A Pirate's Love

  The blood rushed to her face. She had failed! He was alive, and that was why she was here, unharmed. He had been watching her without speaking since she awoke, letting her suffer with doubt and anxiety. Now he sat there facing her, his legs spread out before him, holding a tankard of wine on his hard, flat middle. He was smiling. Smiling!

  Bettina stiffened as rage filled her. "You!" she man­aged to scream at him. "You should be dead! But I will yet succeed, Tristan!"

  "Do you really long to feel the lash across your tender flesh, Bettina?" he asked quietly. He set the tankard back on the table.

  She paled visibly. Hadn't she just asked herself why she had killed him? He was not worth that kind of death.

  "I would know the answer, Bettina," Tristan said more loudly. "Are you willing to go through what would have happened to you had I not come awake in time to stop it?"

  Her eyes were dark and fiery emeralds, caressing him with her hatred. There were other ways to take revenge, and she would find one. But she would wait until she was safe.

  "Answer me, blast it!" He slammed his huge fist on the table, making her jump.

  "I have no wish to feel the lash, as you must know!" she said heatedly.

  He smiled at her reply. "Then I can be safe in shar­ing my cabin with you?"

  "I do not want to stay here! Surely you don't wish to keep me after what I attempted."

  "On the contrary, little one, I will enjoy your com­pany." He chuckled wickedly.

  "Then you will be safe from death, monsieur, but not from harm!" she retorted angrily.

  "I think not, Bettina. Do you see this?" He picked up the coiled whip he had placed on the table earlier. "I am not opposed to using it." "You wouldn't!"

  "Do you doubt it? Would you like a demonstration?" "I am not your slave, monsieur. I will not obey you!" Bettina replied furiously.

  "Won't you? Come here, Bettina," he commanded, clearly enjoying the game.

  "No, no, no!" She stamped her foot in defiance. "I will not come near—"

  Before she could say more, the coiled leather sailed through the air and bit into the thick folds of her vel­vet skirt. Bettina jumped, and stared stupidly at the long slash that revealed the white material of her shift beneath the velvet. She looked up at Tristan slowly, her eyes wide and filled with terror. Did he miss touching her skin on purpose, or was his aim bad? She would not tempt him to try again.

  Gathering her courage, Bettina moved to stand be­fore him. "What do you wish, monsieur?" she asked haughtily.

  He burst out laughing. "What I want can wait. Are you hungry?'

  She nodded reluctantly, and for the first time no­ticed the platter of food at the far end of the table. She was famished.

  Walking past him to the other chair, Bettina sat down and started to eat. After a few moments, she looked up slowly and saw that Tristan was still watching her intently, an amused expression on his bearded face.

  "Is it all right if I eat, monsieur, or do you wish to starve me?" she asked sarcastically.

  He frowned. "Eat your fill, and then you will find out what I wish to do."

  Bettina ate with deliberate slowness, irritating Tris­tan further. But if she could annoy him in any way, any way whatsoever, then she would do so. Just as long-as she could get away with it.

  As she continued eating, she noticed that candles had been lit in the room, and that it was dark outside the small window at the foot of the bed. Well, now that night had fallen, she could at least insist that it be dark in the room if he was going to rape her again. She couldn't bear the indignity of him staring at her unclad body as he had earlier. She wondered briefly where she would sleep, for no doubt the beast would not give up his bed when he finished with her. But what was she thinking about? She would not let him rape her again.

  "Finish your meal now, Bettina, or you can go without it, for I'm tired of waiting."

  "Waiting for what, monsieur?" Bettina feigned in

  nocence. "You raped me once. Surely you do not in­tend to do so twice in the same day?"

  His devilish grin was her answer. Bettina jumped up and ran for the door, but the crack of the whip in the air halted her.

  "Come here, Bettina!"

  She felt panic rising in her again, but fear of what he might do made her obey. She turned and walked toward him slowly. When she reached him, he took her hand and pulled her closer until she stood between his knees. Then, without warning, Tristan reached up, grabbed her dress at the shoulders, and yanked it down to her waist.

