Her Favoured Captain Read Online Free PDF Page A

“I fear you take advantage,” her reply,
heart all a flutter, “and I at your mercy.” Was this how it would be to lie
abed with a man, to feel something inside so wilful and wonderful and pleasure
seeking that it could not be controlled? “I trust you will be considerate and
most tender in having your way with me, albeit I your captive.”
       A strange breeze suddenly whipped up sand
and dust, and waves slapped the shoreline. “You cannot mean . . .” He glanced
skyward, neither aware a storm had brewed whilst she entranced by her buccaneer
and he intent on stirring her senses. “We cannot stay here, there’s no
shelter.” He rolled away from her, grabbed his belongings and scrambled to his
feet. Hand outstretched, his tone became most urgent, “Come with me, now, to
the ship, before a deluge soaks you to the skin.”
       “I cannot go aboard with you. I must return
home, or servants will be sent to find me. Ned might even come himself, for he
knows I love walking by the creek.”
       “Then we must get you to the bridge by
boat.”
       They were not alone in their haste, for as
he hauled her hand-in-hand toward the rocky outcrop a rowboat came into view
from behind the grey mass, its bulk hauled by seamen to the water. Once the
boat afloat they began clambering aboard, and in seeing their captain a lady
alongside they waited before pushing off and away.
       Her buccaneer yelled, “Upstream Bryant, as
fast as able,” his voice thrown back at them by turbulence of wind and rush of
incoming tidal swell. The young man heard every word or lip-read, for he leapt
to his feet and stepped past men to stand in the bow.   Her captain threw his belongings aboard, handed his sword to one
of his men, and further said, “There’s a bridge beyond the bend, so head
starboard to steps,” and before she knew it he had her in his arms wading
through water, her on board and him clambering behind her.
       Huddled between her captain’s knees she
clung to them, his chest against her shoulders his arms about her loose but
comforting. Bryant she assumed to be a young officer, for he stood in the bow
not a backward glance at four oarsmen, his balance remarkable, his voice thrown
forward on the wind.   “Come on, backs
into it men. My Port, Pull . . . My Port, Pull.” She watched the oars to left
side of boat cutting the waves, the oars to right barely skimming the water,
then Bryant countered with, “All down, and heave, heave.” The oarsmen settled
to steady rhythm, the boat moving fast with the tide, Bryant’s voice continued
dipping and rising in rhythmic response. “Heave, ho. Heave ho.”
       The oarsman nearest to her smirked and
winked and addressed his captain in deep sea-dog timbre, “Goodly voice, Cap’n,
has our young officer.”
       “Lieutenant Bryant, to you, Mackerfield.”
       “Sir,” Mackerfield’s response, his body
weight heaving backwards then sliding forward with ease of skill and arms laden
with muscle.
       It seemed rather odd that a buccaneer
captain should be so formal about terms of address. Obviously his naval past
lingered and his ship tight run in naval tradition. It would be improper to ask
questions in the presence of his men, and come the morrow, out of pure
curiosity, Emerald Lady Penhavean would if possible delve a little into his
seeming formal stance toward his crew.
       “Almost there, Emerald,” whispered through
her hair, her captain’s bearded chin brushing her cheek. “With luck you should
make the house before the storm lets loose a torrent.”
       The boat now fast approached the bridge,
Lieutenant Bryant’s voice softer as though all on board were aware of unseen
danger. “To starboard, men, and easy with it or yon bridge will kiss I and
cast us all in the drink.”
       Sniggers arose from the crewmen; oars
submerged fighting the pull of the tide as it rushed upstream beneath the
arches of the bridge. With the steps coming ever closer,