Taken by You (4 page)

To Luca his words were easy, deceptively calm, deliberate. He appeared a man whose soul and emotions were under such rigid control they seemed encased in glacial ice. Had she known what Morgan was really feeling she would have been stunned.

For the first time in years Morgan felt oddly lost and confused. Never had anything like this occurred. He’d always been in control, knew exactly what he must do in any situation. Finding himself adrift in a pair of dark, smoldering eyes was a new experience. Though his hatred for the Spanish had not diminished, Morgan balked at turning the young nun over to his men for sport, or setting her free to be used by others even more cruel than his own crew. Nor did he feel the urge to harm the little saint himself. Indeed, the urges consuming him were far from protective. He actually felt desire for the woman, despite her religious calling and apparent innocence.

Never had another man looked at Luca like Morgan Scott dared to do. Indeed, she had seen few men at the convent, but she did recognize danger when she encountered it. And dangerous was precisely the word to describe the look in Morgan’s blue eyes. She stared back at him, too innocent to realize what her sultry gaze was doing to him. Before she knew what was happening, he curled his fingers around her neck and dragged her against him.

Luca cried out in alarm when she felt the searing heat of Morgan’s lips against hers and the wet slide of his tongue tasting her. The act was so blatantly intimate that she reared back in shock, covering her mouth with her trembling hand. It was her first kiss ever, and she felt a melting heat burst inside her, igniting some corner of herself that had remained untouched by human emotions. She felt vulnerable and fragile and… frightened. So very frightened. Did Morgan Scott intend to ravish her? Her answer became clear when his hands moved down her back to her buttocks and she felt a strange swelling pushing against her stomach when he pulled her tightly against him.

Driven by desperation and fear, Luca shoved Morgan away, dropped to her knees, and folded her hands in fervent prayer. She prayed aloud, raising her eyes and voice to heaven, hoping her piety would dampen the handsome pirate’s lecherous intentions.

“Dear sweet Savior,” she prayed, “keep me pure in mind and body. Protect me from these English heathens. If I am brutally ravished, give me the strength to kill myself afterward.” She lowered her head and prayed silently while Morgan stared down at her, impressed by the strength of her faith.

There were few things that defeated Morgan Scott, yet Luca’s piety was one of them. Desire left him as quickly as it had swelled his manhood only moments before. Lord knows he still wanted the sultry Spanish witch, but her unshakable faith had unmanned him.

“Stay on your knees, Sister, and pray to your heart’s content,” he barked hoarsely, ‘^lavishing an innocent zealot holds little appeal for me. I might not respect your religious calling, but I admire the way in which you use it to thwart my intentions.” His eyes narrowed and his voice grew harsh. “You are amazingly brave. Sister Luca. I would like to show you what you are missing by hiding behind that ugly habit and coif. Perhaps I still will if you overset me with your constant prayers,” he threatened.

Luca’s prayers came to an abrupt halt. “I am no fraud. I have dedicated myself to God and the holy life. I know nothing of worldly things so I miss nothing. If I overset you, it is to remind you that my body is sacrosanct”

Morgan laughed harshly. “If I want your body I’ll take it at my leisure. Or give you to my men. I haven’t yet decided. I’ll take my leave now so you can continue your prayers. But know this, Spanish witch, the most fervent supplications will not save you if I decide you aren’t worth the trouble.”

Turning on his heel, he stormed out of the cabin.

Luca’s small frame seemed to collapse inward once she was alone. She swayed on her knees, trembling when she recalled Morgan’s fierce words and threatening manner. She touched her mouth lightly, remembering the softness of his lips on hers, feeling the lingering heat of his kiss. Her cheek still burned from the pressure of his callused finger, and she wondered not for the first time what manner of man he was.

Captain Morgan Scott hated Spaniards, that much was evident, and apparently he had no qualms about killing them. Would she be next? Obviously the man had no respect for religion or human life. Yet he had shown extraordinary restraint where she was concerned, which she attributed entirely to her piety. When he had looked at her with that wicked glow in his eyes, she had fallen to her knees in prayer and he had turned away from her in disgust. If that was what it took to remain unmolested, then she would play the role of pious nun to the hilt. She would rely on her faith to convince El Diablo to set her free.

