Lost Honor Page 9

  He should move into Andrew’s cabin away from temptation. The idea gained merit until he remembered Arianna had thrown away the key. He would not leave her unprotected in his cabin at night. A seaman’s senses could abandon him when on the ocean without female companionship. He had proven that fact. And he didn’t like this personal matter that existed between her and Briggs.

  He spotted his first mate and made his way to him. “You needed to speak with me?”

  “The issue has resolved itself.” Andrew’s quiet manner was much like his sister’s.

  Morgan narrowed his eyes as he scrutinized his friend. “It resolved itself very fast.”

  “It seemed to.”

  Had Andrew known what was about to happen and knocked on the door to prevent it? “Does this matter have anything to do with our stowaway?” he asked in a wary voice.

  “I saw your face when you ordered her below. I wanted to make sure she was well. You have been hard on her.”

  Hard was what she made him. “Not that it is your business, but don’t you think she deserves it?”

  Andrew always rooted for the underdog. He was the child who brought home the wounded bird and nursed it back to health. And though he insisted he would never marry, he was protective of women.

  Andrew’s face hardened from a friend to a member of his crew. “You are the captain and make the decisions, but as first mate, I thought the welfare of the men was my business. And no, I don’t think she deserves it. She can be troublesome, but she has been through a lot already. I have business to attend to.” He pivoted on his heel and left.

  “Bloody hell!”

  ****

  Arianna didn’t know the first thing about cooking. At home, Mrs. Lovell prepared the meals, and she had never helped in that aspect when she’d sailed with her papa. She would rather be in the rigging, but she was willing to try anything, especially if it got her out from under Morgan’s watchful eye. Captain Danvers’s watchful eye. After what had happened between them, she had a hard time thinking of him as Captain Danvers, even though she needed to keep her distance and the formality between them.

  Entering the galley, she discovered a short, thin, bald man in his forties with a badly deformed leg, hobbling from one area to the next at a frantic pace. “Captain Danvers ordered me to help you.”

  The cook stopped short, looked her up and down, and then continued his bustling. “Don’t need no help.”

  “Captain Danvers said—”

  “Don’t need no help. Been workin’ alone for four years. I like it that way.”

  Now what was she to do? She couldn’t return to Morgan, Captain Danvers, and complain this man didn’t want her assistance. Who wouldn’t desire an extra pair of hands when feeding a large crew? Her gaze strayed to his leg. Was he afraid she’d take his place or find him lacking? “I don’t know anything about cooking. I thought you could teach me.”

  He assessed her with a sharp stare. “You are a woman, and you don’t know nothin’ about cooking?”

  She shrugged. “I was hoping you could show me how, Mr.…”

  “Hooper.”

  “Mr. Hooper.”

  “No, just Hooper.” He threw a lump of bread dough on a large wooden table in the middle of the room with a dull plop. “Knead that.” He pointed to the mass and then turned away, ignoring her while he banged various pots and pans.

  This should be easy enough. She sank her hands into the gooey, warm mess a few times.

  “No, not like that. Put some power behind it. Give it a few whacks and punches and dig your fingers into it.”

  So she did. Releasing her frustrations, fears, and doubts on the innocent dough until her hands ached.

  “Hooper, how long have you known Captain Danvers?”

  “For a long time. Fought with him when he was a privateer in the war.”

  Much of his crew seemed to have sailed with him before. She glanced at his leg. “Is that how you were injured?”

  He halted and swiped his arm across his forehead. “Yup. Any other cap’n would have dismissed me as useless, but not Captain Danvers. He gave me a job workin’ on his merchant ships. And when he asked me to help him rescue his brother, I readily agreed. I would do anythin’ to help that man.”

  Her heart softened a tiny bit toward Morgan. He had told her he was concerned about the welfare of his crew, and the men she talked to confirmed it. But he was still commanding and domineering.

  Wasn’t that what a captain was supposed to be?

  “That should be enough.”

  She sighed in relief. “Good. My fingers were about to fall off.” She shook them.

