03 - The Wicked Lady (2 page)

"I wasn't going to hurt your sister.  I'm going to make sure she doesn't hurt me," Trevor explained in a very level tone to the youngster. "Do you see this blood on my shoulder?"

"Aye."  he child's head bobbed. "How did that happen?"

"Your sister shot me!" Trevor set the boy back on his feet.

The kid turned and looked at his sister.
"What you do that for, Kristen?”

“
Hush up, Hagan."

"No, go ahead." Trevor turned his attention back to the girl, who could be called pretty if she were properly dressed. He was surprised that she and her brother were fairly clean. Usually, such urchins had two layers of dirt on them. "Why did you shoot me when I've never done anything to you?"

"Ye had been drinkin' and when you grabbed me--well, let's just say I dinna want a beating."

"I only had one whisky, and I'm not drunk. You would have found that out if you'd only asked first and shot later!"

Trevor had backed the girl to the bed where she couldn't go any farther. He wondered how many beatings she'd suffered and by whose hand. He was sure she wouldn't tell him.  But, if she did, he'd make sure the man never struck her again.

Kristen.
The boy had called her Kristen. He liked that name even if she was a bloody Scot. "You don't mind if I search you myself?" He held her with his gaze. "Just in case you're carrying another weapon." He placed his hand on her shoulders, and she jumped.  I don't need yet another hole in my body."

"Doesn't look like I can stop ye."

His hand moved slowly down arms that were much too thin. When he got to the end of her sleeve he felt something hard and carefully slid it out from beneath the thin material. "Ah, what's this, my lovely one?"

Robbie, who had been fairly quiet as he kept an eye on the child, shouted, "It's me bloody knife. When did she get that?"

Trevor threw it to his first mate. "You're lucky you don't have a hole in you, too."

"I didn't suspect . . . didn't feel a thing."

"I know." Trevor interrupted. "Take the boy and go get some bandages. I'm going to let the lady clean up the mess she has made of my arm."

"Kristen, you said we could get something to eat," Hagan said before he moved.

She was about to answer but Trevor cut her off. "When was the last time you ate, son?"

"I had a piece of bread yesterday, but it was

"What's your name?"

"Hagan."

"Robbie, after you bring me the supplies, see to it that the child has something to eat."

"Aye," he said and shut the door.

"We don't need yer charity," Kristen told him.

Trevor gave her a knowing look. "No, but you do need food." His eyes narrowed. "When was the last time you ate, Kristen?"

She didn't like the way he said her name in that soft manner of his. It kept her off guard. "
'Tis not important."

"Oh, but I think it is. I bet you didn't eat at all yesterday." He saw she was stubbornly not going to answer, and he wasn't sure why he cared, but he did.

What kind of hell-cat did he have in front of him? Something told him she wasn't what she seemed. But just in case, he was damned well going to make sure she didn't possess any more weapons. His hands crossed her breast, and she gasped, slapping them away.

"Yer wastin' yer time. I've nothing more."

"Then you don't mind if I make sure." Trevor's brow arched, yet he continued his search. He couldn't help noting what a exquisite body she had, and he admired her courage even if it was for doing wrong by stealing. He reached her waist. He could almost put his hands around her middle.

Farther down were shapely hips, perfect for babies. He frowned at where his thoughts were leading him.

The dress she wore was faded, the material badly worn, and it made him wonder how she'd come to be a com
mon thief. Her legs, he bet, were free of silk stockings. He felt her shiver under his fingertips. When he finally reached her tiny feet, he realized that somewhere his thoughts had turned from angry to curious.

Standing back up, he looked at the girl. Even though her clothes were badly in need of replacing, they were fairly clean. The lamplight flickered across her hair which hung in layers from her chin down to the middle of her back. He couldn't remember seeing hair exactly her color before. It was like a morning sunrise, the soft yellows and golds threatened to burst in an orange ball of color. Her face was delicate, not hard from years of rough treatment. And then, he made the mistake of looking into her eyes. They glittered like rare emeralds with a darker green in the middle. There was a mischievous sparkle that hadn't been diminished over the years of hardship she must have suffered.

He found himself completely entranced by a wharf rat with emerald eyes, and he didn't like it one bit. After all, she was a Scot.

"Can I go now?" K
risten asked softly.

Kristen wasn't sure what this funny reaction was that made her skin feel as if needles were sticking her, but she needed to get away from this man.

His sheer size demanded respect. He was much too overpowering for her. When he touched her body, she'd ceased to think of anything else but the touch and feel of his strong hands. She'd glimpsed, if for only a moment, a look of tenderness, and her heart had skipped a beat. Yet he really hadn't tried anything i
mproper, and that puzzled her. She'd never encountered anyone so intimidating, yet intriguing. She sensed he was a man who always got what he wanted. Evidently she wasn't one of those things, and she thanked her lucky stars.

"But I told ye it was an accident."

"You were still trying to steal. I want some answers, but first I need my shoulder mended. And, seeing as you're the one that caused this," he pointed to the red stain on his shirt, "you have the privilege of fixing it."

Robbie knocked, then entered the cabin and put down a leather satchel. "I'm going to take the lad with me. Seems he likes our ship."

"Thanks, Robbie." Trevor opened the bag and shoved it across the table to her. "This is everything you will need." He sat on the table so she could tend him better.

"Ye mean ye tr
ust me to patch ye up? I could make it worse." She frankly couldn't believe he would want the likes of her touching him.

"I think you're smarter than that," he remarked casually. "Just a warning.  If you try anything, one of my men will be outside the door to deal with you, that is if I don't get to you first."

