A King's Ransom

A KING ’S RANSOM

…“I have a confession to make,” Conall breathed, so close that his lips brushed Luke’s cheek as he spoke. “When I said that you were not my type…I’m afraid that I was quite mistaken.” “And what precisely is your type, Captain?” Luke asked through the tightness in his throat. “Young.” Conall’s hand slipped to Luke’s side where he’d torn through the bodice, fingers dragging over flesh protected by only the finest of linen. “Innocent.” Luke sucked in his breath, his stomach jerking beneath Conall’s touch. “So pretty it hurts.” “Unwilling?” Conall laughed quietly. “No. I prefer my bedfellows to want to be there as much as I do.” Luke curled his fingers around Conall’s wrist and tugged it away. “Then I am not your type at all.” “Is that what you think?” He pressed closer, and though Luke’s skirts were voluminous, they did little to mask the weight of Conall’s hips against his, the hard press of his legs against Luke’s, or the undeniable evidence that confirmed what Conall thought about Luke. “I doubt you’d take much persuading, young princeling.” “I should like to see you try,” Luke scoffed, and realized his error a moment too late. Conall’s mouth covered his the moment he made the challenge. The pirate’s voice may have been smooth and honeyed, but there was nothing gentle about his kiss. It was exactly the way Luke would have expected a pirate to kiss—rough, harsh and impatient, a flurry of gripping hands and coaxing lips and nipping teeth, his hips pressed close and moving in a way that Luke desperately did not want to think about…

A KING’S RANSOM BY AISLINN KERRY

AMBER Q UILL PRESS, LLC http://www.AmberQuill.com

A KING’S RANSOM AN AMBER QUILL PRESS BOOK This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. Amber Quill Press, LLC http://www.AmberQuill.com All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review. Copyright © 2010 by Aislinn Kerry ISBN 978-1-60272-706-9 Cover Art © 2010 Trace Edward Zaber

Layout and Formatting provided by: Elemental Alchemy

PUBLISHED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

For Terra, who dared me to do it. And with innumerable thanks to all my friends who helped and supported me through this book, and all my others. You all are amazing, and I love you.

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CHAPTER 1 Luke stared at the ceiling of their cabin in growing horror and dread. “This is never going to work.” Overhead came the sounds of battle, men shouting in anger and groaning in agony. Mrs. Ginnings ignored his protests. She plucked a bonnet from the open trunk and thrust it toward him. “Quick, Highness, put it on. They’ll never believe you’re a lady with hair so short as yours.” He pulled the flimsy piece of fabric onto his head obediently and suffered Mrs. Ginnings to tie the ribbons beneath his chin because it was the only plan either of them had been able to devise in the few minutes they’d had to do so. “They’re going to kill me.” It had all happened appallingly fast. From the first cry that sails had been spotted on the horizon until the captain had shoved Luke 1

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and Mrs. Ginnings down the hatch and ordered them to the cabin it had seemed to take barely a handful of minutes, hardly long enough for Luke to even truly begin to be frightened. Mrs. Ginnings had thrown open the trunks and snatched out the garments that were meant to be gifts to his betrothed, had shoved them at him and declared, “They’re Rannan, no doubt, if they’re marauding these waters. We’ll have to disguise you.” It was she, too, who had started pulling his clothing off of him, unbuttoning his waistcoat with as much efficiency as Luke’s valet ever had. Luke had still been too stunned by the growing clamor overhead to react properly when she’d tugged the whalebone bodice over his head and started working at the laces. As she worked them tighter and the garment constricted around his chest, he could only think that the gods must be punishing him for all the times he’d teased his sister as a child. He’d been awful, snatching away her toys and leading her on a chase through the palace, returning to mock when her constricting bodices and cumbersome skirts prevented her from keeping up. He was paying for it now. His men were paying for it. He could hear the fighting up on the deck, an awful clamor of shouts and ringing blades. His men were up there, fighting for him and his safety, and he was standing in the middle of the cabin wearing his bride-to-be’s gown. It was a ridiculous farce. His ribs creaked. His chest ached. She could not truly expect him to be mistaken for a woman. “Just play meek and scared and they’ll believe it fine,” she told him briskly. “And don’t you say a word, or you’ll give it all away.” He nodded and looked upward again, listening. It was quieter now, too quiet for his liking. A sudden crash made him jump. It sounded like the hatch being thrown open. 2

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Voices came down the hall beyond the cabin door, none of them ones Luke recognized. Mrs. Ginnings took him by the hand and pulled him with her until their backs were against the wall. “Meek and scared, mind you,” she murmured. “And silent, most of all.” Luke faced the doorway and wondered if he’d be able to convincingly act the part of a maiden, simpering and terrified. He didn’t feel terrified. He was angry. He wanted to go find a sword, aid in the fight. Not hide. Not even if it was what duty required of him. ?After the raging noise of battle and cannon fire, the ship felt eerily quiet. Luke gripped Mrs. Ginnings’s hand, trying to silently reassure her, and waited. The pirates would find them soon enough, in their search for bounty. Footsteps sounded in the hall like the beat of an executioner’s drum. He fought the urge to rise and face these monsters as a man would, as a prince would. Luke’s nails dug into his palms. It was torture to remain hidden, waiting, passive. He grit his teeth and thought of his duty, his country, his father’s wasting illness. He had to live. The steps drew closer, came louder. The door was thrown open, and the sudden glare of a lantern held aloft blinded Luke. He squinted and turned his face away by instinct, and only afterward realized that it would suit the part of a frightened woman. “Brutes!” Mrs. Ginnings cried before he could recover himself. She hurled herself at the man in the doorway, swinging her fists at him. “Thieves! Murderers!” The pirate laughed at her outrage. “What’s this?” he teased. “A little mouse! Take her up, let the captain deal with her. She’ll fetch a coin or two, I suppose.” His gaze slid past her and lit on Luke. A smirk twisted his lips. “Ah, and there’s your charge.” More pirates 3

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crowded into the cabin. A pair took Mrs. Ginnings by the arms and dragged her out. Others went to the trunks and began to rummage through them. Luke tensed, outraged, but remembered Mrs. Ginnings’s admonishment in time to still his tongue. The man with the lantern leered at Luke. “You’ll catch more than a penny, I’d wager.” He gestured to another. “Take her up to the captain, too. He’ll see they’re stowed somewhere safe.” They dragged him unceremoniously out of the cabin and up to the deck, where the air was hazy with gun smoke. The ship’s crew stood lined at the rails, bound with lines of rigging. Overhead, the sails flapped uselessly, loose and tattered. A few men lay motionless on the deck, stained with blood. They’d been pushed back against the forecastle wall, and Luke couldn’t even get a good enough glimpse to know if they were his men, or fallen pirates. He searched the faces of the men at the rail, trying to tell if anyone was missing. But they were all streaked with dirt and grime, blood and ash, and the pirates ushered Luke along before he could make a proper inventory. There were more pirates up here, a staggering number of them, each of them bristling with knives and swords and guns. They were finishing the destruction their attack had wrought on the ship, tearing down sails and rigging, scavenging the captain’s charts from his cabin while he looked on in helpless fury. Someone had found a bottle of wine and broken the neck off rather than wrestle with the cork. In the center of them all, barking orders and inspecting loot, was a man who was obviously their captain, though he dressed no finer than any of his men. His shirt may have been serviceable once, but it was torn and stained red with blood now. The man who gripped Luke’s arm threw him down before the 4

