Seize The Dawn by Shannon Drake Page B

pirate and Wallace were watching him, each with his own thoughts. He returned then to the cabin. She slept. Yet it appeared that it had taken her some time to do so. Usually, the bedcovers were pulled to her ears, as if she would disappear within the ship's bunk. Tonight the covers were all about. She was curled to a side, as if she'd tossed and turned. The length of her hair fell in a gossamer of gold about her face. He held a candle near her. A mistake. The light fell upon the thin linen of her gown, and delved beneath it. The shape and form of the lady were delineated. Not that he wasn't aware of the graceful curve and supple beauty of his hostage. He was. Had been. But memory could be exalted. Could be. He had taken no liberties with his mind's eye. So few years ago ... he had been betrayed at her hands. He had sworn justice—not justice, but revenge. He had been duped, taken, humiliated, nearly killed, but he had survived. Survivors thirsted for vengeance. They lived for it. Here was the moment. But his enemy was completely vulnerable, and a far more worthy opponent than he had ever imagined. Unable to resist, he set the candle on the ledge of Norse pine at the head of the bed, and reached out to smooth tendrils of hair from her face.
    This lady did not need enemies. She gave her heart, soul, and loyalty to a family willing to sell her to the highest bidder. Her skin was achingly soft to his touch. And with what the candlelight did to her body ... He turned away from her, blowing out the candle. He stood in the darkness, muscles taut, pained, rigid from head to toe. She was his prisoner. His. Whatever should befall her was well deserved. There was a greater goal! He reminded himself. Hard to remember such lofty—and often hopeless—ideals, when the flesh seemed to burn, the body to quake. Yet, equally, he had never allowed the slaughter of innocents. Never attacked a man from behind, even in the insanity of the battlefield with blades flying all around him.
    They were men. Seeking a dream, a people, a nation, freedom. They were not monsters. The darkness settled. He listened to her breathe. At last he walked away. Eleanor awoke to the sound of splashing water. Opening her eyes cautiously, she saw that he was across the cabin from her. She could see his back as he bent over a washbowl on the stand against the opposite wall; his back bare. She looked downward, her view half-hidden by the desk between them. Bare ... how far? Why was she looking? Knowledge, simple knowledge, of course. He was broad in the shoulders, flesh sleek. Muscles taut and tense. His waist was narrow and trim. And below that...
    He turned suddenly, drying his face. She closed her eyes, pretending to sleep. There was no movement, no sound, nothing. She opened her eyes. She gasped. He was almost on top of her, standing by the bunk, studying her face with rich amusement. "Sleeping, my lady? Resting well?" "I was—" "And Wallace claims that there is virtue in your honesty!" he exclaimed. "I was sleeping—" "You're a liar!" "Obviously, sir, now I am awake." "Ah." He had a linen towel in his hand. He was still drying his neck and shoulders. He stepped back. She closed her eyes. Almost completely. But he wasn't naked. He had stripped his leggings, but he was wearing the tartan wrapped around his lower half, and only his calves and bare feet were visible.
    She started, giving away the fact that she was watching, when he took a step toward her. "Well? Were you enjoying the seascape?" "The seascape?" "The view, m'lady. You were watching me." "I wasn't watching—" "But you were." "Perhaps I was certain that you were hiding horns and a tail, as a good beast or devil would do." "Such a liar!" he exclaimed, tossing the towel toward the washbowl and taking a seat by the side of the bunk. She quickly eased herself up, her back against the wall of the bunk, as she watched him with a breathlessness more alarming to her sanity than any simple fear.
    "I try to be