“What do you intend to do with the Spanish wench, Captain? The crew are distracted by her presence. They have requested that you give her over to them when you’re through with her.”

Morgan’s expression was thoughtful as he turned to acknowledge Stan Crawford, his first mate and friend of long standing. Similar in looks, build, and mind, they both held a healthy hatred for the Spanish. They had met shortly after Morgan had received permission from the queen to operate as a privateer under the English nag. Once Morgan’s inheritance had been restored, he’d bought a ship, outfitted it with cannon, and hired Crawford as first mate. Crawford had tasted Spanish cruelty and hated them almost as much as Morgan did. Together they had made a formidable team, as well as become fast friends.

“I haven’t decided,” Morgan said slowly. “‘This our custom to ransom female captives.”

“A Spaniard is a Spaniard whether they be male or female,” Crawford intoned dryly. “Are you forgetting what die bastards did to you?”

Morgan’s body tensed. “I’ve forgotten nothing.” He paused, then said, “The woman belongs to a Papist order. Are the men so eager to ravish a holy woman?”

Crawford grinned. “Beneath that gray rag is a woman like any other. And you have to admit she is comely. The men have been at sea for months, it matters little to them what the woman is.”

Morgan looked away. “I freely admit the wench is most appealing, and endlessly vexing. Yet something about her troubles me. She seems sincere about her faith. But she is too earthy, too damn sensual to be what she claims. Hidden in the depths of those dark eyes is a fiery nature even she isn’t aware of.”

Crawford sent Morgan a troubled glance. “Do you fancy the wench, Morgan? If so, bed her and get her out of your system. Then give her to the men. It wouldn’t do to keep her aboard too long; she’ll cause trouble for sure. The entire crew will be fighting over her after you’ve finished with her.”

“I do not fancy the witch, Stan,” Morgan denied unconvincingly. “Man, woman, or child, I cannot abide the Spanish. You know that as well as I.”

“Aye, but mere is always a first time,” Crawford warned. “Beware, Morgan, don’t let the wench beguile you. Keep in mind that she is probably bald as an egg beneath that hideous headcloth she wears.”

“See to your duties, Mr. Crawford,” Morgan said with a hint of annoyance, “and I’ll see to mine. Bald women never did appeal to me, but I admit the black-eyed witch intrigues me as none other has in a long time. Impress upon the men that she’s not to be touched until I’ve had my fill of her.”

Suppressing a grin, Crawford saluted smartly and walked away, leaving Morgan confused and undecided about his captive’s fate. His men wanted die woman, and ordinarily he wouldn’t balk at giving her over to them. He had no idea what was preventing him from doing what his conscience demanded. Was it the woman’s piety? Her pleading dark eyes that spoke eloquently of mysteries he longed to discover? The hint of a passion even she was unaware of? Or could it be the lush promise of her virgin body? What was there about her that made her different from other women?

Morgan knew it wasn’t the young nun’s beauty alone, for he’d tumbled women even more beautiful and not been fascinated by them. And now he must decide what was to be done with her. His gaze swept over the deck, where his crew toiled to clear away wreckage inflicted by the Spanish galleon. Though fiercely loyal, most were rough men, crude of speech and manners. He winced at the thought of any one of them tearing into Sister Luca’s innocent, virginal body. He knew if he gave her into their keeping that more than one man would claim her fragile body in the most violent ways imaginable. She wouldn’t last the night Why should he care what happened to the Spanish witch?

Her Spanish blood should have made Morgan’s decision simple, but it only complicated matters. Had he grown so callous, so heartless, so utterly devoid of honor that he would allow his men to ravish a holy woman? Or ravish her himself?

His grim thoughts were interrupted by the first mate, who had returned to report on damage sustained by the
Avenger.
“Captain, the men have discovered more damage from the galleon’s guns than originally thought We need to head to port for repairs. Shall we turn back to England or set a course for Andros?”