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captain, and Mrs. Ginnings fell to her knees beside him. “Look what we found, Conall,” the pirate declared, grinning. The man looked them over with a brief glance. He grunted and dragged his ruined shirt off over his head, wadded it into a ball, and tossed it over the rail. Bare-chested, he came to stand before Luke and Mrs. Ginnings, looking them over. Captain he may have been, but he didn’t shirk his duties onto his men, that much was clear. He had a sailor’s physique, broad and brawny and tanned from the sun. He had a few nicks and cuts but no grievous wounds to speak of, nothing to mar the broad expanse of his chest or hinder the easy strength with which he carried himself. Luke wrenched his gaze away. His face heated with the realization that he’d been staring much too long, and studying the pirate captain much too closely. More’s the pity. I would be well pleased if he had taken a fatal wound. At his side, Mrs. Ginnings knelt with her back bent, her head hung low. She tugged urgently on Luke’s hand. He knew what she wanted of him—meek and scared—but Luke couldn’t make himself move, even when the man noticed, and laughed. “This one’s got spine, lads.” He moved in front of Luke. “Who are you? Give us your name, girl.” Luke said nothing, just glared at him, and made sure to keep his gaze well away from the other man’s chest. “Answer when you’re spoken to, wretch!” One of the pirates kicked Luke in the ribs, hard enough that he dropped forward onto his hands, gasping. The laces were too tight. He couldn’t seem to catch his breath. The pirate drew back again, but the captain—Conall, his man had called him—raised a hand and forestalled him. “Who are 5

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you?” he demanded again. “Why turn shy now, when your banner flies high and proud for anyone to see?” Despite himself, Luke craned his head back and looked for his banner, the flag that flew from the heights of the main mast, announcing to all that the ship carried a member of the Samari aristocracy. If they’d met with any civilized ship, even one of their enemies’, that declaration of rank would have practically guaranteed them safe passage. It was why they’d chosen to fly the flags in the first place, instead of masquerading as a common merchant vessel. These were not civilized folk, though. They were pirates. The flag would have been a siren song to them, the promise of wealthy captives and a hefty ransom too alluring to resist. Luke only hoped that same greed would stay their hand and dissuade them from taking his life, or Mrs. Ginnings’s. A dead hostage was no profit to anyone. “Some baron’s second daughter, perhaps?” Conall wondered, his voice scornful, his gaze speculative. “Got on the wrong side of the bed, but provided for to keep you quiet?” Luke’s cheeks burned with anger. He met the pirate’s level gaze with his own, glaring furiously. A prince, he wanted to say. Eldest son of my country’s king, and you’re not even worth the effort it would take to spit on you. “Don’t you be saying that about my mistress!” Mrs. Ginnings screeched, which was so unlike her that Luke turned to gape, his wounded pride forgotten. “She’s aristocracy, she is! A duke’s daughter, noble and lovely and pure, and wealthier than all you vultures put together, I’d wager. Baron’s spawn, pah,” she scoffed. Luke sat back on his heels and gazed at her in astonishment. She was brilliant, of course. If the pirates thought he was 6

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without value, they might sell him to slave traders, rather than seek a ransom. But a wealthy nobleman would pay much more for a daughter’s safe return than a trader would, to be sure. Traders, after all, were looking to turn a profit. “A duke’s get? Is that so?” Conall crossed his arms over his broad chest and grinned down at Luke. He seemed delighted. “What’s your name, girl?” “That’s Her Ladyship Leticia of Linburgh you’re speaking to,” Mrs. Ginnings said. It was Luke’s mother’s title. “But you louts will call her your Grace, you will.” “Will I, then?” He laughed at Mrs. Ginnings. When he turned his gaze back to Luke, his smile was sharp and predatory. “What sort of duke sends his daughter off across the waters without an envoy to ensure her safety, your Grace?” He turned the title into an insult, the way he sneered it. “There are dangerous men on these seas, you know.” Luke glared at him. “Don’t you speak?” Conall glanced at Mrs. Ginnings. “She’s not a mute, is she?” Mrs. Ginnings scraped the pirate captain with a look of such disdain any aristocrat might have quailed under it. “Like she’d deign to speak with the likes of you.” “She’ll speak,” Conall said, with frightening certainty. He pinned Luke with a glance. “If she ever wishes to see her homeland again. Where is your envoy, Leticia? Lost in last night’s storm?” Luke didn’t speak, and Mrs. Ginnings didn’t answer for him. They had been separated from their envoy in the storm—the latest bit of bad luck on a voyage that had seemed cursed from the start. If the pirates took their time raiding their loot from the ship, they 7

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might still be here when the envoy found them again, and then Luke’s ship might be rescued, the pirates hopelessly outgunned. This might all be over in a matter of hours. Conall made a careless gesture. “Anders, take them to the locks. I’ll speak with them further in a moment.” He turned away to face his crew. “The rest of you, get down in that hold. This ship won’t plunder itself.” The men scrambled to obey their captain. Luke and Mrs. Ginnings were led away, dragged across the planks that had been laid precariously between the ships. The pirate Anders shoved them belowdecks, cursing at them every time they stumbled or hesitated. Luke ushered Mrs. Ginnings forward before him, so that he took the brunt of Anders’s attacks himself. Instead of passenger cabins beneath the deck, the pirates’ ship had one vast, open chamber, the better for storing stolen goods. The aft end of the chamber had been blocked off with iron bars and a heavy lock. Anders tossed them both within the cell, slammed the lock in place, and disappeared back up the stairs. They were left with only the ship’s creaking and the smell of salt water for company. When they were alone, Mrs. Ginnings slumped down to the floor, leaning against the curve of the hull. “Well.” She sighed. “There’s a chance, at least. I’ve done my duty.” Luke lowered himself down carefully next to her. “You are a marvel,” he told her softly. “If I ever see Samar again, it will be soley thanks to you.” They sat for hours in the hold, leaning back against the walls of their prison, watching the endless stream of pirates as they hurried to stow their loot. Some leered at the two of them, and if they passed close enough, called out lewd suggestions, but otherwise 8

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they kept to their task and ignored Luke and Mrs. Ginnings entirely. Finally, Conall came down into the hold, a lantern in his hands. He unlocked the cell and stepped inside with them. “Now, then. Let’s have a chat.” Luke crossed his arms over his chest and waited. Conall smiled, all pleasantness. “I shall tell you my plan, Leticia. Your ship has been crippled, and shall be set adrift for your envoy to find, as soon as we’ve finished with it. They shall take with them demand for ransom, in exchange for your safe return. So it is in your best interest to aid me.” He drummed his fingers against his arm. “You said you are a duke’s daughter. What is your father’s name?” Luke stared at him, his mouth like dust. “Well?” Conall raised his brows. “Don’t you want to go home?” Mrs. Ginnings spoke up before Luke had a chance to refuse him again. “You may address your demand to the Duke of Ambershire, in Samar City.” Luke turned to stare at her, marveling anew at her brilliance. It was his own courtesy title she’d given the pirate. If he gave it to his men, they’d know Luke lived. They’d know the ruse had worked, and there was a chance at recovering him. Conall spared the woman a glance before he returned his attention to Luke. “The Duke of Ambershire, is it? Tell me about him.” “What more do you need?” Mrs. Ginnings demanded. She stiffened and began to rise next to Luke. “His name will do. My lady’s men will see the demand reaches him swiftly.” “Perhaps he will need convincing,” the pirate said, quite softly. 9

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Luke thought it was wholly unfair that such a devastating threat might be delivered so softly, so subtly. It was almost not a threat at all. Almost. It was leverage the pirate wanted. Something he might say if this so-called duke was reluctant to pay an exorbitant sum for his daughter’s return. Luke didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. The truth was that he was the sole heir to Samar’s throne, and his father would need no convincing at all. He’d spare no expense to see Luke returned home safely. Conall needn’t have worried, but Luke couldn’t breathe a word of it, and not only because his voice would give him away. They were Rannan, these pirates. There was no love lost between Ranna and Samar. The pirates might overlook the nationality of an aristocrat’s daughter in favor of their greed, but the Samari prince and heir, son of the man who had set war upon their country so many years before? They would kill him on principle, and delight in it. Conall pinned Luke with a hard look. “You will answer me,” he said harshly, the veneer of pleasantness abandoned. “One way or another.” Luke glanced helplessly at Mrs. Ginnings. She started to speak, but Conall cut her off with a swift gesture. “Damn it, girl, can’t you speak for yourself?” He strode forward and grabbed Luke by the arm, fingers biting deep. Luke fought back against him, startled, but Conall dragged him out of the cell and toward the stairs. “Wait!” Mrs. Ginnings pressed against the bars, staring after them, her face washed with fear. “She’s promised to an Ilian lord, you blackguard, for a greater bride price than you’d earn 10

