Taken by You Page 4

  Morgan sent him an austere look. “Should mere be?”

  Crawford grinned. “Not as far as I can tell. What of the nun? Will you sample her yourself or give her to the men?” He thought he already knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it from Morgan. “Surely something so simple as a woman’s fate shouldn’t bother El Diablo.”

  “She’s mine!” Morgan said with a fierceness that took Crawford by surprise. “I’m taking her to Andros. If and when I tire of her, you’ll be the first to know.”

  Crawford did a poor job of disguising his amusement. “I’m surprised, Morgan. Innocent virgins normally don’t appeal to you. What do you see in Sister Luca that I don’t?” His eyes narrowed speculatively. “Or have you already sampled her and found her to your liking? Perhaps you’ll share her.”

  Morgan stiffened. “Don’t press your luck, Mr. Crawford. Our long-standing friendship doesn’t give you leave to question your captain’s judgment. I suggest you go about your duties.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain Scott,” Crawford said, snapping to attention. It wasn’t often that Morgan flaunted his rank, but when he did Stan knew enough to back off.

  Crawford recalled the countless times he and Morgan had shared women without coming to blows over any one of them. Not only had they shared women but they also shared a mutual hatred for the Spanish. He too had felt the lash of a Spanish whip during the six months he had been a Spanish captive. What was there about the Spanish nun, Crawford wondered, that made Morgan so testy? If Morgan hadn’t already sampled her, Crawford hoped to Hell he’d do it soon, or Crawford and the crew would suffer the brunt of Morgan’s temper.

  When it grew dark, someone brought Luca a tray. The rough sailor stared at her for a brief moment, then quickly left Though the food looked appetizing enough Luca couldn’t swallow a bite. The implied menace of Morgan’s threats did terrible things to her mind. She pictured herself at his mercy. She couldn’t look at the oversized bunk without imagining what a powerful man like El Diablo could do to her. She wasn’t exactly sure how rape was accomplished, which made her vivid imagination all the more terrifying. If only she had a weapon.

  With a burst of excitement she remembered the small eating dagger she’d placed in her pocket after she’d donned her nun’s robes. Thrusting her hand into the pocket, she was comforted by the security of cold steel, meager though it might be. Did she have the nerve to use it in her own defense? Contemplating the consequences gave Luca the courage she needed when the cabin door burst open and Morgan Scott stepped inside, bigger man life and twice as terrifying.

  He stared at her distractedly, noting the fear transforming her nearly perfect features. His gaze fell to the tray, which sat before her untouched.

  “Is the food not to your liking?” he asked, unbuckling his sword as he strode across the room. “I thought religious disciples were accustomed to meager rations and poor rare. My cook does wonders with the food at hand, you should try it.” He removed his sword and flung it onto a chair. His jacket followed.

  Luca leaped to her feet and backed away. “Don’t come any closer.”

  “Your virtue is safe for the moment, I doubt I could rouse myself enough to partake of your dubious charms.” He sent her a look that made Luca wince. Was she so unattractive that she actually repelled him?

  Good, she thought awash in relief. That’s exactly what she’d intended when she’d dressed herself in the drab garb of a cloistered nun. The abbess would be proud of her. Her expression must have reflected her thoughts, for Morgan gave her an impudent grin that sent her heart plummeting down to her heels.

  “Smugness does not become you, Sister Luca. I didn’t say I won’t feel differently tomorrow, or even ten minutes from now. If I want you I will have you, but I’d rather keep you guessing. Besides, I want to be well rested when I attempt you.” He leered at her. “I’m sure my patience will be amply rewarded.”

  Horrified, Luca gaped at him. “You’re a monster, Captain Scott. I am neither frightened nor tempted by the Devil.” She eyed his discarded sword with longing.

  Morgan stepped closer, looming over her small form in all his male splendor. “Are you not, Sister? As long as we’re trading insults, I think you’re a fraud. I’ve thought long and hard and come to the conclusion that you are no nun. The unholy fire in your eyes denies the very existence of your piety. You’re too haughty by far to be the meek holy woman you claim to be. You are neither gentle-natured nor humble. Who are you, really?”

