EXCERPT

Lady Sabrina Whitley hated dark places.  Dark, damp and dangerous places were particularly unnerving for her after a horrifying childhood experience.  Yet here she was in the dark bowels of a pirate ship.  Tucked behind a stack of casks of drinking water in the main ship’s store, her legs were cramping from crouching for nearly an hour while one of the crew members ever so slowly went about doing whatever it was he was doing.  Just how much longer is the silly man going to be? 

She winced and nearly bit her tongue in two when a muscle in her right calf tightened.  As quietly as possible she eased her leg out and frantically rubbed at the painful knot.  She’d been hiding in various parts of the lowest deck for three days now, ever since they had sailed away from a secluded cove off the coast of England.  When she’d snuck on board the ship, she’d been desperate to escape her father.  At the time she’d thought it not only a miracle to spot the ship, but also managing to get aboard unnoticed.  She’d waited until most of the crew had gone off for a night of carousing in the city.  Then she’d swum through the dark, cold waters to the ship and scrambled aboard.  For a few terrifying moments she’d thought someone had noticed her. Yet no one had followed her below decks.  She hadn’t known at the time that it was a pirate’s ship, although she supposed she should have suspected it since the ship was not at the normal port.  She had thought only to get away.

******

Sabrina shivered and wondered what would become of her.  She had not thought about what she would eventually do once she had gotten safely away from her father.  She could not suddenly waltz out of here and onto the main deck, although she would give her very soul to do just that.  Whenever she made any kind of appearance, or was caught, she would face the wrath of all the pirates aboard.  Especially the captain’s wrath.  Stowaways—as she’d overheard a scruffy pair of men discussing only yesterday near where she’d been hidden—were dealt with harshly.  The men had talked about such a person being tied to the main mast and then treated to a taste of the cat o’ nine tails.  They had even spoken of stowaways being slit open with a sword and gutted, then fed to the sharks.

She shuddered at the horrible idea.  Still, she was more than happy to put miles of water-filled distance between her and her father.  What he had intended for her was, in her opinion, much worse than being caught by some pirates and flogged.  Finally fed up with a daughter he could not tame, the fearsome Earl of Clayborn had arranged to marry her off to a decrepit man of ancient years.  A man whispered to be well known for cruelties to his servants, and suspected to have sadistic tendencies with women.  No, she’d rather suffer a quick death at the hands of pirates than a slow, torture-filled life with Lord Percius Preston.

So here she was.  Miserable after three days and nights scurrying from one hiding place to another in the stale smelling, dark ship’s stores.  She was also getting weaker with each passing day.  Feasting on the limes she’d discovered and biscuits hard enough to be rocks, her body begged for better food.  Maybe she wouldn’t have to worry about being caught, whipped or tortured by the pirates.  Maybe she would simply starve to death first.

*****

Suddenly the top box shielding her from view was lifted high into the air.  Flickering light after so much near darkness almost blinded her as she stared in horror at a nearly toothless man with long, tangled hair.  A few steps behind him stood a tall, powerfully built man holding a lantern.  She couldn’t fully see his face, but his stance alone warned that trouble had once again found her.

“Take her to the spare cabin and lock her in,” the tall man ordered brusquely in a deep tone echoing with authority.  He sat the lantern down and strode on long legs toward the ladder to the next level up.

******

Sabrina’s stomach fluttered nervously.  Alone, so very alone, with the famed Captain Hawke, who was whispered about along the English coastline by women of all ages.  The daring and accomplished pirate cursed by men whose ships he’d stolen from, and admired by other men who would give their very souls to be him.  With shoulder-length raven hair held back by a strip of leather and a ruggedly carved face, he was handsome as sin.  Handsome and dangerous. 

He stood there on long, muscled legs planted firmly against the swaying of the ship.  Pride and confidence radiated from him.  Dark eyes captured her attention, eyes that revealed nothing but seemed to miss nothing as well.  She felt as if he had looked her over thoroughly even though she hadn’t seen his gaze move from hers.

She shifted uneasily.  Then she caught sight of the worn-looking razor strop he held in one hand and her knees nearly buckled.  Her throat became suddenly too dry for her to even swallow.

Tapping the strop against the side of a muscled leg, he said flatly, “Turn and lean over the table.”

“What?” she choked out, unable to take her gaze from the strop.

He stepped closer, forcing her to look up at him.  His expression brooked no arguments allowed.  “You’ve earned yourself some stripes for stowing away.”  Watching her steadily, he added, “After you have been suitably punished, we will discuss just how you will pay for your fare.”