Still vaguely troubled, he saw to the safe movement of the other prisoners before returning to untie the girl. She was as cold and still as a piece of white marble, and his conscience smote him as he had to practically drag her to where the captain's cabin nestled under the quarterdeck. She stopped stock still in the doorway, and Harry could feel her arm shaking under his hand.

"Don't do this," shebreathed, her eyes wide as she looked at him.

"Captain's orders, ma'am," Harry replied uncomfortably, wishing the deck would miraculously open up and swallow him. He started as she placed one small hand on his arm entreatingly.

"Please put me in with the others. Please. My father is a richman, he will pay well to have me back . . . unharmed. Or ifIcould just be lowered in one of those little boats. . . ." Her voice trailed off. Harry swallowed, unable to meet that beseeching gaze.

"There's nothingIcan do, ma'am.I'm sorry.Cap'n would have me clapped in the brig, or worse, ifIwas to disobey an order."

He put a hand to the small of her back, urging her gently inside. She took a few reluctant steps into the room,then turned to face him. Harry was touched by the fright in those huge eyes.

"Look, ma'am," he said almost desperately. "Captain Hale is no saint, but he's not a fiend either.I've been with him for eight years, andI've never known him to hurt a woman. You'll be all right."

"No thanks to you," she said, suddenly bitter, and turned her back, obviously waiting for him to go. Harry looked at her helplessly,then stepped back, closing the door and bolting it from the outside.

Cathy listened numbly as the bolt slid into place. She could not believe that this nightmare was really happening. Shesobbed, a hoa.r.s.e dry sound deep in her throat. But tears would not help her where there was no one to hear or care, she reminded herself grimly. Squaring hershoulders, she turned to examine the room for a possible means of escape. It was very dark and she could barely make out the outline of a box of matches on the table. Striking one with shaking hands, she lit a candle.

The cabin was small, so as to take up less of the precious cargo s.p.a.ce. The walls werepanelled in dark pine and had bookshelves built right into them. The shelves were fronted with gla.s.s, to keep, Cathy supposed, the books from flying about in case of rough seas. A bunk bed was neatly made up against one wall. Besides the bed, there was the round table and two chairs, a wardrobe, a coal stove, and a couple of sea chests pushed against the wall.

The only possible exit was a small, gla.s.s-paned window. Cathy rushed over to it, fumbling with the latch and then flinging it wide. Cold salt spray struck her in the face, and she saw to her disappointment that she was leaning out directly over the dark sea. The wind had whipped the water into tall, angry waves that pounded viciously against the hull. Cathy shuddered, drawing back a little. She was not that desperate yet.

In the distance she could see a dozen or so small lights bobbing up and down. The frigates! They were still out there, not daring to come too close. Cathy drew a relieved breath. If she could only hold on for a little while she would surely be rescued. The pirate ship could not outrun her pursuers forever!

The spray dampened her dress, and she drew back from the window, thoroughly chilled by the cold, moist air. She longed to undress and sooth her abused body in a hot bath, then put on a dry nightdress and crawl into bed. But there was no bath insight, and no nightdress either. And even if both had been set before her she would have been hesitant about using them. She had no doubt of the captain's purpose in having her locked in his cabin, and she hoped to keep him at arm's length until the frigates came to her rescue. But if he were to come in and find her freshly bathed and tucked up cozily in his bed, she had no doubt about her fate. Innocent as she was, she knew that.

Cathy compromised, slipping off her wet gown and hanging it over a chair to dry. She would leave it there overnight and put it on again first thing in the morning, doing up the torn bodice with some straight pins she had found in a shallow dish beside the box of matches. She shivered in the torn chemise, and crossed hastily to the bed, dragging the heavy quilt from it and wrapping it around herself for warmth. Her eyes searched the room for a likely place to sleep, coming to rest on the cushioned alcove beneath the window. She took a pillow from the bed and settled herself as comfortably as possible in that small s.p.a.ce. It was cramped, but that was all to the good. She had no intention of being fast asleep when the captain returned to his cabin.

