Chapter 16

16

Courtney returned to the Falconer in such a foul mood, she neither acknowledged nor returned the greetings of the men she brushed past on the way to her cabin. Once inside, where no one could see her or hear her, she cursed and muttered and paced, pausing only to kick off the ridiculous green slippers. She tore aside the thick panel of cloth covering the gallery windows and unlatched one of the panels, throwing the shoes as far as she could. The filmy silk stockings followed next, along with the embroidered garters.

The moon had not yet risen and the encircling arms of the cove drew only faint definition from the swath of stars overhead. Where the surf rushed up on shore, the peaks glowed an eerie, shimmery blue and from somewhere she heard the plop of a fish come to investigate the floating slippers.

She turned away from the window and dropped the sheeting back in place. The cabin had been tidied and it was hard to believe she and Ballantine had been thrashing around on the floor barely two hours ago. She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples, wondering if she rubbed hard enough, would the images leave her mind. Sweaty, naked bodies tangled together, clothes scattered everywhere, on the floor, the desk, the—

Her eyes popped open and she slowly turned to stare at the desk in sudden horror. It was, at first glance, just as she had left it. A sheaf of papers, a rolled chart, a quill and ink stand. The only thing missing was the pistol she had placed there when Ballantine had first entered the cabin.

She ran quickly to the desk and yanked open the drawers, hoping against hope she had put the weapon away and forgotten. But she knew, as surely as she knew she would have done the exact same thing, that Ballantine had somehow managed to steal the gun. He had been standing beside the desk when he sent her to unbolt the door. She had turned her back on him for one second, and he had managed to slip the gun from the desk and conceal it in his clothes.

"The fool," she cried softly. "The bloody, arrogant fool!"

"Harsh words. I hope they are not directed at me."

Courtney gasped and whirled around. Garrett Shaw was standing in the doorway, a smile on his face and a bottle of wine in his hands.

"Garrett!"

"You were expecting someone else?"

"No. No, of course not. You just startled me, is all. I did not hear the door open."

He closed it just as quietly and gestured with the bottle of wine. "A peace offering? From an arrogant fool to a beautiful woman who I would not have angry with me for all the gold double-eagles in the world."

"I am not angry with you," she said. "Confused, perhaps, but not angry."

He carried the bottle to the side table and uncorked it.

She moistened her lips and glanced at the closed door. "You left Miranda on board the Eagle?"

"I left Falworth in her capable hands." Shaw smiled. "A shame to spoil the meal, however."

"I was not very hungry anyway."

"Good. Neither was I." His eyes flicked to the berth. "I would much rather finish the conversation we began earlier."

Courtney glanced at the berth as well, but only to wonder if the pistol she kept tucked behind the pillow was still there, or if it too had somehow found its way into Ballantine's hands.

Garrett filled two goblets and handed one to Courtney as he looked around the cabin. "I suppose, if we agree to Falworth's terms and give him the Eagle, I will have to move back in here."

"I am sure I can find another, smaller cabin."

"No need. This one is plenty big enough for two. Easier to keep you safe here too."

"Safe? I have never felt unsafe on board the Falconer."

"Agreed. No man on this ship would dare try his hand at taking what is mine, unless he had a wish to see an early grave."

"What is yours? You make it sound as if I have already been declared your personal property."

"You have objections?"

"I object to any man telling me what I can or cannot do, where I can and cannot go, where I do or do not belong. You of all people should know that by now, Garrett Shaw."

"Aye. I know you have a mind of your own. As stubborn and wild in spirit as your father, rest his soul. But you still need a strong hand to guide you, Court Farrow. Someone to protect you and look after you."

"I am quite capable of looking after myself."

"Are you now?" A grin appeared slowly. "And if the word was to spread through the ship that I no longer sought any claim to you, how long do you think your bed would stay empty at night? How safe would you be walking the decks? Or venturing below?"

"As safe as I have ever been," she said coldly. "Unless they want to feel cold steel going through their ribs. Furthermore, you are talking about men who were loyal to my father."

