Chapter One
Aboard the Dark Sapphire
Off the coast of North Wales
Summer 1380
Bam! Bam! Bam!
"What the bloody hell?" Keegan growled from his bunk.
"Captain. I hates to disturb ye, and ye know it, but
there’s trouble afoot. May I have a word with ye?"
Keegan opened a bleary eye. His cabin, lit only by a single
candle mounted in a lantern hung near his bed, flickered
and swayed with the roll of the sea.
"Captain! Can ye hear me? ‘Tis Hollis and I hate to wake
ye, but I needs speak with ye."
"Trouble?" Keegan repeated, his head feeling as if it
might
split wide open.
"Aye!"
"Pirates?" God’s eye, Hollis was always conjuring up the
devil, certain there was a horrid looming disaster afoot.
The old man seemed certain the Dark Sapphire was cursed to
her very keel.
‘Twas enough to try a man’s patience. But then, he’d saved
Keegan’s life. Hollis was, and always had been, loyal and
true. But a pain in the backside.
"Nay, Captain, there be no pirates," Hollis yelled.
"Are we taking on water? Is the ship sinking?"
"No, but-"
"Are the men planning a mutiny?"
"Nay, nay, not that I’m aware of, Captain, but-"
"Then go away." Keegan rolled over in his small bunk and
jammed his eyes shut.
"Nay-"
"Leave me be!" He was cross and had no time for the old
man’s pointless worries.
There was a pause, then Hollis’s nasal whine yet again. He
wasn’t a man to give up. "If ye’d please jest let me have
a
word with ye, Captain Keegan. . ."
"Bloody Christ." Snarling at the intrusion, his head
thundering from too much ale and too little sleep, Keegan
tossed back the fur covers and, without bothering with his
dressing gown, threw open the door.
There was a gasp--for a second Keegan thought it sounded
like a women’s voice--from the dark stairwell. But that was
impossible. There was no women aboard, and they’d set sail
three days earlier. A gust of bracing wind cut through his
skin. "What is it, Hollis?" he demanded as his eyes
adjusted to the darkness. "And whatever it is, it had
better be good."
"Oh, sweet Jesus, Captain, if ye’d be so kind as to cover
up-" Hollis’s round face was illuminated by a lantern he’d
hung on a hook near the door. Above his scraggly beard one
cheek bore four red welts that had been scratched deep into
his skin, his sparse hair stuck out at all angles, and one
of his eyes was nearly swollen shut.
"What the devil happened to you?" Keegan asked as he
noticed the rope, a thick coil that wrapped around Hollis’s
hands and trailed behind him and ended with a knot over the
bound wrists of a captive.
A women.
A dirty, bedraggled mess of a women, but a women
nonetheless. Jesus Holy Christ, where did she come from?
"Tell your man to untie me," she ordered, tossing off the
hood that had covered her head. Wild red hair caught in the
candle glow as it framed a smudged face with high, prideful
cheekbones and fierce blue eyes that cut him to the quick.
Perfect teeth flashed white against her filthy skin. For a
heartbeat he thought he knew her. There was something about
her that instantly triggered a dark, forgotten memory that
refused to spark. Nay, ‘twas impossible. "I am not a
slave!
Nor will I be treated as one!"
"Who the hell are you?" He ignored the unlikely thought
that he’d met her before.
"She’s a stowaway, that’s what she is."
"I asked her." Irritated, Keegan leaned a scarred
shoulder
against the door frame and folded his arms over his
chest. "What’s your name?"
Aside from the howl of the wind and the roar of the sea,
there was only silence. The bit of a woman had the audacity
to hold his stare, and there was something in her eyes that
gave him pause--something that tugged at the corners of his
memory yet again. Had he seen her somewhere? Defiantly she
raised that pointed little chin of hers.
"She ain’t sayin’ Captain," Hollis finally offered. "I
found her in the hold, hiding behind the ale casks." He
cleared his throat and shifted so that his shadow fell
across Keegan’s bare loins.
Keegan didn’t give a damn what the woman did or didn’t
see. "What were you doing in the hold?" he demanded of
the
scruffy, prideful wench. "For that matter, what in God’s
name are you doing on my ship in the middle of the night?"
"Hidin’, that’s what she was. And up to no good, let me
tell you," Hollis answered in his raspy voice. "Nearly
tore
me apart, she did. Clawed and hissed and spat like a damned
she-cat. This one’s the spawn of Lucifer, I tell ye. She’s
cursed this ship, to be sure."
"Have you, now?" Keegan asked.
