A Pirate's Love Page 9

  "Do you really prefer what awaits you here to the comfort of my ship, little one?" Tristan asked.

  What could she say? Her options were all equally loathsome. Seven years' service, a few years with an old lecher, or a week on Tristan's ship and then freedom. Thankfully, Tristan did not wait for her to answer.

  "You see, she is such a troublesome creature that her father has decided to put her in a convent. She hates the idea, so will do or say anything to avoid being taken home."

  "It is a shame such a pretty girl should be given to the church. I give her into your care, Captain, but please keep her confined to your ship for the duration of your stay."

  "She will give you no more trouble. You have my word," Tristan replied coldly.

  He opened the long cape he had draped over one arm, and wrapped it around Bettina. He then picked up the wet clothes that she had dropped on the floor the night before. When he saw his hat, he scowled at her, but he said nothing as he picked it up and escorted her from the cell.

  "You put on quite a show last night, displaying your body to half the men on the dock," Tristan growled as they stepped out into the square. "Just what the hell did you think you were doing?"

  "I—I—"

  "Never mind!" Tristan cut her off brusquely, tighten­ing his grip on her arm. "Anything is preferable to sharing my bed, isn't it? Even getting yourself arrested!"

  "Yes, anything!" Bettina snapped in defiance.

  He turned her around to face him, and his eyes were like blue ice crystals. Bettina feared for a moment that he was going to kill her right there on the street.

  "There is only one thing that prevents me from throwing you back into that jail, and that is the pleasure I'm going to have in breaking you," he said in a harsh whisper. "I have yet to teach you something, my willful wench. And knowing how you feel about me, you won't enjoy the lesson."

  "What do you mean?"

  "In good time," he snarled cruelly, and started across the square. "And kindly keep that cape tightly closed, Bettina, or I will wring your pretty neck."

  She was completely naked beneath the cape, but now she had half a mind to throw it open just to spite him, despite her modesty.

  Tristan was seething with anger. He probably had had to pay damages to the tavern in order to get her released. She wondered what he would do to her. What was this lesson he was going to teach her? She shivered slightly, despite the hot sun.

  As they passed through the town, Bettina's face grew red when she realized how stupid she had been. If only she had asked what country claimed this island, she could have saved herself much trouble. This settlement was English, and Tristan had said he had England's sanction. No wonder those men had laughed at her when she told them a pirate ship was in the harbor. To the English, Tristan wasn't a pirate.

  In less than an hour, Bettina was back in Tristan's cabin, but this time, he locked the door after he shoved her inside. He hadn't said another word to her, so she still didn't know what to expect. She was left alone for the rest of the day, and spent the time repairing her dress again. Madeleine came to see her that evening and spent more than an hour scolding her for her escape attempt. But when Madeleine left, Bettina was alone again, and she was still alone when she finally fell asleep.

  Chapter

  A soft, gentle pressure on her lips awoke Bettina from a sound sleep. She opened her eyes to find Tristan kissing her. It was a tender sort of kiss—the kind a husband would give his wife upon waking. She tried to rise, but Tristan held her firmly against the mattress.

  "I wish to get up, Tristan."

  "I am well aware of your wishes, Bettina, but unfor­tunately for you, I have something else in mind."

  He spoke bitterly and the smile on his lips did not reach his cloudy blue eyes. He was still furious about what had happened yesterday, she could see that. So why had he kissed her so tenderly just a moment ago?

  "Let me up!" she demanded sharply. "You know I can't stand to be near you!"

  "Yes, I know," he said. "And that is why I'm going to enjoy giving you your final lesson."

  "Surely you do not intend to—" She stopped when he reached beneath her shift and caressed her breast, giving her the answer. "At least have the decency to wait until night before you torture me!" she snapped.

  "Torture? Is that what you call this?" he asked, teas­ing her nipples with his fingers.

  "Yes! It is torture for me because I hate you!"