Cathy twisted and turned in her nest, trying desperately to stay awake. Her mind went over the events of the day, and turned at last to the frightening man who held her prisoner. Unwillingly, she remembered his handsome face and broad shoulders and the way he had held and kissed her. Of course, the man was a pirate and a criminal and not fit to a.s.sociate with a lady like herself.But still. . . . His kiss had roused something deep inside her, something that made her wonder, with a kind of shivery fear, what would happen if he took her in his arms again, and kissed her, or did even more. Cathy was not certain exactly what "more" was, but she knew that it had something to do with the way the captain had stroked her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. The memory of that intimate caress both excited and shamed her. She could not understand herself or this partly suppressed longing for what she did not know*

Hastily she forced her thoughts away from such an indelicate subject, and turned them severely to coming up with a plan of escape. Try as she would, she could think of nothing that had the least chance of success. At last, her head dropped wearily on the pillow and she nodded off to sleep.

She awoke with a start, almost thrown from her makeshift bed by a violent pitch of the ship. She peered around the cabin groggily, uncertain for the moment of where she was. The candle was guttering in its own tallow, and cast only a feeble glow over the room. A movement in one corner of the room caught her eye, and she stiffened with dismay. A tall, masculine form knelt with its back to her, rummaging through one of the sea chests. The captain! His hair was plastered to his skull with water, and his clothes were soaking wet. He looked as though he had fallen overboard. Another violent heave of the ship, followed closely by a m.u.f.fled crash of thunder, enlightened her. There was a storm, and he had been out in it. Cathy breathed a silent prayer of grat.i.tude. With a storm to battle, at least he wouldn't have time for her.

Jon found what he was looking for in the chest and slammed the lid shut. He turned partially towards her and began stripping off his wet clothes, not even so much as glancing in her direction. It was as though he had forgotten her very existence. Cathy watched him through her lashes, carefully feigning sleep.

His chest gleamed in the light of the candle, the dark mat of hair glistening with moisture. The muscles of his arms and chest rippled in the dim light as he tossed aside his shirt, and then he half turned away as he began to peel off his sopping breeches.

Cathy felt hotcolor wash into her cheeks as she watched him undress, pick up a rough towel from the bed, and briskly rub himself dry. Seen from the back, he looked like a magnificent male animal with his broad shoulders, narrow hips, and long, muscular legs. His back and shoulders were deeply tanned. The contrast between them and the skin lower down was startling. Blushing furiously, Cathy let her eyes wander downwards to stare with fascination at his b.u.t.tocks. They were well-muscled and taut looking, completely unlike her own rounded posterior. She imagined that they would be hard to the touch . . . Cathy quickly shut her eyes, shamed to the bone by her own thoughts. She had never seen a naked man before, and that she could even look at one without swooning from the shock both frightened and amazed her. There had to be something wrong with her. A true lady would have fainted dead away at the sight.

Jon stepped into a dry pair of breeches, fastened them,then turned, pulling on his shirt. He looked directly across the room at her still form huddled on the window seat. He grinned, and moved towards her unhurriedly. The wench was trying to make him think she was asleep.

Cathy saw him move in her direction, and hastily closed her eyes. She tried to make her breathing regular and deep as he bent over her. Her heart was pounding so loudly she was sure he must hear it, and know she wasn't asleep. She concentrated on her breathing,then started violently as she felt his arms slide around her. He swung her up in his arms, and she forced herself to go limp, desperately feigning sleep.

Jon chuckled at her play, and carried her across the cabin to the bed. He lowered her gently to the mattress and stood looking at her. She looked so young and defenseless, with her eyes shut tight against him and her copper hair tumbling across the pillow. Her lips were parted and slightly moist, and the alluring curves of her body were clearly visible through the torn chemise which was all she had on. Staring down at her, he felt desire, such as he had not known in a long time, rage through his body. His mouth went dry as he imagined crawling into bed with her and easing his l.u.s.t in her soft flesh. A crash of thunder sobered him as he reluctantly remembered the storm and the lives that depended on his skill. He reached down and pulled the covers over her, then straightened.

"Another time, my lady," he said softly, and Cathy's ears burned. Had he known she was not asleep, then? If so, why had he left her alone, and unmolested, in his bed? Cathy pondered these questions, and the man who caused them, for some time. Dawn was streaking the sky before she finally fell asleep.