She didn’t bat an eye, just met his gaze with the angry
fire of her own. The barest trace of a smile slid across
her lips. "Oh, yes, Captain," she confided in a husky
voice. "As surely as the moon rises behind the clouds and
the wind screams over the sea." She took a step toward him
without a trace of fear. "I be a witch sure and true. I’ve
sent many a fine ship to the depths of a watery hell, and
if you do not set me free at the next port, all of the
wrath of Morrigu will be upon you."
"Morrigu?" Hollis whispered, horrified, his eyes rounding
above his beak of a nose, his skin ghostly pale. His throat
worked. "The goddess of death," he whispered.
"Oh, she is much more than that," the woman taunted,
turning to stare down the man who had the audacity to leash
her. "Fate and war ride on her wings. Destiny is her
companion." Despite, her bonds, the she-devil advanced
upon
her captor, and though much smaller than Hollis, she seemed
to tower above him as he cowered in fear. "Morrigu’s
vengeance will be swift and harsh. Trust me. She will have
no mercy on you, you pathetic insect of a man, or you,
Captain Keegan." Whirling suddenly, she faced him. Fierce
eyes, dark with the night, bored into him. Red, wild hair
caught in the wind. "This ship and all those aboard will
be
doomed to the most painful and vile of fates if I but say
so. Death will be a blessing."
Keegan laughed despite his headache. She seemed so certain
of her gifts of death and pain. "Will it, now?"
"Do not mock me!"
"Oh, wench, I would not," he lied, but couldn’t stop the
smile he felt slide across his chin. "Curse away," he
said,
unable to hide the amusement in his voice. He motioned
toward the decks with one hand. "’Twill not be the first
time the Dark Sapphire has been damned."
She flinched a bit at the name of the ship.
"Nay. Do not!" Hollis’s voice squeaked as he spun on a
heel, his terrified gaze landing full on Keegan. "Be ye
losin’ yer mind, Captain? We . . . we wish not the wrath of
the fates upon us. Morrigu, do you not know of her power,
of her wrath, of her-"
"-Hold upon you?" Keegan demanded, tired of the game.
"Even
though you somehow managed to bind the witch’s hands? Why
has Morrigu not saved you, wench? If she be so powerful,
why are you tied like a dog?"
The woman’s expression was pure cunning. "For she is
patient, Captain. Unlike mortal men."
Laughter erupted at the top of the stairs. Several deck
hands coughed and snorted.
So the woman had already caused a stir among the men. ‘Twas
no surprise and yet a problem that irritated Keegan. His
crew was a randy lot without much conscience or many
scruples. A woman cast among them was certain to cause
jealousy and trouble. Mayhap old Hollis wasn’t so far off
from the truth--that this wench would bring nothing but
disaster to the ship and the men aboard her.
Keegan’s amusement disappeared. He glowered up the
stairwell to the darkness where the faces of his men were
hidden. "Every one back to his watch or work, and you-"
he
fixed his eyes on Hollis and hitched his chin toward the
cabin "-bring her inside."
"Nay!" She threw herself backward, and the rope slipped
through Hollis’s fingers. He toppled to his knees as Keegan
snagged the leash and wrapped it skillfully around his own
palm.
"Do not bother fighting," he warned the arrogant bit of
womanhood. "There is no place to run."
In the weak light her expression changed. Fear, though
fleeting, darted through her eyes, and an expression of
defeat crossed her features, only to be quickly replaced by
steadfast determination. Holding her head high, she
followed him as he tugged on her tether and led her into
the small confines of his cabin.
Dusting off his breeches, his pride completely undone,
Hollis followed, barely sliding through the door as Keegan
slammed it shut. From the corner of his eye Keegan noticed
that the woman was assessing every square, naked inch of
him. Worse yet, it was having an effect. His damned
manhood, so long dormant, was responding.
His teeth ground in frustration. Just what they needed--a
damned woman with her talk of spells on the ship.
Turning his back to his new prisoner, he dropped the rope
and plucked his mantle from a hook near his bed. Deftly he
threw the cloak over his head and didn’t bother with the
laces.
"Leave us," he ordered Hollis, who was planted firmly in
front of the door. "Wait. Get some water--enough for the
lady to drink and wash with." Beneath her grime he noticed
a spark, a flicker of intelligence. "And have a tankard of
ale as well as bread and meat sent up."
Hollis’s bushy eyebrows shot upward. "You want food?"
"For the lady."
Hollis made a disparaging sound deep in his throat. "Water
be precious. There be little aboard."