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plundering a dozen ships. You know how the Ilians are about their honor. If you compromise her—” Conall cast her a scathing glance as he dragged Luke up the steps. “Silence yourself, woman. Or I’ll send one of my men down to silence you.” Luke climbed the stairs reluctantly, dreading what might be in store for him. Once they were on deck, he looked around swiftly, but he could see no sign of their envoy, no dark blur of sails on the horizon. He let out a breath of disappointment. Conall grabbed him by the wrist and yanked him forward, forcing Luke to look away from the horizon and watch where he placed his feet, instead. At the stern of the ship there was a cabin, smaller than the captain’s cabin on Luke’s ship but serviceable all the same. Conall led him into it and pushed Luke down into a chair while he hung his lantern from a hook. It swung wildly, sending shadows dancing around them. “Now, then.” Conall leaned back against a battered-looking desk and poured wine from a decanter. “It is only you and I, girl. You’ll have to speak up.” Luke crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the pirate. Conall waited a beat, then laughed, rich and deep. “A stubborn little thing, aren’t you?” He held the glass of wine out to Luke. “Will you have something to drink? Surely you must be parched.” Luke shook his head, hard and fast. Conall rose and crossed the space between them with slow steps, the wine glass dangling from his fingertips. “Are you afraid of me?” Luke stared up at him. He had to crane his head back to do so. His heart pounded within his chest because he knew there was no 11

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way out of this. Conall would demand Luke give him the answers he sought, and there would be nothing for it but to speak. And then he would know. He leaned close. Luke could smell the wine on his breath. A strand of hair fell forward and curved against Conall’s temple. Luke stared at it, trying not to think about how close the pirate was, or that moment on his own ship when the pirate had stood bare-chested and lit by the sun, or how his dark hair was bleached light in places from the sun. “I shall tell you something,” Conall whispered to him, “to ease your mind. You are not my type, Leticia. I would rather take your father’s coins than your innocence.” He straightened, his smile as bright and warm as ever, inviting confidence. “Do you fear me less now?” Luke gave him a disdainful look. Conall drained the wine from his cup and set it on the desk, then turned to rake Luke with a glance. “You’d best get over yourself, before I lose the last of my patience. We took enough treasure from your ship to keep us whoring and drinking and sailing for some time to come. Your ransom, well, it would keep us at it for longer, but keep this up and perhaps I’ll decide it’s not worth the effort.” Luke’s blood ran cold. Conall was surely bluffing. The Rannans were practically barbarians, and notoriously superstitious. Luke had heard that no Rannan—not even a pirate—would dare to harm a woman while at sea for fear of attracting the wrath of their water-loving goddess. It was the whole point behind this asinine charade. Conall must be bluffing… “Damn it!” Conall strode back to Luke and grabbed him by the arm, drawing him up and shaking him. “There’s no point in putting 12

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on airs here! Tell me what I need to know, before I decide to get it from you by some other means.” That threat Luke did believe, but he still could not comply. He pressed his lips together and scowled fiercely at Conall. “No? That threat doesn’t frighten you? Let’s see how you like this one.” Conall pinned Luke’s back against the wall, his hand spread beneath Luke’s jaw, tilting his face up. Luke’s pulse raced at the pirate’s nearness, the scrape of his callused hands on Luke’s skin. He told himself it was fear. “You may not be the type of partner I favor, Leticia, but there are any number of men on my ship who’d find you thoroughly appealing. Lust for coin is not the only passion that moves us.” His fingers tightened beneath Luke’s jaw, pressing against the pulse point. There was no disguising from him the way Luke’s heart raced. “Perhaps they might find it a willing exchange, to trade their share of the coin for some…other pleasure.” Heat washed over Luke’s face, flushing him with horror and outrage. He couldn’t bear Conall’s closeness or the way it made his body react a moment longer. He wedged his hands up between them, shoved Conall back and spat in his face before he could think too long or hard about the consequences of such an action. Conall’s eyes went dark with fury, his expression hardening. He stalked forward. Luke scrambled back, but the skirts encumbered him, and he couldn’t escape. Conall grabbed a handful of his bodice and shoved him back against the wall, snarling in his face. Blood roared like the crash of the surf in Luke’s ears. “You are no aristocrat’s daughter here!” Conall raged. “You are on my ship now, your Grace, and you will tell me what I wish to know.” Slowly, Luke forced his hands to unclench at his sides. Every 13

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inch of him was primed for a fight, and Conall seemed more than happy to give it to him. His ruse was done for either way. He could take a beating, if he must, if that’s what Conall would resort to, but he’d be bound to discover the truth of Luke’s gender in the course of it. Luke tore off the bonnet and faced the pirate squarely, his spine straight and his shoulders back, like the prince he was. “I am no aristocrat’s daughter at all,” he snapped, “and your men will be sorely disappointed if they go hunting for pleasure beneath my skirts.” Conall jerked back, his face awash with shock. “You—You’re a man?” Luke crossed his arms over his chest and gave him a flat look. “No.” Conall’s eyes narrowed, his expression shifting to suspicion. “You could not have pulled the wool over my eyes so easily…” He shoved Luke back against the wall and tore at the ribbons that laced the bodice. Luke caught his breath at the idea of letting this man undress him, and wondered at what point he would stop. But he didn’t protest as Conall ripped the bodice open. There was nothing left to hide anymore. His shift parted, and the bodice gaped. When it was painfully obvious that his clothes hid a man’s body, Conall released him and took two steps back, staring at Luke as though he could not make sense of what he saw. Luke scowled at him. Now that the truth was revealed, he would not simper and shirk like a maiden. “Why?” Conall asked, then dropped down into his chair and laughed like he would never stop.

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CHAPTER 2 Luke crossed his arms over his chest, holding the ruined scraps of his clothes in place. It was a futile gesture, but it was all he had left. “If you’re going to kill me, you might as well be done with it.” Conall straightened. Even with the distance between them, Luke felt the power of his gaze, like a chill lifting the hairs on his arms. “Who said anything about killing? I want answers, that’s all.” Luke gave a short, despairing laugh. “I’m not a fool. You’d have killed me straightaway if you hadn’t thought me a woman, and feared your goddess’s wrath.” “What do you think I am, an idiot?” Conall dismissed his concerns with a casual wave of his hand. “There’s no more sense in killing you now than there was a minute ago. You’ll still bring 15

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me a ransom in gold, no matter what you’re hiding beneath those skirts.” He raised a brow. The set of his mouth hardened. “Unless you were lying about that, too?” Luke chewed on his lip. “No, not—No.” “Best tell me, lad,” Conall chided, with surprising gentleness. Luke closed his eyes and drew a breath for courage. What harm would it do to confess this last bit of the truth? If Conall had not flown into a rage yet, perhaps even this might not cause him to do so. “My father. He is not a duke.” Conall’s expression began to darken. Luke rushed to explain. “The king. He is the king.” “You’re the Samari princeling?” Conall stared at him, then gave a sharp laugh. His grin flashed, as bright and sharp as a knife. “Oh, surely this is too much good luck for one man. You may very well be worth more to me dead for my own countrymen’s reward than alive and exchanged for a ransom.” Luke pulled himself to his feet and stood, trembling with anger. “Kill me, then, if it’s coin you want. I will not be a source of amusement to you!” Conall looked him over, head to foot and back again. His smile widened. “It’s a little late for that.” He flipped his knife up in the air, caught it by the hilt. He regarded Luke with a mischievous light in his eye. “I thought you seemed a bit stout for a finely-bred young lady. I figured I’d better not mention it, though. Girls get their feelings bruised so easily sometimes. ” Luke scoffed as he looked down at the pirate. “You are trying to tell me you were concerned about propriety? I do not believe it.” “Oh, well, propriety. That’s another matter entirely. No, I couldn’t stomach the thought of having to coddle a sulking woman, that’s all.” Conall looked Luke over again and raised a 16

