Under the Lash (3 page)

She was almost more affronted by the idea that this heathen pirate had manhandled her in the ways he had than the idea that she was being kidnapped. No one – not even her beloved father – had ever dared to take a hand to her, and yet this man seemed to be making a habit of it.

Unfortunately for her, he wasn’t explicit about how he wanted her to be treated when he handed her off to one of his men, so she was put into the boat somewhat less than gently, which drew his ire to that unlucky sailor when he heard her head connect with one of the seats as he put her down and saw that she had been hit in the back of the head hard enough for her to lose consciousness.

And although he gave the man a piece of his mind for not being more careful of their precious cargo – a term that drew a chuckle out of the man he was reprimanding – he had to admit that it was actually a lot easier to get her onto the ship when she wasn’t wiggling any more. He tasked the same man with delivering her to his quarters, and more specifically to put her in his bed to recover from the blow, being sure to mention that she was not to be touched or molested in any way by the likes of him – or anyone else. And one look into the smaller man’s eyes let him in on the fact that if the order was disobeyed, he would surely know.

That got him more ribbing and chuckles from the crew, not that he acknowledged them. Instead he began issuing commands to get them the hell out of the cove as fast as they could before the townspeople descended on them. True, she’d only been able to ring the bell once, and that probably hadn’t aroused much of anyone, especially since they hadn’t come into the proper harbor, but he wasn’t one to take chances with his crew or himself, and so they navigated back to the open sea post haste.

Before he went below to more tantalizing pursuits, he’d given further orders to his first mate, made sure they were on the course he had prescribed and checked every last detail about how the ship was running down to how well the lowliest swabby was doing – or not doing and drinking or lollygagging himself into a stupor – his job. Only then did he allow himself the luxury of entering his own cabin, to which he owned the only key.

She was right where he’d imagined that Scully had put her, waves of titian hair fanned out beneath her, but the rest of her still trussed up like a Christmas goose and also still dead to the world, which would be easier for her in the long run. By the time she awoke, they’d be well out to sea, and that should help her disabuse herself of the notion of any kind of a rescue, not that he expected some trollop who was wandering alone on the beach in the middle of the night to have a family with the means to mount any such thing, of course.

He frowned for a moment, though, looking down at her and noticing for the first time how fine her clothes were. It was faded and worn, but still obviously of good, quality fabric. Probably stolen, he thought. No, there was no way that she was anything more than a common tramp. He rubbed his hand where it still ached from the chunk she’d tried to take out of him, noticing that he bore the stamp of her little teeth on his flesh. A tramp with damned good teeth it seemed, he mused, and an inflated sense of outrage. She’d bitten into him as if the preservation of her virtue demanded it, but he highly doubted there was really anything left for her to fight about so furiously.

He poured himself a half a tankard of rum from his own private stock and sank into the comfortable chair behind his small desk, grumbling to himself about how taller, bigger men were never meant to go to sea.

There was a knock on the door – not a tentative one like most of the men would have made, but a much stronger, bolder one that let him know exactly who had issued it.

“Come.”

The only slightly smaller man ducked his head on the way into the cabin, just the way he had to, his eyes darting to the big bed that dominated the room even more so than its original occupant. “Ah, so I see it wasn’t just a rumor. There
is
a woman aboard.” He crossed the floor to pull a chair from the scaled down table that was bolted in place against the wall and carefully put it within reach of Anjel’s rum, which he grabbed and took several gulps from before replacing it exactly where it had been. “A bold move, Anjel. Truly. Although I have to say that bringing a female onto your ship might not be the best move as far as the men are concerned.”

He reached for the mug again, but Anjel beat him to it, lifting it to his own lips and draining it dry in one gulp. “Get your own damned rum, Ashcroft.”

His friend as well as first mate had already read the writing on the wall and was already halfway to the bottle before he had a chance to extend the invitation, but then Anjel expected nothing less.

