Swept Away By a Kiss (7 page)

Etienne was gone when she woke. Valerie rapped upon the door and called for Zeus. He brought her thrice-brewed coffee and a bowl of thin porridge. A slim volume with the words
Batailles Maritimes
embossed on the brown binding lay upon the tray. She thanked her guard, investing her words with a touch of grateful fragility. He lingered a moment longer than necessary.

When he left, Valerie scrubbed her face with water, scouring away the look of dependent helplessness. Then she washed her simpering mouth clean with bitter coffee and gave herself a short scold. The giant felt sympathy for her. Her ploy was succeeding so far. She should be satisfied.

Grateful at least for the window and the view of the endless ocean, she ate and read, the knot in her stomach tightening with each passing hour. At midday Zeus brought more food but this time Valerie could not stomach it. Instead, she asked him for needle and thread, then settled down in the chair. It took her hours to alter the maid’s frock to fit her. But the final product satisfied, and she donned it, glad to have a change of clothing.

She had just tied the sash made from the gown’s hem beneath her breasts when Zeus opened the door. Wrists loosely bound, she followed her guard to the upper deck. Bebain stood upon the bridge with his first mate. Unlike the night before upon the merchantman, Mr. Fevre seemed at ease.

The pirate captain turned a fulsome smile upon her.

“Dearest lady,” he cooed. “I hope your accommodations are to your liking?”

“They are tolerable.”

“Good, good.” He fingered the edge of her sleeve. “I wish above all else for you to be happy here.” He gestured toward the seascape. “This, pretty child, is my kingdom. Of this and all we have passed, I am lord.” He regarded her briefly, smiling. She stared, sickly mesmerized by the way his fleshy nostrils quivered. “I am master over it, as I am master of these men whom God put on Earth to serve me.” He paused, scanning his immaculately ordered vessel. “And they serve me well, no?”

Without waiting for her reply, he clipped, “Let us go,” grasped her forearm, and tugged her forward. He paused mid-step, kneading her bare flesh. Valerie held her breath.

“Hnh,” he finally grunted. His gaze slid away and he drew her with him amidships.

“I am a civilized man,” he resumed. “I do not care for having slaves aboard my ship. So I hired these freedmen for their labor, men who once were slaves, you know.” They approached the mainmast, its sun-bright sails now easy with wind. He paused beside the giant stem of wood and caressed an iron manacle attached at shoulder height. “But they remember whence they came. And if they forget, often I remind them. This keeps them particularly loyal to me, and obedient.” The last few words he enunciated carefully, as though instructing a small child.

Valerie stood frozen, her gaze locked upon the mast. Beneath Bebain’s hands, dried blood ran in dark streaks to the mast’s base, coloring the thick, coiled lines of hemp with rusty remains. Horror sluiced through her as she took in the sparkling clean boards of the deck at the foot of the mast. Of the entire well-scrubbed ship, this altar to its master’s cruelty remained filthy with the stain of violence.

“You are not pleased with my treasure?” Bebain clucked in displeasure. “No matter, I have other delights aboard my palace with which to amuse you.”

Alarmed by his quick change in humor, Valerie tensed. The pirate’s pale stare narrowed.

“But you are not yet ready,” he snapped. “Zeus, I do not need you. Mr. Fevre will help me escort our guest to her quarters.”

The first mate stepped forward and took up the ropes at Valerie’s wrists. As they crossed the deck he collected another thick coil. Bebain followed, Valerie’s blood curdling with fear as they went below to the cabin. By the time they reached it, her hands shook uncontrollably.

“Here we are, my sweet,” Bebain said with a wide-lipped smile as they entered her prison cell. He turned to his mate and gestured impatiently to Valerie’s gown. “Remove that monstrosity. Then tie her.”

Valerie jerked back, pulling free of Fevre’s hold.

“Oh, do not distress yourself needlessly, pretty one,” Bebain soothed. “I do not intend to harm you. How could I, my dear, when I wish you to be happy here? No, no. I only wish to offer some inspiration to our pure and noble cleric.” His fingertips trailed across her cheek as Fevre moved behind her. Grasping her jaw with a taloned hand, Bebain lifted a dagger to her throat and pressed the flat of it into her windpipe.

“Now be a pet while we prepare the good father’s temptation.”

The unfamiliar guard towered beside Steven nearly as tall and broad as Zeus. It did not bode well. It suggested that Steven’s faithless first mate stepped cautiously now that he was betraying both his masters. Fevre must be truly frightened to employ this kind of brawn against him. He should be. His trip to the stockade approached with each hour.

But Steven needed more time. He’d spent most of the day locked in the lazarette, tending a sick sailor. Ezekiel suffered from a tumor and hadn’t long to live. As master of the ship, Bebain should act as physician for his crewmen. But he had passed on that duty to Fevre, and Fevre did not have any taste for men even weaker than himself.

Steven offered Ezekiel what comfort he could. He was so accustomed to the role of priest by now he performed it with ease, and meant every word he said. Confined to the sickroom, though, he had no chance to talk with many of Bebain’s sailors, and he did not see Maximin all day, which concerned him. They had matters to discuss, not the least of which was how to manage to keep Valerie safe while staging Bebain’s defeat.

And this change of guard worried him.

He preceded the sailor across the gun deck to Maximin’s cabin. The lumbering guard turned the latch without unlocking it first.

Not locked?

Steven swung around. The sailor slammed a heavy fist into his chest, yanking the ropes from his wrists. The door swung shut, grazing Steven’s shoulder, and the key ground in the lock.