"I ain't afraid of ye."  Kristen lifted her chin, hoping he didn't see the tremble that showed she was lying.

He reached over, took her chin, then brought her face so close to his that she could feel his breath on her cheek. For a slight moment, she thought he was going to kiss her. It was impossible to tear her gaze from him. He rubbed his thumb back and forth across her chin. "Well, you should be afraid, Kristen."

At that very moment she wanted to be kissed, something that had never occurred in her young eighteen years. She gazed into his eyes. She could see how intense he was, and she wondered if he had a wife and children. His eyes were not one color, but instead a mixture of blue-green with just a touch of brown specks in the middle. As they stood staring at each other, she could see how they darkened to a deep royal blue, and she wondered what he was contemplating.

Kristen couldn't read his eyes, so he must be good at keeping his emotions and thoughts to himself. His warning hadn't left her, though. She was no fool. She wouldn't push this man too far,
and she'd pray he'd let her go. "I need tae wash my hands before working on ye shoulder."

His eyes glittered with a reckless energy.  He seemed a little hesitant to let her go, but he did, and she felt a stab of disappointment.

Gathering her wits, she found a metal basin and pitcher on a nearby stand. She poured water into the basin, then scrubbed her hands good with lye soap.

When she came back to him she said, "I need tae remove yer shirt so I can clean the wound."

She watched as he unbuttoned the white billowing shirt. He winced as he tried to remove the material off the damaged arm.

"Here, let me." Kristen gently moved her hand down his arm, and a fine arm it was, too. He was very muscular, proving he'd done a bit of hard work. She loosened the material from the dried blood, not realizing she was rubbing her bust across his chest as she did so. Hearing his quick intake of breath, she looked sharply at him and asked, "Ye all right?"

"I think so."  He scowled and his eyes darkened.

He didn't look all right, and he sounded a wee bit funny, but since he was quieter, she ignored him. With the shirt removed she examined the nasty hole. She'd gotten used to taking care of unfortunates on the streets, so she was no longer squeamish. They all came to her with their bumps and bruises, but working on this one was very different. Her gaze went to the man's chest, and she breathed in the word "magnificent." Somehow she managed to keep a straight face. "Appears the bullet went straight through the meaty part of ye arm," she commented as she placed the dampened cloth on his wound.

He flinched.

"Sorry," she murmured, not liking the way he stared at her. It was as if he wanted to know all about her, yet she knew that was absurd. "I don't know yer full name," she realized out loud.

"Trevor Claremont." He paused. "And yours is Kristen--?"

"Johnstone."

"That figures," he said and glowered.

"And what do ye mean by that?" She put her hands on her hips.

"I've no use for the Johnstones."

"Appears ye do at the moment," she answered tartly and resumed her nursing. She couldn't help smiling at his frowning face.

"My da died a long time ago, so ye canna have known him." Gently, she cleaned his shoulder. Then she slid the box over and took some white salve and started applying it to the wound. His skin was warm, and his fragrance hadn't escaped her notice either. He smelled like the wind and the sea. A fresh scent she couldn't remember smelling on a man before.

She barely touched him, but each time she did, his muscles tightened. She wondered why her touch affected him so when she couldn't possibly be hurting him. This man was a puzzle to her. He seemed gentry, yet he was different. The dandies, as she liked to call them, were such an indifferent lot who looked down their noses when they saw the likes of her.

She hadn't always been on the street. She had a vague memory of growing up in a big house, but the memory had dimmed so much over the years, that she wasn't sure if her memory was genuine or a dream. She couldn't remember her real father, but sometimes in the wee hours of the morning she could hear his Scottish burr. "Kristen, my girl, yer goin' to be a real beauty someday." He would be disappointed that his prediction hadn't come true. When Kristen had questioned her mother about her da and what their life had been, she'd only received a blank look. The answer was always the same. "Why dredge up the past? This is your life now. Only you can make the best of it." Then two years ago, her mother had died of consumption, leaving Kristen with her stepfather and a three-year-old brother.

"Something tells me you've slipped away from me," Trevor whispered, wondering what a Johnstone tasted like.

Kristen realized she'd finished his bandage, but she hadn't moved from between his legs. She'd been staring at his chest, lost in her thoughts. Now she looked up at him and saw that his expression had softened for the first time. "I--I think I've finished."

"Have
you?" Trevor reached out and traced his finger lazily along her jaw, marveling at how smooth her skin felt. He had no idea why he was feeling this odd attraction to the girl, but somehow he needed to touch her and, for just a moment, chase away the sadness he'd seen in her face. He found himself wanting her. He noted she hadn't jerked away from him. His hand slipped to the nape of her neck, and her silky hair seemed to wrap around his fingers while he pulled her ever so slowly to him.

Just one little kiss . . . that's all he wanted. Then he'd be satisfied and could send her on her way. Her lips were soft and wet as he moved his mouth over hers.
It was a featherlike kiss and then it was over.

"
'Twas nice." Her eyes were wide and clear, staring at him with unblinking innocence.

"Nice?" Trevor drew his brows together. Since when did a woman describe his kiss as merely nice. "Nice?" he repeated.

"I thought p’haps there would be more."

"Don't tell me you've never been kissed before."

"Nay, I have not."

"Then, perhaps, we should try again."

Trevor couldn't help but chuckle. "I would hate to leave you disappointed. There is a little more to a kiss than I've shown you."

Kristen had always wondered what a kiss would be like. Would it be magical? She sure hadn't felt any magic yet and, seeing as this man's teeth were not rotten like most of the lads she knew, she didn't see any harm in satisfying her curiosity. " 'Tis more, ye say?"