Knights of de Ware 01 - My Champion (16 page)

After that, it was all she could do to keep from falling as her wretched captor strode purposefully across the deck.

“Unhand me!” she cried.

Her face burned as the beggar raised a hand to her bottom, steadying her for the climb down into the cabin. She batted frantically at him, but he seemed undeterred, continuing to clutch her where he willed. At last he stepped through the hatch and into the candlelit cabin, securing the door after them with one hand.

When he pivoted, Linet got her first glimpse of the den of the infamous Sombra. Blood-red brocade was draped everywhere, its luxurious folds making an odd canopy in her inverted perspective. An enormous bed nearly filled the cabin. A fat candle on a stand flickered near one sloped wall, lighting up an assortment of leather and iron devices that looked to Linet like instruments of torture.

She would have screamed in horror had the beggar not tossed her abruptly onto the bed. The breath was knocked out of her, and for one awful moment, she couldn’t speak, much less scream.

Suddenly he was there, over her, too near. As he bent close, she could smell the musky ale on his breath mingled with the other—a mysterious, masculine scent she’d tasted before in his kiss. She could feel the heat emanating from his body, sense the sheer strength of his limbs as he placed one arm at each side of her head. She felt like a trapped animal.

“Thank God you’re safe,” he said softly.

“What?” What game was he playing now?

Duncan had little time to explain. “Sombra jumped ship. He took Harold with him. If I’m ever to find—”

“Harold? But what—“

He put a finger to Linet’s lips to silence her and listened for sounds outside. A low creaking behind the wall told him what he feared—El Gallo had an observation room off Sombra’s cabin. One of the several knotholes in the wood-paneled room was probably fake. The reiver captain intended to watch.

Duncan sneered in disgust. Quickly, before Linet could speak, he clapped a hand over her mouth and placed his lips close to her ear.

“Listen,” he whispered. “You must trust me.”

Her struggles proved she didn’t trust him at all.

“I’m trying to protect you.”

She squirmed even more.

“We are in
my
arena now,” he said under his breath. “You are going to
have
to trust me. You must do exactly as I tell you. This is going to require a bit of playacting.” He murmured, “I want you to scream.”

He slowly removed his hand from her mouth. He never dreamed she’d refuse. She glared at him with mutinous eyes, but made no sound.

“Scream,” he repeated. “Loud.”

“Nay,” she bit out.

He gaped at her. She was positively mad. Surely she knew they would have to be convincing for his plan to work.

“El Gallo is watching,” he muttered.

“I don’t care if the whole world—”

He didn’t let her finish. Before she could utter another lethal word, he swooped down upon her like a falcon on a mouse, claiming her lips with his own. He captured her pounding fists against his chest with one arm and nudged her jaw open so he could deepen the kiss. Then he let his tongue lash out, let it lap full across hers, and he felt her gasp into his mouth.

Her arms went slowly limp beneath him, and to his astonishment, she answered him with a tentative stroke of her own, which made desire rip through him like an arrow. Forgetting all else for a moment, he cupped her face in his hand to explore the sweet recesses of her mouth more fully.

The creak beyond the wall reminded him of his purpose. He pulled away abruptly and gazed incredulously down into Linet’s passion-softened eyes. Whatever this looked like, it certainly bore no resemblance to revenge. How was he going to convince El Gallo that the wench despised him when her desire was so painfully obvious? He had to do something fast to allay El Gallo’s suspicions.

He squeezed his eyes shut, bent close to Linet and whispered, “Forgive me.” Then he became vengeance-seeking Gaston de Valois. “You will pay for what you stole from me, harlot!” he shouted. “Pay with your own flesh!”

Before she could assimilate what he was doing, he grabbed hold of the neck of her shift with both fists and ripped the laces loose. Then he plunged his hand beneath the open garment, seeking and finding the soft, full treasure within. Surely, he thought, Linet’s shocked expression and her scream of outrage would satisfy El Gallo, convince him that Gaston was indeed taking full payment for the insult the wench had dealt him.

What he hadn’t counted on was his own reaction.