He turned. Prickling heat spread across his chest.

Trussed in ropes, Valerie reclined at the head of the bed, legs spread, feet tied to either footpost. She wore only a thin shift, ruched to her thighs. Ropes twined between her legs and around her hips, climbing in intricate knots up her body to coil around her neck. A strip of rough cloth between her teeth pulled her lips back. From beneath lowered lashes, she stared at him, shame and pain mingled in the sea-colored pools.

Fury barreled into Steven’s senses, turning his stomach. He crossed the space in a stride. She tilted her head to look up at him and the ropes creaked around her neck.

“Don’t move.” He clenched his fists, for the first time in years aching to use them upon a man. “Did he hurt you?”

She held his gaze steadily, willful denial brimming in her gaze now.

He took a tight breath and reached toward her.

“I am going to remove the gag.”

She blinked once, deliberately. Steven took it as assent. Dropping to his knees, he reached for the rag tied around her jaw. Her sable hair whished across his knuckles, soft and silken. Biting back upon his unwanted spark of arousal, he worked the knot loose and drew the cloth away.

“That was not tied tightly,” she rasped, meeting his gaze from a foot away, awareness clear in her ocean eyes.

“As intended, no doubt,” he replied. “Did he—”

“No.” She swallowed with obvious discomfort, the red marks tapering from her lips dipping into a grimace. She seemed on the verge of saying more, then closed her mouth.

Steven sat back upon his heels.

“And tomorrow morning?”

“He was vague.” Her brow lowered. “He mentioned punishment.”

Pressing down upon his anger, Steven did not need to study the complex series of knots spread across Valerie’s body to know how long it would take him to unbind her, and to understand what Bebain hoped to accomplish with this sick game.

“Punishment if you remain bound,” he said, silently damning the priestly guise that encouraged Bebain’s insane imagination. “When did he do this?”

“Two hours ago. Or three.” For the first time, Valerie’s voice quavered, hinting at the desperation hidden behind her direct gaze.

Steven rose to his knees, forcing a calm to his movements he did not feel. He scanned the elaborate system of knots wrapped around her body.

“Where is your knife?”

“In my shoe.”

He moved to the clothing piled upon the chair, and bile rose in his throat. The madman tied a woman like an animal, yet folded her garments neatly for reuse. Steven drew the tiny weapon from the lining of the costly leather boot and turned back to the bed.

“This will not be of use on most of the knots. They are too close to your skin.” Watching her pale face, he sat at the foot of the bed and grasped the rope stretching from her ankle to the post. He set the knife to it.

“No.” Her voice was rough. “Don’t use it. Then he will know I have it.”

Steven regarded her steadily, a rush of sharp heat sweeping through him. Valerie’s body tensed against the bindings. Color dusted her cheeks. She craved freedom, but from much more than these tethers. She would not let this setback cow her into submission or carelessness. Desire curled in his blood, mixing with respect and fresh anger.

He pushed aside the sensations.

“I should have thought of that.”

“Why?” She scanned his clerical robe. “Are you accustomed to concealing knives from pirate captors?”

He lifted a brow and returned to his task. “I will break the glass on the lamp. It will appear I used that to cut the rope.”

“Clever,” she murmured. “Perhaps you are a dab hand at deception after all, despite your avowal the other day.”

Steven did not respond. He could not. He’d told her he preferred the truth, but everything he let her believe about him was a lie.

He cut into the rope. It was slow work.

“It is a very small knife,” she finally said, quietly this time.

“It will do.”

“I never imagined it would ever be of any use, and now I have employed it twice in a single day.”

He felt her gaze upon his back as he worked, like a touch. The blade was thin but sharp. The rope snapped and Valerie curled up her leg, her bare skin brushing across linen. Ignoring his heightened pulse, Steven moved to the other side of the bed and set to the bonds attached to the footpost there. In a minute, the sliced rope slipped through his hand. She drew her knees together.

“And for the rest?” she asked.

He turned to face her, unsurprised at the upward tilt of her chin. A brave woman, Valerie Monroe, and infinitely more seductive in her defiance than any man’s warped fantasies could render her with ropes and gags.

Steven studied the complex network of twists and loops. A lynch knot wound about her neck, interwoven with another rope. That one, doubled back upon itself, crossed her shoulders, twined between and beneath her breasts, around her hips, and finally restrained her wrists against her abdomen in repeating knots. All lay flush against her body. To untie or even cut each tether, the one before it must first be loosened, or the succeeding knot would tighten and, working its way up, grip her neck like a noose.

Steven drew in a long breath.

“He has contrived a series of lynch knots. Not impossible to unravel, but each connected to the next, beginning at the top. This will take some time.”

“That’s all right. I have no other engagements this evening.”

Steven met her candid gaze. In the gathering twilight, her eyes glowed the color of storm-tossed waves. One slender, dark brow perched higher than the other. He allowed himself a muted grin.

“No names yet upon your dance card, my lady?”

“Not yet, though I still have hope.” Her lashes fluttered, but guardedness flashed beneath the pretended coquetry.

“Valerie—”

“Please begin now.” Without any movement, she seemed to straighten her shoulders. “The sooner I am free of these, the better.”

Undeniably seductive
.

“I will have to touch you.”

She held his gaze in silence. Steven wanted nothing more than to cup her cheek in his palm, pass his thumb across her abused lips, and speak soothing words. But the longer he returned her look, the faster the heat rose in his blood, spilling through his limbs, rocking him with long-suppressed need.