Page 8 of Paid to the Pirate

That couldn’t be. Women were considered bad luck upon ships. And the way I was being treated told me my consent wasn’t entirely given, if at all. In some manner, I must have existed unwillingly aboard Colt’s ship. Perhaps blackmailed? Maybe this cold-hearted captain knew my parents and threatened them. Maybe I’d agreed to stay aboard his ship to spare them pain, or death.

And I’d finally managed to escape… but had somehow lost my memories.

Whatever had happened, pretending I was too far removed from the experience, too above it all, seemed to be serving to cover the amnesia.

I planned on clinging to my act. My life might very well depend on it.

I’d started hopelessly, however, marching aft when instructed to Colt’s cabin. Above the briny scent of the sea, I could smell him -- curiously clean for a pirate, though tinged with something spicy, musky. I gulped.Manly.

“Have you forgotten your way around a ship?” he repeated, eyes narrowed with suspicion.

Towering monster. He must be six feet tall, or more.I had to look up to meet his eyes, when my height allowed me to meet some men with a level stare and to look down upon the shorter ones.

Throwing myself into the safety of my pretend-act, I declared with exaggerated haughtiness, “I am a lady.” The night wind whipped loose strands of my hair about my face, and I tucked them behind my ears, trying to muster all the dignity I could, clad only in my chemise in front of at least two dozen swarthy men. “I’ve never been on a ship in my life. This one, or your old one. I’m afraid if you want me to do something you’ll need to give precise instruction.”

“You’re in luck. I plan to dopreciselythat.”

I shivered at the thinly veiled threat.

One side of Colt’s lips turned up into a sardonic grin. “I see you remember some things, don’t you?” Roughly, he turned me by shoulders to face the main mast. “You’re familiar with the post used for whipping insolent crewmen, aren’t you?”

My eyes rounded and I gulped.

“Ah, but aladywould never find herself bound for the lash. Would she?”

The emphasis Colt gave the statement told me he referenced something from my past -- but what? His head, tilted back, forced his hooded eyes to peer further downward, lending him an even more arrogant look. I found his haughty manner unusual for a pirate -- not that I’d come into contact with many of his kind. But the carriage and mannerisms of this particular captain were surprisingly measured, giving them an air of… if not civility, certainly intelligence.

Yes, cunning.I needed to be wary of what he saw with those dark eyes -- and how he processed information in his dark mind.

With his large hand caging my arm, I had no choice but to follow the captain up a short flight of wooden stairs from the main deck onto a higher, smaller one. With quick, long strides Colt half-dragged me through a tight hallway until we reached a door at the end.

His private chambers.

Mrs. Penningham said he wouldn’t rape me,I assured myself. But why else were we headed to his cabin?

Thrusting me inside, Colt slammed and locked the door behind him. I quickly took stock of the room as I spun around to face him. The far wall bore a series of paned windows and scarlet curtains. Elevated from the rest of the floor, a desk and chair sat before it. The wooden desk was littered with all kinds of books, maps, and documents. Almost in the center of the room stood a dining table large enough to seat six or eight. On the tabletop and jutting from sconces, candles glowed, long tapers freshly-lit.

On one side of the room a bed was built into the walls. It too bore deep red curtains, though they’d been tied back with gold, woven cords.

Keenly aware of my state of undress, I moved away from the bed, toward the large table near the room’s center. One step backward.

Colt matched it with a step forward, boots thumping ominously against the floor.

I took another step, in reverse.

He took one more in my direction.

Seeing the fruitlessness of my retreat, I stopped, grabbing the table’s edge to steady myself. Colt’s eyes missed nothing. He looked down at me like game to be hunted and roasted. Or as if I’d already been ensnared and prepared and all that remained was to spear me with a fork and eat.

Mrs. Penningham said he wouldn’t kill me. Said he wouldn’t rape me.

What did he want with me? Why was I here? Who was I to this cruel captain?

His eyes were black, impossibly dark and enthralling to the point of sucking prey right into that molten pitch.Black eyes don’t exist,my mind insisted.They must be the darkest shade of brown.Yet I couldn’t discern the difference. Candlelight reflected menacingly off his pupils -- indistinguishable from the irises themselves. His hair and clothing were equally as dark.

“Shall we pick up where we left off?”

I blinked. What did that mean?

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