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brow. “Why don’t you tell me what your name is, lad. I can’t say as I’ve paid enough attention to Samari politics to remember it.” “Does it matter?” Luke demanded. “You cannot call me by it. If any of your men recognize it and realize who I am, they will surely kill me.” “I’m an outlaw.” Conall slammed his knife down on the desk so hard that Luke jumped. “Do you think I don’t know how to lie? My men will not find out from me. And even if they should learn the truth, they will take no action against you without my blessing. Now tell me before I become weary of asking for it. I grow tired of calling you boy.” “Luke,” he whispered. “There, now.” And Conall was all smiles and charm again. “That was not so hard. Now tell me, Luke”—and he flashed a grin as he said his name, so that Luke was thrown into a turmoil of confusion—“why on earth are you wearing such a disguise?” “It saved my life,” Luke answered him, as evenly as he could manage. “Your men would have killed me on sight if they’d known who I was. Isn’t that reason enough?” “Depends on who you ask.” Conall made a disparaging sound. “I’d sooner die like a man than prance about in that ridiculous getup.” “Well, I do not have that option,” Luke said stiffly, his spine straightening. Conall raised a brow at him. “Pricked your pride, have I?” He rose from his chair and closed the distance between them. Luke pressed back tighter against the wall. Conall’s proximity made his chest tight, made the air feel thick as syrup in his lungs. He couldn’t help but stare, straining back, trying not to think of Conall, shirtless on the deck of Luke’s ship, or Conall’s hands 17

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running roughly over him as he tore Luke’s dress open. It’s fear, he told himself as he fought for breath. That’s all it is. “So tell me, Luke,” Conall murmured, bracing a hand against the wall beside Luke’s head. “What was so terribly important as to justify sending a Samari prince through these treacherous Rannan waters?” Conall stood too close, his body caging Luke in. The first time Luke tried to answer, his voice wouldn’t work. He cleared his throat and dragged his gaze out over the pirate’s shoulder, where it was safe to look. “I sail to meet my betrothed.” “Ah. For love,” Conall mocked. “People always do the damnedest things for love.” “No. Not for love.” Luke tried to sidle away, to put distance between them so Conall’s presence would stop stealing all the air from the room. “For duty. My father desires an alliance with her country. They could provide access to trade routes—” “You don’t love the girl?” “I’ve never met her.” Conall rocked back, frowning at Luke as though he were an entirely new and incomprehensible breed of man. The corners of his mouth turned up in a wry smile, and he tugged on a lock of Luke’s hair. “You’re handsome enough, under all those skirts. I suppose you’ve left a string of heartbroken maidens trailing behind you as you go off to woo your princess?” Luke jerked his head to the side, freeing his hair from Conall’s fingers. “Sorry to disappoint you, but no. My country needs an heir, not a litter of royal bastards.” “A string of boys, then?” Conall mused. “No!” Luke cried, appalled. He tried to shove Conall back. “Gods.” 18

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Conall grinned as though Luke’s reaction had revealed something. “Celibate as a monk, are you? What a paragon you are, young princeling.” He leaned close again, though Luke braced his hands on the pirate’s shoulders and tried to hold him back. “Luke, my boy, I think it’s high time you had an indiscretion or two.” Luke tried to duck beneath the arm Conall had braced against the cabin wall. “What are you going to do, throw me at the first disease-ridden doxy who greets us at the next port-of-call? I am not interested.” “No.” Conall smiled faintly. He planted a hand on Luke’s chest, pinning him to the wall, bringing his body in closer. “That is not quite what I had in mind.” Luke froze. It was entirely unfair for a pirate to have a voice as smooth and comforting as warm milk and honey. A man so ruthless and violent ought to have a voice that scraped and grated and was harsh on the ears. But Conall’s made a shiver slide down Luke’s spine. “I have a confession to make,” Conall breathed, so close that his lips brushed Luke’s cheek as he spoke. Luke shivered again, and forced himself to stay still. “When I said that you were not my type…I’m afraid that I was quite mistaken.” “And what precisely is your type, Captain?” Luke asked through the tightness in his throat. “Young.” Conall’s hand slipped to Luke’s side where he’d torn through the bodice, fingers dragging over flesh protected by only the finest of linen. “Innocent.” He ventured beneath its edge. Luke sucked in his breath, his stomach jerking beneath Conall’s touch. “So pretty it hurts.” “Unwilling?” Conall laughed quietly. “No. I prefer my bedfellows to want to 19

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be there as much as I do.” Luke curled his fingers around Conall’s wrist and tugged it away. “Then I am not your type at all.” “Is that what you think?” He pressed closer, and though Luke’s skirts were voluminous, they did little to mask the weight of Conall’s hips against his, the hard press of his legs against Luke’s, or the undeniable evidence that confirmed what Conall thought about Luke. “I doubt you’d take much persuading, young princeling.” “I should like to see you try,” Luke scoffed, and realized his error a moment too late. Conall’s mouth covered his the moment he made the challenge. The pirate’s voice may have been smooth and honeyed, but there was nothing gentle about his kiss. It was exactly the way Luke would have expected a pirate to kiss—rough, harsh and impatient, a flurry of gripping hands and coaxing lips and nipping teeth, his hips pressed close and moving in a way that Luke desperately did not want to think about. There was no fighting Conall’s kiss, no resisting it. The pirate took what he wanted, plundered Luke’s mouth as though it was his right, and there was nothing to do but dig his fingers into Conall’s shoulders and hope to endure. Conall curled his fingers in Luke’s hair, pulled Luke’s mouth to his and turned Luke’s face up. Rough cambric bunched beneath Luke’s fingers as he gripped, tore, struggled. A needy sound that he had no recollection of making vibrated in his throat. Conall eased back, put just a breath of space between them. He grinned. Luke closed his eyes. “Now, princeling,” the pirate murmured, “will you still try and tell me you are uninterested?” He settled the weight of his hips 20

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against Luke’s, so that it was not only Conall’s hardness he could feel pressing against his stomach. “I would not expect a pirate to comprehend the difference between something taken, and something given freely.” Luke wanted to shove Conall backward, to force space between them so he could breathe again, but it would be a weakness, an admission that Conall’s kiss had had the desired effect, and Luke refused to allow him that victory. He stood straight and still, as though Conall’s proximity was not even consequential enough to warrant his notice. “Oh, I think you underestimate us, lad.” Conall leaned his forearms against the wall, so his body was a long line of fire against Luke’s. “We understand that difference better than anyone. We make our living by it, after all.” And what prize do you take from this theft? There is no treasure to be had, no spoils to claim.” Conall laughed. “Spoken like a true innocent. The act itself is the prize, of course. And do not mistake this small persuasion for a theft.” He sobered. “Do you think I’d have stopped at a kiss, if all I cared for was taking what I wanted?” Luke’s stomach twisted into a knot of dread. He strained back against the wall, away from Conall. “If you touch me—” “What?” Conall gave him an indulgent smile. “Will you throw yourself overboard to deny me my ransom? Tie a line of rigging about your pretty little neck? I do not think so.” Luke tried to protest, but Conall spoke over him, drowning him out. “This from the man who set sail halfway around the known world to ask a stranger for her hand in marriage, all for the sake of a desirable alliance? No. Your sense of duty is much too strong to allow you that recourse.” He skimmed his thumb up Luke’s throat, 21

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dug in with just enough pressure to make it warning as well as caress. “The next time you threaten me, young princeling, have the decency not to make it an empty one.” Luke felt his expression harden as a cold fury slid through him. He met the pirate’s gaze and held it, unwavering. Conall broke into a grin. “Oh yes,” he said. “I’m afraid you’re exactly my type.” And he swooped in again for another kiss. Luke fought this time, wrenching his head to the side and shoving Conall back, hitting, kicking and writhing. Conall shoved him back against the wall so hard it stole Luke’s breath and renewed his attack. He wrenched Luke’s arms high above his head so he had no leverage with which to free them, wedged a knee between Luke’s so he could not kick, overwhelmed him with an unrelenting kiss so he could not breathe. Luke bit, hoping that would drive the pirate away and end the kiss, but Conall only gave a husky laugh. And Luke realized that at some point in the struggle, his body had betrayed him. He strained against Conall, but it was not for escape. It was hunger, not outrage, that made him gasp for breath. And though he growled, it was not protest or warning, but a primal response to the pirate’s merciless touch. Conall released his wrists, drew his hands down Luke’s chest. One slipped beneath his bodice, stroking and caressing. The other continued farther, over his stomach and down to the folds of his skirts. He curled his fingers around Luke’s hardness through the heavy fabric. Luke jumped as though he’d been struck. He beat his fists against Conall’s shoulders. “Don’t,” he cried. “Don’t— ” Conall squeezed, stroked. And Luke’s body furthered its betrayal, moving into the pirate’s touch, thrilling to it. 22

