Jennifer Horseman (13 page)

The idea filled her with a tingling rush of anticipation, but it was against her will. She had no strength or will to fight him, and as he stood to carry her to the bed she tried to stop him with a helpless last plea: "It would be even more wrong a second time!"

"I know, love. I know," he laid her to the bed, his large hand cupped the back of her neck, so that her back would not touch even the soft cushion. He slowly lifted the quilt from her, staring down at the sultriness of her eyes, the flushed beauty of her bare form. "And believe me, love, if there was a way on earth or in heaven of resisting you now, I would have found it. . . ."

The bright noonday sun penetrated the dark canopy of blue velvet where Juliet still slept. Like a feather tickling her brain, an odd sensation pricked her consciousness. She stirred, turning her head back against the pillows. The sensation persisted, and drugged with the heaviness of her sleep, she struggled to identify it.

She first felt the soreness in her hand, but gradually she became aware of another soreness, not entirely unpleasant, in a part of her body she never had much reason to think about. She squirmed slightly, as if to take stock of it. The sound of lowered masculine voices came from nearby, while in the distance came the sound of men singing: "We'll haul the bowline so early in the day, we'll haul the bowline, bowline . . ."

Yet the noise hardly registered as her consciousness awoke to the source of alarm: there was something smooth and furry against her cheek. She opened her eyes to see a midnight black coat of fur inches away.

She slowly sat up, bringing the sheet with her as if the cloth could possibly provide some protection against what she simply could not believe she was seeing. A large black panther lay on the bed with her. She went over this again as if this time she'd understand: a large black panther lay on the bed with her. A dream, 'twas part of a dream, of course. This was the shape Garrett took in her dreams. She waited several moments for it to disappear back to the dark world of nightmares where such things belong, until—

Until Tonali thought to have fun with her fright. He sat up and stretched, grinning in a way patently impossible for a cat.

"It's simple, Leif: we're making three knots now. Six thousand eighty divided by one over one hundred and twenty, or fifty feet eight inches after the glass turns — "

"Oh please, help . . ."

The small cry alerted Garrett, stopping him midsentence. Standing up, he moved quickly to the bed to part the drapes in an instant. "Tonali!" he said the name but stopped, the shock of what he saw overcoming his words. Juliet sat up, the covers in her hand as she pressed herself against the headboard, her gaze riveted on the panther.

Garrett had no idea how the cat got in here—his magic again. He had taken every precaution to keep the cat out; the last he saw of him, the cat had been watching the flap of the topsails, mad as hell for being barred from his quarters. Tonali was always barred when a woman was inside, for the cat's antipathy toward his women —only his women—was famous, usually taking the infuriating but benign shape of mean-spirited shenanigans, tricks that sent his men into belly-clutching howls of laughter. Yet more than once the cat's distaste became an actual threat to one of Garrett's women.

Never, not even once, had Tonali chosen to go near them, let alone to sleep alongside them. Yet there he saw on the bed with Juliet, his profound contentment showing in the rhythmic lift of his tail. Juliet and Tonali . . . Tonali and Juliet, archenemies or mated lovers, Garrett saw this with startling clarity in the sweep of the moment. "Leif . . ."

"Aye, I see it," Leif came slowly behind Garrett, careful to keep his voice low and even, not to upset the beast. "I just don't believe it—"

Polly ruffled his feathers. "Skin the goddamn cat, I say . . . bawk. Skin the goddamn cat. . . ."

Garrett's gaze never left his cat as he leaned toward the creature. Tonali stood up, his form taking up a third of the bed, his movement causing Juliet to gasp. From the corner of her eye she watched Leif remove a pistol from his shoulder harness, then aim the long barrel at the bed.

Garrett watched only the cat's tail, a little wider than a man's thumb but two feet long, swaying vertically with agitation now as he rose to full measure with a low hiss. Juliet felt the innate fear of any human being confronting a predator, not able even to begin to imagine how a black panther got on board a ship at sea. The richest imagination probably could not hurdle that one. Yet she could not bear the idea that Garrett would lure the creature from the bed so the man Leif could shoot it, and she reached her hand to Garrett to stop him.

