Nathaniel's Treasure. Sheri Lynn
considered this, thinking what to ask next. She had him talking, she wanted to obtain as much information as she could. It’s not as if she expected Spoon or Davies to. “Is that where we are going? To his ship?”
Shrugging his shoulders, he rolled to his knees, positioning himself to stand. “They don’t tell me when we stay, go. Or where we stay or go. I figure they go home when they got what they came for.”
After minutes of Bird’s bones cracking and his continual groaning, he made it to his feet. Bending for the tray and reaching for her cup, she stalled him. “Can I have a little more water? Please.”
“I’m not s’posed to, but I will for ye.” Taking the items, he limped out, mumbling more to himself than to her. “Always ration the water. Especially this early after leaving land. Always.”
Returning with another full cup, she dreaded drinking it all. How did Davies expect her to relieve herself? “Bird. How long will I be shackled?”
Answering first with a shrug, he replied, “I don’t know.”
“How long does he usually leave women in here?” She hated that her voice conveyed her impatience, but she knew he had more to share.
“Finish your drink.” He kept looking over his shoulder toward the doorway. After repeating his head turn several more times, he spoke so low she struggled to hear him. “They don’t keep women in here. No women are aboard when we pull anchor. If they are…” He looked back again. “They just can’t be.”
He answered her questions, yet it only presented her with more. Deciding she couldn’t stall him any longer, he was plagued with obvious fear, she worried he may fall over dead. Finishing her water she held the cup out as far as she could. “Thank you, Bird.” Producing a polite smile, she whispered, “I’m Priscilla.”
Returning her smile with what one could only describe as a toothless one, he took her cup. He dropped it more than once on his way out. Closing the door behind him, he left her with her continuous ponderings. Davies didn’t take her for the entertainment of the crew. He couldn’t use her as some form of negotiation for anything, as she didn’t give her father’s name or title. He didn’t even know the name of the ship she arrived on. Trying to focus on the swaying of the ship and the creaks and bangs that went along with it, and not her increasing worries, she hoped Davies returned soon. To offer any form of explanation.
Without any further visits from Bird, the time dragged on. Her wrists ached, her arms as well from keeping them elevated at such a level. The sun lowered through the porthole, and she became restless thinking he may not return for her.
Hearing his voice out in the kitchen, relief rushed her first, then irritation. How dare he? The door burst open, followed by him ducking through the opening. “Did you have a peaceful afternoon, Angel?” His voice and his smile grated on her. Both smothered in sarcasm and arrogance. His masculinity, the rawness of him, enticed and thrilled her. And frustrated her more than anything he could say or do to her.
“Release me this instant!” She shook her chains. “Pleasant afternoon? You can’t be serious! Let me loose.”
He stood firm. His hair tied at the back of his neck, gold earrings hanging from his earlobes, his eyes became more prominent. She wished he didn’t look at her as he did. Suffused in warmth from her scalp to her toes, concentrated in her middle, she shook her chains again.
Kneeling, out of reach of her, she kicked at him. He grinned. Unlike the other men aboard, he had straight, white teeth. “We need to have a little talk, Priscilla,” he declared.
Hearing him speak her name again, her insides contracted. She shifted her body, wishing these sensations would leave her. There were too many other things taking precedence. “I agree. We do need to talk. Why did you take me? What do you plan to do with me? Are you going to chain me up every day?” she blurted.
The small space filled with his laughter. It aggravated her that he laughed at her so much. “I meant I will do the talking. You agree and behave as I say.”
Believing he didn’t plan to harm her, her anger flourished. He may hold a position of authority on this ship, but she didn’t answer to him. “I think not. I agreed that we need to talk. I won’t agree to you doing all the talking… and me just obeying,” she insisted.
“Tsk, tsk. My, my. Your father must have had to keep you over his knee as a child… or he needed to.” Resting his elbows on his spread knees, he clasped his hands together. “If you wish to remain uncomfortable, so be it.”
“Don’t you talk about my father. Or my childhood. You don’t know anything about me. What about you? Did you grow up without one? Is that why you have this false sense of authority?” As soon as the words passed her lips, she knew she made a mistake. But he had no right to mention her father. She had a wonderful father. He always bore the wrath of her mother to ensure she remained happy. Imagining how worried he must be, saddened her. He only gave in to her wishes that morning because she begged him. She hated knowing she caused him anguish.
A flicker of injury reflected in his expression before he rose. His voice took on a different tone. It held no emotion, just words. “I see you aren’t ready to listen to reason. I can make the demands, Angel, I’m not the one shackled.” He turned and left, pulling the door shut.
Damn her. He had no doubt she was a lady. Born into it. But it baffled him that she didn’t cower or fear her current situation. She defied him in every encounter they shared. Verbally anyway. Her eyes, mouth and body sang a different tune. Knowing he could have what he wanted served as a blessing and a curse. He needed her to want him with the same fervor possessing him over her. The depth of passion that necessitated one going against their learned nature and submitting to their inherent nature. Her body responded and accepted it. Her mind and mouth—not yet.
Until she did, until he no longer feared her ability to hold her tongue and show him respect in and out of the presence of others, she stayed where he left her. He risked too much bringing her on board, but with the ship scheduled to depart, he didn’t have a choice. He couldn’t live with missing the opportunity of experiencing her. He wouldn’t.
Every evening meal at sea, he shared with Archer. He hoped to have Priscilla by his side, but the probability of her impudence presenting itself quashed that notion. How did he expect her to act? He kidnapped her off a beach and forced her on a ship. Not to mention, he chained her to a wall. Did he believe he earned her loyalty and respect? Did he want it? Did he expect her to be amenable to him courting her? Which thinking about it, sounded like he wanted to. It could never be. He belonged to the sea. Did he suffer a wallop to the head, which escaped his memory, lessening his resolve?
He decided the sooner he sent her on her way, the better. When they stopped in Tortuga, he would do just that. Which gave him approximately five days to have her, enjoy her and be done with her.
Her stomach growled. Her throat hurt from dryness. Her arms went numb hours earlier. She assumed he planned to leave her there all night. That thought alone broke her. She no longer wanted to pretend to be brave. Imagining sleeping in the tiny, dark, rat-infested room frightened her. At night would they crawl on her? Would they bite her? Scratch her? Would she contract a disease and die aboard this ship, never seeing her father again?
The first few tears snuck out, rolling down her cheeks. Once she yielded to them, and her fear, she sobbed. She only had herself to blame. Not for the kidnapping and being on this ship, but for sneaking on her father’s ship and convincing him to allow her to go to the beach. She wanted excitement and adventure in her life, just not the kind she found herself in.
Losing herself in her misery, she never heard the door open or Davies enter. His hands cupped each side of her head. The bands of the rings he wore were cool against her tear-soaked skin. The concern in his voice made her cry harder. “What