  Hooper split the dough into thirds and plopped each one into a pan.

  “What about his brother? How did he get captured?”

  “Put these in the oven.” Hooper slid the pans toward her. “Some fiend has been raidin’ the ships of the Danvers’s shippin’ line, and his brother happened to be on one that was captured. It is said he went willingly with them.” He leaned against the scarred table. “Harry has always been a little headstrong. He found his girlfriend, the third one he swore he would make his wife—he has a new one every month—in the arms of another man before he decided she was not for him. He was devastated. Women, bah, all they are is trouble.” He whirled from her and picked up a sack of potatoes as if he hadn’t insulted her.

  He kept her busy the rest of the day, explaining what needed to be accomplished and how to do it. She enjoyed learning this new talent from the gruff but good man. Arianna also discovered Captain Danvers and his officers ate the same fare as the crew, which was contrary to most ships.

  “Y’er not so bad,” Hooper told her before he dismissed her. And then he added, “For a woman.”

  She smiled at him. “Thank you.”

  When she exited the galley, the sun had set. She was exhausted, but she did not want to return to the stuffy cabin where Morgan might be working. Arianna wanted no repeat of this morning. She was not sure she could resist him if his mouth and hands caressed and tempted her again. And yet, he may lurk on the deck.

  Then she remembered she had never finished verifying the cargo. She wouldn’t run into him in the hold, and she still wanted to vindicate herself for stowing away on this ship instead of her brother’s.

  Morgan hadn’t allowed her to grab the cargo manifest when he dismissed her from below, so it might still be there. As she slipped quietly through the ship, she snatched a lantern and then descended into the dark, cold hold crowded with crates and barrels closely packed together and stacked one on top of the other. Throwing off the shiver that ran through her, she found the pages on a crate where she had left them. She flipped to the last page she and Mark had completed and set to work again. Her skirt curtailed her movements, but she feared to alter it as she had before in case Captain Danvers discovered her. He always showed up when she didn’t expect him. She had no idea what his reaction would be, and she didn’t want to find out. The image of a whip flashed before her eyes, and she trembled.

  Immersed in her work, she didn’t hear him until he grabbed her arm in a brutal grasp and spun her around. Morgan had caught her where she didn’t belong, again. She struggled to concoct a believable story. But when Arianna focused on the face before her, terror swept through her veins.

  “Briggs.”

  “Now you will pay for what you did to me.”

  She fought to wrench her arm from his firm grip. “I did nothing. My papa punished you for what you did to the boy. You almost killed him.”

  “And it is time I punished you for telling him it was me.”

  He smashed her back against the crates with so much force she thought her spine would break into a million pieces. Her breath flew from her lungs. Before she could refill them, his mouth crashed down on hers, cutting off her air. Arianna inhaled desperately through her nose. His putrid stench revolted and disgusted her. Bile rose in her throat.

  An unyielding tongue thrust into her mouth. A hand latched on t
o her breast and squeezed hard. His heavy body pinned her. Her mind whirled in turmoil. Fear stabbed her. Arianna did the only thing she could. She sank her teeth into the softness of his pillaging tongue.

  He jerked his mouth away. “You bitch.” His hand snapped back and then whipped forward, striking her across one cheek.

  Bright lights danced before her eyes.

  He slapped the other cheek even harder.

  Sickening pain exploded in her head. Tears clouded her eyes.

  He seized her chin between his finger and thumb and dragged her face up to his. “Don’t you ever do that to me again,” he growled.

  Hooking his beefy fingers into the top of her bodice, he yanked, splitting the fabric in two. Her breasts spilled out, completely exposed to him. He then ripped off the rest of her top.

  She attempted to run, but he grabbed her shoulder and thrust her back against the crates. She squirmed, twisted, kicked, and scratched, struggling to free herself all to no avail. His powerful forearm across her collarbone held her in place as his teeth and lips sucked and bit her nipples. Pain, horror, and desperation tore through her. She caught her bleeding lip between her teeth and closed her eyes, battling to forgo giving him the satisfaction of a response, but the excruciating agony increased until she cried out.