Keegan sent him a hard stare. "Water and soap. Aye, bring
soap as well."
The woman stood stiff as a broomstick.
"But-" Hollis attempted to protest.
"Do it! Now." Keegan threw the man a look that cut
through
steel.
"As you wish." Hollis, with his rapidly bruising cheeks
nodded, though he glanced at the woman as if she truly were
a curse come to life.
"Be quick about it, then. My guest waits."
"Guest?" Hollis repeated.
"She’ll be staying here. With me."
"Nay!" She turned on him so swiftly her black cloak
whipped
about her legs, parting enough to allow him a glimpse of
her dress. The fabric had once been a silvery gray but now
was splattered with dark stains.
"You have no choice." Keegan rubbed the back of his neck
and looked down upon her, for she was a mite of a thing,
all bravado and little flesh. He glanced at the door
through which Hollis was quickly disappearing. A salty
breath of sea air seeped inside. "Well, that’s not quite
true," Keegan amended, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully. "If
you would rather, you could take your chances with the rats
and the crew, but let me warn you, lest you decide too
quickly. The men who serve me have only one virtue--they
are loyal to me. I ask no more of them. I know naught of
who they really be or of what they have done to make them
want to work here. They could be honest seamen or they
could be cutthroats or thieves, traitors or debtors,
murderers or worse. I know not. I care not. As long as they
give me an honest day’s work and remain true to me and this
ship, I ask no questions."
"Ah, Captain, ‘tis a fine assemblage of men you’ve
gathered," she mocked, but beneath her show of courage she
was not so brave. He noticed that her throat worked, and
she sneaked a worried glance at the doorway.
"There’s nowhere to go, you know. Now that we know you be
on board, you cannot hide. You either stay here in the
cabin with me, take your chances on deck or in the hold
with the men, or dive into waters that are cold as ice and
filled with all manner of creatures." He sat on the edge
of
his bed.
Her lips pinched in a display of defiance, and he could
imagine the wheels turning in her mind as she conjured up
some ridiculous means of escape.
"So now, woman, ‘tis time you told me who you are and why
you are hiding in my ship." He reached forward and she,
who
had been bracing herself against the sway of the carrack’s
floorboards, nearly jumped out of her skin. "I’ll not harm
you. Well, at least not yet." He took her hands in his,
and
when she tried to resist, to pull away from him, his thin
patience snapped. "Do you wish these bonds removed?"
She froze.
"I thought so. Be still." He started untying the knots,
keeping his eyes on his work though her breasts were
heaving in front of him and through a gap in the laces of
her cloak he caught a glimpse of white skin and the dusk of
cleavage. Again his manhood responded, growing thick, hard,
and needing relief.
Setting his jaw, he ignored the sensation; ‘twas foolish to
even think of it.
"Now," he said, his head bent over his task. The light
was
poor and Hollis’s damned knots had swollen tight. "Who are
you?"
A moment’s hesitation. "Victoria."
"Victoria?" he repeated, knowing it to be a lie. "From
where?"
"Rhydd."
"So far inland?" He glanced up at her, noticed the
blanching of pale skin beneath a layer of mud and grime.
She nodded, red hair seeming to catch fire in the candle’s
glow.
"Where did you board my ship?"
She bit her lip.
"Not from Rhydd."
"Nay. I--I got on at Gwagle-"
"Why?" The knot was loosened and the loops of rope fell
away. Swiftly, she drew her hands from his, rubbing her
wrists and sneaking a longing glance at the door.
Hollis, grumbling under his breath, returned with a large
platter upon which was balanced a small pitcher of water,
tankard of ale, crust of bread, and several strips of dried
venison. A cat slithered between his boots, nearly tripping
him.
"Damned beast," he growled. "Go after the rats, would
ya,
now?"
The creature let out a pitiful cry before slinking from the
cabin.
"Just set everything there," Keegan ordered, motioning to
the bedside desk. Hollis was quick to do his bidding,
adding a bit of soap and a cloth from his pocket to the
tray he set on the small table. With a disapproving look at
the captive, he made a quick sign of the cross over his
chest and, mumbling about sea witches and hexes, slipped
through the door.
It closed tightly behind him. The woman—Victoria--started.
No, now she was not so bold.