When Cathy awoke hours later, the cabin was still almost as dark as it had been during the night. Briefly she wondered at it,then remembered.The storm. It must be very bad, then. The ship was tossing and pitching wildly, and Cathy had a hard time getting to her feet. She had to hold on to a bedpost to steady herself . Someone had evidently already been in the cabin, for there was fresh water in a covered jug, a basket of rolls and honey, and a pot of tea. Her gown had been neatly folded and lay across the foot of the bed. Cathy donned it hastily, clumsily pinning the torn front together. She seated herself at the table, wondering at her lack of hunger. After all, it had been many hours since she had eaten, and she had had no supper at all the night before.

The sweet scent of the rolls wafted up to her and she turned her head away, feeling suddenly queasy. A sidelong roll of the ship made her clutch at her stomach, then get up from the table and run headlong for the window. She barely got it open in time. Mountains of angry dark waves threatened her as she leaned out, emptying her stomach into the sea.

Cathy spent the next three days in bed, alternating between an uneasy sleep and emptying her insides into the slop jar provided for her convenience. She thought that she was going to die, and towards the end of the first day prayed fervently that she might. Anything to escape this misery! The captain laughed unfeelingly when made aware of her state, and instructed his valet,Petersham , to see to her needs.

Petershamwas a thin, wiry little man, well into middle age, who had known the captain since he was a mere lad. He had been a groom for the captain's father atWoodham , he told Cathy, the Hale family home in South Carolina. When young Jon had quarreled with his father and run away to sea,Petersham had been dispatched by the infuriated gentleman to fetch his son back. One thing led to another, however, andPetersham had ended up going to sea with his young charge. He had been with Master Jon ever since, and the things he had seen. . . . They were enough to curl a person's hair! All in all, though, he liked the life, and there was no dragging the captain away from it.

Cathy was very much interested in whatPetersham told her. So Captain Hale was an American, was he? That explained much. Cathy had heard that the people who lived in the colonies were all wild, heedless savages, and Jonathan Hale certainly bore this out. He was no betterthana savage-plundering, murdering, and stealing women at will.

The captain entered his cabin infrequently, always to s.n.a.t.c.haquick meal, orafew hours of badly needed rest. The first night she had been asleep when he came in, and had awakened to find him stretched out in exhausted slumber beside her. He was completely naked, and Cathy could feel his skin burning her where he touched her, even through the material of her dress. She tried to edge cautiously away from him, but his arm was resting on her hair and she could not free herself without waking him. She lay back against the pillows uneasily, watching him with wariness in her eyes. As he continued to sleep, she gradually relaxed, and finally dozed off beside him.

He was still sleeping when she awoke, one of his hands cupped casually around her breast and his knee resting between her thighs. Cathy gasped at the intimacy of their position, and tried frantically to free herself, waking him with her frenzied movements.

"Be still!" he growled, scowling at her through red-rimmed eyes. Cathy subsided weakly, frightened of what he might do if she disobeyed, and he closed his eyes again. But a few minutes later he got up and stretched, casually displaying his male nudity. This time Cathy shut her eyes in real horror. His front view was far more terrifying than his back.

Thunder rolled, and the ship rolled with it. The captain cursed, and dressed himself hastily. His shoulders drooped and his eyes were bloodshot from weariness. Cathy was surprised to find that she actually felt sorry for him. But her softer feelings were quickly dissipated by his next words.

"Next time I get into bed with you, I want you out of that dress. GetPetersham to find you a nightshirt of mine if your modesty is offended. It's like sleeping with a G.o.dd.a.m.n pincushion! I warn you, if you are not undressed by the time I return, I'll strip you myself. And believeme, it won't displeasure me in the slightest to do so!

He leered at her, and she pulled the bedclothes higharound her neck, not daring to look at him lest she provoke him to some violence. He slammed out of the cabin, in no very good humor, and she smiled gleefully to herself. So the high and mighty captain had been stabbed by the pins in her dress, had he? It was small vengeance for all she had suffered at his hands!

Despite her mirth, she did not dare disobey him. There was no sense in provoking a confrontation if she could avoid it. She rummaged through hisseachests herself, found a neat pile of nightshirts, and dressed herself in one. It was many times too large for her, the sleeves hanging almost to her knees and the bottom dragging the floor by a good ten inches. But she had to admit that it was far more comfortable than her torn and filthy dress, and as long as she was careful to keep the bedcovers high around her chin when someone was in the cabin, there could be no objection to it. It was certainly far less revealing than her own filmy lawn nightdresses.

