Taken by You (3 page)

A commotion nearby moved Luca to haste; she pushed the sprung door shut and dug in the trunk for her habit. She pulled out the garment, tore off her own dress, and pulled the habit over her head, wrapping the wooden rosary beads around her waist to form a belt. Then she wadded up her rich finery and tossed it through the porthole. In minutes her long ebony hair was pushed beneath a linen headcovering, completing her transformation. She finished without a moment to spare.

Suddenly the door burst from its broken hinges, and a burly pirate covered with blood and grime appeared in the doorway, surveying the wreckage with grim satisfaction He spied Luca and leered at her, revealing a mouthful of blackened, rotted teeth.

“Well, well, wot ‘ave we ‘ere?” He stepped inside, avoiding the bodies of Carlotta and the priest and he reached for Luca. She backed away, tripping over wreckage. He stalked her relentlessly. Don’t be afeared, little gray dove. Old Pete ain’t seen a woman since we left the Bahamas. Least ways not one as purty as you.”

He hinged, snared Luca by the waist, and dragged her against the unyielding wall of his massive chest. The breath slammed from her lungs, but she quickly found it again, screaming at the top of her voice. Clapping his hand over her mouth, Pete bore her to the deck.

Morgan balanced himself on the listing deck, urging his men to make haste before the
Santa Cruz
sank. They had found riches beyond their wildest imagination aboard the Spanish galleon, and the men were transferring it to the
Avenger
while he and Stan Crawford herded the Spanish survivors toward the quarterdeck. When Morgan heard the scream he stopped dead in his tracks and swung around to face the Spanish captain, his eyebrow quirked in honest surprise.

“Are there women aboard?”

Captain Ortega remained sullenly uncommunicative. Thinking he didn’t speak English, Morgan repeated his question in flawless Spanish, having learned the language fluently during his years of captivity. When Ortega still did not reply, Morgan placed the point of his sword against the man’s throat, needing little provocation to ram it home. Ortega’s eyes bugged out, and he squawked in protest.

“Senorita Santiego, the shipowner’s daughter, and her companion.”

“What is your destination?”

“Cuba. Senorita Santiago’s fiancé awaits her in Havana.”

Morgan’s eyes narrowed as he gazed toward the wreckage of the stern cabin, quite certain that that’s where the scream had come from. “Take over here, Mr. Crawford.”

Morgan strode across the burning deck, noting that all his men but for a few stragglers had already crossed over to the
Avenger
and awaited him there. The deck tilted crazily just as he reached the cabin, and he feared that any passengers remaining aboard would be trapped with the sinking ship.

Kicking aside the broken remnants of the door, Morgan’s gaze moved quickly over the carnage inside the cabin, passing over two bodies and coming to rest on the couple grappling on the deck. One of his men lay atop a woman, having the Devil’s own time subduing her. He was startled to note that the woman was garbed in the drab gray habit of a nun. Though he’d never held nuns or any other religious zealots in special regard, he grabbed the pirate by the scruff of the neck and flung him away.

“Go back to the
Avenger,
Potter, unless you wish to go down with the ship.”

Fete Potter glared sullenly at his captain. “Wot about the woman, Captain? I want her. She’s mine.”

Luca’s eyes widened with fear as she stared at Morgan. She knew without being told that this was the notorious El Diablo, the pirate feared and hated by all Spaniards. He was nothing like what she’d pictured in her mind. El Diablo was magnificently male, his face all hard lines and shadowed planes. In no way did he resemble the Devil, which made him even more dangerous. Golden hair, richly thick, and wickedly curved eyebrows were enhanced by the deep cleft in his chin. And those eyes, so keenly blue and assessing, roved over her with insulting intensity. His hard-muscled body rippled with unleashed power. The strong, rugged lines of his facial features were dominated by a generous mouth, which looked fully capable of being cruel and unrelenting, and a square, aggressive jaw.

“I’ll take care of her.”

Complaining bitterly, Potter gave Morgan a sullen look as he sidled past him and out the door. El Diablo was a fair master who expected his orders to be obeyed without question but did not hesitate to exact severe punishment if defied. No one aboard the
Avenger
would ever consider mutiny, not even Potter.

Moved by desperation, Luca scrambled to her knees, bowed her head, folded her hands, and prayed as fervently as she knew how. Morgan stared at her in dismay, her piety making him decidedly uncomfortable.

“What is your name?” he asked in Spanish.

A flare of stubborn resistance kept her mute in spite of her fear as she continued to pray most diligently.

Morgan spat out a curse. “Stop that gibberish and answer me! Who are you?”

Luca blinked up at him. “Sister Luca.”

“What are you doing aboard the
Santa Cruz?”

“Don Eduardo engaged me to act as chaperon to his daughter … Carlotta Santiego.” She knew this was one lie for which God would forgive her.

Morgan cast a dispassionate glance at the two bodies lying amid the wreckage of the cabin. “I suppose the dead woman is Carlotta Santiego.”

“Si”

“And the priest?”

“He was sent to protect the virtue of Carlotta and witness the marriage between Carlotta and Don Diego del Fugo.”

Morgan gazed into Luca’s face, mesmerized by her sultry beauty. Never would he understand why so lovely a woman would choose to cloister herself behind walls, away from society and men. Though the drab gray habit did nothing to enhance her figure or beauty, neither did it detract from it. It would take a blind man not to see through the colorless trappings she wore to find the temptress within. Too bad she was Spanish, he thought, staring at her with barely concealed contempt.