  And then she remembered her brothers telling her of the most vulnerable spot on a man and where to aim. She brought her knee up sharply. Briggs turned at the last minute, and Arianna caught him in the thigh instead of where she intended.

  “Stop.” He punched her stomach, and she collapsed into herself. Her legs buckled. She would have fallen if he wasn’t pressed against her.

  “Not so high and mighty now, are you?”

  He shoved a hand between her legs and grabbed her crotch over her skirt, his fingers like cold steel. She tried to clench her legs together and felt the scabbard she had tied to her thigh.

  “I’ll show you what it means to open your mouth. In fact, I’m going to give you somethin’ to stick in it, so you’ll remember me every time you butt into affairs that don’t concern you.”

  His hands digging into her shoulders, he forced her to her knees before him. Burrowing his fingers in her hair, he jerked her head back until she thought her neck would snap. His other hand caressed the long exposed column as he towered over her like a conqueror. “So beautiful and yet, I could break it in two with my bare hands.”

  Staring into his evil face, she searched beneath her skirts with a trembling hand, seeking the knife. She felt the neckcloth tied around her leg and then the weapon. She closed her slick hand over the hilt of the knife. Salvation. She prayed.

  He fumbled with the opening on the front of his pants with one hand while the other gripped her hair, preventing her escape. His hard penis sprang free. Her eyes widened in fear, and her hand tightened around the knife. Could she stab a man?

  “Have you ever had one this big? No? Well, you will have a treat today.” He dragged her head forward until his manhood pushed against her lips pressed firmly together.

  He meant to put in it in her mouth? Dizziness swamped her.

  His beefy hand surrounded her bruised jaw, and his powerful fingers squeezed her swollen cheeks. Agony lashed her. A scream built within.

  “Open your mouth,” he growled.

  Yes, she could stab a man. She whipped her hand out from under her skirts and plunged the knife into his leg. He howled. She pulled it out and warm blood spurted. He released her.

  She vaulted to her feet and ran.

  He whirled and caught the end of her hair. “I’m going to kill you. Slowly.” He limped toward her.

  Her heart raced. If he didn’t kill her, terror would. Panic threatened to consume her. She spun and sliced off the end of her hair.

  Free, she dashed toward the ladder until a boulder crashed into her. She collapsed to the ground on her stomach, pinned beneath a hulking weight.

  “Give me that knife.” He fought for the weapon, ripping the scabbard from her thigh in his rage, but the knife was secure beneath her, and he couldn’t reach it.

  He threw her onto her back.

  She swung her arm up, and the knife sank into his neck.

  His hands clutched the hilt over her fingers and then fell away as he dropped to the side.

  Was he dead? She didn’t wait to find out. Fearing he would grab and murder her at any moment, she fled up the stairs. Where to go? Her cabin didn’t lock and Morgan may not be there.

  There were always seamen above deck.

  Heedless of her condition and partial nudity, she flew up the ladder to the main deck. Cold air hit her unclothed skin. Her frantic gaze shot to the quarterdeck.

  “Morgan!” she screamed.

  Chapter Eight

  Morgan shot around at the distressed cry. Arianna ran toward him, half-dressed and covered in blood. His own blood turned to ice as he exploded from the quarterdeck. Catching her in his arms, she sagged against him, her blonde hair in a wild tangle around her pale face and her blue eyes large with fear. Andrew wrapped a coat around her trembling, exposed, upper body, and Morgan was grateful for his assistance. Lowering her to the deck, he asked, “Arianna, where are you injured?” He needed to stop the bleeding.

  “All over,” she croaked out.

  “The blood. Where is it coming from?” His eyes and hands ran over her, searching for the source.

  “Not mine.”

  Thank God.

  Her lashes drifted downward.

  He enclosed her cold, shaking hands within his. “Arianna, whose is it?”

