Lock (26 page)

Giggling, she shivered as the cool water touched her skin.

“Cold?” He nipped her ear. “This water is perfect.”

“Honestly, Lock, sometimes I think you were born in the water, you love it so much.”

“There’s nothing like it. Soft, strong, soothing, and rough. The essence of beauty. Just like you.”

Sparrow smiled. Sometimes her rugged pirate said the sweetest things.

Suddenly he disappeared beneath the surface. She searched for him in the moonlit lake, then shrieked and giggled as a hand grasped her ankle and tugged. Suddenly she was in his arms again. This time when he kissed her, he left no opportunity for words or wandering thoughts. She could only feel the sensation of his lips against hers, the rough, wet touch of his hands on her arms and back as he slipped the sleeves of her shift down her shoulders and bared her breasts to his hungry mouth.

She gasped, his tongue warm on her nipple compared to the chilly night water. She wove her fingers through his thick, wet hair and closed her eyes, leaning into the cushion of water.

He kissed her again, his hands molding her breasts, his fingertips slipping over her ribs and across her hips. He stroked her inner thighs and cupped her sex until she clung to him, using one hand to guide his cock into her pussy.

She wrapped her legs around his waist and he grasped her buttocks, her hands and hips moving in a sensual rhythm.

“I love you,” she whispered, her lips roaming over his neck, licking away droplets of cool water. She used her tongue to trace the shape of his ear. A groan of desire rumbled in his chest, and he took several steps toward the shore. He pushed her onto her back in the shallow water, his mouth covering hers in a fierce kiss. She grasped the back of his head, never wanting his lips to leave hers. Bracing a hand on each side of her head, he clutched the mud and smooth rocks beneath the water as his hips thrust frantically. Sparrow squeezed her eyes shut. Her nipples, hard peaks from the touch of water combined with rising passion, scraped Lock’s chest. Her body arched upward, meeting his, joining his rhythm, until they both burst into a shattering climax.

Sparrow lay beneath him, feeling their pounding hearts slow. Only when she’d regained her breath and opened her eyes did she realize fat drops of cold rain pelted them, mingling with the river water.

He wrinkled his nose. “It’s raining.”

“So that’s what they call those big drops pouring from the sky.”

“Mockery doesn’t sound good from you.” He playfully nipped her nose before he stood, grasping her hands and tugging her to her feet.

“I forgot. It’s reserved only for you and Shea-Ann.”

“Oh no.” He waved his hand, smiling as they stepped out of the lake and reached for their clothes. “Don’t try to say I’m like the witch.”

“She’s starting to think of you as an assistant, and you seem to be learning a lot from her. Come on, Lock, admit it. You like Shea-Ann.”

He tilted his face skyward, squinting against the raindrops. “Maybe a little. But don’t let
her
know that.”

“Race you home.”

He laughed. “You with those short little legs.”

“You weren’t complaining about my legs when they were around your waist a few minutes ago.”

“I didn’t say they weren’t nice and strong.”

“Lock!” She shoved him and bolted toward the house, glancing once over her shoulder. He followed at a slow jog, waving to her and smiling.

Brat! He’s such a brat!
Sparrow thought, torn between irritation and good humor. She quickened her pace, planning to lock him out when she reached the house, but seconds later she shrieked as he lifted her and half-tossed her in the air. Lock ran to the house, Sparrow snug in his arms.

“Sometimes I really hate you!” She giggled against his lips as he kissed her, placing her on her feet. She leaned against the door, her arms around his neck.

Suddenly the door opened and they both stumbled in, catching themselves before they fell on the rug.

“Would you look at the both of you!” Shea-Ann snapped. “Acting like that in front of the house! At least have the decency to go in the barn!”

“Where are you going?” Sparrow glanced at the leather bag slung over her friend’s shoulder.

“I’m spending the night in the village. With a couple of those women ready to deliver at any time, I’m better off sleeping there than having to ride off in the middle of the night.”

“Do you need help?” Lock asked.

“No. You’ve been up almost every night helping me, but tonight get a good rest so you’ll win tomorrow. Good luck, yak.”

“Thank you, hag.”

“Sparrow,” Shea-Ann hugged her, “everything will be fine.”

“I know it will.”

“Come on,” Lock said to Shea-Ann. “I’ll saddle your horse for you.”

Shea-Ann’s eyebrow lifted and she watched Lock walk across the grass. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say the pirate’s taken a liking to me.”

“I think you like him a bit yourself.”

Shea-Ann winked at Sparrow and said, “But don’t let him know about it. See you when you get back. And
don’t worry
. You’ll be married before you know.”

Sparrow drew a deep breath and released it as her friend joined Lock in the barn. Shea-Ann was right. The Empress was already attracted to Lock, and with his seductive performance, he was certain to win. When he did, he’d ask for his freedom and they could truly get on with their lives.

* * * * *

The ship lurched in violent water. Waves drenched the deck, stinging Lock’s eyes as he bellowed for Sparrow.

He heard her shriek and pushed his way past sailors who did their best to keep their footing on the slippery deck. An enormous wave washed over the ship. Lock grasped the wooden rail, managing to keep his footing while others tumbled overboard and disappeared into the dark, churning water.

“Sparrow!” he hollered, his throat aching.

Behind a fallen mast, he saw her pinned beneath a hulking male body. Her hand grasped a loose slab of wood, and she struck it across her attacker’s face. He dropped to one side, but as she crawled across the slippery deck he caught her ankle and hauled her roughly into his embrace.

Lock dove, catching the mast as the ship tilted, and leapt at the dark figure, pain flaring across his ribs…

* * * * *

“Lock!” Sparrow’s hands shook him, and he leapt awake, his heart pounding so violently his chest ached.