  He was so close Luca could feel the hot rush of his breath against her cheek. She tried to retreat, but there was no place to go. She fingered the knife in her pocket and glared up at him defiantly. “I told you who I am. I am Sister Luca, recently from the Mother Of God convent. I was told by the Reverend Mother to accompany Senorita Carlotta Santiego to Havana. If you return me to Spain, I will remember you in my prayers until the day I die.”

  “I do not want your prayers, Sister Luca,” Morgan said. His voice was low and rough, as if he was having great difficulty controlling his breathing. “Perhaps I want something else from you. Something that will make us both happy.”

  Luca’s mouth went dry. The tip of her tongue flicked out to moisten her lips. She thought she heard Morgan groan but couldn’t be sure. “I… I don’t know what you’re talking about”

  Morgan’s hand thrust forward to grasp her chin. “Don’t you? I could show you. I may be too tired to attempt you, but I’d have to be on my deathbed to resist such a sweet invitation”

  Luca went still, enthralled by the blue intensity of Morgan’s eyes. She had thought them merely blue, but now she saw that they were the gray blue of a storm-tossed sea, tumultuous with glittering highlights of pure silver. She’d never seen eyes exactly like that before. Devil’s eyes. She gulped in dismay and tried to form a reply to his daunting words.

  “I offered no invitation.”

  “Ah, but you did.” His head lowered a fraction, his blond hair brushing her forehead as his lips touched hers.

  Fire. Pure fire. At first there was a burning sensation in the place where their lips melded. But when his mouth covered hers fully and his tongue slid wetly across the seam of her lips, the burning turned into a raging inferno that rushed through her veins to places unmentionable. When she tried to pull away he grasped her arms, holding her in place while he plundered her mourn. When he tried to force his tongue into her mouth, she gasped in shock, unwittingly giving his tongue free access to the sweet warmth within.

  Never had Luca felt anything quite like the overwhelming magnetism of Morgan’s kiss. She wanted to kiss him back! She ached to wind her arms around his neck and run her hands through the golden tangle of his hair. She wanted to The things his kiss made her want had no name. It was wrong. So very wrong. She shouldn’t feel like this. The man was an enemy. He was a vicious pirate who had kidnapped her and intended to rape her. That thought brought a semblance of sanity to her scattered emotions even as Morgan’s hands grew bolder, searching out places no man had a right to touch. She knew she had to do something, anything to break this man’s spell upon her before she was completely at his mercy.

  The knife!

  Reaching into her pocket she dragged the tiny weapon out and upward, pressing it into a vulnerable spot on Morgan’s neck. His hands fell away as he abruptly ended the kiss, staring down at her with a perverse kind of admiration. The little saint wrapped her virtue around her like a damn holy shroud.

  “Don’t touch me. Don’t ever touch me again.”

  A smile tugged at his lips. “That’s going to be hard to do. Where did you get the knife?”

  “It’s mine. Back away or you’ll not live to see another day.”

  It was all Morgan could do to keep from laughing outright What did she think she could accomplish with that toothpick? With a flick of his wrist e could disarm her, even hurt her if he wished. It would take little effort on his part to throw her on the bunk, push her skirts up, spread her legs, and take his pleasure. All Spa
niards were his enemy. Why should one Spanish witch who claimed to be a holy woman be different from the others?

  “How fierce you are, Sister Luca,” Morgan mocked.

  “I mean what I say, Captain.”

  “Do you, now? Very well, do your worst. Slit my throat, I dare you.” His eyes glittered dangerously. When the blade drew a drop of blood, he did not react as she expected. “Before you do,” he added ominously, “perhaps you should consider this. My death will distress my men beyond reason. They will make you suffer, and I assure you it won’t be pleasant”

  Luca’s hand faltered.

  “Wouldn’t it be preferable to submit to me rather than take your chances with my crew? My men are a brutal lot I doubt you’d last the night”

  “I will kill myself first!”

  She said it so fiercely that Morgan did not doubt for a minute she possessed the courage to carry out her threat. He was also aware that he had allowed this game to get out of hand. Luca couldn’t hurt him with her little toothpick, but for some unexplained reason he didn’t want the feisty little saint who possessed more courage man sense to be harmed.