The captain did not return to his cabin until late that night, by which time Cathy had grown used to her unaccustomed attire. She was sitting up in bed, propped against a mountain of pillows, cautiously sipping a cup of tea. Her stomach had settled somewhat, but it still went into violent rebellion if the ship pitched too hard. When the captain entered the room, reeling with fatigue, she stared up at him with wide, frightened eyes, and made a motion as though she would vacate the bed.

"If you step one foot out of that bed, I'll make you sorry you were ever born, my fine lady," he snarled. "Consider yourself reprieved until a later date."

Cathy stayed where she was, watching warily as he blew out the candle and then undressed. She could just make out his shadowy form through the gloom. She jumped when he crawled into bed beside her, and triedto pull away when he twined one hard arm around her waist. Then she felt him shiver with a chill. It was just possible that he had spoken the truth, and wanted her solely for her warmth. It was a chance she had to take. She allowed him to pull her close in the warm darkness, his limbs entwining themselves around her stiff body. When he did nothing more than hold her, she gradually relaxed. The nearness of his body was still frightening- and disturbing, in an odd sort of way-but as long as the storm raged she did not think that she had reason to fear him.

Hefell asleep almost at once, his breathing deep and regular. Cathy raised herself on one elbow, peering down at the bronzed face nestled so cozily into her pillow. His eyelashes were ridiculously long for so masculine a man, and lay in dark crescents against his cheeks. His mouth was sensitive, his jaw lean and hard. She felt curiously drawn to him as he slept, and wondered idly how it would feel to run her lips across his sandpaper cheek. . . . Angry at the turn her thoughts had taken, she flounced back down upon the mattress, closing her eyes. Eventually she drifted off to sleep.

Cathy awoke to find the sun shining atlast, and the bed empty beside her. She sprang to her feet, running to the window and leaning out. The sea sparkled likedia-mond-paned gla.s.s. The sun was warm upon her upturned face, and the air was balmy and sweet. Cathy longed to be out in all that freshness, and determined to begPetersham to get permission for her to go up on deck. Even murderers were allowed some exercise, she thought rebelliously.

"But how can I?" she wondered as she splashed her face with cold water. Her once-beautiful gown had been reduced to a grimy rag, and her only alternative seemed to be one of the captain's nightshirts. The nightshirts were clean, and covered her after a fashion, but that was all that could be said of them. They were definitely not suitable for a promenade about the deck.

Disgruntled, Cathy settled herself in a chair with a book of plays in her hand. "Property of Jonathan Creighton Hale" was scrawled in a bold, masculine hand on the flyleaf, and she was contemplating that signature when Jonathan Creighton Hale himself strolled in. Looking at him now she could not understand the softening she had felt toward him as he slept. Awake, he was the same arrogant, disgusting monster who had abducted and abused her. She scowled blackly at him.

"You're looking pale today, my lady," he said, the hateful, mocking note back in his voice.

"It's no wonder, the way you keep me locked up here. Are you trying to kill me by suffocation or boredom?" Her tone was venomous.

"I'd watch my tongue if I were you, my sweet. There are worse fates, as you may quickly find out." He crossed to the bed, divesting himself of coat and shirt as he went. Cathy bit her lip in vexation, watching the muscles flex in his broad back. With the storm ended, she was again at his mercy. She controlled her temper with an effort, and tried a sweeter tone.

"I would very much like to go up on deck, Captain."

"What's stopping you? The door has been unlocked for the past two days. After all, we are on the high seas, and there's really no place for you to run even if you wanted to.Unless, of course, you prefer the somewhat rough advances of my men to my charming self." He grinned at her wolfishly, and Cathy nearly choked with rage "I would prefer the advances of anything to your vile presence!" she spat.

'Would you indeed, my lady? Then by all means, goup on deck. Flaunt yourself. I wonder how long you would last, with each of my men taking a turn onyou? I wager you would be dead long before the 'Margarita' reached port." Anger darkened his eyes, and his words. .h.i.t her like tiny stones. Cathy was prudently silent, slumping back in her chair and eyeing him with a smoldering resentment. He turned away, flopping full length upon the bed, and lay that way for some time. When he spoke at last, some of the anger had faded from his voice.

"I have no objection to you taking the air, provided you remain on the quarterdeck and stay away from the men. They've been at sea a long time, and with a woman likeyourself around. . . . Well, there's no point in asking for trouble. I need every man I have. I don't want to have to kill one of them because you tempted him to madness."