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“I do not want this,” he growled, one last defense against his own treachery. “Do you not?” Conall laughed, soft and intimate. “I believe I have some fair compelling evidence that says otherwise.” He stroked again, to make his point. “That is physical,” Luke spat between his teeth, fighting his reaction to Conall’s touch. “A response to stimulus, nothing more. But want, desire—that is something else entirely. And that is something that you cannot steal for your own, pirate. It is mine to give, or to withhold.” Conall leaned very close, squeezed very hard, so Luke gasped and swore. “We shall see,” he whispered, and released Luke abruptly, stepped back, so there was nothing but the wall and Luke’s unsteady legs to support him. “Put your hat back on, lad, if you’ve a care for your disguise.” He said nothing else, only strode across the cabin and outside onto the deck. He left the door ajar and Luke could hear the murmur of conversation drift through it as he bent to retrieve the bonnet, but he couldn’t make out the words. He sighed and tried to straighten himself, pulling the gap in his torn chemise closed. There was nothing to do for the bodice but hold it in place until he could find something else with which to lace it. Conall returned momentarily, another pirate following behind him. He gestured at Luke—carelessly, absently, as though he had not been holding him so very intimately just a moment before. “See that the keys are returned to me when you’ve finished, if you please,” Conall said, bending over his charts. He spared Luke a glance. The corner of his mouth turned up. “And you’d best be no trouble at all, girl, or I’ll take my belt to your backside. See if I don’t.” 23

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CHAPTER 3 The sound of a key grating in the lock roused Luke. He dragged himself to his feet, heart in his throat, but Mrs. Ginnings was a step ahead of him, already standing and putting herself between Luke and Conall, who stood in the cell door and watched them with thinly-veiled amusement. He addressed Mrs. Ginnings directly. “I am come to beg the company of your charge while we break our fast, mistress.” “You’ll do no such thing.” She drew herself up to her full height and stared Conall down without a hint of fear. Luke could have hugged her. “Not without her chaperone present, or there’s no telling what notions a blackguard like you might get in his head!” Conall’s smile had been congenial so far, but it hardened now. “You misunderstand me, good lady,” he said softly. “I did not 24

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come to beg for permission. If you step aside, I will see both of you fed until you cannot stomach another bite. If you do not, then the both of you will starve.” He took a step forward, standing toeto-toe with Mrs. Ginnings and looking down at her. “Either way, I will have what I want.” Luke shuddered. He stepped forward, pushing the woman behind him and out of the direct path of Conall’s anger. “He won’t harm me,” he assured her without looking away from the pirate’s fiery gaze. He kept his voice low, for their ears only. “I won’t see you mistreated so needlessly.” Conall smiled. “Smart lad,” he murmured as he ushered Luke out of the cell with a hand on his back. Luke stiffened and glared at him. “May Shinna have no mercy on you at all if your men overhear you speaking so.” Conall laughed as he helped Luke up the ladder to the deck. “Shinna cares naught for the affairs of men, only the fate of her sisters. I’d say she’s more likely to take umbrage with you and your guise than with me.” “She has had ample opportunity to strike me down if she thought this a blasphemy,” Luke snapped. “The gods are wily,” Conall commented mildly as he guided Luke into his cabin. “Perhaps she means to bring about your downfall through other means.” “Like you?” Luke watched him from the edge of his vision. “I hardly think so.” Conall sat at a small table that had been loaded with a banquet and gestured for Luke to take the other seat. “Because I am too wicked to be the hand of a god?” Luke sat reluctantly. The food smelled divine, and his stomach reminded him that it had been nearly a full day since he’d last 25

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eaten. “Because you are male. If Shinna wanted to lead me to my downfall, I imagine she would do it with a woman.” He looked at the food. “This is rather extravagant, isn’t it?” “Our larder has been replenished. We have more than enough to spare.” Conall leaned forward, his voice dropping. “Perhaps Shinna knows you prefer men over her sistren—” “Stop that!” Luke slapped his hand on the table, making the dishes jump. Conall sat back, looking surprised—and pleased. “Why, whatever do you mean?” “I will not be mocked!” Carefully, Conall selected a boiled egg from a bowl and began to crack the shell. “Touchy, aren’t we? Eat up, lad.” “I am not the least bit hungry—” Conall raised his head. The look he gave Luke made the words die in his throat. “I did not ask if you were, did I? Eat.” Reluctantly, Luke reached forward and took an apple from a plate of fruit. He told himself that he did it for Mrs. Ginnings sake, and he almost believed it. “There. That wasn’t so difficult.” At ease once more, Conall ate his egg and grinned at Luke. “I suppose I should have figured you for the foolishly obstinate sort.” Luke nibbled unhappily at the apple. He could not forget that men had lost their lives so that Conall could fill his larders. They may have even been his own men. His stomach clenched around the food, and nearly expelled it. “You don’t seem well,” Conall commented, watching him shrewdly. “I slept poorly.” Luke wiped his mouth and would not look him in the eye. “Your men snore.” In truth, they’d done a far cry more 26

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than that, but he had already voiced those objections the night before. “I’ll see something’s done about it.” Luke set down his apple core and stared across the table at Conall. “Why on earth would you do that?” “I can be reasonable,” he murmured. “With the right incentive.” Luke did not dare ask what that was. He took a plate and a slice of mutton, so Conall wouldn’t accuse him of trying to starve himself, and tried his hardest to ignore the palpable weight of Conall’s gaze. “Why did you ask me here?” he demanded at last, still not looking up from his meal. “For precisely the reason I told your maid. I desired your company.” “No. You desired Leticia’s.” Luke spat the name, his lip curling with distaste. “I did not, in fact.” Conall twirled a fork through his fingers, but did not eat. “I have had ladies on my ship before, you know.” “Hostages, you mean.” “As you like.” He smiled. “Whatever you call them, they were not half so interesting as you.” Luke pushed his chair back from the table, an instinctive response, like a rabbit seeking an avenue of escape before he confronted the fox. “I am not interesting at all.” “Oh, on the contrary.” Conall stabbed his fork into a roast duck and rose, circling the table. Luke leaned away from him. “I find you utterly fascinating.” “I—I cannot fathom why,” Luke stammered through lips gone dry and stiff. 27

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“Can’t you? It’s simple enough.” Conall leaned a hip against the edge of the table, braced his hands on the arms of Luke’s chair so he was caged again, just like the night before. “You are brave and proud and everything a man ought to be.” He reached out and fingered a lock of Luke’s hair. “And so very lovely.” Luke jerked back. “I am not a lady, Captain,” he growled. “No. Indeed, you are not.” Conall drew a hand down his torso, tracing the lines of his body, so different from a woman, that even the bodice could not wholly conceal. He moved closer, his knee pressed between Luke’s. “Women do not move me, young princeling,” he breathed, so close Luke could feel it upon his lips. “What use have I for them?” “They are…soft, and sweet, and…gentle—” Luke strained away, pressing deep into the chair’s cushion. Conall drew back, just a breath. He smirked. “I am a pirate, Luke.” He put emphasis on the name. “Do you imagine I care at all for sweetness or gentility?” Of course, Conall was a Rannan barbarian. Luke should have expected as much. He’d heard whispers of Rannan men who scorned wives in preference to the company of their own gender, but they were just tales, he’d thought. “I don’t imagine you care for anything but filling your coffers.” “Oh, you’re wrong about that.” His lips brushed Luke’s cheek, followed the line of his jaw. A shiver ran down Luke’s spine that he tried very hard to ignore. “I shall scream,” Luke warned him breathlessly. That always worked for women, didn’t it? A man took liberties and they screamed their fool heads off, and half the town came running to defend their virtue. Conall threaded his fingers through Luke’s hair. “I do not 28