Rubbing his whiskered chin thoughtfully, Keegan leaned over
the table. "If you got on the Dark Sapphire in Gwagle,
you’ve been with us for three days." Again she flinched at
the mention of the ship’s name. Now, why was that? "If you
boarded earlier, then it’s been longer still. You must be
hungry, thirsty, and would probably like to clean
yourself." He paused, picked up a piece of venison jerky,
and took a bite. She followed him with her eyes. Aye, she
was starving, just too damned proud to admit it. Her small
shoulders were squared beneath the muddied finery of her
cloak. At first he’d thought her an alley wench, a poor
woman, presumably a whore but that was before he noticed
the fur lining her mantle and the embroidery that was
visible on her dress when she moved. This woman was no
pauper. She carried herself with a regal bearing and looked
haughtily down her small, straight nose, though she was in
no position to argue with him.
Keegan chewed thoughtfully and tapped the remainder of his
portion of smoked meat against his cheek. "So what have
you
to say for yourself . . . Victoria?" Waiting, he took a
long drink from the tankard. Again she watched his
movements. "Why did you steal onto my ship?"
Victoria gritted her teeth. Her stomach rumbled, and her
mouth was dry as parchment. Lord, what she would do for a
swallow of water or ale. But she couldn’t tell this devil
of a captain the truth. She couldn’t confide in anyone and
expect to live. Her skin itched, her muscles ached.
Shuddering inwardly, she remembered the past three nights
of hiding aboard this ship, listening to the sound of tiny,
scurrying claws, feeling the rats climb over her feet,
across her shoulders, or through her hair as she nodded
off. Even now, just at the thought of her vermin, her skin
crawled.
"You’re running from something," he deduced, his eyes
narrowing in the frail light. Another bite of jerky. He
chewed deliberately. "What is it?"
"’Tis not your business."
"You’re aboard my ship. Without my permission." Another
precious swallow of ale. "Seems like that makes it my
business."
"I’ll—I’ll pay you for passage." The ship rocked
slightly,
the candle flickered.
"With what?"
"When we dock, I’ll make arrangements to see that you’re
compensated," she insisted.
"How?"
"’Tis not your worry."
"’Tis precisely my worry." Frowning, he offered her the
tankard. "How do I know that I can trust you?"
She held the cup in both hands, took a long swallow, felt
the cool ale slide down her throat, and forced herself not
to gulp it all down so fast she would vomit. Slowly, she
lifted the metal tankard from her lips. "You know not that
you can put your faith in me, of course, but I give you my
word."
"Your word?"
"Aye." She took another swallow, and he shook his head at
the folly of it all. She pinned him with her gaze. "I
promise," she said slowly. "I will pay you and well,
Captain. Of that you can be sure." Her mind was reeling,
her thoughts pricked with fear. She had not known the name
of this ship when she’d boarded or that of the captain.
Could it be? Could this strong, strapping man be the
boy . . .?
His gaze raked down her body, and she was well aware of her
sorry state, the rips and tears her mantle had endured as
she’d raced through underbrush, the tiny scratches on her
face and hands, the blood staining her skirts. . .
The moments dragged by.
She forced her mind to the present. This man Keegan held
her fate in his callused hands.
Her pulse raced anxiously.
Outside, the wind moaned as the ship rocked.
"We dock in a week’s time, Victoria," he finally said,
his
gaze assessing her reaction. "You have until then to
convince me that you have a way to pay me for my
inconvenience, that you are not on board to steal from me
and that at the time we lay anchor there will not be
authorities ready to storm the boat and search for you."
He
leaned closer to her, and she saw that his eyes were the
same steely color as the sea in winter.
"There will be no trouble," she lied.
"We’ll see." He stood, towering over her, and she noticed
his bare legs, all sinewy, tough muscles and dark hair. She
kept her eyes averted though she’d witnessed his sheer
nakedness only a few minutes earlier, had surveyed strong
back muscles covered with tight skin that bore the marks of
floggings, old scars that had never faded. And then there
was his manhood; she’d glimpsed that as well, though she’d
studiously avoided staring at the juncture of his legs.
Once she’d been curious about men.
But no longer.
Never again.
"Eat." He nudged the platter toward her. His teeth
flashed
white in the depths of his beard.
Her stomach grumbled, and it was all she could do not to
eat greedily. The bread was dry and hard. Delicious. The
jerky was tough and salty. It tasted like heaven. Never had
she been so hungry.
"Why were you hiding in my ship?"
She nearly choked on a bite of bread.
"As I said, ‘tis my guess that you were running from
someone." The Dark Sapphire pitched and rolled. "Probably
the soldiers." Her back stiffened and he nodded, "Oh,
yes,
they were there at Gwagle. I met their leader, Sir Manning
of Tardiff . . ." His eyebrows drew together as he
considered the name--as if it had some significance but was
lost on him. Her heart turned to ice. "He was searching
for
a woman, a murderess. But this woman’s name was Sheena, not
Victoria."
