Betrayed (22 page)

Eighteen of his twenty-two crew were on deck, hauling on the ropes to bring down the mizzen sail and throwing out the grappling hooks to keep them in place while the anchor was being lowered.

Krayne had already wasted more than enough time. He untied one of the sturdy ropes that fettered the mainmast to the bow and coiled the end about his palm as he walked back across the forecastle. In a running leap, he cleared the deck, using the high railing to project himself further into the air and across the narrow strip between the two ships. He came down on the
Glory’s
deck with a thud that was witnessed by Graham Douglas and his motley crew of six.

Feet apart, arms folded, the Douglas captain greeted Krayne’s pirate antics with a dour, “Ye need but have asked and I’d have dropped a skiff ta fill with yer boarding party.”

Krayne was not in the mood for their usual jesting.

“Where is she?” he demanded, already making his way to the hatch.

He knew this particular design of caravel. As he progressed along the single passageway below deck, he kicked open two doors. Then there was but one remaining where the passage ended. He didn’t bother knocking or trying the brass knob. He rammed straight through and the flimsy door didn’t so much as break his stride.

Amber stood ramrod straight by the porthole and her woman huddled on the berth.

“Come ta me,” he barked in a voice colder than death, planting his feet where he’d landed and fixing his wife with a glare that dared defiance.

She defied.

He should have known.

Then again, he hadn’t had one coherent thought since he’d docked at Annan. He held on to his control by a tenuous thread, and vowed that thread would not break, for the consequences would damn his soul and no woman was worth that.

Her eyes were wide, her face ashen in the flickering tallow candlelight. Not one bone in his body softened to her plight. The haphazard braid that hung over one shoulder and the bedraggled gown that hugged her fragile form like a second skin only hardened his resolve. That he had to close the distance between them, close his fingers around her wrist like an iron shackle and drag her out, sliding across the planks, did not bode well for that tautly stretched thread.

“I can walk,” she cried as he yanked her down the passage.

“I’m not stopping ye.” She could just as easily run behind him as slide along.

“Release me.” She pried at his fingers with her free hand.

He kept his eyes on the hatch with dogged determination and ignored Amber. At the ladder, he swung her forward, put his hands at her waist and heaved her up so high that she need only start her climb on the fourth rung. He followed closely. If she thought to scamper as soon as she reached the deck, he never gave her the opportunity. His fingers latched her wrist and dragged her with him toward the rope he’d secured for their return.

Amber squealed and kicked and clawed. The deck was barely lit and made the going treacherous with loose planks and excess rigging that begged to trap a boot. His fingers tightened at her wrist when she attempted to pull him off balance.

“Devil take it, Krayne. What in hell are ye doing?”

Silver eyes glinted to the left. “Leave be, Graham.”

“Yer hurting the lass.”

“She’s hurting herself,” he countered, as much for Amber’s ears as for Graham’s.

“Ye’ll snap her arm.”

The implication that he’d brutalise his wife in such a manner threatened that meagre thread. “’Tis naught ta do with ye.”

Graham unsheathed the sword he’d fetched while Krayne had gone below. One look into his friend’s soulless glare and he’d doubted every word he’d reassured Amber with. Pulling sail and pitting these two against each had been his worst idea to date. “I promised the lass safe passage, even if I have ta protect her from ye.”

Krayne’s jaw locked in stone when he saw the flash of steel. His gaze burned into the other man’s as he released Amber and closed the gap between himself and that blade with menacing intent. “My wife is mine ta do with as I please.”

“Yer…wife?” Neither the dark nor his golden tan could hide Graham’s sudden loss of colour.

Swinging his arm in one mighty arc, Krayne knocked the sword aside even as Graham lowered the blade, flinging it to the far side of the deck. He didn’t stop there. The thread had snapped. The shock on Graham’s face was much too telling.

Amber’s high-pitched scream cut the air between them.

“Ye oat-brained heap of vermin dung.” Krayne’s arm came back again, then swooped up to connect with jaw and nose. The poaching vulture flew backward and landed on his back. Krayne pulled him up and set him roughly on his feet. “What did ye do ta my wife?”

“Nothing,” Amber shouted, running up to insert herself between them. “He did nothing.”

Krayne plucked her from harm’s way with one hand and held her there. “Did ye touch her? Did ye take my wife?”