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believe you,” he whispered, and drew Luke into his kiss. If the first kiss had been an attack, this was a siege, slow and determined. Conall’s lips pressed to Luke’s, moved over them, overwhelming every one of his defenses. Luke shoved his hands against Conall’s shoulders; Conall took them by the wrists and drew them around to the back of his neck, where pressure would only serve to urge him closer. Luke twisted away from him, and he caught Luke by the hips, holding him so that he could not move. He drew breath to protest and Conall slipped into his mouth. Luke shook so hard he feared he might crumble to pieces. “Do not,” he whispered, eyed closed, shivering. “Please…” Conall put a hand on his knee, slid it up his thigh to take hold of him through the skirts. “Do not tell me you don’t want this.” “I want you to stop,” he answered, which they both know was not quite the same thing. Conall grinned. “Give me a reason—one good one—and perhaps I shall.” “Asking is not reason enough?” Luke demanded, forcing himself to remain still. He trembled with the effort. “Ah, no.” Conall’s teeth nipped at his jaw. “You ask it out of fear, my princeling, and that is as poor a reason as ever I’ve heard.” Luke drew back and met Conall’s gaze. “I am not afraid of you.” Conall’s smile flashed again. “Me, perhaps not. But this?” He hiked Luke’s skirts up to his knees, slipped his hand beneath the layers of fabric and took hold of him again, so Luke arched against him and cried out before he even knew what he was doing. “It terrifies you.” “No,” Luke growled through his clenched teeth. “I find it 29

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distasteful, that is all.” “You are a poor liar, princeling.” Conall tightened his grip and stroked. “Just tell me what you want from me and be done with it,” Luke snapped, once he could speak again. “Oh, any number of things.” Conall grazed his teeth along the line of Luke’s throat. “But I’ll settle for a kiss.” His fingers slid through Luke’s hair, cupping the back of his head. “Just one, freely given.” Luke twisted his fingers in the hairs at Conall’s nape, tried to pull him back. “You’ve had more than enough already.” “I’ve had none, in fact.” Conall’s tongue grazed his skin, heat and damp that made every muscle in Luke’s body quiver. “None worth their while. What is a kiss worth if it must be stolen?” “Is it worth any more if it must be coerced?” He tugged at Luke’s ribbons, carefully unthreading the laces that held his bodice together. “I should very much like to find out.” His hands came up, taking Luke’s face between them. He leaned his brow on Luke’s. “Kiss me, princeling. Make me believe it. Then you’ll have your peace.” Luke could hardly believe he was even entertaining the idea. He looked up at Conall, his face so close that all he could see were the pirate’s eyes. What was the cost of one lie, if it would buy him sanctuary from Conall’s maddening advances? Luke slowly unknotted his hands from Conall’s hair, then could not think what to do with them. He settled for curving them around the back of Conall’s neck, thumbs brushing along the edge of his jaw. Conall’s pulse beat just beneath Luke’s fingertips, nearly as fast as his own. His breath smelled of wine, though not so strong as to be 30

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unpleasant. Haltingly, Luke tilted his head back so that Conall’s breath caressed his lips, so that their mouths met. Luke’s fingers tightened. His breath hitched. He moved his mouth over Conall’s, caressing—kissing, gods help him—seeking any response that might indicate whether or not he believed the lie. Conall was startlingly restrained. He parted to Luke’s exploration, but initiated nothing. Luke slid his hands deeper into Conall’s hair, drew him closer. Conall braced himself against the back of the chair and slid his knees between Luke’s, but took no other initiative. Luke closed his eyes and tried not to think, tried only to feel. Conall’s lips were soft against his, softer than he’d had opportunity to notice when Conall had been the aggressor, and Luke’s focus had been solely on escape. Much softer than he’d have expected of a pirate. He ran his tongue along their edge, exploring the unexpected textures. Conall’s lips parted. He took the tip of Luke’s tongue between them, sucked gently, flicked his own over it. Luke gasped at the sudden heat that tore through him like a bolt of lightning. He tightened his fingers in Conall’s hair, dragged his mouth against his, and chased that elusive glimpse of passion. Conall groaned against his mouth, his chest vibrating against Luke’s. His hands curved over his shoulders, slid down his chest. When he encountered the stiff edge of the bodice, he broke away, swearing, and ripped away the last of the laces, threw the thing across the cabin so there was only sheer linen between them. Conall kneaded the muscles along Luke’s shoulders, ran his hands down over Luke’s chest, scraped blunt, rough nails over his stomach. Luke shuddered at the intensity of his touch, the nuances of pressure that the heavy, boned fabric had concealed from him. 31

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This time, when Conall fit their mouths together and swept into his, Luke didn’t protest, though by rights he should have. Conall had had his one kiss, and surely this counted as another. But he said nothing, only met Conall as an equal in the kiss, giving and accepting in turn, tongue chasing Conall’s back into his own mouth, lips pulling him closer, deeper. Conall broke off abruptly and leaned his brow in the crook of Luke’s shoulder. “I am not quite convinced, my princeling,” he murmured, taking small, maddening nips at the edge of Luke’s throat. Luke groaned and struck his fists uselessly against Conall’s broad shoulders. “What on earth do you want of me?” he demanded. He caught Conall’s hand by the wrist and dragged it down his torso, to the erection that throbbed against his stomach. “You thought that proof enough before!” Conall grew still, fingertips exploring the length and contour of his flesh. Luke dug his fingers into the pirate’s shoulders, struggling to contain his reaction to the exquisitely gentle caresses. “I want somewhat more,” Conall murmured at last. He skimmed his lips up Luke’s throat, caught his earlobe between his teeth and laughed at Luke’s sharp cry of surprise. “Kiss me like you mean it, Luke. That’s what I asked for, isn’t it?” “What do you think I’ve been doing?” Another quiet laugh. “Well, I don’t know, but it’s a rather poor excuse for kissing.” “I don’t know what you expect from me,” Luke grumbled, half to himself. “I’ll show you.” Conall’s mouth caught his, and suddenly Luke couldn’t think at all. His kiss was relentless, demanding everything Luke had and 32

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offering everything in return. Conall climbed up onto the chair with Luke, his knees planted to either side, crowding Luke back so that it seemed there was nothing else in the room but Conall. Luke thought, faintly, that he understood the distinction Conall was trying to make. The pirate kissed with his whole body— moving against Luke as their tongues tangled, hands sliding and groping. He slid a thigh between Luke’s, used the position to bring them even closer together. His fingers dug into Luke’s hips, pulled them against his own as Conall moved. The friction was nearly enough to drive Luke mad. He clung to Conall, shuddering beneath the onslaught. Hesitantly, he drew his hands down Conall’s chest. His fingers traced over his skin, following the dip behind his collarbone and the valley that ran down the center of his chest. The shirt was rough beneath Luke’s fingertips, and warm from the heat of Conall’s body. Luke remembered the way Conall had snuck beneath his own clothes, the shock of someone else’s skin against his own. He pulled at the hem of Conall’s shirt and slid his hand beneath it. Conall’s skin was smooth, firm, as hot as a furnace beneath Luke’s fingers. He explored gingerly, walking his fingers up the muscled expanse of the pirate’s stomach. Conall drew a long, uneven breath and crushed his mouth to Luke’s. He pinned Luke against the back of the chair, bodies pressed tight to one another, hands racing. He found the ties at the back of Luke’s skirt and wrenched them free. Fabric parted and fell, hanging from his hips, sagging down toward his knees. Luke jerked back. Conall stared at him through eyes gone large and dark, chest heaving. Luke’s own breathing was no steadier. “One kiss,” he said, clutching at his clothes. “That was the 33