"Heaven forbid!" she replied, her voice dripping sarcasm. "Which brings us to another slight problem. Just what am I to wear for the remainder of this delightful voyage? Your precious men, if you remember, tore the clothes from my back!"

He made no answer to this piece of impudence, and she ventured on, daring a little further.

"What exactly did your fine pirateladdies do with my trunks, Captain? Throw them overboard? Or are they using them as rags with which to scrub their decks?"

"Your trunks were taken on board, my lady, and were inventoried along with the rest of the Anna Greer's' cargo. You have a very nice wardrobe-dresses that cost enough to feed a family for a year, silk petticoats,even real Irish lace drawers.Valuable plunder, ma'am, whether you know it or not." He still lay on his back on the bed, seemingly unconcerned with her rising anger.

"Will you give me my clothes?" Her voice trembled with outrage, and it was all she could do to keep fromhurling words of hate and abuse at him. She burned all over at the thought of him going through her belongings.

"As I said, my lady, they are worth a great deal. And they belong not only to me, but to my men. I could not in good conscience give them away. Of course, if you were of a mind to buy them. . . ." His voice trailed off, and he swung himself into a sitting position on the edge of the bunk, surveying her mockingly.

"You know I have no money," she said bitterly.

"Who said anything about money? Perhaps we could arrange a trade, you and I. Say, for instance, a gown . . . for a kiss."

She stared at him, her temper rising. So he hoped to arrange a trade, did he? He must think that she was simple minded. A kiss was the very least of what he had in mind.

"Well, Cathy?" he said softy, watching her."A gown for a kiss. That seems a fair enough arrangement."

Cathy stared at him, trying to divine the thoughts behind that dark, mocking smile. His expression was unreadable, but something flickered in the back of his eyes like a tiny raw flame. Cathy began to feel frightened. He looked so strong, so very male sittingthere, and he was eyeing her as a hungry cat would eye a particularly appealing mouse. She swallowed, then met his gaze squarely, her chin high with defiance.

"I would sooner kiss a pig!"

He did not seem at all angry at her rude reply. On the contrary, he gave a bark of delighted laughter.

"So you would sooner kiss a pig, would you, Lady Catherine? Are you sure? I doubt very much if, in the course of your peculiarly sheltered life, you've ever had the opportunity to kiss anything, much less a pig. So you really have no basis for comparison. What you should do is kiss me, then go out and kiss a pig. Then you could compare the two kisses and decide which you prefer."

He was mocking her, laughing at her, and she felt a murderous rage begin to burn in her veins. Never before in her whole life had anyone dared to laugh at her! And now this arrogant man had the temerity to make her the b.u.t.t of his joke! Her eyes glittered with anger, and her lips parted in something closely resembling a snarl.

"I hate you!" she hissed at him, her blue eyes seeming to throw off sparks.

She looked very beautiful as she panted fire and defiance at him, and Jon found himself wanting her so badly that he ached. She reminded him of an angry red vixen at bay. . . . He stood up, and began to move toward her very slowly, stalking her.

Cathy jumped to her feet as he moved, leaving the sheet she had been clutching for modesty's sake behind. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were sharply outlined beneath the linen nightshirt. Jon smiled broadly, and she began to back away, dodging behind the table. He followed her relentlessly, smiling at her, coolly confident of the outcome of the game.

Cathy retreated as far as she could, and found herself backed up against the wall. He snaked forward, his arms shooting out on either side of her to hold her in place. She looked up at him, her eyes widening with sudden realization. This, then, was to be the showdown. She felt tongues of fear lick at her insides. He was close, so close she could smell the warm musky odor of his body. His eyes glittered down at her dangerously, and his mouth curved in a wicked smile.

Cathy had never lacked courage, and it stiffened her spine as she glared at him.

''You let me go, you animal!" she spat at him, her eyes daring him to touch her.

"So I'm an animal, am I?" he drawled, his eyes glinting down at her. "But that should appeal to you, my lady. After all, you just admitted to an astonishing partiality for pigs. Now you can see how you like the kind of animal I am."

He bent over her deliberately, and Cathy closed her eyes, turning her face away and trying to push him back with both hands against his chest. Her efforts were futile. His mouth grazed her averted cheek, burning her, and then his hand was beneath her chin, forcing her head around until his mouth covered hers. His lips seared her mouth. She kept her own lips tightly clenched, rejecting his kiss utterly. She remembered the last time all too well. She would not disgrace herself in such a way again.