His vision cleared.
The farmhouse
. There was no ship. Not yet. Nor would there be.

“Gods,” he murmured, wiping sweat from his eyes.

“Must have been a horrible nightmare. Are you all right?” She rubbed his back.

“Nightmare.”
More like a vision.
By now he knew the difference. He lay back down, wrapping his arms around her as she settled against his chest. He uttered a shaky laugh. “You don’t get sea sick, do you, girl?”

“I don’t know. I told you I’ve never been to sea. I suppose we’ll find out when you take me.”

“I changed my mind about that.”

“Why?”

“It’s no place for you. You’d hate it.”

“But you told me I’d love it.”

“I’ve been away from it for a time, so I’ve glorified it. Unless you’re used to it, the rocking of the ship makes most people vomit. And it reeks. Stinks like salt and fish.”

“Lock!” She giggled sleepily. “You love the sea.”

“Did I ever tell you what happens when you run aground? Sometimes you get stuck on an island with cannibals.”

“Cannibals?”

“Happened to me once. They damn near skewered my balls.”

“Not much of a meal.”

“Hey!” He lifted his head, staring at her.

“Just teasing, but at least it got you back to reality.” She giggled and kissed him. “Go back to sleep, Lock. It was just a bad dream.”

He hoped she was right, but his stomach tightened. He already knew his dreams were cursed.

Lock broke the surface of the warm pool and hoisted himself to the edge, wiping rivulets of water from his eyes. He glanced around the bathing chamber in the lower levels of the palace of Begonia. Slaves washed in the snake-shaped pool filled by a natural hot spring. Others slept on the smooth rock floor scattered with soft rope carpets. Most prepared for the contest, each hoping to win his freedom. Many of the slaves belonged to the Empress, but a few—like Lock—had been given permission from other mistresses to enter. Sparrow was the only mistress—and the only female—in the chamber. Lock glanced over his shoulder to where she stood by a stone table preparing body paint and smoothing creases from his costume.

He approached, and she looked at him, her face tense.

He smiled as he stepped into the tight loincloth sewn with long strips of leather that hung to his knees and exposed almost every inch of him when he moved. “By the look on your face, you’d think you were the one competing.”

“Aren’t you nervous at all?”

“What for?”

“What for? This is important!”

“I can only do my best.”

“Come here.” She tugged him between her knees as she perched on the stone table and reached for a wide-tooth bone comb to disentangle his kinky hair. “It’s going to take the rest of the morning for all this hair to dry.”

“Competition starts late this afternoon.” He closed his eyes and bent his head forward as she discarded the comb and massaged sandalwood-scented oil into his nape and shoulders. “That feels good.”

“Smells good, too.”

“Are you saying I stink otherwise?”

She giggled and kissed his cheek. “No. I…”

Several nearby slaves cast them nosy glances. Lock knew they were unaccustomed to open affection between slaves and mistresses. Most likely they even disapproved of it.

“What are you looking at?” Lock growled, causing them to turn away. Most of the slaves were similar in appearance to Theodore and Namir. A few were tall and well-muscled, but most of the larger, rougher ones either worked as laborers or were placed as gladiators. None present seemed willing to provoke a SothSea pirate.

“I hate this,” Sparrow whispered. “I really do. I can’t wait until we can live normally. Lie on the table so I can do the paint.”

She hopped to her feet as he lay on his back.

She picked up a pot of black paint, dipped in a fine, soft brush, and touched it to his belly. His stomach jerked against the first contact of cold paint on warm skin. The hard muscles tightened before he released a long breath and lay still.

To create the illusion of male perfection, he needed to disguise the scars left from the whip. His back would be covered by silk, but his bare chest and stomach were marked with several long scars. Sparrow accented the lines with black paint and added several more, creating images of thorny branches across Lock’s abdomen and chest. He closed his eyes as she worked, his thoughts churning with flashes of the previous night’s vision, the approaching competition, and what would come after.

As much as he loved the sea, he knew he couldn’t take Sparrow there. Not after the nightmare. It had been so real that he could see, smell, and feel every part of it—just like he had during the dream about being tortured in the village square. And there had been other dreams over the years, ones that meant little but nevertheless came true.

“All right. I’m finished.”

Lock opened his eyes and glanced down at his torso. Thorny branches scattered the lean muscles of his chest and abdomen.

“Good,” he said, tying his hair at his nape with a strip of leather. “I’ll finish getting ready, then we can go for a walk outside.”

“Anything to get out of here.” Sparrow glanced at the slaves, several of whom watched her and Lock from the corners of their eyes.

Lock filled a basin with water and stood in front of a tall mirror at the back of the chamber as he shaved. The wiry, brown and white hair fell away, revealing a smooth, oval jaw and several fine lines on the corners of his mouth. Completely exposed, his lower lip looked even fuller and softer.

When he finally turned to her, she stared at him, her eyes wide.

“Goodness.” She stepped forward and took his face in her hands, running a fingertip over his jaw line. “You look almost like a boy.”

“Some boy.”

“You’re not at all frightening anymore.”

“Anymore? I don’t know if I’m being praised or insulted.”

She ran her knuckles across his smooth cheek. “I think you’re very handsome.”

“That’s more like it.” He lifted her onto the table, stepped between her legs, and kissed her.

“Lock, they’re watching us.”

“They have been since we arrived. Let’s give them something to stare at.”

“Let’s go for that walk you promised me.”

He reached for the silk, draped one length of it over his body and hung the second piece over his shoulder. He picked up the leather sheaths containing the two polished daggers he’d be dancing with and followed her out of the bath chamber, up the winding corridors to the main hall, and out to the courtyard where they’d wait until the competition began.