  With a swift movement quicker even man the eye, Luca found herself relieved of the knife and encased in the prison of Morgan’s arms. Tears stung her eyes when she realized what had happened, but she wouldn’t let them fall.

  “Now what Sister Luca? Where is your courage now?”

  “Contemptible, vile… pirate!”

  “Privateer. There’s a difference. I only attack and plunder Spaniards.”

  “Let me go!”

  “Gladly.” He released her instantly, and she stumbled before righting herself. “Go to bed. I’ve suddenly lost interest. But I’ll keep this little toothpick of yours just in case you decide to gullet me during the night”

  Luca glanced at the bunk in horror. Did he expect her to lie beside him? When she looked at him for clarification, she was stunned to see that he had removed his black silk shirt and stood clad only in tight black trousers molded to his strong legs and thighs, and leather boots. She blanched and looked away, but not before she caught a glimpse of his bronzed chest and shoulders, rippling with thick coils of ropy muscles. And the mysterious bulge straining the front of his trousers.

  “Do you intend sleeping in that hideous coif?” Morgan asked disdainfully. “I assure you your bald head will not frighten me. Disgust me, mayhap, but not frighten me.”

  “I prefer keeping it on,” Luca insisted. If she took it off and revealed her long hair, he’d see through her pretense. Though nuns normally did not shave their heads, they nevertheless kept their hair short beneath their headcoverings. She had not taken her final vows, and until she cud she had been allowed to keep her luxurious fall of ebony hair.

  “Get into bed,” Morgan ordered crisply. He untied the lacings on the front of his trousers and bent to remove his boots.

  “What are you going to do?” Her voice held a note of panic.

  “Sleep.” He leered at her. “Unless you have a better idea.”

  “I won’t lie beside you.” Her lips thinned stubbornly.

  Morgan glared at her, then shrugged. “Suit yourself. The deck gets rather hard after the first couple of hours.”

  “I’m accustomed to hardship. The convent offers little physical comfort. We live a life of austerity and prayer.”

  He nodded curtly. “You may do as you please for now. I’ll let you know when I desire your presence in my bed.”

  Luca tried not to stare at his bare chest, but it was difficult not to. She knew so little of a man’s anatomy. Oblivious to her shocked perusal, he sat on the edge of the bunk and removed his trousers. Luca’s cry of dismay brought his eyes back to her. He gave her a cocky smile. She whirled on her heel, her face flaming red. She heard his footsteps behind her but refused to look up.

  Her relief was enormous when he dropped a blanket and pillow on the deck beside her and turned away. She didn’t want to look at his nude body, but when she heard him moving about, she couldn’t help glancing over her shoulder at him, keeping her gaze on his feet. He walked casually to the chair and retrieved his sword.

  “This will be safer with me,” he said, carrying the sword to the bunk with him. She heard a shifting of bedclothes, then silence. Then came sudden darkness, and Luca realized he had doused the lamp swinging from the ceiling above him.

  Still she did not move, fearing he might change his mind and demand her presence in his bed. She stood motionless, scarcely daring to breathe, until she heard the even cadence of his breathing and knew he was asleep. Only then did she wrap herself in the blanket and lay down on the hard wooden deck.

  Despite the pillow beneath her head, the coif made it nearly impossible to seek a comfortable position. Her head itched beneath the linen doth, and she longed for a comb to run through her tangled hair. Or better still, a scissors to cut it all off. Her one concession to comfort was to remove her shoes and stockings. She fell asleep almost instantly, wearied from her encounter with El Diablo. Unfortunately her dreams were fraught with images of the virile captain, his nude body displayed in all its masculine beauty.

  Without his trousers.

  God help her.

  Morgan did not easily find sleep despite the forced cadence of his breathing. He lay awake, fiercely aware of the woman who claimed to be a nun. She affected him in ways that made him uncomfortable. There had been many women in his life. He was a virile man, one who took sensual pleasure in women and the sexual relief they Drought him. There were many ports and many women. None were like Sister Luca. What was it about the little nun that made him want her? He should just take her like his body demanded and promptly forget her. She was a Spaniard, wasn’t she? He had never known a Spaniard he hadn’t hated with consuming passion.

