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  Morning sun cascaded through the portside windows, illuminating her countenance and glistening in her fair hair. She lay on his bed, and, like the jewel she was, he had her displayed there, arranged in a setting of diamonds. And chains.

  His voice was silky, low. Threatening.

  “If you move, my love, you will lose everything.”

  But looking at him— the arrogant, damaged man through whose darkness she had traveled— Jill felt compelled to move. Her breathing came quick, and her breast rose and fell with it. She was fast weakening. “Captain…” The chains had struck chill against her flesh as he laid them on. Now they radiated her own heat.

  “Come now, Jill. We’ve done this before. You learned the value of obedience.” He sat on the foot of the bed, lightly, so that he wouldn’t jar her, and inspected the links across her ankles. Running a finger under them, he smiled, half-way. “Not too tight, I hope?”

  “Just tight enough for your intention! Get it over with—” Remembering the precariousness of her position, she checked her passion. “Sir.”

  Hook laughed. “Watch yourself, Madam. I will brook no insubordination. I’ve taken many things from women over the years, but orders, only once.” He mounted the bunk, lowering himself astride her. He moved slowly, just touching her, sending shivers through her thighs. As she fought to control her body, he sensed her efforts. Her trembling delighted him, but he continued, stern now.

  “You’ll remember that occasion. But you mustn’t imagine I’ll allow it again.” His keys swung from his sun-gilded flesh, away and back, hypnotically…like the strings of jewels he’d hung at his windows, and on his bedposts…on his curtains…his walls. They glittered all around Hook and his Jill, seductive little stars, kissed by the sun, and swaying with the roll of a swelling sea.

  His black waves of hair almost blotted the gleam of an earring, but his tattoo was visible; a mermaid wrapped her tail around his empty wrist. A deadly iron claw usually hid her inky image, but now his hook impended within reach, hanging from a hook of its own, and tapping at the wall.

  In his one good hand a necklace twined, loosely draped. Jill’s captain held it over her heart and dangled it for her to see. “Rubies, love. To match your hand.” He inched them lower, and dragged them across her flesh. The jewels in his fingers scintillated with his movements, compounding her distress. He pulled the rubied chain around the peaks of her breasts, down her torso and into her strategic point, then trailed it tingling back again, up her neck to her chin.

  She beheld the baubles, and her eyes followed as he suspended them from his fingers, rich with rings. Almost imperceptibly, her lip twitched. Hook saw it. His eyes narrowed. “Do these gems stir your passion— as much as your lover?”

  Her breathing ran away with her again, no matter how she tried to curb it. “Hook. Show mercy! You know you’re the only—”

  “Yes, I see that they do. I shall avail myself of the opportunity they afford me.” He laid the necklace across her throat, neglecting to fasten it. “I do apologize, but you understand…” With an ironic smile, he held up the grisly stump at the end of his arm.

  Jill didn’t wince. She knew better than to invite discussion of his maiming. It wouldn’t distract him one whit from his purpose— quite the opposite. She had woven his story. She knew he blamed her. Averting her eyes from the ruin of his wound, she concentrated on the ruby necklace.

  Its blood-red drops lay just above the scar she earned in her first real struggle, emblazoning it. The sight of that mark still sent victory, like fire, surging through the captain’s veins. He had settled that score. He had taken her. She was so completely his now, he’d already forgotten just where he left off and she began. The rubies pulsed against her throat, and the ends of their chain tangled with the locks of her hair.

  His jewels afflicted her. Fountains of opulence flowed all around her, waterfalls of plunder that never quite poured into her. “Captain, have done with your torture.” Sometimes he called her a vixen, and for good reason. Even now she was crafty, calling one of her ready smiles to her service. “Please, Sir. Just give me what I want. I promise you, you’ll not regret setting me free.”

  “You can set yourself free, Jill. In one way only.” Looming over her, he lowered his body, preparing to join with her. Knowing pleas would be futile, she set herself to withstand him. She would simply obey him this time, submit to his will. She understood the consequences, otherwise. She wouldn’t dare move her limbs until he was finished with her.

