A Falcon Flies by Wilbur Smith

late.
    Almost choking on her own breath, she sank back on to the bunk and lifted both pistols. They wavered uncertainly and she realized that her hands were shaking. With a tremendous effort she stilled them. The door slammed open and Mungo St John stooped into the cabin, and then stopped as he saw the dark figure and the twin barrels that menaced him.
    â€˜They are loaded and cocked,’ she said huskily. ‘And I will not hesitate.’
    â€˜I see.’ He straightened slowly, so the dark head just brushed the deck overhead.
    â€˜Close the door,’ she said, and he pushed it closed with his foot, his arms folded on his chest, and that mocking half-smile on his lips. It made her forget her carefully rehearsed speech, and she stuttered slightly, and was immediately furious with herself.
    â€˜You are a slaver,’ she blurted, and he inclined his head, still smiling. ‘And I have to stop you.’
    â€˜How do you propose doing that?’ he asked with polite interest.
    â€˜I am going to kill you.’
    â€˜That should do it,’ he admitted, and now he smiled, a flash of white teeth in the gloom. ‘Unfortunately they would probably hang you for it, if my crew didn’t tear you to pieces before that.’
    â€˜You assaulted me,’ she said. She glanced at her torn drawers lying near his feet and then with the butt of one pistol touched her torn bodice.
    â€˜A rape, by God!’ Now he chuckled aloud, and she felt herself blushing vividly at the word.
    â€˜It’s no laughing matter, Captain St John. You have sold thousands of human souls into the most vile bondage.’
    He took one slow pace towards her and she half rose, panic in her voice.
    â€˜Don’t move! I warn you.’
    He took another pace and she thrust both pistols towards him – at the full stretch of her arms.
    â€˜I shall fire.’
    The smile never wavered on his lips and the yellow flecked eyes held hers steadily as he took another lazy pace closer.
    â€˜You have the most beautiful green eyes I have ever seen,’ he said, and the pistols shook in her hands.
    â€˜Here,’ he said gently. ‘Give them to me.’
    He took the two gold-worked barrels in one hand and turned their muzzles upwards, pointing them at the deck above them. With the other hand he gently began to open her fingers, untangling them from trigger and butt.
    â€˜This is not why you came here,’ he said, and her fingers went slack. He took the pistols out of her hands and uncocked them before laying them back in their velvetlined nests within the rosewood case.
    His smile was no longer mocking, and his voice was soft, almost tender as he lifted her to her feet.
    â€˜I am glad you came.’
    She tried to turn her face away, but he took her chin between his fingers and lifted it. As he brought his mouth down to hers, she saw his lips opening, and the warm wet touch was a physical shock.
    His mouth tasted slightly salty, perfumed with cigar smoke. She tried to keep her lips closed, but the pressure of his own lips forced them gently open and then his tongue was invading her. His fingers were still on her face, stroking her cheek, smoothing her hair back from her temples, touching lightly her closed eyelids – and she lifted her face higher to his touch.
    Even when he slowly unfastened the last hooks of her bodice and eased it down off her shoulders, her only response was to feel the strength go out of her thighs so she had to lean against his hard chest for support.
    Then he lifted his mouth from hers, leaving it empty, cooling after the warmth and she opened her eyes. With a sense of disbelief, she saw that his head was bowing to her breast, and she was looking down on the thick dark curls that covered the back of his neck. She knew it must stop now, before he did what she could hardly believe he was about to do.
    When she tried to protest, it was only a whimper in her throat. When she tried to seize