His arms slid around her, pulling her away from the wall and into his embrace. Cathy clawed at his face desperately, but he caught her hands before she could inflict any damage, imprisoning them. His mouth closed over hers again, and this time his tongue succeeded in prying her shaking lips apart. She arched away from him in a hopeless quest for freedom, but the movement only made her more burningly aware of his hard male body as it pressed intimately against her softer female one. She felt his tongue touch hers, and the tremor that wracked his arms as he held her. A strange heat began to pulsate in her loin. His hands moved over her back and b.u.t.tocks, warmly and seductively. Her knees felt suddenly-weak, and she was forced to cling to his shoulders for support. He bent her backward over his arm, his mouth ravishing the slim white column of her throat before returning to devour her mouth. Cathy knew suddenly, helplessly, that she was lost. Her arms crept around his neck of their own volition, her fingers curling through his thick dark hair.

As he felt her response he groaned, then swung her off her feet and into his arms, carrying her on unsteady legs over to the bed. Cathy lay nestled like a small trusting kitten against the hard muscles of his bare chest, her arms twined around his neck. She could no more have resisted him than he could have stopped himself.

He laid her gently on the bed and stretched out beside her, drawing her up tightly against him and kissing her in that strange, animalistic way that drove her almost out of her mind. As his mouth twisted across hers, she shivered, and then she was kissing him back.

"This is wrong," a small voice inside her head warned. But Cathy was beyond heeding her own advice.

Jon's hands explored the curves of her body through the thin nightshirt, reveling in her budding womanliness. Her nipples grew rigid under his hands. He ripped aside the material covering them impatiently,then caught his breath as if the sight of her milky white, pink-tipped b.r.e.a.s.t.s caused him physical pain. He stretched out a finger and ran it reverently over the soft peaks, marveling at the velvety warmth of her skin.

He bent his head, gently kissing first one nipple and then the other, drawing the last one into his mouth and nibbling at it teasingly. Cathy gasped at the fiery sensation that stabbed her, and her eyes flew open. The sight of his black head nuzzling so intimately at her breast shocked her back to awareness. She went hot with shame. Her hands flew to his broad shoulders and she tried frantically to push him away.

"No! Please stop! Jon, please!" she panted, her nails digging into him.

"Hush, Cathy," he murmured in reply, his voice thick and his eyes glazed with pa.s.sion, "flush, now, Cathy love."

He reached up and gently removed her claws from his flesh, drawing her hands over her head and holding them pinioned. His lips returned to press hot kisses over her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Cathy twisted, frightened now, and tried vainly to pull away.

"Just be still, sweetheart," he said against her ear. "I won't hurt you.Easy now. Just be still."

He held her hands pinned to the mattress with one of his, while the other stripped away the remnants of the torn nightshirt. In a few short moments, her body lay bare to his gaze. His eyes went over her slowly, possessively, seeming to scald her flesh. She sobbed with fear and embarra.s.sment as he studied her from head to toe, and when his hand went to the b.u.t.tons of his breeches, she renewed her frantic efforts to escape.

Naked, he held her with his leg across her body, stilling her harsh cries with his mouth. He kissed her in a leisurely fashion, his hands resuming their shameful wanderings. They roamed casually over the sensitive peaks of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s,then moved downward to caress her soft belly. She whimpered, her head thrashing from side to side on the pillow, her nails tearing at his shoulders. He continued with the gentle kneading of her belly, disregarding her struggles.Thenhis hand moved even lower and began to stroke the silken flesh of her inner thighs.

"No!" she gasped as his calloused palm ran gently across the place where her legs joined. Horrified, Cathy clamped her legs tightly together, crossing them against him, desperately resisting his attempts to pry them apart with his hands.

"Relax, Cathy. Relax, sweetheart," Jon murmured hoa.r.s.ely. "Open your legs, Cathy love. I won't hurt you."

His words appalled her. Her body went rigid, then wriggled and slid like a contortionist's, as she tried frantically to squirm out from under his hands. He was toostrong, and finally, with a shuddering sob of surrender, she went limp. There was nothing else she could do.