"Aye, and while he was in command, they were loyal to the death. But he is not in command now, lass, and you know yourself corsairs are a fickle breed. They respect power and authority, not memories. They tolerated you in the past because of Duncan, and because you were more like a son to him than a daughter. They respect you with a cutlass or a dirk in your hand, not when you walk around with questions and suspicions spouting from your mouth."

Courtney said nothing and Garrett shook his head.

"You have been asking questions all over the ship, girl, and it is not healthy for you. Supposing the Judas is still among us—and there is no reason to believe he is not—and supposing you happen to ask him the wrong questions about where he was or what he saw during the fight with the American gunboats at Moknine? Suppose he begins to worry that you might figure out who he is? What the devil would stop him from being the one to stick a knife in your belly and silence you permanently?"

"I have to know who betrayed my father," she said with quiet vehemence.

"And you think I do not?"

"I do not see you asking any questions."

"There are ways and there are ways, girl. I have been asking and I have been listening, and I have been watching."

"And have you learned anything? Are you any closer to finding out who the traitor is?"

"I am finding out who he is not," Garrett said evenly. "And who he is not, is damn near as important as who he is."

"In other words, you are telling me to do nothing. To sit and wait and do absolutely bloody nothing!"

"Ahh, there is that fire in your eyes, Court Farrow. Telling you to do nothing is like inviting you to do the opposite. Nay, I have given you free run of the ship. I will not go back on it now."

"You gave me free run? Should I be thankful that you gave me free run of my father's ship?"

He was midway through a sip of wine and laughed. "Are you laying claim to her then?"

Claim the Falconer for herself? The thought had never even occurred to her. It was not a totally outlandish idea. There were ships that sailed with women at the helm, and crews willing to follow a woman's orders if she proved herself to be cunning and ruthless enough.

Shaw chuckled, reading her mind. "You are strong, aye, and I will not deny you might find some on board willing to follow your cutlass, but you would find more who would grumble and grouse and sit on their arses refusing to sail with a mere girl at the helm. But is that what you really want? To divide the ship and have the men fighting amongst themselves? It would seem to serve a greater purpose to bring them together with a stronger pact than before, and if Duncan was here he would be the first to agree."

As he spoke, he came around the side of the desk, and Courtney could not help but be reminded of the other tall, bold man who had dared to play word games with her only a short while ago. She could almost swear Ballantine's scent was still in the cabin, on her skin. She could still feel the tender ache between her thighs and the warm abrasions on her skin from the chafing of his beard, his hands, his lips. She was already unsettled, and Shaw's nearness was unsettling her more.

"Have you given any thought to your future. Court? Have you decided where you want to go when our business here is finished?"

"Go?" Her tongue slipped across her lips to moisten them, and she moved casually out of the corner placing the desk between them again.

"Speaking for myself, I have seen enough sand and camel dung to last a lifetime. I was thinking of a new start somewhere. The Indies, maybe, or the Americas." He paused, and his eyes were pulled to the solemn glitter of the oval locket that hung around her neck, as well as the cleft in which it nestled. "It was Duncan's dream to rid the earth of as many sodding Frenchmen as he could and then sail away to the Americas. It was also a part of his dream for you, born a lady, to return to the life of the gentry."

"I never asked him for dreams," she said quietly.

"You never asked him for anything. That was why he wanted to give you it all. There is a rich new life waiting in America, in Virginia."

"Virginia?" She felt a tiny shudder vibrate down her spine.

"Aye, Norfolk runs many a profitable merchant fleet in and out ... or ... was it Norfolk? I have forgotten where Duncan said he was thinking of settling."

Courtney stared at the stub of the candle on the desk, her gaze transfixed by the single, pure yellow flame. "Norfolk? Yes. Yes, I think he mentioned Norfolk."

"You think?"

Courtney looked up, startled by the sharpness in his voice, and Garrett covered the slip by tilting his goblet upward in a salute. "I hope he was not foolhardy enough to plan to stay in Norfolk for any length of time. Not even Duncan could have stayed hidden forever in the heart of Preble's naval base."

She smiled weakly. "No, I suppose not. But he never actually talked about his plans for the future. Only Verart did, and then only at the end, when he knew he was dying. I guess he wanted to be certain I knew certain things ... in case ..." She faltered and looked up into Garrett's dark eyes. "It was all so confusing those last few minutes. I was not really paying attention to what he was saying."