“Andros, Mr. Crawford,” Morgan said succinctly. The answer he had sought concerning Sister Luca suddenly became clear. “The men are due for a short respite from the sea, and I certainly can use the time ashore to attend to my plantation.”

Crawford cleared his throat. “What about the woman, Morgan?”

“The nun will come with us. Mayhap she can save a few souls on our island.”

Luca paced the cramped length of the cabin, waiting for the pirate to return and announce her fate. After he had left she had tried the door to see if it was locked. It hadn’t been, but an armed guard stood outside and leered at her when he saw her head poking through the opening. She had slammed the door shut immediately, her heart beating like a trip-hammer.

Luca had no delusions about the English pirate. He might look like an angel, but blackness and corruption lay hidden beneath his handsome exterior. If he turned her over to his men, she would find a way to throw herself into the sea first. Father Sebastian had been right all along, she reflected. An honorable death was preferable to being ravished by English pirates. But oh, Holy Mother, she didn’t want to die!

Luca heard a footfall outside the cabin and braced herself for the worst. Scant moments before the door was flung open, she fell to her knees and bowed her head. Piety had worked before, and she intended to use it again and again in her future dealings with Morgan Scott.

“Still on your knees, I see,” Morgan mocked sarcastically when he entered. “I am not impressed with your piety. Nor are my men. They see you only as a woman, fashioned for men’s pleasure like any other woman.”

Luca’s head shot up. “You heartless brute! You’ve decided to give me to your men!”

Morgan grinned at her, enjoying the flash of defiance in her dark eyes. “Aye, after I’ve had my fill of you. But truth to tell, you don’t appeal to me,” he lied. “Are you truly bald beneath your headcloth?”

Thank God Morgan couldn’t see the luxuriant fall of ebony hair concealed beneath her head-covering. Instantly Luca decided to cut off all her hair the first chance she got, before he discovered her secret.
“Si,
as bald as an onion,” Luca conceded. “Do you wish to see?” With shaking hands, she made as if to remove the headcovering. It was a bold ploy, and Luca prayed she wouldn’t be sorry.

Morgan grimaced, visibly repulsed. He had no wish to see as beautiful a woman as Luca shorn of her crowning glory. He’d heard Queen Elizabeth was bald but could not credit it. He had never seen her without her lush red wig.

“Nay, I have no wish to look upon your bald head. ‘This a sacrilege to defile a woman in such a way.”

“Yet you would defile me in other ways even more vile,” Luca countered. Her eyes challenged him to deny it. He could not.

“You are Spanish,” Morgan bit out, as if that made his intentions perfectly acceptable. “I did not come here to argue with you.”

“Why did you come?”

“To inform you of your fate.” He watched her with brooding intensity. “Stand up, I don’t like talking to the top of your head, and I’m growing weary of your prayers. Your knees must surely be raw from all that kneeling.”

Luca rose gracefully, despite her stiff limbs. She faced Morgan squarely, her chin tilted upward. Her behavior was so militant that she could not credit how greatly she had changed in so short a time. Obviously ten years behind convent walls had not tamed her fiery disposition or the rebellious spirit her father had despaired of long ago. She blamed her lapse on a scurrilous pirate known as El Diablo.

“What have you decided, Captain?” There was an undeniable spark of challenge in her dark eyes.

Morgan quelled his sudden irritation with the Spanish vixen. Why did this proud Spanish nun make him feel like die lowest kind of cur? It was difficult to think rationally with her standing so close to him, and against his will he found himself admiring her spark of defiance. Then the sweet scent of roses drifted across the narrow space dividing them, and he frowned, more than a little surprised to discover that nuns wore perfume. He shook his head to clear it of thoughts far too disturbing for comfort, but it didn’t work. His fingers itched to touch her. He wanted to mount her, pound himself into her, hear her gasping with sweet release.

My God, was he losing his mind? He should do what his conscience demanded. Ravish her, then let his men have her.

“The ship is in need of repairs. I’m taking her to our home port in the Bahamas. You will come with us.”