  Bettina gasped and drew back her hand to strike him, but he caught both her hands and twisted them behind her back, bringing her unclad breasts close to his face.

  "You are hurting me!" she cried, trying to pull free.

  "Don't you want to hurt me?" he asked, but he re­leased her arms. "I know that you wish to fight me, Bettina, but know now that I will not allow it. For every time you strike me, you will receive ten lashes. For the slightest resistance, you will receive five lashes. Do you understand me?"

  Damn him! Again he would deny her the satisfac­tion of opposing him. If she was to be raped, why couldn't she at least fight for her honor like other wom­en? But he would not allow her to. It was unbear­able, for she would have to submit to this man as if she were willing.

  "Will you fight me, Bettina?" he asked her quietly, his soft blue eyes looking into her deep green ones.

  "You must fear that you are no match for me if you have to threaten me to ensure your own safety. Are you afraid of me, Capitaine, because I was able to best you this afternoon?" she asked sarcastically, pleased to note the narrowing of his eyes. "What would your crew think if they knew you couldn't handle a mere girl?"

  "Your ploy has not worked, Bettina, though it was a good try. When I can avoid conflict, I do so. I avoid possible injuries and pain, and leave room only for pleasure."

  "And what of the anguish of my mind? I would rather suffer a bruised and swollen face, even broken bones, than let you rape me without resistance. It is you who are afraid of the injuries that I might inflict on you if you were to remove your threats."

  "Again a good try, little one, but the threats will remain. Now, you have wasted enough time trying to bait me. Remove the rest of your clothing and be quick about it."

  "I will not! I won't make this easy for you!" she cried indignantly.

  "Do you want me to rip your dress completely apart?" Tristan asked.

  "Oh, I hate you!" she fumed, but she removed her garments just the same. She reddened as she stood before him, completely unprotected from his lustful gaze. "If I must suffer this indignity, Tristan, at least let me do so in the dark."

  "You have nothing worth hiding, little one."

  "Please!"

  "No!" he replied sharply.

  "You are cruel beyond reason, monsieur."

  "You may think so now, but were I to keep you for my own, then you would change your opinion of me," he said. "You would look forward to my taking you in my arms. Although you didn't reach fulfillment when we made love the first time, you can't deny you enjoyed the feeling I gave you."

  "You—you are insane! Your touch sickens me!"

  "You wanted to kill me for lying to you, Bettina, but now you are not speaking the truth. Shall I prove it to you?"

  Without waiting for her to answer, Tristan grabbed her around the waist and pulled her forward until his parted lips covered the tip of one rounded breast. Bettina gasped instantly and put her hands on his shoulders to push him away. But he tightened the grip on her waist until she stopped. His mouth, now moving from one breast to the other, was like wildfire, searing her to her very soul. Tristan continued with his play, suck­ing, teasing, nibbling softly at her breasts, until Bettina thought she would cry out with the pleasure she felt. Her entire body was aware of his lips, branding her with the truth of his words. But then he stopped.

  Bettina knew what this was leading to. She began to panic again as Tristan stood up and removed his clothing. He had said
that she didn't reach fulfillment before. Was there a greater pleasure to making love? And if there was, would she experience it this time— would he know if she did? No! It couldn't happen— she couldn't bear it. It would be too humiliating if he knew he gave her pleasure. If she couldn't fight him physically, she must at least fight the pleasure he could give her.

  Tristan picked her up and carried her to the bed, then lay down beside her. His lips found hers, and he kissed her hungrily, demanding a response that she wouldn't give. She searched her mind to find some­thing—anything—to make him angry and make him finish with her quickly.

  His hand brushed across her breasts, caressed her belly, and moved lower.

  "Tristan!" she cried out, shocked. "I am not a wom­an of easy virtue who longs to have your fingers ex­plore her body. I am a lady, monsieur, and you disgust me!" she hissed, her voice filled with contempt.