  "You may hate me, my little French vixen, but your body will love what I'm going to do to it."

  Before she could protest, Tristan had slid her shift up, pulled it over her head, and tossed it on the floor. He parted her legs with his knees and began to stroke the soft flesh between her thighs.

  "No!" she screamed. She tried desperately to pull his arm away, but it would not be budged.

  Pleasure was spreading through her body, and she could not stop it. His fingers were working magic, bringing her body to life against her will. He buried his face in her neck, searing her tender skin with his lips, and she knew she would be lost if she didn't stop him now. She had to stop him!

  "Your—your beard," she finally managed to say. "It annoys me. It tickles."

  He raised his head to look at her, but his eyes held no mercy. "You did not complain of this before."

  "You were quick before," she snapped. "The tickling will make me laugh, and you might think I am laughing at your lovemaking."

  "With whom do you compare my lovemaking, Bettina, when you have had no man before me?"

  "The fact that you sicken me is enough," she retorted, but she could see the futility of her efforts. How could she make him angry enough to rape her quickly?

  "Your biting tongue will go unheard this time, Bet­tina. Once and for all you will learn what it is to be a woman." His words were deliberately cold.

  He rolled on top of her and covered her lips with his, stilling further protest. He entered her slowly, gently, and this time there was no pain. His actions did not match his emotions, for he was being tender, while his mood seemed cruel. He was taking revenge against her with his patience, but she had no way to fight it.

  He went deep inside her and remained still as he covered her face and neck with kisses. His lips found hers again, branding her with the passion of his kiss. He started to move inside her, slowly at first, then faster. A feeling was building, spreading through her loins like liquid fire. And soon Bettina clung to Tristan as ecstasy exploded inside her.

  Bettina heard Tristan laugh deeply, triumphantly, and she felt more humiliated by this than by anything she had gone through so far. So this was his revenge— to give her that wonderful, that unbelievable pleasure. And at the height of the moment, she had clung to him as if she couldn't bear to let him go.

  "Do you still criticize my loving, little one?"

  She looked up into his smug, smiling face and sud­denly felt angry beyond endurance. At him, for he would never let her forget his power—and with herself, for losing control of her body in passion.

  "Damn you, Tristan!" she screamed and pushed him off her body.

  He watched with amusement as she scrambled out of bed and grabbed her shift from the floor. She put this on quickly, then faced him with her hands on her hips. Her long, silky hair rumbled all about her.

  "Nothing has changed! Do you hear me? Nothing! I still hate you—more now than ever!"

  "Why? Because I made love to you and you enjoyed it?" Tristan asked. He rose from the bed and began putting his clothes on.

  "My body may have betrayed me, but it was only because I couldn't fight you. Your accursed threats stopped me! And—" She stopped suddenly, and her eyes flew open.

  Oh no! How could she have been so stupid? He would not whip her! He had been bluffing! He hated the Spanish for beating their slaves, he'd said, and he'd never harmed her yet, despite all the trouble she'd given him. Why hadn't she seen through his game sooner?

  "Bettina, what is the matter with you?" he asked.
r />   "Damn your blackhearted soul to hell, Tristan!" she stormed.

  "Where the devil did you pick up such language? Not in the convent, I'm sure."

  "From your crew! They don't have the decency to watch what they say with ladies aboard."

  "And you think this language befits a lady?" he mocked her.

  "I no longer feel like a lady. You have taken that from me—but no more!"

  "And what is that supposed to mean?"

  "Oh, nothing—nothing at all."

  She decided to wait before calling his bluff until it would be to her advantage. She suddenly smiled, and then she began to laugh at the bewildered look on Tris­tan's face. How happy she was! Happy that she would no longer have to submit to this giant, this beast of a man, happy that she would no longer have to cower before him or endure his caresses. She could fight him now. And if his strength should prevail over hers, well, there was no humiliation in that. She would at least go down fighting. She continued to laugh.