Suddenly her appetite disappeared. Her stomach threatened
to give up everything she’d just swallowed. He was onto her.
"It seems this Sheena was recently married and killed her
husband, the Baron of Tardiff. She then stole some of the
jewels from Tardiff’s treasury."
Sheena began to shake inside. Be calm, this is but a test,
one you must pass.
He went on, "This murdering wife, she led the soldiers on
a
merry chase. They tracked her to Gwagle only to lose her
again." His lips pursed and he pointed at her skirts.
"Now
Victoria, your dress, beneath your cloak, appears stained
with blood." He leaned closer to her. "A bit of a
coincidence, wouldn’t you say?"
She set aside the tankard, gathered her strength, and
though the tip of her nose was mere inches from his, met
his gaze steadily. "All I ask of you, Captain Keegan, is
safe passage. I said I would pay you and I will, so,
please, give me the same respect you bestow upon the men
you hire. Inquire not of my past. Ask only that I be loyal
to you, and hold me to the bargain we have struck."
"You are in no position to bargain," he pointed out.
"But you agreed." She saw hesitation in his eyes and
something more, something indefinable. Again she was set
upon by the unsettling feeling that she’d met him before,
long ago. The name of the ship should have been warning
enough. But was it possible, was this surly Keegan, the
upstart of a boy she’d saved--the handsome, cocky bastard
who had allowed her to save his life, only to kiss her and
leave her stranded in the cove? But that was impossible.
That boy had been killed. She’d seen his death with her own
eyes.
"’Twould be a mistake to cross me," he was telling her.
"As it would be to cross me."
The hint of a smile touched thin lips surrounded by his
dark beard. "Is that a challenge, lady?"
"’Tis a fact."
His gaze traveled to her mouth. "Is it now?" So close she
could see the streaks of blue in his gray eyes, she was,
for a second, lost in his gaze. He suddenly straightened
and she swallowed hard. If he wasn’t the boy--then who? A
man so like him as to be his brother? His twin? Dear Lord,
maybe she was imagining the likeness. The boy was dead.
Dead.
"Well, Victoria, we shall see." Again he took in her
sorry
state, and involuntarily she squared her shoulders.
His black eyebrows drew together. "Your clothes be dirty
and damp. Mayhap you would like to change."
She nearly laughed, knowing she was lucky to have escaped
Tardiff with her life, much less any possessions other than
the three stolen stones. "I be sorry to disappoint you,
Captain," she said, her gaze lowering to his bare
legs, "but I am wearing all that I have, which is more
than
I can say for you."
"You’re a bold one for being my captive."
"Ah, so there it is," she retorted hotly, meeting the
dare
in his eyes with that of her own as the timbers of the ship
creaked. "A captive. Did you not tell your man that I was
a ‘guest’?"
His lips compressed. He looked as if he wanted to step
forward and strangle her.
"Or was that just a lie, a reason to keep me here alone
with you?"
Shaking his head at her impudence, he bit out, "Be you
careful, lady, for that tongue of yours has a way of
getting you into trouble." He turned his back to her,
kneeling at the side of his bunk. "And it be my guess that
you’ve found enough of that already."
She opened her mouth, then snapped it shut as he pulled out
a deep drawer from beneath his bed. Inching nearer to the
door, she watched as he rummaged through the garments,
obviously searching for something she could wear, though
nothing he could own would fit her, as he was nearly twice
her size.
Yet he uncovered a bag that was tucked beneath a pair of
breeches. "’Twas a good thing I thought better of throwing
this into the sea," he muttered under his breath.
Withdrawing a large, coarse sack that smelled faintly of
lavender, he straightened and untied a fraying drawstring.
He reached inside, and to Sheena’s amazement, he retrieved
a wine-colored gown embroidered with gold thread. Without a
second’s thought he tossed the dress to her, then pulled
out another gown, this one deep blue, the sleeves quilted
in silver and lined with black fur. "Wash yourself and
wear
whichever of these you wish," he said, dropping the second
gown over the first.
Dumbfounded, she shook her head. "I cannot."
"Why?"
"Because they--they must belong to someone," she said,
running her fingers over the plush pile. The dresses were
as fine as any she’d ever seen, meant for a lady.
"Aye," he said, his voice without emotion, his expression
harsh and dark. "They once belonged to my wife. Now,
Victoria, they be yours."