“If any of the men don’t like it – or if they decide to misbehave while she’s with us – then they’ll be invited to make the long, shark filled swim home.”

Rory Ashcroft, the spare in the “heir and a spare” scenario of the vaunted house of the Duke of Ashcroft, lifted his eyebrow as he sat back down with a full mug. “Just how long do you intend to keep her?” he asked, planting his feet on the desk next to the charts his friend was studying.

“As long as I wish.” He fixed the other man with a determined gaze. “Don’t tell me you of all people have managed to dig up a conscience?”

A derisive snort greeted Anjel’s ears. “Hardly. I was just thinking that where and when you might want to disabuse yourself of this bit of fluff might determine in what direction we head. She’s beautiful enough that, if you could see your way to keeping her even somewhat chaste, she would probably fetch quite a nice price if we sold her to the Turks.”

Rory watched the expected tic develop in Anjel’s cheek, and if he hadn’t thought it would mean he’d end up with his friend’s not inconsiderably sized fist crashing into his jaw, he would have had the audacity to mouth the words along with him. “I do not peddle flesh.”

“Ah yes. And you were needling me while imagining my nagging conscience – which I’ve assured you on innumerable occasions that I don’t own – but there you go again, performing against type again as the pirate with a heart of gold . . .”

He fully expected Anjel to have pushed his big, imposing feet off the edge of his desk by now, but he wasn’t prepared for him to stand up and reach under his booted ankles, using leverage against him to tip him backwards out of his chair. “Keep your feet off my desk and your observations to yourself, Mr. Ashcroft,” came the clipped command.

Rory was wearing what had been left of his tankard and was fairly baptized in the stuff. “Bloody hell, Anjel, you just wasted perfectly good rum!”

But Anjel wasn’t looking at his long time friend as he replied, “Just consider yourself a little more marinated than you usually are.” He was leaning against one of the posts of his bed – his one requirement when this ship had been built was that the captain’s quarters be large enough to accommodate a bed that was big enough that his feet didn’t hang over it. As a result, the shipwrights had built a four post bed into the ship itself, and that suited Anjel perfectly.

“All I can say is that it’s a good thing you can fight like the very Devil, or you might have a mutiny on your hands with a woman as good looking as that on board. You know how the men can get.”

He did. And from personal experience, too. But he didn’t bother to answer Rory, who finally got the point and made his way out, closing the door behind him.

***

Cassie awoke slowly to a throbbing headache and a heart stopping sense of alarm that had her trying desperately to ignore the pain enough to sit up and take stock of her surroundings, but it was impossible. Every time she lifted her head, the room began to spin and she couldn’t make much sense of anything she saw, anyway, although she was glad to realize that the dizziness, as well as the pain, did dissipate some after multiple attempts.

It was her frustrated groan that alerted the other occupant of the room that she was – at last – awake, which was the last thing she wanted to do.

Before she knew it, her field of vision – such as it was – was filled with the sight of the very large man whom she recognized with a start as the one who had kidnapped her, and he was gazing down at her with a fierce frown. Cassie couldn’t understand why he seemed to be so upset, since it was obviously his fault that she was here
and
that she’d bumped her head. But she couldn’t remind him of either of those facts since he hadn’t removed the impromptu gag from her mouth, and she was horrified to realize that she was also still very well trussed up and could barely move a muscle.

“Headache?” Anjel asked, sinking down on the bed beside her, ignoring her looks and squeaks of outrage and lifting her just enough that she could lay propped up against his side – if he could get her to stay still, that was. She was wiggling and writhing in a manner that had him much more interested than he really wanted to be, feeling himself rising with every careless movement of that lithe body. “Stay still, damn you, or headache or no, I’ll take you over my lap.”

The instant he issued the threat – which she already knew was no lie – she went completely still, making him chuckle softly at how obedient she suddenly became. And somehow, even on such short acquaintance, he
knew
that was a lie. He loosened but didn’t remove entirely the gag he’d employed not so long ago, replacing it with his tankard, which he’d filled with the same ale as the crew drank. He wasn’t about to waste his good rum on a doxy like her.