Graham didn’t answer. He rubbed his jaw, slick with the blood trickling from his nostrils, and looked Krayne in the eye. He’d bent over Krayne’s
wife,
his balls heavy with lust and his shaft throbbing with desire, a scant decision away from spearing her with the full extent of his need.

“Damn ye ta hell.” Krayne spat in his face. “Fight me, ye bastard.”

Graham made no move to defend himself when the next punch came at him. His head bounced back against a mast. The bump made him slightly dizzy. His head flopped forward and he shook the worst of the blood from his nose, spitting out the mix of saliva and other fluids that gathered in his throat.

“You’ll kill him!” Terrified for Graham Douglas, Amber brought her head down and bit hard into the hand that constrained her. She had Krayne’s attention for the time it took him to grab her chin and force her teeth off his skin. “I begged him to lie with me and he refused. I attempted all manner of seduction and he flatly ignored me. Don’t be a fool. Don’t take your anger out on an innocent man whose only fault was to offer aid to a desperate stranger and hesitate to betray you.”

Each admission was a fresh sword wound to Krayne’s gut, his pride, his soul.

“Why?” Krayne roared, sounding every bit the wounded beast he was. Fury swirled around images of Stivin, Red John, Gavin and now Graham Douglas in a mist of red smoke that blurred his vision.

His hands came down around her upper arms on either side, picking her off her feet, high and level with him so he could look her in the eye. And then he shook her. His muscles burned with the restraint he should, but could not wield. He glared into the face of this wild beauty, her eyes screwed shut and her bottom lip clamped beneath a row of small white teeth.

His wife.

The one person who somehow had the power to breach his control and send him to the brink of madness.

“Why?” he demanded again. “Why in God’s name would ye do that?”

“I-I was sc-scared.” Amber trembled everywhere, from her toes to her fingertips to the lids of her eyes.

Denouncing fear sounded good in theory.

Reality was another matter altogether.

She stiffened her shoulders against the weakness she resolved to master. When her gaze reached the familiar cold grey, her courage almost wavered. She would not allow it.

Krayne met her brave stare and his fury turned to shame.

Why?

Why indeed?

Why would his wife
not
run from the beast who’d kidnapped her and thrown her into a pit?

Why would his wife
not
run from the beast who’d mauled her in drunken vengeance?

Why would his wife
not
seek reassurance from the first man she came upon?

Why would she
not
seek reassurance that there was more to coupling than blood and rape?

He did not have to like it, and he would tolerate no more, but there was something in her reasoning that stamped upon his heart.
I was scared.

With a roar that started low in his gut, he pulled her against his chest, into him, as his arms wove around her back and hugged her close. Her chin tucked into the curve of his shoulder, her heart beating rapidly as one with his. She did not fight him, and he wasn’t sure if he should be pleased or terrified.

I will protect ye. Ye belong ta me now and I hold dear what is mine. And I will never let ye go.

The vows rippled over him without conscious thought and he knew there was nothing chivalrous about them, but he did not care. He did not fully understand it, this feeling that against his chest he held his most prized possession, knew only that she was his!

He did a slow in-place turn, noting with surprise that six of his crew had boarded while he was busy and each held a sabre across the throats of Graham’s men. He’d been unaware of his surroundings and the audience who might very well have attacked him.

“Release them,” he ordered his men, then looked to where Graham was slumped upright against the mast, watching all with no apparent emotion. “Bring my wife’s woman ta me aboard the
Joanna,
” he barked at Graham. “I’m not finished with ye yet.”

Amber’s head lifted at that command.

Gently he pushed her down again and strode across the deck. She’d probably have much to say about his method of inter-ship boarding and he was in no mood to listen.

Krayne caught the rope and measured the distance required to build up sufficient momentum. The
Glory
rode below his ship and he had Amber’s added weight. She stiffened as he ran and leapt, then screamed as they went airborne. His arm was a death grip around her as she struggled in panic. He cleared the steep divide with space to spare, stumbling only slightly when he came down.

“There now, wife.” He set her on her feet and met her feisty glare with a grin. “’Twas not so bad.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Come.” He led the way across the main deck and through the low door that led to his cabin, then up the four steps to the quarters raised above the decks. He didn’t glance back once. Not that he didn’t doubt she’d run at the first opportunity, but for the moment there was nowhere to run to.