He glanced down at the lovely, pale skin of her throat, her delicate shoulders, the innocent curve of her breast. A pang of guilt joined the desire flooding his body. Suddenly he knew he couldn’t share that sight with anyone, least of all a lecherous sea reiver. Let the captain simmer—he’d do the rest in the dark.

With one arm, he hauled up his kicking, pummeling captive and started for the wall of shackles and lashes that Sombra evidently used for his own perverse pleasure. Linet shrieked as he plucked what looked like a horse’s bridle and a whip from the wall.

Then he snuffed out the candle.

Linet’s mind screamed. It seemed she’d leaped from the claws of danger straight into the jaws of hell. The last thing she saw before the room plunged into darkness was the one-eyed beggar towering over her, brandishing his iron and leather devices like a devil set on taming a wild beast.

He was mad. That was it. How else could he have been kissing her one moment and threatening her the next? The beggar was stark, raving mad.

She had to get away.

Blindly she floundered on the bed, seeking escape. But the voluminous coverlets prevented her. She scrambled to her knees, only to find herself engulfed in the arms of her antagonist. She flailed and kicked at him, using every trick she’d learned watching street urchins as a girl. But the superiority of his strength was inevitable.

Duncan swore as his captive’s fist connected with his ribs. Damn the wench, she was like a wild kitten in his arms, clawing and scratching everywhere she could. He’d bear the wounds of battle in the morning.

He tumbled her to the bed again, dropped the harness onto the floor, and murmured against her hair. “I won’t hurt you. I just want you to scream when I tell you.”

“Nay,” she gasped. The cursed wench was still determined to defy him at every turn, to stretch his patience to the limit.

“You little fool,” he said through gritted teeth. “I’m supposed to be ravishing you!”

She swore and wriggled anew.

He sighed, exasperated. The reiver captain was listening at the wall like a naughty boy at a brothel. If she didn’t cooperate soon…

“Stubborn wench,” he hissed. “Don’t you realize it’s a matter of life and death?”

But her petty oaths and irate struggles would never convince El Gallo that she feared for her life. He was going to have to take drastic measures. At last capturing her arms, he pressed her down upon the bed with his own weight. With an evil laugh, he unfurled the whip.

“This is for the coin you stole!” he cried.

He raised the lash high. He could hear Linet’s shuddering intake of breath. Then he dashed his arm down, cracking the whip smartly on the floor. The loud snap startled a cry from Linet. He chuckled as if savoring his victim’s pain.

“And this is for the jewels!”

Again he brought lash down. Linet shrieked.

“And this, this is for making a cuckold of me!”

Twice more the switch split the empty air, wringing terrified gasps from Linet. But by the fifth time, when she realized he wasn’t going to strike her with it, she remained silent. He was forced to discard the thing.

He cursed under his breath. He couldn’t very well ravish the wench, no matter what his body was telling him. He had more honor than that. Still, there was El Gallo to consider. The man wasn’t stupid. One snap of his corpulent fingers and the two of them would become sharks’ supper.

His own lust he could fake. But hers—hers would have to be real. There was no help for it, no choice at all. The wench’s propriety had to be sacrificed for her welfare. He smiled grimly. For the first time in his life, he truly regretted having to play the seducer.

Linet shivered in the dark, her other senses heightened by her blindness. She heard the beggar growl deep in his throat, smelled the salty tang of his skin, tasted fear on her own tongue. Then she felt his teeth along the neck edge of her shift, nipping at the cloth, tugging persistently downward over her shoulders and bosom until, to her horror, one breast tumbled free. Her face went hot. Dear God, what did he intend?

He’d dropped the whip to the floor. She’d heard it fall. But there was much pain a man could inflict with his bare hands. She braced herself for the worst.

And then it came.

Her breast was suddenly engulfed in warmth. Something soft and wet closed over her nipple…sweet Mary—his mouth…and he began to suckle gently there. The blood rushed to her ears. Her humiliation was so great that she almost wished he would attack her with the lash instead. She groaned in protest. But to her shame and against her will, her body began to enjoy the lavish attention. Her nipple hardened with desire.

She cursed her tormenter in three different languages, trying to put an angry edge on her arousal. But he only responded with cruel laughter, nuzzling the cloth from her other breast, bathing her with his slick tongue. She moaned in helpless rage.