  Her glazed eyes burst open, and her quaking grew. Andrew laid a blanket over her. “You are safe now. No one is going to hurt you.”

  “I think I killed him.” She rolled to the side and heaved the contents of her stomach onto the deck. With his hands rubbing her back, he held her drained body in place until she finished and then wiped her mouth with the edge of the blanket.

  Self-loathing shivered through him in increasing force. He hadn’t protected her. He had allowed Arianna, an innocent, vulnerable woman, to be brutalized while on his ship.

  “Arianna.” His voice was soft and tender. He needed answers, but she needed care and a gentle hand. “Who did you kill?”

  She swallowed. “B-Briggs. In the h-hold.” Her eyelids fell, and she went limp.

  He looked up at the seamen surrounding them. “Mr. Markham, send men to the hold. Check if he is still alive.” So he could kill him. Raw rage, pure and unsullied, encompassed him. “And then send the surgeon to my cabin.”

  With one arm behind her back and the other under her legs, he slowly lifted Arianna. She groaned. He winced at the pain he caused. As if she were a rare treasure, he carried her to his cabin and laid her on his berth with great care. He spied her swollen, red face and the cuts and blood that littered it, and his hands clenched. Murder raced through his mind.

  He couldn’t stand to see her suffering and not be able to ease it. The sight of blood on her, even though it wasn’t hers, twisted his stomach in knots, and Morgan wanted to lash out. But he couldn’t. He needed to keep moving. To help her in some way.

  The blood. She would feel better and so would he if he washed it off. He stood.

  Her eyes flew open, panic swimming within them. “Morgan.” His name was a mere thread of breath.

  He fell to his knees beside the bed. “What is it?” He wanted to touch her but didn’t know where. Every inch looked bruised.

  “Please don’t leave me.”

  A lump rose in his throat, and he swallowed it down. “I won’t. I am going to the washstand for a cloth to clean you. Do you mind if I am not beside you for a moment? You can watch me from here.”

  It was the first time he had ever asked permission of anyone.

  She nodded slightly, and her gaze clung to him every inch of the way as he crossed the room, poured water from the white pitcher into a porcelain bowl, grabbed a cloth from the stand and threw it in the water, then picked up the bowl,
walked back, and set it on the floor.

  He eased onto the mattress beside her. The fear shouting from her eyes unnerved him. “No one will hurt you here. I won’t let them. There is no reason to be frightened.” He bent down and wrung out the cloth.

  Tears seeped from her eyes. “Did I kill him?”

  “I don’t know yet.” He clenched his teeth. “But if you didn’t, I will.”

  He had to compose himself. Anger and agitation at this point would do her no good. He forced his rigid muscles to loosen as he lightly wiped the cloth down one side of her face.

  “I have never killed anyone before.” She started to shake again.

  Morgan settled the blanket more securely around her, even though he knew cold wasn’t the reason she trembled. “You had no choice. Sometimes it is necessary.”

  “He was going to rape me.” Her voice grew in pitch.

  If the blackguard was alive, he would slice Briggs’s cock off. “Shhh, love. I won’t let him near you. Rest now.” He slid the cool cloth down the other side of her face, hoping to calm her.

  “Morgan, hold me.”

  “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “Please.” Tears streamed down her cheeks.

  He would do whatever she asked. Even kill himself. It was his fault she was in this condition. He would change places with her if he could. Morgan leaned down and gently lifted the top half of her tense, quaking body into his embrace. She felt so good in his arms, solid, alive, and warm. He never wanted to let go, but it was impossible.

  She eventually relaxed and the terror slipped from her eyes, although not completely. A wariness still existed.

  Fearing he would cause her pain, he said, “Arianna, I need to finish washing you.” She didn’t protest when he laid her back on the bed. Leaning over, he wrung out the cloth and then continued the soothing sweep. She would feel better once the beast’s blood no longer coated her.

  “I need to clean all of you. Can I pull the blanket down to your waist?” She was fragile and vulnerable. He needed to go slow so as not to upset her.