Krayne had his own cabin on every vessel, an extravagance that now proved fortunate. After opening the door, he stood aside for Amber to enter. Her hair was a cloudy mess. Dirt smudged her cheeks and forehead. His cabin boy’s second duty would be to burn that mud-encrusted gown.

“I’m sending up with a bath,” he told her as she swung about to face him. “Use it.”

Her brows furrowed.

“That was not a request,” Krayne added before stepping back and closing the door between them.

He was no longer angry.

But he was utterly determined and a bucketload of tears would not break his mind. Before this night was over, his wife would never fear his bed again. When the sun came up on the morrow, Amber would have nothing left to run from. In this matter, she’d simply have to accept that her husband knew best.

“Soap and towels, mi’lady,” the refined voice said softly.

Amber pulled her gaze from the two burly giants tipping steaming buckets of water into the bronze tub to the reed-thin sailor with a sharp chin and pebbled eyes.

“Thank you,” she said, taking the offered items.

His smile revealed a gleaming gold tooth amongst a row of pointed yellows. “I wish we could offer better, but ’tis not often a warm bath is required on the
Joanna.
” His smile faltered a little. “Not anymore.”

Krayne’s mother, Amber assumed.
First I’m cloistered in her chamber, then married in her garments, and now they bring me a ghost tub.
“Where is the laird’s mother anyway?”

“She retired to a convent after…” His thin shoulders shrugged apologetically, before he turned abruptly and departed.

“A convent,” Amber murmured, wondering if the woman had spent all these years nursing a broken heart after Amber’s father broke the troth. The picture didn’t fit the image Amber had of her father. He’d been a quiet, gentle man, the antithesis of his brother William.

As soon as she had the cabin to herself, Amber stripped. Not even the thought of Krayne barging through the door could keep her from that bath. Her scalp was a bed of grit and a musty odour clung to her skin from days of damp clothing. The water caressed her body as she slid low into the tub, folding her legs at the knee to dunk her head completely. She lay there, fully submerged, for a long moment, the day’s events piled heavy on her mind. Her body was shattered, as if every emotion she’d lived through had wrought a physical blow.

Her lungs began to ache, forcing her head above water. She left her thoughts behind. She was simply too exhausted to contemplate all that had been, and what might follow. Tomorrow would be soon enough. She stood in the water to lather herself with the rose-scented soap, rubbing the grit from her scalp right through to the ends of her hair. As she cleansed the long strands, she took proper note of the large cabin for the first time.

The furnishings were sparse and bold, superiorly crafted to her eye. The berth was fitted into the panelled wall and easily large enough for two. Not draped, but the coverlet was thickly quilted in squares of black and sapphire blue, turned down at the head for a glimpse of sheer white sheets.

Amber quickly rinsed the soap away and stepped out of the tub, wrapping herself in a soft towel. Krayne marched into the cabin just then without knocking.

A moment sooner, and she’d have been naked in the tub.

He slowed to a halt, the door still open at his back, his gaze appraising her. She was trussed from neck to ankle in a towel that hung to the ground like a cloak.

What there was for him to appraise, she had no idea.

Her feet shifted uncomfortably as the awkward silence stretched. What could she say? What did one say to a husband you’d fled and attempted to cuckold?

Oh, and lest she forget, hated.

It shouldn’t matter that he looked as worn-through as she felt. That his eyes were shadowed in the darkest grey yet. That the stubble on his jaw very near bristled, so hard were his back teeth clamped.

He came to himself abruptly, as if compelled by something he’d seen or heard. The door slammed shut with a sharp kick. His gaze drifted to the tub, and he followed, tugging loose the thin cord that bound his shirt. “I willna enquire as ta where ye thought ta go, nor how ye supposed ye’d live when ye got there.”

“Good,” she said, making herself recover as quickly he had.

His dark gaze flickered over his shoulder to dissuade her curt tongue. “Neither do I expect an apology.”

An apology was the last thing on her mind. His arrogant tone prickled the short hairs at her nape. “Wonderful.”

His shirt landed in a heap beside the tub, thoroughly distracting her. Potent muscles rippled all the way down from broad shoulders that tapered slightly to a solid waist. His skin was bronze from the sun, and marred with a thick scar that crossed from his left shoulder blade to halfway down his spine. Some ridiculous impulse made her want to trace the ragged edge with smoothing fingers.

Her throat went dry. “What—what are you doing?”