  But it was difficult to remain still. The keys suspended from his neck kept dancing. He was so close. His eyes already possessed her. Now he was touching her. Her forehead creased; why was he so cruel? She had done her best to satisfy him! The motion of the keys was interrupted as they lay down to recline between her breasts. They were warm. With an effort, she closed her eyes and held her breath.

  It wasn’t any use.

  Hook smiled. His voice and his jewels had done their work. He slid into place, slowly, in order not to disturb her unclasped necklace. He heard her exhale. Then, moving within her, he watched the torment on her face as she strove, under orders, to remain still. In command, he stirred nothing but her desire as, with his weapon of choice, he killed her with his kindness.

  Above her head, she clenched the pale fingers of her left hand and the reddened ones of her right into fists, and pressed against the bed linen, trying not to lose control, this time. Her nails dug into her palms as she willed her hips not to rise to meet him. But he was Captain James Hook, every bit as wily and handsome as her storytelling had created him, and one of the few things he cared enough to hold in his one-handed grasp was his lust for victory. Jill never really had a chance. Not then, as his cunning had won her, and not now, when he triumphed again.

  For he was relentless. The heat kindled between them, the musk of rapture rose with their warmth. His skin, taut over muscle, glided along her own. Her breaths grew deeper, her wits dizzy. Bit by costly bit, Jill’s hold on her senses slackened. Hook laid siege to sensation, with a steady application of force. At last, his rhythm drove her to recklessness, and she clenched her teeth and sacrificed the golden chain on her right ankle. It slithered off her skin and thumped on the bedclothes as, surrendering the first spoils, she wrapped one leg around him. He laughed, and the thrill of it through her abdomen provoked a sigh, and her other ankle betrayed her. In a flash of gold, the second shackle fell away as her legs curled about him.

  He smiled. But he didn’t stop.

  Now only two silver chains and the ruby necklace restrained her. Surely she could endure his torture for the sake of these prizes? His keys nestled between their bosoms. She shut her eyes to the surrounding splendor, believing in herself. But he had begun to kiss her now, all around the rubies, and soon the rough of his whiskers and the firm of his lips robbed her of that treasure, too. She arched her neck to luxuriate in his kisses, crying out as the slippery settings deserted her throat.

  “No!”

  “Jill. You are profligate! Haven’t I taught you not to squander your takings?” As he rose above her, his keys dangled again. She saw their imprint in the triangle between his ribs.

  “But I can be a generous master. I shall compensate you for your losses.” His silken voice was growing harsh. “I will give you another gift…while I take yours.” And he delivered again, and then again, until she screamed her frustration, throwing off the silver chains at her wrists. Naked now, her arms encircled him at last, turning the tables. It was the captor who was constrained this time, in the priceless bonds of his prisoner’s embrace. Free at last, she gave herself back to him, abandoning herself completely, forgetting just where she left off and he began, kissing him with a passion that would melt gold— and they both seized the precious prize, once Jill had lost her jewelry.

  When at length these pirates were sated, they rolled back, breathless, to lie in sunshine on bedclothes that shimmered with swag. Hook’s most treasured gem clutched two brass keys in her sc
arlet fist. She separated them, and, with a gracious air, granted him the key to his coffer. But the key to his door?

  He read her heart. “Give me what I want, love. I promise you, you’ll not regret setting me free.”

  Her voice was low, and threatening. “Come now, Hook. We’ve done this before.” She smiled, half-way.

  His men knew that Captain James Hook was a difficult master to satisfy. Red-Handed Jill was his mistress.

  And she had mastered him.

  Chapter 3

  Signs of Weakness

  Mr. Smee had been thorough with the cat-o’-nine-tails. Faithful, as always, to the captain’s commands. Mr. Cecco hadn’t worn a shirt in ten days, since Hook’s ship sailed out of Neverbay and got back to work. Cecco’s last painless labor was the flaying of the crocodile, but that job was part of his punishment and proved tricky, due to the leather scourge dangling from Smee’s waiting fist. Cecco bore its stripes on his back, but he bore no grudge, for two very good reasons: he had forgotten his duty, placing the captain’s life at risk; and the image still burning behind his eyelids— the image of that woman— was worth every knot on every lash.