  "By the saints, vixen, you tempt me to throw you to the sharks!" he growled angrily.

  "Better that they feed on my body than you!"

  "Your sharp tongue will deny you much, Bettina."

  With that, he climbed on top of her and entered her quickly, and a bit painfully. He rode her hard, with deep, penetrating thrusts, and despite Bettina's desire to resist, a growing, unbelievable pleasure began to spread through her body, until it was cut short by Tristan's final deep thrust.

  Bettina felt like screaming when he relaxed on her, exhausted. A minute passed, then two, but Tristan didn't move.

  "I wish to get up," she said coldly.

  He leaned on his elbows and stared down at her. "Why?" he inquired softly.

  "I would like to go to sleep, if you don't mind. So

  will you please let me up?" '

  "You don't make sense, Bettina. If you wish to sleep, then do so."

  "I realize that you are no gentleman, and that you would not give up your bed for a lady, so—"

  "On that count you are right," he interrupted her. "But I need not give up my bed when I intend to share it."

  "No!" she cried, trying to push him from her, but it was like trying to move an iron man. "I refuse to share this bed with you, Tristan. It is bad enough that I have to suffer your—your mauling and raping my body, but I will not share your bed!"

  "And if I insist?"

  "You will not!" she fumed.

  "Ah, but I do insist, little one," he returned, with an amused smile curling his lips.

  "Don't you know how much I detest you?" she hissed as she squirmed to get out from beneath him. "I cannot stand to be near you. Now release me!"

  "If you don't stop wiggling, you will be raped a third time this day. Would you prefer that to sharing my bed?" he asked, his eyes gleaming with devilry.

  Bettina froze, fearing even to breathe. She could feel him growing inside her, and her eyes widened. They were deep pools of green, pleading silently with him for mercy.

  "What is your answer? Will you share my bed?"

  "As with everything else, you leave me no choice. But your weight is unbearable, Tristan. I cannot pos­sibly sleep this way."

  "I will concede you that, but nothing more."

  With that, he rolled to her side, and Bettina quickly yanked the covers over her and faced the wall, getting as close to it as she possibly could. She heard him laugh softly, but he soon fell asleep.

  Oh God, how she hated him! He could just fall asleep, as if this day had been no different from any other. While she—she wanted to scream. If someone had told her yesterday that she would fall into the hands of a ruthless pirate, she would have laughed hysterically. But now—now that she had been raped, not once but twice in the same day by this giant of a man, now that she was no longer innocent and suitable for marriage, she couldn't even cry. Tears would free her of some of this anguish. But she was too angry to cry.

  Tristan, beast that he was, enjoyed having her in his power. Well, it would not be for too long. Once he set her free and she was no longer at his mercy, she would find a way to take revenge against him.

  She could hire a ship, a mightier ship than his, and blow him oil the seas. Yes, even if she couldn't cut his throat with her own hands, she would still bring about his death. The Comte de Lambert would help her. Of course, the comte might not want to marry her anymore. Well, if he didn't, then she would just have to find another way. But she would not rest until she had sent Tristan to hell. And with that thought, Bettina finally slept.

  BETTINA awoke suddenly. She had been dreaming about Tristan, and her first thought was what a horrible nightmare she'd had. But when she looked around her and saw where she was, she knew it hadn't been a nightmare.

  It was all true. She was actually on a pirate ship. She was actually at the mercy of a man she knew nothing about, a man who enjoyed having her in his power. And he did enjoy it. She had seen it in his eyes, heard it in his tone of voice. He was a man who cared only about his own desires, and nothing about her feelings.

  With a sigh of hopelessness, Bettina threw off the covers and sat on the edge of the narrow bed. She saw her violet dress lying in a heap by the table, and re­alized that she had slept without any clothes. In all her nineteen years, she could not remember once going to bed without a nightdress on.

  .

