beauty. Therein lies the most deadly of all danger! Mercy, ah ... would I be so foolish as to offer it again? Most unlikely. And mercy, to you, my lady? Never!" he voiced very softly. His fingers just stroked the length of her hair. For a moment, his eyes made the most idle journey over her face, her throat, her breasts. He offered her a grim smile. ' 'Wallace, you see, is a man of his word, not a monster at all. As to the rest of us ... we have learned from our tormentors. But you will excuse me, of course? Duty does call."
He turned then and left her. And that time, when the door closed, the bolt slid as well. And when it did, she realized that she had just stood there, still as a frozen doe, as he had mocked her, touched her. She trembled, and not from the cold. She raced to the bunk, and curled there in the depths of the blankets. She waited, her heart hammering. He was angry. He had been taunted. She was his prisoner. He would come back. Hours passed. He did not come back. And as she had every night aboard the ship, at last, she slept. And lay undisturbed.
Chapter 5
Eric had taken the helm himself; Brendan sat with de Longueville and Wallace, listening again to the pirate's story. "You know nothing of the man who approached you?" Brendan persisted once again, sipping the Frenchman's wine from a slender glass. It was excellent—deep, rich, red—yet he had to admit to a preference for clear, cool ale. But the pirate was, interestingly enough, a man of refined tastes, and he was eager that they share what he considered his finest cache of k wine—taken from an English ship whose noble passenger had just made the purchase of the wine in Bordeaux.
"I did not take the request too seriously at first," de Longueville told him. "We slipped into the port—under a false flag, of course, but it is a poor place to berth, and filled with cutthroats and thieves—a place, I'm certain, King Edward would demolish, if he ever had the time or energy left over from his battles in Scotland and abroad! As it is, his barons refuse him service, and he must rage in silence and twist what he says, or else bring down a bloodbath upon his own country. But why do I go on? We are in agreement here that the English king is swine!" He made a clicking sound with his tongue. "There are those who know I dare the port so close to mortal enemies when I am in need of water. They are aware of the talents of my crew with their knives, and aware as well that I reward my men richly who turn their gaze aside when I am present. There is a tavern there, and a whore I know well; she introduced a drunkard to me as I was imbibing a fair share of ale myself. This drunkard set down a purse before me and said that there would be an English ship leaving the following day—from a more reputable port, naturally—and that it would carry Lady Eleanor, Countess of Clarin, and that she was a worthy morsel, a rich prize in her simple being, and should be plucked from the sea. There would be a hearty ransom for her, reward in itself, yet a richer ransom could be gained back at the same port—if she were just to disappear. I thought little of the fellow's words, but when he was gone, I opened the purse, and I had been left a modest sum. Prepayment, I assumed, for what might be acquired if the lady were to be stopped."
"She was to be murdered?" Brendan said, frowning, and casting his gaze toward Wallace. "That wasn't specified. The word used was 'disappear.' There are many ways for a woman to disappear, monsieur." "So there are." ' 'To the south, below our Christian countries, there is a slave trade that seeks just such treasures." Brendan leaned back, wondering how he could feel so enraged on his hostage's behalf. "And you would have sold her so?'' he inquired. The Frenchman shrugged. "Not so easily, I assure you. With interest, I inquired about the woman. Indeed, she was a countess, and indeed, scheduled to sail out to meet with Count Alain de Lacville
He turned then and left her. And that time, when the door closed, the bolt slid as well. And when it did, she realized that she had just stood there, still as a frozen doe, as he had mocked her, touched her. She trembled, and not from the cold. She raced to the bunk, and curled there in the depths of the blankets. She waited, her heart hammering. He was angry. He had been taunted. She was his prisoner. He would come back. Hours passed. He did not come back. And as she had every night aboard the ship, at last, she slept. And lay undisturbed.
Chapter 5
Eric had taken the helm himself; Brendan sat with de Longueville and Wallace, listening again to the pirate's story. "You know nothing of the man who approached you?" Brendan persisted once again, sipping the Frenchman's wine from a slender glass. It was excellent—deep, rich, red—yet he had to admit to a preference for clear, cool ale. But the pirate was, interestingly enough, a man of refined tastes, and he was eager that they share what he considered his finest cache of k wine—taken from an English ship whose noble passenger had just made the purchase of the wine in Bordeaux.
"I did not take the request too seriously at first," de Longueville told him. "We slipped into the port—under a false flag, of course, but it is a poor place to berth, and filled with cutthroats and thieves—a place, I'm certain, King Edward would demolish, if he ever had the time or energy left over from his battles in Scotland and abroad! As it is, his barons refuse him service, and he must rage in silence and twist what he says, or else bring down a bloodbath upon his own country. But why do I go on? We are in agreement here that the English king is swine!" He made a clicking sound with his tongue. "There are those who know I dare the port so close to mortal enemies when I am in need of water. They are aware of the talents of my crew with their knives, and aware as well that I reward my men richly who turn their gaze aside when I am present. There is a tavern there, and a whore I know well; she introduced a drunkard to me as I was imbibing a fair share of ale myself. This drunkard set down a purse before me and said that there would be an English ship leaving the following day—from a more reputable port, naturally—and that it would carry Lady Eleanor, Countess of Clarin, and that she was a worthy morsel, a rich prize in her simple being, and should be plucked from the sea. There would be a hearty ransom for her, reward in itself, yet a richer ransom could be gained back at the same port—if she were just to disappear. I thought little of the fellow's words, but when he was gone, I opened the purse, and I had been left a modest sum. Prepayment, I assumed, for what might be acquired if the lady were to be stopped."
"She was to be murdered?" Brendan said, frowning, and casting his gaze toward Wallace. "That wasn't specified. The word used was 'disappear.' There are many ways for a woman to disappear, monsieur." "So there are." ' 'To the south, below our Christian countries, there is a slave trade that seeks just such treasures." Brendan leaned back, wondering how he could feel so enraged on his hostage's behalf. "And you would have sold her so?'' he inquired. The Frenchman shrugged. "Not so easily, I assure you. With interest, I inquired about the woman. Indeed, she was a countess, and indeed, scheduled to sail out to meet with Count Alain de Lacville
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