"No, love, don't move, not yet. I wont let him hurt you. I just don't know what he's about with you. He's never been this close to one of my women before." "That puts the matter lightly."

"Bawk . . . where's the goddamn light. . . ? Bawk, big trouble, big red trouble . . . bawk."

Leif groaned but Garrett smiled at his bird's jumble of words, and his smile spoke to her fear. Garrett tapped his fingers as if calling a house cat. "Come Tonali. . . come," he half coaxed, half threatened, his hand tapping his cheek now. "I need to see it."

It was a familiar ritual to ensure Ibnali had not completely passed beyond Garrett's control, but the cat greeted the measure with natural indignation, forcing Garrett to wait a long moment before he approached. Garrett kept still. The cat hissed once before reaching a paw to Garrett's face with nails bared, a swipe from eye to chin. Yet no claw touched his skin.

Grabbing the paw as it came from his face, Garrett locked his gaze with that of the panther's golden eyes and chuckled. "So now you want to share my bed, do you?" He tugged once on Tonali's whiskers and the cat stretched his mouth and hit his hand away. As if to make the point and lay his claim, the panther went back to Juliet. With a hiss tossed at Garrett, and to her absolute horror, he settled comfortably on her lap. Knowing his cat's mind, Garrett only laughed, the alternative to shooting him. Leif reluctantly put his pistol back into his holster, and with a soft vicious curse, and inaudible mutterings about spirit beasts, warlocks, and familiars, he left the room.

Garrett went to Juliet's side and knelt down, his arm circling her shoulders. She leaned full against him, as much as Tonali's weight made this possible. Yet she still had no voice with which to speak.

"Ah, don't be frightened love. If you had any idea of how he treats my other women you would understand the honor he gives you. Upon my life, he will not hurt you."

Juliet looked at Garrett. She turned back to Tonali, her eyes widening with the realization, her breaths coming quickly. "He is your pet!"

Garrett chuckled at the outrage and disbelief conveyed in the lyrical lift of her voice. "Nay, Tonali is no man's pet, love." He stroked the cat's head. As if the beast were a house cat, Tonali leaning into the hand with the pleasure of it. "He is a wild creature, for sure, but he lives with me as my friend."

Juliet's brows drew together into a disbelieving arch.

"Come now, I happen to know you have a love for the cats. Well," he grinned, "Here is one cat deserving of your affection."

Tonali rubbed his huge head against her and she stiffened, her eyes widening, her confusion plain. She simply could not believe it. A pet, he kept this great cat as a pet. Why should she be so surprised? Little Vespa would never have done. Garrett needed a black panther just in case some slow wit mistakenly imagined he had something in common with normal human beings.

Yet despite everything, she felt a tremor of excitement as she reached her hand to him, carefully watching the cat's response. Nothing in her experience could compare to the softness of his silken fur; the pleasure of it almost made her smile. Tonali leaned against her hand. Knowing what the cat wanted, Garrett placed his hand over hers, bringing it to Tonali's whiskers, where he liked most to be petted.

Garrett stared, he could not help it. Juliet's hair fell in chaotic disarray to the bed, more red than dark in the soft morning light. Loose tendrils framed her lovely face. The lingering discoloration of Stoddard's hand had faded much — he wondered if it was Gayle's potion. The dark blue of her eyes—the color of deep sea darkening beneath a setting sun—looked darker, more beautiful, against the pale white of her skin. Her lips were red, ever so slightly swollen from his, and though she held the bed sheets over herself, he knew well every inch of the slender offering beneath. With Tonali draped over her lap like that she presented an exotic picture of startling beauty.

Last night's passion was a thing of wonder; he had made love to her long into the night, releasing his claim only when it was not possible to send her over the thin line separating her from ecstasy a single time more—and even then he released her only reluctantly. His desire for her was like a wondrous winged creature that knew no boundaries in flight. He had awakened to the pleasurable tightening of his body's full arousal, a situation that had yet to change. A measure of her proximity, his arousal was a maddening torment that made him get up no less than a dozen times to watch her as she slept.

As he was her first, she was his.

