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
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
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