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bargain.” “Yes.” Conall’s gaze lingered on his lips. They felt raw, bruised in a way that should have been unpleasant but inexplicably wasn’t. The corner of Conall’s mouth lifted. “I am satisfied.” He looked like a cat who had discovered a bowl of cream. Luke shoved him back. “Then you will be so kind as to allow me to dress, of course.” “Of course,” Conall echoed, sliding back, still smiling faintly. Luke climbed off the chair and knotted the ties with quick, jerky movements. He crossed the room and retrieved the bodice that Conall had cast aside, but the ribbons were a shambles and not designed to be laced on one’s own. He struggled with them for a moment until Conall came over and brushed his hands aside. “I don’t need—” “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said brusquely and tugged at the laces. “I took it off. It’s not above me to put it back on.” Luke’s cheeks burned. He looked away. Conall finished tying the ribbons and laughed quietly. He turned Luke’s face back to him and kissed him lightly. “You wear it like a shield, you know.” Luke blinked at him. “What, this?” He scoffed. “No. I hate it.” “I know. But you hide behind it all the same.”“ He tugged at the neck of Luke’s shirt. “Not just what you are. Who you are. You’re hiding all the way down to your bones, lad.” Luke moved a step back, just enough that Conall’s hand fell away. “It saved my life,” he said, his voice hardening. “That’s all that matters, isn’t it?” “Oh, I wouldn’t go so far as to say that.” He put a hand on the small of Luke’s back and guided him toward the door. “Come. Let’s take a walk.” Luke repressed the urge to lean back against Conall’s touch, to 34

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make it firmer and more palpable through the layers of fabric now between them. “Why?” Conall grinned. “What else did you have in mind? To sit in here and brood all day?” “I expected to be left in that cage, truth be told,” Luke snapped. “I did not expect to be given the opportunity to make such a choice.” “Well, if something comes to you, by all means, let me know.” Conall pulled the door open and guided him out onto the deck. “But until then, I would enjoy a walk.” He held out his arm. Luke stared at it, then at him. “Don’t be absurd. I am not walking on your arm.” Conall raised a brow. “Leticia would.” “No,” Luke said emphatically. “Leticia would never give such an honor to a thief and a murderer.” Conall gave a quiet whistle as he stepped out into the sun. He raised a hand to shield his eyes. “She has quite a poor opinion of me, it seems.” Luke hung back, away from the sailors who might overhear him speak as they worked. “It’s not without reason.” Conall returned to Luke’s side and stepped close, their chests nearly brushing. He leaned in and murmured, “Come then, lad. Play the haughty lady whose sensibilities are offended at my very presence. I’ll play along. Only take a walk with me.” Luke stepped reluctantly out into the sunlight. “This is a cruel game you’re playing, Captain.” “What is it you think I’m up to, exactly?” “I could not even guess! But you can’t argue that this isn’t devised to torment me.” “Torment?” Conall watched Luke with an expression 35

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somewhere between consternation and amusement. “I suppose that’s the thanks a pirate gets for trying to show some kindness.” “Kind!” Luke scoffed. “Kind would be taking me to the nearest port and sending me home. But I do not suppose that there is any chance of that happening, is there?” “Once your father’s ransom is in our hold, I’ll send you home straightaway,” Conall promised cheerfully. “You’ve my word on that.” Luke moved over to the rail and leaned against it, watching the waves surge against the ship’s hull. They seemed rougher than they had been the day before, when he’d watched them from the peaceful deck of his convoy. “I would be a fool to put my faith in the word of a pirate,” he said at last. Conall laughed and leaned back next to him, so he could survey his men while they had their conversation. “Oh, that very well might be true. But I’ll tell you this now—if I ever go to the trouble of making you a promise, you can be sure I’ll keep it, for good or for ill.” Luke huffed softly. “A pretty speech.” Conall began to answer, but he stiffened suddenly and pushed away from the rail. “Oi!” he cried, striding across the deck. “What are you all about? The wind’s changed and we’re losing speed! Get off your asses and trim those sails!” Luke turned to watch as the pirates leapt to action, hauling on lines of rigging and climbing up into the sky. Conall moved through them with the air of someone who had no doubts that his every word would be obeyed. Judging from the flurry of action that he left in his wake, Luke did not doubt that his confidence was justified. After weeks upon his own convoy, observing the captain and his sailors, Luke knew what strength it took to lead so many 36

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men so seamlessly it appeared almost without effort. It was almost too easy to forget that he was not a sailor, not a true captain, just a ruthless pirate.

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CHAPTER 4 Every night, Conall summoned Luke up to his cabin for dinner, and then tormented him with kisses and touches. Luke endured it, even when his strength gave way and he couldn’t keep Conall’s attentions from him, because it was the only time he had the opportunity to speak freely, without fear of being overheard and his voice giving him away, and the long hours he had to spend enduring the pirates’ lewd comments in silence grated on him. After dinner, Conall took Luke out to walk about on the deck and breathe the fresh air. Sometimes, when Luke pressed him, he even brought Mrs. Ginnings up from the cell and let her join them. Now that he knew the truth, Conall seemed to take profound delight in acting every inch the gentleman with “Leticia,” courtly and kind, the way any gently born noble would with any lady. 38

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Luke seethed in silence, which only delighted Conall further. Despite the irritation, Luke reminded himself that it was harmless and he could endure it. The alternative was to risk revealing his deception to the crew. So he thought, until one night he raised his head at the sound of the cell’s lock opening, only to realize that it was not Conall who’d come, but one of his men. His massive bulk blocked the doorway. Luke hastily got his feet beneath him and stood, waiting in wary trepidation. Mrs. Ginnings was at his side and she started forward, bristling, but Luke caught her by the arm, pulling her out of harm’s way. “Whole damn ship knows you been getting on your knees for the captain,” the pirate sneered in a voice that dripped with pure malice, and swaggered forward. “Seems to me it’s about time the rest of us had our share.” Luke looked him over, head to toe. He was taller than Luke, and at least twice as broad. His arms looked as thick as a mast, and every inch of it was muscle. Luke’s heart pounded like the waves in his throat. He sidled sideways, so his back was not against the wall, and he had at least a little room to maneuver within the cell. He ignored Mrs. Ginnings’s protests and pushed her behind him. The pirate’s expression twisted with a leer. “Can’t you talk, girl?” He lashed out, grabbing Luke’s cap in his fist and dragging him forward with it. “Or maybe you’re thinking of a better use for that pretty mouth of yours…” Luke writhed, but his struggles only made the pirate grip tighter. Luke stomped on his foot, but he was wearing soft-soled slippers not sturdy boots, and the pirate only grunted in annoyance. Mrs. Ginnings had sidled around and was throwing herself at him, but he ignored her, too. He grinned down at Luke with an 39

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expression that made him shudder. “Keep it up,” he snarled. “A meal’s tastier when you’ve had to work for it.” He hauled Luke’s mouth to his. Luke bit him, sinking his teeth as hard and as deep as he could. When the pirate jerked back, howling with rage, Luke swung a closed-fist punch at his nose. The sound of bones snapping sounded like gunfire in the closed space. The pirate threw Luke fiercely to the ground, and was on him before he could get his feet beneath him. “Slut,” he snarled, wiping blood from his mouth. “Goddamn cunt!” He swung a blow at Luke’s ribs that felt like he’d been struck with a boulder, and while Luke lay gasping, blinking the stars from his vision, the pirate pinned him beneath his weight. He groped at Luke’s chest, wedged a knee between his thighs. Luke swung at him again and again, fighting like a wild thing because he knew that the moment his deception was discovered, it would all be over. When the pirate pinned his wrists to the boards overhead, Luke brought a knee up hard between his legs. The pirate roared with fury and tore at his clothes with thick, clumsy fingers. “Fucking bitch! I’ll teach you your fucking place!” He ripped at Luke’s skirts, hauled them up to his knees. While he groped at the waist of his pants, Luke swung a fist at his already-broken nose. The pirate screamed in rage and pain and punched him in the face. A second blow landed and Luke threw his arms up against another, but no more fell. His heart hammered so hard Luke thought it might burst from his chest, and the blood rushed through his ears with a deafening roar. The pirate’s weight disappeared from on top of him. Luke scrambled back, blinking blood and sweat from his eyes, braced for an attack he could not see coming. 40