  Cecco had been on watch in the crow’s nest that day. Had he not been distracted, staring at the woman, he’d have given the warning. The captain dispatched the deadly crocodile, but it was the red-handed lady who saved the situation, plucking her pistol from her sash and blinding the beast first. That part of the scene Mr. Cecco watched avidly. She was a crack shot.

  He smiled as he stood on the forecastle, leaning with the wind, gripping the rail and tasting the salty spray on his lips. His broad back was marked, but he didn’t cover it. Not because of pain, although the sting was strong yet, but because of pride. It gratified him to show off the wounds he’d won for the lady’s sake, the ugliness her beauty had inflicted. Besides, didn’t she have a weakness for damaged men? After all, the captain bore his own disfigurement, more gruesome than his sailor’s. But under the scars, Cecco’s flesh was healing. He’d earned a fair share of the spoils yesterday, and more trinkets to bedeck his half-clad body. Golden bracelets bound his biceps, but his oath to his captain bound his hands.

  He couldn’t touch her.

  Any woman who would sign on to sail with a ship full of pirates was a rare prize, and this one was living loveliness, the woman who inspired the Roger’s figurehead. Cecco leaned over the rail to feed his hunger for her again. The Beauty, with her looping mermaid’s tail, her flowing tresses draping her breast. She gripped a sickle to match the captain’s hook in one hand, and the other she held open, beckoning, irresistible, like her smile. A wooden wonder. But the real woman was more. She was a queen.

  Hook had recognized her, too, as his own pirate queen. He had claimed her and he awakened her. Only Hook had the right to touch her, and then, what a shame— Cecco shook his head, commiserating— with just one hand! A regrettable twist of fate. That difficulty was why Hook allowed the bo’sun, Mr. Smee, to wait on her.

  A rare shadow crossed Cecco’s dusky face, betraying his envy. To Smee belonged the pleasure to stand near her, to handle her belongings, to listen to the music of her skirts, watch the face reflected in her mirror. To finger her silken hair as he fastened this and that. For the captain could heap jewels upon his mistress— but he couldn’t secure them. Cecco’s gypsy heart took this circumstance to be favorable, a sign portending some future opportunity. But, for now, for her, the man was Hook.

  And Smee. The tall, brawny bo’sun was discreet. He held silence about the mistress, but Cecco imagined the scene many times, and read the Irishman’s smiling face after he’d been closeted with her, in the master’s quarters.

  Like Mr. Smee, the lady was clearly aware of her position. She didn’t invite the men’s attention, yet to one as observant as Cecco, her demeanor revealed her consciousness of commanding it. She was young, but to Cecco’s eyes she behaved as if she knew her effect on each of them, lowering her guard only for her sons. They had a right to be near her, of course, the two new sailors, Tom Tootles and Nibs the Knife. The three of them had been part of that Island boy’s band. She was free now, though. She made her own choices. For the time being, she made an exhibition of choosing the captain. She flaunted it. Although she was careful to afford the captain full respect, she loved to demonstrate to the men just who belonged to whom. Her manner appealed to Cecco’s showy nature.

  And she had a temper to match Hook’s own. Cold and sudden. Cecco had made the mistake of asking her to intervene for him, but it was she who insisted he be whipped, even requesting the captain’s permission to do the job herself! Just remembering the icy fire of her regard caused Cecco’s smoldering eyes to ignite. She was his ideal woman! To catch that flame in his arms, to melt the ice in her heart—

  He jerked himself out of his reverie. Mr. Smee was shouting, ordering the change of shift.Cecco heard boots and bare feet slapping the deck behind him, and men’s voices rousing and responding. He pulled his hands from the rail and his thoughts from the fire. Flexing his shoulders, he felt the tug of tight skin as he stretched his scabby back. He turned to climb down the stairs and strut over the deck, nodding to his mates and taking up his station behind the wheel, to steer his captain’s vessel. He wouldn’t shirk his duty again.

  But his dreams were bound wherever this ship was headed. With his captain’s ‘vessel.’

