She was appalled at her own boldness.
He shook her, his fingers digging into her bare shoulders.
“Don’t be too sure of that,” he muttered threateningly between clenched teeth. “This is my ship. What are you doing aboard her? Did you offer yourself to Donald in order to persuade him to bring you here? Cabin boy—hah! I suppose you’ve been spreading yourself thin—distributing your doubtful favors to every man on board this ship. No wonder you were supposedly too sick to show your face on deck! What’s your game?”
Too overwrought by now to care about the pain he was inflicting on her, Marisa screamed, “Nothing, nothing! I have not done anything, and I’m not what you accuse me of being—you ought to know that! I only wanted to get to France, and if I hadn’t been so—so sick I would have worked my passage there! I’m not a gypsy, and I’m not a whore, although you tried to make me one! And I wish you’d have let me be swept overboard last night. That would have been best, I’m sure for all concerned!”
“What a virago! I can feel you shaking like a trapped rabbit under my hands, and yet you dare shout back at me. I’ll say this much for you—whatever you are, you’ve got courage.”
“Courage is something one finds easily enough when there’s nothing left to fear,” Marisa shot back wearily.
It came to her with a sudden shock, when she saw his eyes harden, that he had made his last statement in English, and she had answered in the same language.
“How did you discover such a cynical truth so young in life? Well, well. Maybe there’s more to you than I imagined at first. You’re beginning to intrigue me all over again, little one.”
She had no idea what he might have done next for a rapping at the cabin door made him stiffen and swear under his breath.
Suddenly embarrassed, Marisa dived under the covers like a guilty child. A wooden-faced Donald entered, bearing dry clothes over his arm.
“Beg pardon, captain. I thought you’d be needing these. And Mr. Benson has a jury mast up, all right and tight. If the wind and weather hold, we ought to fetch port with no more trouble.” In the face of an ominous silence he cleared his throat and went on awkwardly, “Thought—you dinna’ gave me a chance to explain matters last night, and—”
“If we hadn’t been shorthanded you’d be clapped in irons and making your explanations to the rats in the hold. No, I’ll have my explanations from the right party, and hear your side later, if my temper holds out! Here. You can take our erstwhile cabin boy’s clothes and have them dried. And fetch me some breakfast, while I decide what to do with her.”
“Captain, you don’t understand. The puir lassie has no friends or family to protect her in Spain, and those gypsies had vanished like the wind—”
“You’d be wise to vanish yourself, you sneaking old reprobate, before I change my mind and have you flogged for insubordination!”
With a last worried glance at the mound of covers on the bed, Donald decided on discretion instead of valor and fled, hearing the door kicked shut behind him.
Marisa could hear her own heart thudding, and the next moment the covers were yanked off her curled-up body, and, crying in pain, she found herself dragged upright by her hair.
“What the hell do you think you’re hiding from? And just a moment ago, you were so brave!”
In spite of the tears that sprang to her eyes she noticed with relief that he had pulled on a pair of closely fitting breeches, with a wide belt that snugged his flat stomach.
“Here. You might as well put this on.” A ruffled linen shirt hit her in the face. “I’ll have some answers to my questions now,” Captain Challenger’s voice continued harshly.
She blushed all over under the cold scrutiny of his eyes as she forced herself to pull on the garment he had thrown at her; but for once he seemed not so much interested in the sight of her body as in studying her face.
“I’ve told you everything—”
“Only that you’re not a gypsy and not a whore. You’ll excuse me if I reserve judgment on the last! But I must admit it’s not usual to come across a gypsy wench who speaks Castilian Spanish and English as well! Who are you?”
Marisa tried not to shrink under his look, gathering her confused, scattered thoughts together. She told him the same story she had told Donald—which was not too far from the whole truth, after all!
“My father was Spanish and my mother French. They put me in a school and forgot about me. And when I learned that they were both—gone—I ran off with the gypsies, Blanca told me they would take me to France. My mother’s sister used to live there—”
“Where?”
“In Paris. She married, and I don’t remember her last name, but she used to enjoy going to the theater, and I know that if I saw her again I would recognize her. And I’d heard that Paris is gay, and all the ladies wear pretty clothes, and I had no one in Spain—”
“I see.” His voice had become dry. “So you thought you’d sell your virginity to the highest bidder—or maybe your gypsy friends had such a plan. A pity I had to arrive on the scene and spoil everything! But then, you should not have been running off alone on a dark night unless you were hoping that young man would come after you!” His tone turned harsh. “All women are whores at heart, and for all your look of childish innocence, I’m sure you’re no different. It’s a pity you went so far as to cut off your hair. It was quite pretty as I recall.”
“I don’t care what you think about me, I could never become a whore. I’d rather be dead!”
“Spare me your theatrics, wench!” he sneered. “Once you’ve filled out a little and let your hair grow back, you might be passable—and in a better position to bargain. For now, like it or not, you’ve thrown yourself on my hands, and as little as I like it I suppose I’m stuck with you until we reach France. You could cause trouble, if the crew knew there was a female on board. I’d hate to have to hand you over to them to keep them mollified! So—” he rose, stretching “—if you know what’s good for you you’ll keep your mouth shut and do as you’re told. Who knows? You might learn a few things to prepare you for your future profession in case you don’t happen to run into this pleasure-loving aunt of yours!”
He seemed to have accepted her story, at least; but obviously her defiance had put him in a black mood again, prompting him to insult and vilify her.
When he left the cabin, he locked the door behind him, and Marisa found herself a prisoner. She did not know what passed between Donald and his captain, but when the Scotsman brought her food and dry clothing he seemed ill at ease and almost afraid to talk to her, except to warn her not to cross the captain when he was in a temper. He shook his head and murmured “Puir lassie—puir little creature,” until she thought she would go mad and was almost glad when he left her alone with her thoughts.
The rest of the voyage lasted five days, with the weather perfect, but during that time Marisa was never permitted to leave the cabin. She was more than just a prisoner—she was the helpless, unwilling captive of a pirate captain who treated her like a prize of war.
When she refused to undress for him he took her clothes away and kept her