  She looked about the small room, hoping to find something to wear besides her torn shift and dress, and saw a beautiful, hand carved wooden chest standing against one wall. She went to this, instinctively knowing that it contained the captain's clothes, and opened it. Her first impulse was to rip the contents to shreds, but she quickly shook off that notion. She could well guess what the consequences would be. She carefully sorted through the clothes, hoping to find a robe of some kind, but had to settle for a light-blue silk shirt.

  Bettina slipped it on over her head, and found that the deep, open collar partially revealed her taut young breasts. The hem of the shirt did not reach her knees, but she decided against wearing any of Tristan's breeches. The man was just too big. She would have to find a needle and thread to repair her dress before Tris­tan returned.

  As Bettina started to rummage through the rest of the cabin, she was stopped short by a knock at the door. Her first thought was to find something to cover her exposed legs, for she feared it was Tristan or one of his crewmen, but she relaxed when Madeleine came into the room. She was carrying a small tray of food that she set down on the table.

  "Are you all right, Bettina?" Madeleine asked. "I was so worried that the capitaine might do you harm."

  "He didn't beat me, as you can see," Bettina an­swered, feeling her temper rise once again. "This Tris­tan exacts his revenge in a much more subtle way."

  "I don't understand."

  "Of course you do!" Bettina snapped angrily, but felt ashamed when she saw the stricken look on her servant's face. "I'm sorry. You see, the capitaine has threatened to whip me if I resist or disobey him in any way. He gives me no choice but to submit as if I were willing. I cannot stand it! I want to fight him, but I fear the whip more than anything else."

  "Oh, I am relieved to hear this, my pet."

  "How can you say that, Maddy?" Bettina asked, startled. "How can you be relieved that I must submit to that—that monster?"

  "I simply don't want you injured," Madeleine said in a hurt voice. "I would do anything to prevent that man from taking you, Bettina, but there is nothing I can do. There is nothing you can do, either."

  "I could do something if he had not threatened to whip me."

  "Yes, and that is why I'm relieved, Bettina. I know your temper. I remember the time you fought the stable-boy when you were a little girl playing at being the boy your papa wanted. The boy teased you, and you would not give up until you had thrown him to the ground. I know you well, my pet, but neither of us knows this Capitaine Tristan. I have no doubt that he would harm you if you tried to fight him."

  "I do not care about that!" Bettina snapped.

  Madeleine sighed. "I wish your first time with a man could have been happier. But th
e damage is done, Bettina. The scars of the mind will eventually heal and be forgotten. But scars on your body would be there forever to remind you of this unpleasant experience."

  "Unpleasant! You are too kind," Bettina declared. "Terror-filled or nightmarish, yes, but unpleasant— this could hardly be called just an unpleasant experi­ence."

  "But that is all it is, an experience that you are going through. It will all be over soon, and then you will marry the comte, and—"

  "Will I?" Bettina said skeptically.

  "But of course you will."

  "What if the Comte de Lambert doesn't want to marry me when he learns that I have been dishonored? And worse, what if he will not pay the ransom? What will happen to us then?"

  "You must stop thinking like this, Bettina. The comte is a Frenchman. It is a matter of honor. He will pay the ransom, and he will also marry you. Now come and eat your food before it is cold."

  Bettina supposed Madeleine was right. There would be time to worry about the comte later. Her main con­cern now was the captain, and how to avoid a repeti­tion of his lovemaking.

  Madeleine had brought two bowls of thick bean soup, and they ate in silence. Bettina finished first and leaned back in her chair to study Madeleine's face. Her old nurse looked tired.

  "You must forgive me, Maddy. I have been so caught up in my own self-pity, I did not even think to ask how you fared. Are you being taken care of? Do you have a place to sleep?"

  Madeleine looked up and smiled. "You have no need to worry about me, my pet. I have nothing to fear from these men as long as they appreciate my cooking."

  "Your cooking? Did you prepare this soup?"

  "I did." Madeleine chuckled. "They have made me their temporary cook. I do not mind, for it gives me something to do. There is not much to work with in the galley, but I can turn out a better meal than that fool of a lad I replaced."