  As tempted as he was, the only time even the daring and dashing Mr. Cecco might touch Red-Handed Jill would be when she encouraged him to do so. He smiled, and his teeth shone white in the setting of his complexion, darkened from the Italian sun of his birthplace. She’d have to reach that red hand out to him.

  All he had to do was find a way to make that happen.

  § § §

  The girl in the brig wept there, in silence. Of the many noises she heard, none were familiar to her ear.

  The old sounds were dead. Yesterday, in the space of an hour, the world she had known since childhood ceased to exist, leaving not so much as an echo to prove her home aboard ship had ever sailed. Even in her inexperience, she sensed that the course of her life had changed again, forever.

  Not ready to keep that thought, she shut down her hearing, and her soft gray eyes searched the dark corners one more time for something much smaller to think about. But in her heart, she believed she would never touch the beloved little thing again. She twisted her naked fingers. The ring was gone. Even more than the loss of her universe, she mourned her ring. The ship had been her home. The ring—she had to think it, quietly— the ring had been her mother. It might have gone away with the ship. Most likely it was stolen, ripped away by one of those—

  Her slight frame shuddered. She didn’t want even her thoughts to give voice to those men. She wanted to forget them, forget the hands that had seized her from her bunk and tore her from her nurse’s arms. Two of the outlandish creatures ransacked her cabin, and the hands tossed her over their bright-colored shoulder and bundled her up and out while she pushed away from them, hearing the screams of her nurse fading to blend with the sounds of gunfire and shouting and clashing swords, and flames chewing in the rigging. She had smelled the smoke, smelled the sweat on the shoulders, and she’d tasted her own fear under her tongue.

  And then she’d reversed tack completely and clung to her abductor, her hands slipping on his too-moist skin and its tattoos as she saw the sea roiling beneath her. But he peeled her grip away and the wind whipped her nightdress as she flew across the chasm between ships, the rude men laughing at her, and the arms with jingling bracelets catching her, only to drag her into darkness below decks and end her voyage here, in this dank cell. He kissed her fingers and clanged the door shut and rasped the key in the lock, and after he left, all she could do was grip the cold, flat, iron bars and listen as her ship and her life drifted away, becoming inaudible.

  Pirates.

  And ghosts. She thought she’d seen her, just for an instant, standing on the deck, erect— regal amid the chaos. She’d worn
a red dress that wrapped itself lovingly around her, and jewels flashed at her throat. Her long hair billowed in the breeze, like the spirit of a ship, a phantom sail open to whatever wind would take it and breathe it into life.

  But the wind had already taken that memory, and as superstitious as life on the sea made this girl, she knew that lady was not her mother, not even her mother’s ghost.

  But she was magnificent. It was better to think about the red lady than to remember.

  The familiar sounds were dead, but new ones had tempted her ears. First came a lot of shouting and laughing. The slap of water always assailed the hull. Sometimes a sharp order rose above the stomping and the rolling of barrels and the scuff of heavy objects being placed in storage. She knew what caused that noise, the goods from her vessel. The booty. And then the celebration. The odd music, the whistle pipes, the singing. And every now and then, a woman’s voice. She hadn’t heard that sound since last evening. The ruckus went on all night, but it hadn’t kept the girl awake. She had curled up on the bench with her brown hair loose over her face, allowing her exhaustion to stifle all sound. Her eyes refused to open until sunlight stabbed its way in through the shaft from the upper world.

  Now, suddenly, the girl heard her own heart again. Just over its hammering she heard boots on the steps, keys jingling, and the tip of a sword scraping down the stairs. Brown breeches came into view, too tight, enclosing a burly young man.

  Pirate.

  The girl shrank back into the cell and covered her ears, watching, but too afraid to hear any more.

  § § §

  “Thus, we have killed two birds with one stone.”

  Red-Handed Jill smiled as her lover spoke. She had given up everything to him, including the key, and having returned the favor, he was dressing to go out. Hook donned her favorite suit, black velvet with his silver sword belt— the long coat, waistcoat and breeches he wore the first time she’d ever seen him. She’d been frightened the day this notorious captain cornered her, but she had appreciated his appearance all the same. In fact, her apprehension had heightened the effect. She admired him again, but she attended his words, and answered him.