel a trickle of blood running down his neck.
Tears sprang from
the child’s eyes as she gaped at the cut. "I didn’t mean to hurt you,"
she cried, shaking her head right along with the cutlass. "I’m sorry.
I’m sorry."
"Give me the
cutlass, Casey," he said softly but firmly, stretching out his hand.
"But you’ll go
away."
"Nay," he said
with more calm than he felt. "I give you my word. I will not go anywhere
without you and your mother."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
Reluctantly,
Casey stepped back, and Black Heart pushed up from the ground, taking
the jeweled hilt from the child’s hands.
"Casey!"
In the span of a
heartbeat, Black Heart watched the woman emerge from behind a wall of
cypress and palm and saw her eyes widen in fear, then narrow in rage.
She streaked across the sand and dove into his chest with the full force
of her body, knocking both of them to the ground.
The cutlass slid
from his fingers as the woman threw a fist toward his face. He turned
his head just in time to keep her from connecting with his nose, but
felt her knuckles slam into his temple, the same place he’d taken the
blow on Satan’s Revenge.
What godforsaken
thing had he done to deserve the wrath of the child and now the woman?
he wondered. Bloody hell, he should have left without them, but he’d let
an ounce of long-forgotten compassion work its way out of his stone cold
heart.
Somehow he found
the strength to fight back, but it was difficult given the fact that the
woman had straddled his stomach and was alternately beating his chest
and slapping his face. If she wasn’t such a firebrand, he might take
pleasure in admiring the view of her breasts swaying with each stroke to
his body.
There was no time
for admiration, though--not while she had the upper hand. He had to gain
control. In one swift move he wrapped an arm around her slender waist
and rolled her to the sand, laughing at the anger in her flaming green
eyes.
"Take your hands
off of me or I’ll . . . I’ll . . ."
He never saw her
move, never felt the jerk of her knee until it hit his groin, not quite
on center, but close enough. Pain ripped through him, and another bout
of godforsaken nausea, but still he kept his hold on her arms, and
pressed the length of his body against hers so she couldn’t move again.
"Dammit, woman!
Do you mean to unman me?"
"I mean to kill
you," she spit out, the force and truth of her words hitting him square
in the face.
"What did you do
to my daughter?"
"I have done
nothing to the child."
"You were
pointing a sword at her. She was crying."
The woman
struggled, but he was twice her size, making it impossible for her to
escape. He refused to let her go until she saw reason--or at least,
realized that the blood from his neck was dripping onto her chest.
"Get off of me,"
she moaned, but all he did was move closer, looking her eye to eye.
"Give me one good
reason."
The child
screamed, and that was reason enough.
Black Heart spun
around to see Casey holding the cutlass again, and his only thought was
that she’d injured herself on the blade.
Dear God, let her
be unharmed, he silently prayed.
Shoving away from
the hellish woman, he quickly, carefully retrieved the cutlass from
Casey’s hands and stuck it into its scabbard.
The girl screamed
again, and giant tears flowed from her big, bright blue eyes.
Bloody hell!
"Stop crying!" he
demanded in frustration, then swept the child up into his arms and
smoothed a curly strand of hair from her tear-dampened cheek.
Half a moment
later, the she-devil lunged at his back. "Get your filthy hands off my
daughter."
She clawed his
skin, and he could feel her nails through his coat and the linen of his
shirt.
"Stop it, woman,"
he yelled, holding on to the girl with one arm, trying to pull the
mother’s fingers from his neck with the other. "‘Tis not my intention to
harm the child."
"Then let her
go."
He could see the
child’s lips puckering as she looked at her mother over his shoulder.
"Mommy, I hurt . . . I hurt . . ."
"Let her go, damn
you!" the woman screamed, striking him once more in the temple.
"Blast it, wench!
‘Tis me who is injured, not the child."
He whipped around
quickly, unbalancing the woman as he moved. Her hands ripped free from
his clothes, and he watched with a grin as she stumbled backward and
landed on her backside in the sand.
"Damn you!" she
sputtered, scrambling up from the ground.
Without thought,
he drew his cutlass and held her off. "Stand back, woman. I mean the
child no harm. And if you will keep your infernal hands off me, I’ll not
harm you, either."
"You’ve already
hurt her. She’s bleeding, can’t you see?"
"‘Tis me who’s
bleeding!" he bellowed, wondering when his words would penetrate her
skull. "She sliced my throat, and I do believe she came damn near to
cutting off my head."