As if she hadn’t spoken, he turned to sit on the rim of the tub and crossed one leg over the other. “Ye’ve had my castle in upheaval fer days and whittled away any good faith harnessed from my people.” The eyes that never left her hardened. “Not ta mention lifting yer skirts fer another man.”

She hadn’t noticed that he’d been untying the laces, but now he tossed one boot aside.

“Nothing happened aboard the
Glory,
” she told him. “What did you do to Graham Douglas?”

“He lives.” Krayne recrossed his legs to remove the other boot. “And only because I believe he didna take ye.”

Amber blew out a stilted breath. “What of Mary? I must go to her.”

“She’s in one of the cabins below us and dinna think ye’re going anywhere.” Relieved of his boots, Krayne stood.

His hand went to the ties at his waist, drawing her gaze like a lodestone. He saw a flush rise to her cheeks and alarm brighten her eyes, and he pressed on, his voice humming deeply with the extent of his warning, “I might have some understanding fer all ye’ve done, but that doesna mean I have ta like it and I will tolerate no more.”

She spun from him, before he could drop his britches, and all but ran the small distance to fiddle with the jars set out upon the ledge beside the wardrobe. “I could say the same.”

Naked, and semi-erect at it, Krayne fetched a fresh towel and heather-scented soap from the chest near the door, then stepped into the water with a deliberate splash, watching her back straighten like a lance. The one hand he could see paused in midair, fingers clutched around a jar she’d been in the process of lifting.

Her retort was not lost on him, but the image of his wife spreading her thighs for another man, and knowing he was as much to blame as her, had used up the last of his shame and guilt. If he’d been resolved before setting sail for Bordeaux, that commitment was now cast in stone.

“Lest ye forget, Amber, ye came ta me a willing wife and willing ye will be, have no doubt about it. I’ll have yer word ta stay put and cease this futile running afore my leniency runs dry.”

“You have it.” Amber realised that she meant it. She was done with running. Her last adventure had pushed her limits.

She stood still awhile longer, listening to the swishing movements as he washed. Her thoughts strayed, to water trickling over golden skin, soap lathered on muscles carved as rugged and steadfastly as the harsh border terrain she’d crossed with Mary. Irritated at herself, Amber focused on the jar in her hand and brought it to her nose for a quick sniff. As she’d hoped, the relatively fresh leaves were mint. She selected one and nibbled to release the juice, then rubbed the leaf into her teeth. When she was finished, she chewed on the leaf until it was small enough to swallow.

“Ye can look now. I’m decent.”

She whirled about.

He was nowhere near decent.

A too-small towel rode low on his lean hips and only reached midthigh. The arrow of short black hair, curled with damp and glistening in the flickering lamplight, expanded from a point hidden below the towel to cover the broad slab of his chest.

At once, she was aware of her own nakedness beneath her towel.

Amber lifted her gaze hastily, to find him watching her. She backed away, hit the ledge behind and gasped.

“Dinna run.” He smiled encouragement as he came for her in slow, determined strides.

“Stop.” Her hands went out in front of her. “Stay where you are.”

He didn’t stop. He wasn’t staying. When he was almost upon her, she dashed a wide circle around him to wedge herself between the wall and the table that held his nautical instruments. His smile hardened to a bemused grin as he advanced. She shuffled along the wall until she was behind the table, primed to run either way.

Krayne stood other side the table, his fingers gripping the back of a chair. “Dinna make this worse than it must be,” he said in a gruffly tender voice.

“Make what worse? What do you want from me?”

“I would think that rather obvious.” He stepped one way and she went the other. “Amber…”

She swallowed nervously. “You promised to give me time.”

He moved back to the middle and so did she. He watched her like a predator would his prey, head slightly down, lids half-lowered in lazy contemplation that was anything but. “Ye’ve had time.”

“I need more.” She’d known it would come to this, but she wasn’t ready. She never would be.

He sucked in a deep, slow breath.

Against her better judgement, Amber’s gaze dipped to the swell of his expanding chest. The sheer power behind all that muscle made her knees as hollow as any chance of besting him.

“Ye’ve had far too much.”

Her eyes came up.

She had to confess everything. Before it was too late. Before he discovered the truth for himself.

But Krayne was moving again, to the end of the table, around it. Amber took flight on shaky legs. He would be in no mind to hear her accusations, however strongly justified. He was still angry because of Graham Douglas, furious that she’d left him.
This
could not happen now.