"But you do know how to go about claiming what your father left for you, do you not?"

"I know the name of the man I am to contact there, yes." She stopped and Garrett smiled again. He had moved closer. There were not so many shadows between them, yet his face seemed masked.

"Your father made us all rich men, Court. Himself, Verart, and me. If for no other reason, I owe it to him to make certain his wishes for your future are honored." His hands closed around her wrists, and he lifted her hands tenderly to his lips. "But you know full well there are other reasons for my wanting you, Court. For my wanting to protect you, to have you by my side, to keep you warm at night and filled with pleasure."

Courtney heard what he was saying, but the blood throbbing loudly in her ears would not allow her to make sense of it. His lips were tracing the faint blue veins in her wrists, kissing her palms, kissing the tips of her fingers.

"If he were alive and on board this ship now, Duncan himself would give our marriage his blessing."

"Marriage!" She gasped and stumbled back, jerking her hands unceremoniously out of his.

"Aye," he chuckled. "I wager you thought you would never hear that word from these lips? I never would have thought it either. And frankly I have never wanted any one wench to keep my bed warm at night—not until now. You are the one to blame for my redemption, Court Farrow. There has never been a minx able to keep me at bay so long. But the time has come to put the games aside. I want there to be no doubt as to who you belong to now, nor any doubt as to who has possession of my heart."

"Garrett, I—" She looked down as she felt his hands lifting hers again. Something cold and metallic was passed over her fingertip and pushed determinedly over the resisting knuckle. When his hand shifted away, she was startled to see he had slotted a ring onto her finger. The enormous emerald centre stone burned from the surrounding halo of diamonds, each of which caught the glow from the sputtering candle and split the beam into a million tiny fragments of light.

Garrett watched for the reaction on her face. It was a ring fit to melt any wench's heart, even one belonging to an ice maiden. He had counted on it to soften the last of Courtney's resistance, and it was apparently doing just that. Her cheeks had bloomed with color, and her eyes had grown as large and shimmering as the emerald itself.

His chest swelled, and he curled a hand around her waist, drawing her forward. Courtney's gasp parted her lips as his mouth slanted over hers. Her arms were pinned against his chest, and she was powerless to fend off the hot, calloused hand that fondled its way up the muslin curves to fit itself boldly around her breast.

"Garret!" She tore her mouth free and writhed within the iron circle of his arm. "What are you doing! Stop!"

"Not this time, my fiery little hellcat." He laughed huskily and squeezed his hand tighter around her flesh.

His mouth tasted bitter, and Courtney cried out in anger and revulsion as his tongue shoved its way through her lips. It was not a kiss of passion, but of dominance; no sweet flood of desire grew under the greedy, grasping fingers, only disgust and a sense of violation.

She heard a tearing sound and realized that both the tucking piece and the muslin bodice were falling victim to Garrett's rough groping. She shoved at his shoulders to break free. She kicked out with her feet and her knees, but her efforts only deepened his laughter and tightened his arms so that she was forced farther and farther back into a painful arch.

His fingers tugged at the neckline of the bodice and her breasts popped free of the muslin. Garrett's dark head bowed, first to one nipple, then the other, his brutish mouth defiling the memory of gentler lips.

A sob was wrenched from her throat as she felt her knees bump against the wooden side of the berth. She was folded forcefully down onto the mattress, his weight driving the remaining air from her lungs. More of the muslin tore, then the skirt was shoved up above her waist and his thighs were wedged between her thrashing legs. Garrett's hand plunged beneath her bucking hips, and he began to shift her this way and that, to grind her against the bulge at his groin. His mouth smothered her cries, and he seemed not to feel or care that she was tearing at his hair, clawing and scratching at his face and neck.

A lusty curse lifted his mouth temporarily as his overly eager hands fumbled with his breeches. Stubborn lacing forced him to lever his torso up and away from hers, and Courtney seized the opportunity to strike out with both fists. It was the emerald ring that brought a swift, stunned end to his passion. The stone sliced through the tanned flesh of his cheek, opening a gash several inches long to the corner of his mouth.