"I’m sorry,
Mommy. I was only playing," Casey cried. "You have to fix the cut.
Please."
The woman stared
at him for the longest time with pursed lips and angry eyes. Her gaze
traveled to his neck, to the child, and to the blade he was holding
between them.
Slowly he
sheathed the cutlass. He’d never drawn a blade on a woman before. But
he’d never met a woman from whom he’d had to protect himself.
She stepped
forward, yanked Casey from his arms, and set the child firmly on the
ground, then moved protectively in front of her. He could see her fists
clench at her sides. Her stern face was frozen like the masthead on one
of Her Majesty’s ships. God but she was beautiful--in spite of her
anger.
"Were you
planning to steal my boat?"
"The thought had
crossed my mind."
"I suppose you
were going to steal my daughter, too?"
"I beg your
pardon, madam, but I’m here because I mistakenly thought you might need
my help. As for your daughter, she accosted me, not the other way
around. Now, if you’ll stop blustering like a sea hag, we can get off
this blasted island."
"You can stay on
this blasted island. We’re leaving."
"I thought you
might tend to my wound."
"I’d rather see
you dead."
"You and a
hundred others, madam. Perhaps you’ll get your wish if I continue to
bleed."
"My wishes rarely
come true, so I doubt you’ll die."
Without taking
her eyes off of him, she picked up the child, then stormed away from the
clearing, like the hurricane that had whipped across the island
yesterday.
What an
impertinent, infuriating woman, thinking she could just walk away and
leave him behind.
He followed in
her wake, taking full advantage of the view before him. She had shapely
legs, not too long, not too short, nicely rounded hips, trim waist, and
from what he remembered, she had a bosom that would pleasantly fill both
of his hands.
She was carrying
the child through the water when he reached the shore. He would have
carried them both had she waited, but she was in too big a hurry to get
away from him.
Without so much
as a thank you for staying behind or for getting her vessel back into
the sea, she waded bosom deep, until they reached the ladder suspended
over the side, and climbed into the boat after her daughter.
He stood on the
beach, legs spread wide, his arms folded across his chest. "Is it your
intention to leave without me?" he called out over the gently rolling
waves.
"You got here of
your own accord. I suggest you find your own way off the island."
"Would you leave
me here to starve?"
"I don’t give a
damn what happens to you. You tried to kidnap my daughter."
"Must I argue
that point yet again?"
"Mommy." He heard
the child’s soft wail. "You can’t leave him here. He might die, and I’m
the one who hurt him."
The woman looked
briefly at his neck--a cause of little concern to her, he was sure. She
frowned at the weapons he had tucked into his belt, and then her eyes
traveled to the scar on his face, the patch on his eye.
The girl tugged
on her arm. "Please, Mommy."
"I don’t want
that man anywhere near us," she muttered to the child. The woman ignored
him completely, and set about hauling in the anchor.
It had taken him
a year to get off the island the first time he’d been marooned there,
and he’d be damned if he’d let her leave him stranded again.
Invitation or
not, he was getting on that boat.
Wading quickly
through the water, he hoisted himself up the ladder and onto the vessel
before the woman had raised the sail.
She jerked around
and glared at him. "Get off my boat."
He folded his
arms over his chest and shook his head, an action that seemed to anger
her more than mere words.
She lunged,
striking his stomach with her shoulder, and before he could push her
away, she’d wrested his dagger from his belt and pointed it at his
belly.
"Get off my
boat."
"I will go
nowhere, Madame, lest I go with you. Argue and sputter as you wish, but
it will serve no other purpose than to fuel your anger and strain your
throat."
Her blessed bosom
rose and fell with the deepness of her sigh.
"Well, you’re not
staying on this boat as long as you’ve got that arsenal strapped around
you." She held out the hand that wasn’t holding the dagger to his
middle. "Give me the rest of your weapons."
"I will not."
He grinned.
Her jaw
tightened.
"All right," she
said through tightly clenched teeth. "You can ride back to St. Augustine
with us. But, so help me, if you put one hand on my daughter or me, I’ll
run you through with your very own blade."
He laughed, stuck
a finger against the flat edge of the dagger and pushed it away from his
stomach.
Settling against
the cabin, he folded his arms across his chest and winked at the
scowling lady.
"Sail away,
madam. ‘Tis a most pleasant and entertaining voyage I am looking forward
to."
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