Duncan’s heart pounded in his temples. God, but she tasted sweet, he thought guiltily. Her skin was warm and soft and fragrant. But damn the Fates, he couldn’t afford to think about it. He had to keep his mind clear.

He captured both of her wrists in one hand. With the other, he inched up the hem of her shift. She shrieked and kicked out wildly, but he subdued her with a thigh thrown over her bare legs. His hand traced the soft contours of her calf, rounded her knee, and slid stealthily upward.

“Nay!” she yelled in panic. “Nay!”

“Oh, aye,” he promised.

When at last he found her soft curls and his palm squeezed gently between her legs, her hips moved instinctively against him. His mouth went dry as he felt her searing heat and tenderly searched the mysterious flower of her womanhood. He opened the petals with nimble fingers. When he touched the tiny bud in their midst, she bucked and gasped with surprise. Yet even as he felt her shudder away from his touch, that part of her strove upward to meet his hand.

He stroked her expertly, wetting his fingers with her juices and murmuring encouragements to her as she moaned helplessly. He lay half astride her and rocked slowly, deliberately, against her body, making the bed creak for El Gallo’s benefit.

Linet groaned. She’d never known such an agony of pain and pleasure. She should fight him, yet her limbs refused to cooperate. Her entire body was aflame, and she forgot whether it was shame or passion that had made it so. The world shifted in her as she lost complete control over her body—the thrashing of her head, the rocking of her hips, the primitive sounds growling from her throat.

And yet it didn’t matter. She found a strange contentment, a freedom in riding on the crest of that unknown wave. Warmth emerged inside her like the birth of a new sun, filling her with heat and light stronger than she’d ever known.

Duncan endured an agony of his own. He thanked God he was clothed, for it took all his moral strength not to plunge into that softness with more than just his fingers. Aroused to the point of pain, he knew there was no relief to be had for him tonight. It was all for the woman writhing beneath him.

Sooner than he expected, he sensed her reward was imminent, and that knowledge made him rock hard. Linet clutched at him with fingers he’d long ago freed and begged him wordlessly to finish it. Groaning, he pressed his head to hers, and when she sobbed out wildly in fulfillment, he echoed her with a deep growl of his own.

It was over. And he still ached with need.

He pulled the shift back over Linet for modesty and staggered back. From behind the wall, Duncan could hear the heavy creaking of El Gallo vacating his observation quarters. He ran a shaky hand through his hair. He hoped the reiver was more satisfied than
he
was.

“He’s gone,” he murmured.

Fumbling his way, he sat back on the large trunk and hung his head. He was miserable—physically unrequited and mentally shaken. Never had he felt such a strong response to a woman. Never had he had to deny that response with abstinence. He certainly hoped Linet appreciated the torment he was enduring for her.

For a long while the only sound in the room was Linet’s ragged breathing. He hadn’t expected much else. The poor thing was probably too astounded to speak.

Gradually, his heartbeat evened, and his loins eventually gave up hope. He stood on unsteady legs. Groping in the dark, he found his way to the candle and the flint that hung below it. He struck the flint and lit the wick. Then, as the cabin was suffused with gentle light, he stole a guilty glance at the bed.

Linet lay curled into a protective ball. Her hair concealed most of her face like a coif of golden mail. To look at her lying there, small and defenseless, one would think he’d truly beaten her.

He’d beg her forgiveness now, of course, though it would be the first time he’d ever offered up an apology for bringing a woman’s desires to fruition. Still, it was the chivalrous thing to do.

He rose and neared the bed, unsure how exactly to convey his remorse. He crouched by the bedside and awkwardly cleared his throat. “I’m sorry if my actions have caused you distress,” he murmured.

There was no response.

“I’m certain El Gallo was convinced,” he continued, hoping to assuage her with praise. “Your responses were most—”

A cry of rage erupted from Linet, a culmination of all the shame and self-loathing that had bubbled up inside her as her body reverberated with the echo of her climax. Damn his soul, she didn’t want to hear about her responses. She wanted to pretend it hadn’t happened.