Cassie took a grateful swallow; her throat was frightfully parched. But when she got a second taste of the swill he was offering, she spewed it out entirely without thinking, succeeding in drenching the two of them. She’d never tasted such a horrible concoction in her life, and she knew that if she took another sip of it, it wouldn’t be ale that she showered them in.

Anjel roared his displeasure, replacing the gag immediately, and Cassie found that she couldn’t resist in the least, because whipping her head back and forth was completely out of the question because the dizziness that had receded some came back in full force as soon as she attempted to avoid the gag by doing just that. He produced a rag, with which he mopped himself, but didn’t bother to apply it to her. Instead, he sat back down on the edge of the huge bed and reached for her, placing her with no effort at all over his lap.

The only time Cassie had ever been put in this position was by this horrible man, and she knew she needed to get away from him as soon as possible – before he began whacking away at her defenseless bottom. But there was no hope for escape, bound as she was. His one arm across her back was weight enough to easily hold her in place, even if she hadn’t been hampered by her makeshift bonds, but he also clamped that hand most familiarly onto her far hip and trapped her other hip tightly – and obscenely – up against his rock hard belly.

The end result was that she could barely move in any direction, despite how thoroughly affronted as she was to have been manhandled in such a manner. She was absolutely and inordinately furious, but thwarted at every avenue when she tried to express her rage. Even the invectives she was heaping on his head were completely muffled by the gag.

But if she had had some notion of being unhappy to have been positioned in such an intimate manner by a man she barely knew, it flew out of her mind as soon as that oak like hand landed on the backside he had – during her useless struggles – expertly managed to bare. In fact, she had managed to kick her own bloomers across the room by violently bending her knees up then down, which was one of the few movements she was still allowed although it hadn’t worked out in her favor in the least.

The spanking was bad enough, but he had the audacity to lecture her about her behavior while he was roasting her rear! “You are hands down the most thoroughly annoying, irascible woman I have ever met! You seem determined by dint of your atrocious behavior to spend the majority of this voyage over my lap. Well, believe me, my girl, that can be
arranged
.”

Cassie was beside herself with the humiliation from the situation she found herself in – she was nearly twenty– one years old – but even more so from the sheer stinging, aching roasting she was receiving. Some of her friends had been spanked by the servants – or even occasionally their parents – while they were growing up together, and she had always been curious – and as she grew even a little titillated, if she allowed herself the freedom to admit it, which she didn’t – as to what it actually felt like.

Now she knew that it was something to be avoided at all costs! She was quite certain that he wasn’t using a hand on her behind, but rather a torch since every inch of her skin from stem to stern felt as if it had been most thoroughly scorched, to the point – she was quite certain – of blistering.

“I think you’ll need regular punishments during our time together, just to remind you exactly who it is that’s in charge here. You’re an uppity little thing, and you’re obviously in sore need of someone to keep you firmly in your place.” And he was more than willing to apply for that position.

Now that he had had a little more time – and much better light – with which to observe her, he realized that she was quite beautiful, if treacherous. He had been hard put to keep his hands off the waves of red gold hair that had spilled onto his bed and now nearly to the floor in consideration of her position. And her skin was absolutely flawless – not a pockmark or a scar to the found, and he could see a fair amount of her since he’d thrown over her skirts and disabused her of her underthings, which were – surprisingly – of the same kind of quality material that her careworn dress was made of. She was laid bare to him from the first gentle swell of her hips to her tiny pebble toes, and he had appreciated every creamy rose inch of her until he began to change a large portion of that silky skin into a much angrier, unhappier shade of violent red.

Anjel applied a fresh layer of swats up one side and down the other of that lovely bottom of hers, then up and down each of her already deeply reddened legs, feeling the heat from them each time his palm connected with her skin with a resounded whack.