  "Have you taken leave of your senses?" Tristan de­manded.

  He suddenly feared that he had pushed her too far. He came over to her and shook her by the shoulders until she stopped laughing. But she still smiled up at him. And then he became even more confused as he stared down into her dark-blue eyes.

  "What color are your eyes, Bettina?" he asked wonderingly.

  She stopped smiling and pulled away from his grip. "You have seen my eyes enough to know what color they are," she snapped, turning her back on him.

  "Your eyes were blue just now, blue as sapphires. Yet ever since you have been on the Spirited Lady, they have been green—until now."

  "Don't be absurd. Eyes do not change color. It was merely the light."

  "Look at me now!" he commanded. And when she refused, he swung her around, only to find that her eyes were green again.

  "I told you it was merely the light," she said. But she turned away from him quickly, for the confusion on his face made her want to laugh again.

  Tristan had the uneasy feeling that Bettina was making a fool of him. It was not the light. He knew damn well what he'd seen. Her eyes had been as blue as the depths of the sea. Did her eyes change with her moods? Green when she was angry or afraid, and blue when she was happy? She had been happy for a moment. But why? What did she have to be happy about in her present situation? Well, he was sure it would take coax­ing to find out, and he didn't have the time now.

  "Is that the name of your ship? The Spirited Lady?" she asked.

  "What? Oh, yes," he said, and grinned at her. "The name rather suits you, too, doesn't it?"

  "Do you think so?" she asked coquettishly. "You have hardly allowed me to be very spirited."

  "And what of your outburst just a few moments ago?"

  "Did it hurt you very much, Capitaine? I do not see your wounds," she teased.

  He smiled and changed the subject, for she was obviously playing a game with him. "I will see if there is any material in the hold. If so, you can make your­self some cooler dresses. It will also give you something to do."

  "Thank you."

  He looked at her quizzically, for he did not expect her gratitude. She had changed toward him, and it baffled him. He would soon find out what she was up to. With that thought, he left the cabin.

  Shortly after the captain left, Madeleine came to the cabin with a platter of food, and she and Bettina ate together. She immediately noticed Bettina's gaiety, but she believed that Bettina had finally decided to accept things the way they were.

  They had left Tortola at dawn, but Bettina didn't know this until Madeleine informed her. It annoyed her that the captain could distract her so that she didn't notice anything but him.

  Tristan returned before noon with two bolts of pastel silks. He placed these on the table, along with a ball of lace and threads, then produced a pair of gold scissors that he had tucked in his belt. But he hesitated before placing these with the rest.

  "Can I trust you not to use these scissors as a weapon?" he asked curtly.

  "I have said I will not try to kill you again, Tristan," Bettina replied as she stood up to examine the silks. "My word is good, even if yours is not."

  He smiled, but he was still reluctant to hand over the possible weapon.

  "If you still do not trust me, then Maddy can take the scissors with her when she leaves, and return them to you. Would that be satisfactory?" When he still ap­peared to be reluctant, she laughed softly. "I will make it easy for you, Capitaine. You need not admit that you fear me. Maddy will bring you the scissors when she leaves."

  I

  Madeleine nodded her head to say she would do this. She wondered why Bettina was playing this game with the captain, but thank God, he did not seem to mind. But she held her breath as Bettina continued.

  "How is it, Tristan, that you have this material, when you say you only attack ships carrying gold?"

  He grinned now as he noticed her blue eyes. "The material was on a plate ship, along with many other goods that were being delivered to a Spanish condesa. If these colors do not suit you, there are others to choose from."

  "Then you will not mind if Maddy replaces her ward­robe also?" she ventured sweetly.

  "The material could be sold in Tortuga for a hand­some sum. It is enough that I have put it at your dis­posal."

  "It is not enough! Need I remind you that it was you who saw fit to leave our trunks behind, leaving us with only the clothes on our backs?"

  "Very well!" Tristan replied harshly. "Is there any­thing else you wish, my lady?"