  She was a nun.

  He didn’t believe her for a minute.

  He wanted her. It would be so easy to disregard her holy calling and take her body. So easy…

  Was she truly a holy woman?

  He glanced down at Luca, curled tip on the hard deck, stunned by the direction of his thoughts. He’d captured one or two Spanish women before and had promptly ransomed them. He had never felt desire for them despite their willingness to accommodate El Diablo. One in particular had made it quite apparent that she fancied him. But she hadn’t appealed to him. He found no beauty in her dark, sloe-eyed features, and so he had rebuffed her.

  Morgan sighed raggedly and turned toward the wall. Why should he worry about the comfort of a Spanish witch? Sleeping on the deck had been her choice. So be it.

  Luca awoke to the morning sun slanting through the open port window. She gasped in shock when she realized she was lying in Morgan’s bunk and leaped up as if burned, staring down at the rumpled bed in horror. How had she gotten from the floor to the bed? She had no memory of moving or being moved. Where was the pirate? What had he done to her?

  Taking stock of her clothing, she appeared to be lacking nothing that she’d worn the previous day. Her body felt stiff from sleeping on the hard floor, but other man that she suffered no pain in unusual places. She had no time for further inspection, for the door opened and Morgan stepped inside, closing die door firmly behind him. He carried a tray from which delicious odors emanated.

  “Ah, you’re awake, I see. I’ve brought you something to eat. You must be hungry after skipping supper last night.” He set the tray down on the desk, pushing a map aside as he did so.

  Luca’s mouth watered. “I have no appetite,” she lied. But her stomach betrayed her, for it rumbled loud enough for Morgan to hear. “H-how did I get on the bunk?”

  “I put you there,” Morgan said. “I arose at dawn You looked so uncomfortable I moved you to the bunk. You were still sleeping soundly when I left the cabin.”

  “You didn’t…” She licked her lips, uncertain how to continue. “You didn’t… take advantage of me, did you? Are you evil enough to defile a handmaiden of God?”

  Morgan scowled so fier
cely that Luca leaped back in alarm. “When I take you I want you awake to know it. I want you responsive in my arms, not unconscious and unaware of what I am doing to you. I may be a bastard, but there are some things even I will not stoop to. Eat now. I have a ship to run.” He turned to leave.

  “Wait!” Morgan paused but did not turn around. “May I… may I walk out on deck?”

  “My men are loyal, but pirates nonetheless, Sister Luca. I cannot protect you from them once you step outside this cabin. They will assume that I have already tired of you and that they are free to satisfy their urges. You may do as you please, but if you do not wish to submit to my crew, then I suggest you remain safely inside.”

  A shudder went through Luca. She believed him. Were all men so vile? So reprehensible? By the time he had proceeded out the door she knew that wild horses couldn’t drive her out of the cabin. The captain’s dubious protection was preferable to being ravished by the entire crew.

  Morgan chuckled to himself as he strode away. He hadn’t exactly been truthful with Luca. His men might want her, but they would obey his orders or suffer the consequences. After he had spoken with them this morning not one man among them would dare lay a hand on her without his permission.

  Luca watched him leave as the delicious aroma drew her to the tray of food. She had to keep up her strength, didn’t she? With that thought in mind she quickly devoured the contents of the entire tray, finding it amazingly palatable for ship’s fare. She had no sooner finished than she heard a discreet knock on the door. She watched in trepidation as the door opened without invitation and the first mate stepped inside, carrying a pitcher of water and a stack of soft cloths.

  “The captain thought you’d like some water. This the closest thing we can come to a bath. That will have to wait until we reach Andros.”

  Crawford set the pitcher down on the washstand and boldly assessed her. He wondered if Morgan had taken her last night. Judging from the captain’s vile mood, he assumed the virtuous little nun had managed to keep her virginity intact. It wasn’t like Morgan to lust after a Spanish slut, no matter how beautiful or desirable. Yet this little gray dove had Morgan tied in knots. It puzzled Crawford. He thought he knew Morgan better than any man alive, and it wasn’t like Morgan to deprive himself of something that was his for the taking, something he wanted desperately, as he obviously did this Spanish nun.