"By the Christ!" He reached down and grabbed a fistful of her hair, slamming her head back into the mattress while his free hand probed for the damage to his jaw. His fingers came away slick with blood and he stared at Courtney with furious disbelief.

"By the Christ," he rasped again, "It is time you found out who is in command of this ship and everyone on board. You are mine, dammit; I have bloody well earned you and everything that comes with you."

While he spoke, his fingers clamped around her throat and ruthlessly sealed off the passage of air to her lungs. She felt a new wave of panic spread through her body. Her limbs writhed, and her fingers tore at the vice-like grip; her chest burned from the pressure; her lips parted to a soundless scream as he squeezed tighter and tighter. Encroaching blackness robbed the last of the strength from her arms and legs. She lost sight of his looming face; she could no longer hear his hot, heavy breathing. Even the pain seemed to seep away, leaving her empty, limp, and totally without feeling.

Garrett waited for the glazed green eyes to flutter closed before he relaxed the killing grip. He delayed an extra moment, watching for any sign of further resistance, then he stood up from the bed and started peeling away his jacket, his waistcoat, and shirt. His lips pulled back in a snarl and he spat blood angrily onto the floor.

Courtney swam through the darkness, aware of movement somewhere nearby, dimly aware of a black shadow bending over her. She felt the slow return of sensation along the length of her body; her throat opened in a shocked gasp, her lungs heaved and she coughed for air that came in stabs of white-hot pain. She rolled onto her side and with frantic swimming motions, tried to crawl to the edge of the berth. She had hardly managed to claw her way a few inches before her legs were pinned beneath a leaden weight.

The weight had hands and fingers, and they skimmed purposefully up her naked thighs. They probed the soft thatch of auburn curls and scratched the smooth, flat plane of her belly. Courtney scrambled further away, her eyes locked in horror on the two hissing, coiled snakes that were on Shaw's forearms.

"I do not want to have to hurt you, Court," he murmured, his voice low and threatening. "You are a woman, by God, and you are going to learn to appreciate the pleasure of being my woman if it takes me the whole night long."

A knee was forced between her thighs, and Courtney felt the thickness of his hard flesh thrusting against her belly, probing for entry. His teeth sank into her shoulder, into her breasts, and he grunted as he caught her wrists and pinned them up over her head.

Courtney sucked in a great mouthful of air and focussed all of her strength into ramming her knee hard and fast into his groin. She felt the gratifying crush of rigid flesh and pulpy tissue and she rammed again, driving her kneecap into him as hard as she could.

Shaw's body jack-knifed to one side. His pain exploded on a roar, one that was cut short as the spasms shuddered through his arms and legs, cutting off his ability to even make sound. His hands flew instinctively to cradle the damaged area; his body rolled onto its side, and his knees folded up against his chest.

Courtney twisted free and plunged her hands beneath the pillow. The pistol was still there! She primed and cocked the weapon then leaped to her feet, her hands clutching the wooden grip, the barrel aimed unwaveringly at Shaw's sweat-beaded brow. Her eyes burned with fury and contempt. Her face was ashen but for a crimson splash of Garrett's blood that had smeared on her chin.

"I should kill you for that," he hissed.

"Except that I have the gun," she said in a choked whisper, "And I will not hesitate to use it if you move so much as a muscle."

Garrett pressed his cheek into the covers and ground his teeth against a wave of nausea. His throat and chest were drenched in sweat; his arms and shoulders were shiny with the strain. He straightened his legs slowly, almost whimpering as his hands gently massaged away the shooting barbs of pain.

"Put the damned gun away," he snarled. "You have made your point."

"Have I? Then get out of my sight, Garrett, before I use this."

The blue eyes glittered from her face to the pistol. He closed his mind to the pulsating agony in his groin and sat slowly upright, and under Courtney's wary gaze, retrieved his breeches and carefully drew them on.

Courtney moved hastily out of his range as he walked toward the door. She kept the gun clenched steadily in her two hands, kept the muzzle pointed unerringly at his head. A coldly ominous smile touched his lips as he glanced back at her, the promise hard and malicious in his eyes.

"You belong to me, Court Farrow. Make no mistake. It is only a matter of time before you accept it, one way or another."