Wicked Loving Lies. Rosemary Rogers
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comes up, we’ll find a nice cold cell to throw you in!”
Mario’s friends had already taken to their heels, and now, with a last, frustrated backward glance, the young man himself disappeared into the crowd.
With a desperation born of sheer terror, Marisa tried to twist away.
“Let me go! You have no right to keep me here!” She raised imploring eyes to the suddenly impassive faces of the two guardsmen. “Please, señores! They were only trying to save me from the unwelcome advances of this—this lecher! And he threatened to shoot me with his pistol if I did not go with him!”
“What an accomplished little liar she is! Listen, young woman, picking pockets could get you in a lot of trouble! A public flogging, and all your pretty long hair cut off. We’ve been watching you.”
“Here—and you’d better keep a closer eye on her this time. I’ve no mind to spend the rest of the evening dodging her jealous lovers—and her nimble fingers.” Marisa felt herself shoved forward, only to have her arms grasped roughly and twisted behind her.
“Better search her for a knife, too—she threatened once to stick me with it.”
“Shall we bring her along to the boat?”
Straightening out his clothes, the gentleman shrugged, but his silver-grey eyes had gone narrow.
“Why not? I hate being made to pay in advance for favors I haven’t received yet. Maybe she’ll be more tractable in a few hours’ time.”
With a dazed feeling of disbelief, Marisa watched him walk away leaving her to these rough men, to be treated like a common prisoner. No, it could not be happening, not to her! Perhaps if she closed her eyes she would wake to find herself in her little grey cell in the convent, safe behind its strong, wide walls.
As she felt one of the men adroitly tie her wrists behind her, she began to sob helplessly.
The voice that spoke to her wasn’t too unkind. “Now, now! There’s no point in shedding tears at this point, you know! Count yourself lucky you aren’t to be marched right off to jail. You might spend the next few years of your life picking hemp, and what a waste that would be! A pity you weren’t given a different sort of upbringing—all you gypsies are thieves and sluts. I suppose it’s in your blood and you can’t help it! But if you behave yourself and do as you’re told, you might come out the richer for this evening. Now—where’s that knife hidden? Better tell us, or we’ll have to strip you.”
She had to bite her lip to keep from crying out with revulsion when a rough hand groped up her thigh.
“What a dangerous little weapon! You could kill someone with this, and then you’d hang. You ever seen a hanging? Come along now. A good thing you have enough sense not to scream, or we’d have to gag you. That’s right. And just think, you’ll have a nice boat ride—it’s a perfect night for it, too.”
The lopsided moon dropped lower and lower and the rocking motion of the pleasure barge made her feel sick. Almost as sick as the conversation of her captors, as they discussed the rest of the night that lay ahead.
“They’re really having fun this evening. It was all the duchess’s idea, you know. A pity we’re on duty, eh, Jorge?”
“Ah well, you know they’re generous with the spoils after they’ve tired of their sport. We’ll get our share later.” One of the men gave a ribald chuckle and when Marisa shuddered, he flung a blanket over her shoulders. “Here. It wouldn’t do to have you catch a chill. And you might as well stretch out against those cushions and get comfortable while you’re at it. You’ll have plenty of exercise later on.”
She closed her eyes against the cold silver stars. Their brilliance reminded her of cruel, mocking eyes. ‘Delphine!’ she thought suddenly. But Delphine was gone a long time ago, offering herself to that pack of raving beasts to save her—and for what? ‘I’ve sinned,’ she thought dully. ‘I’ve sinned, and this is my punishment. Mother Angelina was right. She used to tell me I was wayward and headstrong and that I lacked the proper humility to become a nun. If only I’d paid attention, if only…’
She had found her own personal hell—flickering torchlights and gay, wine-slurred voices, the sound of oars swishing through moving water, the sour-sweet taste of wine forced between her lips, and the devil’s eyes which were not as red as coals after all but like silvered glass.
Her limbs were numb and aching and her wrists and arms had no more feeling than her horror-soaked mind.
‘If I stood up now and shouted who I was, they wouldn’t believe me,’ she thought, ‘or they’d think it was very funny. Oh God, help me!’
Marisa hardly heard the voices that continued to discuss her as if she weren’t present.
“The foolish little creature! What did she hope to gain?”
The sulky voice that she now knew belonged to the queen of Spain said sharply, “I can’t understand why you bothered with her! After all, one gypsy wench is very much like another, and if this little wretch is a thief into the bargain—”
“Ah, but she isn’t quite like the others. Her father must have been a Castilian—look at that hair! And she’s obviously still quite young.”
“What difference does that make? Her kind are all quite hardened by the time they are fourteen or so!”
“At any rate, our guest seems to find her intriguing, and something of a challenge, is not that so, señor? Since we’re all paired off, it’s only fair to provide him with a wench of his own choosing.”
“I would think you’d have had your fill of her kind in the New World,” Maria Luisa snapped. “Or is it the pirate in you that always looks for a capture instead of a prize that’s willingly given?”
“Alas, I’m nothing so romantic as a pirate! Merely an honest privateer—and I know better than to sail too close to an impregnable, jeweled citadel. No, I’ve learned to be satisfied with more modest prizes.”
“Like that English ship you took on your way here? I declare, captain, it is you who are too modest!” But the queen had begun to smile again. Marisa wondered dazedly what they were talking about and whether that man was really some kind of pirate.
She could believe it. He had cast aside his heavy dark cloak and unbuttoned his jacket to reveal a ruffled white shirt front. More plainly dressed than the rest of the men present, his clothes were nevertheless well-cut and form fitting. When he crossed his long legs, Marisa could see the shine of Hessian boots.
He hadn’t touched her since he had climbed easily into the boat to sit beside her, but she was all too aware of his closeness and the warmth of his body. What did he intend to do with her? No, she mustn’t think about it—not yet. She found herself wishing that the boat would somehow spring a leak and sink, drowning them all. Such an end would be infinitely preferable to what might lie ahead.
More wine was being passed around, this time in jewel-encrusted glasses, each one tinted a different color. Rather than have it forced down her throat, Marisa sipped obediently, sitting huddled in her corner. The wine made her dizzy at first and then tremendously drowsy. Her hands had been untied, and she kept chafing her sore wrists with icy-cold fingers. She had the feeling that something terrible was about to happen, but at the moment she was too tired and too overwrought to think. Like a child worn out by tears and emotion, she curled her bare feet under her and fell asleep, only half-waking when a warm cloak was wrapped around her and she was lifted up in strong arms that held her far too closely in spite of her drowsy protests.
4
Ridiculous! She was dreaming that she had been carried off by a dangerous-looking pirate, a scarf tied over his head and a black patch covering one eye. He was going to make her walk the plank, but instead of the icy shock of sea-water closing over her head she fell onto something soft. So comfortable, and she was so