  "Only never to lay eyes on you again," she answered tartly, a half-smile on her rosy lips.

  "That, I am afraid, I will not grant."

  With that, Tristan turned and left the cabin. Bettina sighed and turned to look at her servant, who was some­what pale.

  "Bettina, you must be careful what you say to the capitaine. You must not make him angry!" Madeleine warned urgently.

  "And you must not worry," Bettina returned. "The capitaine will not harm us."

  "But you said he will whip you if you resist him."

  "Yes, but I was not resisting him. I was merely taunt­ing him. And as you can see, he did nothing," Bettina said.

  "But why were you mocking him? It was as if you were trying to make him lose his temper. You have known this man for only four days. It is impossible to judge how he will react to your taunts."

  Bettina decided not to tell Madeleine of what she planned for tonight, for this would really alarm her.

  "Do not worry. I can hold my own where Tristan is concerned. Now, come, let us begin," Bettina said, taking the lime-green silk for herself.

  Madeleine shook her head with a weak smile. "I will ask the capitaine for plain cotton. Never in my life have I worn silk, and I do not intend to start now."

  “I took the old one into the hold." Bettina started at Tristan's words, for she was so busy working on her new dress that she hadn't heard him enter the room.

  "What?"

  "Your servant. I took her into the hold to get the cotton she requested, and when she saw this, she said you would need it," Tristan-replied, laying the silver comb on the table before Bettina. "Are you satisfied now?"

  "Satisfied? I did not ask you for the material, Capi-taine. You offered it. I merely suggested that you do the same for my servant. I have thanked you for this al­ready—I will not do so again. As for the comb, it is indeed beautiful, but I had a comb, Tristan. It was not as nice as this one, and only made of wood, but I cherished it because it was a gift from my mama. The comb is needed, but it does not replace my own."

  "Would you have me go back to recover your trunks?" Tristan asked sarcastically.

  "Yes."

  He sighed, for he should have known what her an­swer would be. "The crew of the Windsong will have recovered sufficiently from their wounds by now. It would mean another battle."

  "I forget that you are a coward," Bettina replied.

  "I have never run from a batt
le—I've told you this already."

  "No, it is only women you are afraid to fight."

  "Fighting you would gain you nothing, Bettina. Though you think you would do me damage, you would not. I don't want to hurt you in the struggle, that is all."

  "But I would love to hurt you, Tristan—to see you in pain for what you have done to me."

  "Well, my bloodthirsty little vixen, that you will not do."

  Bettina smiled and said no more. She continued her sewing as Tristan sat down and poured himself a tot of rum.

  "Have you eaten?" he asked, leaning back in the chair to study her.

  "Yes," Bettina replied. "That young boy brought the meal some time ago. I was beginning to hope you would not return this night—since it is already so late. Did Maddy return the scissors to you?"

  "What sort of game were you playing this morning, Bettina?" he asked, ignoring her taunt. "Why has your attitude changed so suddenly?"

  "My attitude has not changed," she replied softly. "I still hate you, Tristan."

  With her unbound hair falling over her shoulders, and her head bent over the dress she was making, Tristan could not see Bettina's expression. What he wanted to see were her eyes. Were they dark sea-blue or tur­bulent green? Her tone of voice revealed nothing of the hatred she spoke of, yet he knew she spoke the truth. There was no doubt that she hated him, but where was the fire and ice of the day before? Where was the fiery temper of early this morning, before this change came over her?

  "Would you care for a walk before we retire?" Tris­tan asked.

  "Not if you intend to kiss me in the moonlight again."

  "I plead guilty to the intention. So if you wish to remain stubborn, we will retire now."

  "I will walk alone," she ventured.

  "No, you will not!"

  "Then you may retire."

  "So will you, little one," Tristan replied. He stood up and drained the last of the rum.

  "Not until you have removed your beard."

  "What?" he exclaimed, sure that he had heard her incorrectly.