Juliet took hold of Tonali's coat, tightening as she felt the first physical rush of her memory, as if to save herself from the emotional agony accompanying the knowledge of what he had done to her. She blushed crimson as her eyes filled with the horror. Like a snake tortured by a stick, her mind jerked this way and that over the memories. He did not do that, he could not have done that, and oh, God, she didn't . . . but he just kept—until, until, she—

The shame would burn her to cinders—

She found his face in the instant, expecting to see her own shame there, too. Yet only amusement showed in those remarkable dark eyes, a warm and lively amusement.

He said her name in a whisper as his hand came to her face, "Juliet, is this shame? Ah, love, you are so young, I see that now. There is no shame in what passes between a man and a woman behind closed doors. Besides, how could you know shame when I forced you, when you had no choice?"

She was far more conscious of his finger rhythmically brushing her cheek than of his words. A brush with fire. She couldn't listen to words as her mind tried to catch up with the events of yesterday. A sick wave of dizziness washed over her, then another as she relived the terror of it. ...

The idea made her heart gallop, racing as if she were chased. Her fear passed into Tonali and the cat rose, his tail swaying in disapproving agitation just as Garrett felt it too. She withdrew from his touch, her good hand grasping the sheet tight at her neck as her emotions sang loudly in her eyes.

"Oh no, love," he said carefully, "Do not look at me like that. I said I will not hurt you again."

"Yes, I remember you did and then you — "

"And then I laid you to my bed again. I am willing to pretend that all the passion you gave me was owing only to the potion; I will not pretend to regret it. Your uncle is dead, Juliet, and you are alive, two things to celebrate."

Their eyes locked, hers shimmering with unspoken emotion, while he veiled any emotion from his. He paused to contemplate her fear: she had every reason to feel it, and he had every reason to overcome it, as hard a road as that would be.

"Trust is a precious gift a woman gives a man, a hard-earned one in the best of circumstances. I have a steep road to travel with you; I see that now, but love," he let the emotion fill his voice, "you don't know how it feels when you watch me as though you expect to see my hand rise to strike you." He added the truth, "I could easier die."

The gentleness of his tone melted the coldest of her feelings, triggering an avalanche of emotions from some deepest part of her, feelings that made her shake her head slightly as she stared at him. Wildest of all was an urge to have him hold her close as she assured him she did believe him. How could she though? She wanted to hate him, and dear Lord, why didn't she hate him, this man kneeling at her side? A man who had taken her innocence by force, a man who had forced her into a sacred act of the most profound intimacy—an act that still shocked her to the depth of her soul. And how had her circumstances altered by the light of a new day? Alone with him, she was asdefenseless as she had been last night.

Yet, almost against her will, she believed him. He had changed, and as she stared at him she saw the extent of the change. The change manifested itself externally: he wore black cotton breeches, tall black boots, and a loose-fitting white cotton shirt, devoid of even a single frivolous adornment. Somehow that fit what she knew of him. His long hair was combed, neatly tied in back, and he had shaved. More than anything, the rage and hate were gone now, replaced by unmistakable grief, a private thing she intuitively sensed would not be shared with her.

She felt suddenly confused, very confused, and her gaze left him to dart frantically around the room, as if to make sense of her confused tumble of thoughts, conflicting thoughts that lay beneath her desperation. She wanted to disappear, to vanish into thin air to emerge a thousand miles away, someplace, anyplace where she would not have to see him ever again, where she would not have to face what had happened ever again.

"I see your confusion, love," he said, watching her intently. "I see that a hundred thoughts have passed through your mind. I am wondering what these are?"

"I need to know . . . where are we? I don't even know where we are."

"We are on my ship, The Raven, sailing on the high seas now."

He watched the luminous mist of tears fill her eyes. Held back like an unsung poem, these tears would not be shared, and she bit her lip with the effort to control it.

"I want to go back," she said in a whispered rush, realizing it as she said it. "I want ... I want very much to see Tomas."

As soon as those words sounded, her hand clasped over her mouth, as if to contain the nearly overwhelming emotion the realization brought her. She wanted to see Tomas more than she ever wanted anything in the whole of her life, as much as she wanted her next breath. She wanted to see that it didn't matter; she wanted to be held and loved and told that it wasn't her fault, that he had forced her. Against her will, he had forced her, and she could not be held accountable, she wanted him to know that ....