“Damn it ta hell, Amber. I willna chase ye around this cabin like a frightened hare.”

“Then don’t.” She reached the door and hasty fingers turned the knob. And there they froze. The decks were teeming with half-dressed giants to drag her back. No matter that she was on a ship, she’d promised both of them that she was done with running.

Amber released the knob and turned around, expecting to find him at her back.

He wasn’t.

“Come ta me,” growled Krayne from where he sat on the edge of the berth.

She’d roused his simmering impatience when she should have been gentling the beast that had her trapped.

She could do better.

She
had
to do better.

Amber pushed away from the door. “Krayne, we need to talk.”

He gave one nod. “Closer.”

She obeyed with small, hesitant steps and cleared her throat. “You came to my chamber that night and attacked me. I was petrified. I didn’t know what to do.”

“All the way,” Krayne interrupted sternly as she paused just out of reach. His wife was saying nothing new and he’d used up all his pretty words to soothe her worries. He would show her, and he would succeed.

She took the final step. “The wine was never meant for you. And…and afterwards…”

Krayne was no longer listening. He fit his hands around her waist, lifting her clear off the ground and astride his lap, her towel draped over both of them to hang to the floor. His own towel had ridden high up, exposing his hair-roughened skin to her bare bottom, hot and soft, one cheek touching each thigh. A surge of lust went straight to his loins.

Green eyes flared, and for that small sign of defiance he was thankful. Anger would soon be moulded into passion, but he felt useless when it came to tears.

Her lips parted, no doubt to blast him to hell, and he put the involuntary invitation to good use, bringing his mouth down forcefully and sweeping his tongue inside at the same time. She fought him, as he’d known she would. Fists hammering his chest, her velvet tongue lashing his like a sword. He slid one hand beneath her hair, cupping the base of her skull and holding her head firmly in place as he worked their mouths into a wide, slanted kiss.

She tasted of mint, sweet and tangy, and all at once he wanted more than dominance. His free hand dealt with the folds of her towel, finally finding a path to the slender smoothness of her hips. He spread his fingers in a possessive caress that moved up and across her back, hungry for the satiny skin that was so unbelievable pliable and warm.

The fists hammering at his chest gradually slowed as he devoured her temper with kisses and strokes. Her palms flattened over his chest, her fingers threading the short curls there. Her lashing tongue slowed to mimic his rhythm, stroking a fever of desire into his blood.

Krayne pulled out of the kiss with a groan to look into the glazed green eyes of his tamed wildcat. There was no fear, hurt or panic. Only heat and fire that demanded more. He grinned lazily, his eyes following his hands as he undid the knot at her towel and slowly pushed it off her shoulders.

Creamy skin swelled to greet him, two bronzed nipples thrust hard and upright at the tips. The mounds rose higher, and he knew she was taking in a deep breath. For himself, he dared not breathe at all.

Control strained as his shaft reared, but this was not about him.

Not yet.

Running his palms down her arms, sliding the towel down as he went, he bared the total of her beauty. From those aroused breasts, along the slender plain of her belly and narrow waist, to the crease where her thighs swung out. The centre of silky black curls gathered his gaze in rapt attention, his breaths short and fast in spite of himself. Her fragile pink nether lips were slightly parted, calling honey temptation to an erection that bucked with such force, his own towel pulled free at his waist.

He knew this was treading lethal ground, yet he could no more halt his fascination than he could keep his thighs from parting, stretching her bums wider, revealing the tiny pearl at the top of her slit. Her fingers dug into his chest, clutching at what hairs they could grasp and holding on tight. He looked up to see her eyes closed, rapid breaths on her lips, desire staining her cheeks.

And he had not yet touched her.

Then again, he was not faring much better himself. Moisture leaked at the head of his shaft, and he doubted he’d get through this without spending his seed over his thighs. He’d wanted far too long.

Biting down on his back teeth, Krayne gently plied her fingers loose and guided her hands behind her and to his knees. “Steady yerself.”

Her eyes blinked wide, as if startled awake.

“Dinna fear, lass,” he reassured hoarsely, trailing his fingers up the length of her arms, over the curve of delicate shoulders and down the plump swells to cup her breasts in his palms. His thumbs teased nipples already hard and reaching, but her spine had stiffened and he needed her to trust him and lean further back. “I willna breach ye without fair warning.”