Small of stature yet lushly fashioned and fair of face, there was something about her that made Morgan think deliriously lewd thoughts. Not even the loose gray habit stopped him from imagining how it would feel to thrust into the tight warmth of her virgin body. A dark noxious cloud of choking smoke brought Morgan’s wayward thoughts under control.

“Captain, the ship’s sinking fast! All hands are aboard the
Avenger
and awaiting us.” Crawford’s voice held a note of desperation.

“Coming, Mr. Crawford!” Morgan called back.

“On your feet,” Morgan barked as he grasped Luca’s arm and hauled her bodily from the cabin.

“Leave me,” Luca insisted. “I’ll take my chances with the survivors. I have no ransom value, it will earn you naught to take me with you. I am but a poor nun.”

Morgan’s cold blue eyes traveled the length of her body, boldly assessing her worth. “Perhaps I have something else in mind for you.”

Luca sucked in a ragged breath. Did he mean to rape her despite her claim of being a virtuous nun? Would he pass her on to his men when he finished with her? For the space of a heartbeat she considered throwing herself into the sea to escape the terrible fate that awaited her on this Devil’s ship.

Her conjecturing came to an abrupt halt when the deck tilted violently and she fell against Morgan. Cursing violently, he swept her off her feet and flung her over his shoulder like a sack of flour. Sprinting from the cabin and across the sloping deck, he approached the rail, where Mr. Crawford waited for him. Luca cried out in alarm when Morgan effortlessly leaped across the expanse of water separating the two ships, landing lightly on the deck of the
Avenger.
Mr. Crawford followed close on his heels.

Once they stood safely on the deck of the
Avenger
the sails caught the wind, carrying them away from the burning
Santa Cruz.
Luca’s last glimpse of the sinking ship was of Captain Ortega and the surviving crew working feverishly to lower the longboat before the ship disappeared beneath the dark, swirling waves.

Chapter 2

Aboard the
Avenger

M
organ didn’t dare release his hold on die trembling nun for fear she’d sacrifice herself to the sea. He had no idea why he cared, but he did. She was Spanish, and he despised her for that. Perhaps he should have left her aboard die sinking
Santa Cruz,
he reflected, since obviously she had no ransom value. His rather discerning testes did not run to innocent members of a religious order. Logic told him he should give her to his men for sport and feel no guilt. But a spark of decency, instilled in him long ago by his parents, prevented him from doing so. She was far too fragile to survive even one night of rough handling.

“I am Captain Morgan Scott,” Morgan said as he dragged Luca across the deck. “You are aboard die
Avenger
and at my mercy.”

“Wh-where are you taking me?” Luca asked, cringing beneath Morgan’s devilish grin.

“To my cabin.”

Luca balked, pulling against die force of Morgan’s unrelenting grip. “No!”

“Aye, Sister, or whatever you call yourself. You will be safer there than out here. My crew are good men, but they hate die Spanish as much as I do. The drab rags you wear will not save you from them. If you speak English, I suggest you do so. Hearing your accursed language spoken aboard an English snip will likely incite them to violence.”

With little effort Morgan dragged Luca across the deck to his cabin beneath the quarterdeck. Pulling open the door, he shoved her inside. He followed, closing the door behind him and leaning against it. He stared at her, his penetrating gaze as merciless as a sword thrust.

“What in God’s name am I going to do with you, Sister Luca?” Morgan mused thoughtfully. “Shall I give you to my men to sport with? I assure you they would be most grateful. Perhaps,” he continued in a voice so low and raspy it sent chills down Luca’s spine, “I might find some use for you in my bed.” Unexpectedly his eyes kindled, excited by the thought of tumbling the sultry beauty who claimed to be a nun.

“Why didn’t I listen to Father Sebastian?” Luca lamented, wringing her hands in despair. “He told me it would be better to kill myself than submit to filthy pirates.”

“Privateer, Sister, privateer. Sanctioned by the queen of England and sailing under the English flag. Why
didn’t
you kill yourself?” he asked curiously.

Luca’s chin rose a fraction, and her dark eyes glowed with defiance. “I did not want to die.” She answered in English, not flawlessly, but with a charming accent. “I want to live.”

He respected her honesty but little else. “You are an enigma, Sister. Your pretense of innocence does not impress me, for beneath those religious trappings lies a body ripe for bedding. Your earthy sensuality belies your piety. Your dark eyes smolder with fire and zest for fife, and your beauty would tempt the Devil himself.”

“I’ve heard that El Diablo is the Devil,” Luca dared to say.

Morgan threw back his head and gave a bark of laughter. “There are few who would dispute that.” The hellish gleam in his eyes pierced through the armor of her nun’s robes.

He pushed himself away from the door, narrowing the space between them. She retreated, until the backs other knees came in contact with the bunk. Morgan kept on coming, until he stood scant inches in front of her, a lazy smile stretching his generous lips, making his eyes crinkle at the corners. Intrigued by the smooth olive tones of her skin, he reached out and slid the back of a callused finger down her cheek, amazed at the satiny texture. Boldly his finger continued downward, coming to rest where her flesh disappeared beneath her neck-cloth.

Luca exhaled sharply, fearing what he would do next, yet breathlessly excited by his casual caress. “Don’t!”

Morgan went still. “Don’t? You are my captive, Sister. I can do what I please with you. You are worthless to me as a hostage, you said so yourself. Who would ransom a penniless nun?”

“You could set me ashore on the nearest landfall. I will find my way back home somehow.”

“You couldn’t survive if I turned you loose. By your own admission you know nothing of the world outside your convent. I will think on what I will do with you.”