Jon raised himself on one knee above her, wedging the other between her tightly crossed legs. He at last succeeded in parting her thighs. Cathy gave one last convulsive heave as he spread them wide,then lay sobbing quietly, not even trying to resist him any longer. She shuddered at the feel of his hardness against her as he probed between her thighs.

A flash of fire surged through her as he found the opening between her legs, entering slightly. Then with one quick thrust he was deep inside her. The knifelike pain was so intense that Cathy screamed. His lips closed over her mouth, silencing her, and he lay on top of her without moving, embedded in her soft flesh. His breath came in jagged bursts, as though he had run a long way. Cathy turned her head away, repulsed by its warmth upon her face. Finally, as if he could no longer help himself, he began to move, slowly at first so as not to hurt her more than he had to, and then harder and stronger.

Cathy lay unresisting beneath him, letting him do what he would with her body, numb with shock. She couldn't believe that this awful thing was really happening. She was being raped by a pirate, and there was nothing she could do about it. It was already too late. She was ruined, disgraced. She could never hold up her head again. And all because of this heaving, trembling animal who panted and plunged over her. . . . How she hated him!

She tried to force herself to think of something else, but it was impossible with his hard, hot flesh joined so intimately to hers. She moved a little, experimentally, hoping to at least ease the crush of his chest on her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Her movement seemed to incite him to evengreater frenzies. Unwillingly, Cathy felt herself begin to get caught up in his pa.s.sion. With an instinctive movement she surged to meet his next thrust. He sucked in his breath sharply, then shuddered and went limp. Cathy felt an unreasoning pang of disappointment as his big body sprawled across hers.

After a moment, Jon rolled away and lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling. Cathy sidled over to the far edge of the bed and turned her back on him, feeling hot and sticky and thoroughly humiliated. She thought of the way her body had betrayed her at the last, when she could not stop its instinctive movement, and hot tears of rage and shame filled her eyes. She stifled a sob, but Jon heard the small, m.u.f.fled sound and pulled her roughly against him. He stroked her hair absently, and at the careless tenderness of his gesture she forgot her pride and her hatred of him and sobbed like a baby. He continued to hold her, stroking her hair and murmuring comforting things into her ear. When her sobs were finally reduced tohiccuping gulps, he put her away from him and stood up, pulling on his clothes. He stood looking down at her for a moment, buckling his belt, a faint smile curving his lips. Cathy closed her eyes and refused to look at him.

"Don't let it worry you, sweet. It'll be better the next time, I promise," he said softly, and then chuckled at the exclamation of rage she gave as the full import of his statement sunk in. He actually expected her to submit to that disgusting performance again! She bounced furiously from the bed, dragging the sheet with her to protect her body from his gaze, murder blazing in her eyes. She looked around wildly for a weapon, but before she could find something hard enough and sharp enough he scooped her up in his arms and threw her back onto the middle of the bed. She floundered helplessly in a mad tangle of sheet and hair while he laughed uproariously. By the time she managed to get herself sorted out, he was gone. Cathy glared ferociously at the closed cabin door. n.o.body could treat her like a doxy and get away with it! She made up her mind there and then that Captain Jonathan Hale was going to be taught a much needed lesson. He would soon find out that he had met his match in her!

Three.

Cathy was left alone to fume for several hours. Which was a wise move on someone's part, she thought blackly, because she could have cheerfully scratched the eyes out of the first person who crossed her path. Without exception, they were all thieving, murdering cutthroats, and Captain Jonathan Hale was the worst of the lot. How she would enjoy seeing him hang, his long body twisting and turning at the end of a rope, his mocking face blue and swollen! Cathy smiled more sweetly than she had in days. Just imagining it made her feel better!

Oh, what she wouldn't give for a long, sharp knife! She would carry it with her constantly, hidden in the sleeve of a voluminous nightshirt, and the next time the brute tried to rape her, she'd plunge it deep into his back! She pictured his writhing agony with deep relish. But the cabin was bare of knives, or any other obvious weapons. So sherescoured the cabin for anything that could possibly be used as a weapon. When she stopped at last, exhausted, her a.r.s.enal was not impressive. A heavy bra.s.s candlestick was the most promising of the small collection. She thrust it beneath the mattress so that it would be handy for use as a head-basher. The porcelain chamber pot also had possibilities, but she was afraid that if the pot were nowhere to be found, her captor would undoubtedly become suspicious. Despite his villainy, Cathy knew that the pirate captain was far from stupid.