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It never came. And as Luke’s heart slowed and the roar of his pulse died, another roar replaced it. He could hear the sick sound of fists hitting flesh, but no one was hitting him. Luke wiped his eyes and tried to comprehend what was happening, but all he could see were shadows. He knew Conall’s voice when he heard it, though. “—my ship!” the captain snarled. Luke shuddered at the rage in his voice. “I will not tolerate insubordination! If you don’t like my rules, then you can damn well swim to port!” Luke gripped the cell’s bars, used them to help pull himself to his feet. Mrs. Ginnings was there immediately, fussing over him, but Luke couldn’t hear a word she said through the haze of adrenaline and pain. “Stop,” he whispered. His voice was faint and hoarse, but silence spread from it like ripples in a pond. “You, up on deck,” Conall snarled, and from the tone of his voice, Luke could only assume he was talking to the pirate who’d attacked him. “Everyone else, back to work. And you—” His voice softened. He took Luke by the arm. “Come with me.” Luke stumbled after him, and up onto the deck, where the setting sun blinded him. Conall led him across the deck to his cabin and he followed docilely, too shaken to put up a fight. Inside the cabin, it was cool and quiet and dim. Conall had him sit on the edge of the bed. Luke obeyed and watched as Conall moved about the room, gathering things as he went. He returned with an armful of supplies and deposited them at Luke’s side. He knelt on the floor and moved in close. Luke flinched back when Conall touched a gash on his brow. “What happened?” Conall asked quietly. Luke closed his eyes and curled his hands into the bedding. “It 41

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seems your men think you’ve bedded Leticia. He wanted his share of the bounty.” “I’ll kill him,” Conall snarled. He drew Luke’s cap off and gingerly wiped his face with a wet cloth. “Will you cast all your men overboard, Captain? There were other men down there with us. No one disagreed enough to try to stop him.” “I’ll sail this goddamned ship myself if I have to,” Conall answered with restrained savagery. “How sweet,” Luke said dryly. “I’m quite overcome.” “Will you just stop?” Conall sighed in exasperation. He wiped less gently at Luke’s cheek. “If I hadn’t heard the ruckus down there…” “Of course. I’m sure I owe you my life. How rude of me to suggest that you might not be wholly in control of your men.” Conall caught his breath in anger, and Luke tensed. But when he spoke, it was gently, and only to say, “That’s not what I meant.” “Of course not.” Conall stared up at him, his lips pressed to a thin line. Luke looked past him, out over his head. At last, Conall sighed and sank back onto his heels. “I’m sorry,” he said. Slowly, Luke softened. He glanced down at Conall. “Are you?” “Quite.” Conall wet a clean corner of the rag and resumed wiping the blood from Luke’s face. “He’ll be lucky if all I do is beat him raw.” Luke drew back. When Conall reached after him, Luke grabbed his wrist. “I am not so spoiled that I cannot wash my own face.” “No doubt.” The corner of Conall’s mouth curved. “But I don’t think you’ll want to look in a mirror just yet.” He lowered the washrag to his lap and touched fingertips to Luke’s brow. Luke 42

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flinched at the sting but did not draw back. “He did a number on you.” Luke gave a choked laugh and explored a cut at the edge of his lip. “Did he? I hadn’t realized.” Conall laughed quietly. He brushed a thumb over Luke’s cheek, then abruptly stood. “The dress is ruined, I’m afraid.” Luke plucked at the tatters that hung from him. They were stained crimson with splotches of blood. “I would claim I was devastated,” he murmured, pulling at the wet fabric, “and demand you make reparations, but I do not think you’d believe me.” Conall grunted and crouched to rifle through the contents of a trunk. “Best get it off before it dries. It’ll be stiff as a board and we’ll have to cut you out of the thing.” Luke frowned at Conall’s back. “I have no other.” “For heaven’s sake, lad, you can borrow some of my clothes. It’s the least I can offer you.” He threw an armful of fabric onto the bed. Luke selected an item and lifted it. It was a pair of tan trousers, cut for a frame much brawnier than his. “I cannot wear this,” he protested. “Oh, I know, but I’ve a belt around here somewhere and it’ll do—” “That’s not what I mean.” Luke set the pants aside. “I must maintain my disguise, especially now, after that…” Conall turned and stared at him for a long moment. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said at last. “I’m not sending you back out there with them.” Luke started to speak, then hesitated. “What on earth do you plan to do with me?” “You’ll stay here, of course. There’s room enough for you.” 43

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“And Mrs. Ginnings?” he demanded. “I’ll not leave her alone with those brutes.” Conall grimaced. “Then we’ll make room for her, too. Now will you take that damned thing off before it destroys my bedding?” Scowling at him, Luke rose and tore off what remained of the dress. He left it in a pile on the floor and turned, reaching for the clothes on the bed. “Wait,” Conall said, his voice rough. Luke stilled and looked back at him. Conall’s hands were clenched into white-knuckled fists at his sides. The rag hung forgotten from his hand, dripping slowly on the floor. “What?” Luke demanded, exasperated. Conall cleared his throat. “You’re a mess, lad. If you dress now, you’ll just get another set of clothes bloody.” “Well, I am certainly not sitting about your cabin in this state,” Luke snapped. “Give me the rag and some fresh water and I’ll make sure your precious clothes aren’t soiled by the evidence of your men’s misconduct.” Conall grimaced again. He started to speak, then thought better of it. He handed Luke the washrag without a word, and brought a cold kettle and bowl over to the bedside. Luke soaked the rag and wrung it out, then swiped at the blood that had soaked through the dress’s layers and stained his skin. By the time he was clean the rag and water were both pink, and gooseflesh covered his skin. Conall made a small sound and stepped forward. Luke moved back instinctively, but the bed hit him at his calves, stopping him. Conall closed the distance between them and sank, slowly, to his knees. 44

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Luke gaped down at him. “What—” Conall laid a hand over his ribs. Luke looked down at the point of contact and saw a dark purple stain spread beneath Conall’s fingers. Conall stared at it, his face as pale as a sheet. “Luke,” he murmured without looking away. “I am so terribly sorry.” And he leaned forward and brushed a kiss over the bruise. Luke stiffened at the touch. He brought his hands to Conall’s head, meant to push him back, but somehow found his fingers tangled in the pirate’s hair instead. “Don’t,” he whispered. Conall looked up from where he knelt at Luke’s feet. “What?” “Don’t try to make this better by…” He caught his lip between his teeth and looked away. “It won’t work.” “Are you sure?” Conall asked, slipping his hand down to unbruised skin. “Won’t you let me help you forget, at least for a time?” “No,” Luke said firmly. “It is no different than what nearly happened to me.” Conall stilled and looked up at him. “Is that what you think?” He swept his thumb over the convex curve of Luke’s hip. “That I am a churlish brute interested in nothing but my own satisfaction?” “I think that you will give me no choice,” Luke said through a throat gone tight with unwelcome desire. Conall smirked slightly. “You think too much.” He kissed Luke’s ribs again, so gentle that Luke felt only a whisper of pressure and a tingling rush of heat. “Conall—” Luke whispered, choked. His fingers clenched in the pirate’s hair. Conall froze and lifted his head, staring up at Luke. His chest rose and fell heavily with each breath. “Tell me no,” he rasped, 45

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“and I will abide. I swear it.” And he rose, a smooth motion that brought their mouths together and bore Luke back onto the bed. He could not even think to protest. A wave of heat broke through him, burning like an ember, licking over his skin like flames. He raked his fingers through Conall’s hair, shuddered at the feel of it against his fingertips. Conall’s mouth was hot and greedy on his, taking all that he was, all that he had, offering fuel to the fire that raged through him in exchange. Conall’s body pressed to his, bearing him down into the mattress, moving maddeningly against Luke’s bare skin. His hands traced the contours of Luke’s skin, his chest and stomach and hips. Somehow, Luke’s legs found their way around Conall’s waist, drawing him close and holding him tight. Luke fisted his hands in the hair at Conall’s nape, dragging his mouth against his. Conall made a soft, hungry sound in the back of his throat and shifted his weight above Luke, bearing down into the kiss. It was all lips and teeth and tongue, roaming hands and hardedged need that lodged like a pebble in a boot, impossible to ignore. Luke pulled at Conall’s shirt until its edge came untucked and he could slip his hands beneath it, glide his fingertips up the long, smooth line of Conall’s back. Conall drew back, sitting up so that he could pull the shirt off over his head. He dropped it off the side of the bed and leaned forward, hands braced by Luke’s shoulders, holding himself above him. Uncertainly, Luke raised his hands, spread them over Conall’s chest. Conall didn’t move, didn’t speak, only looked down at Luke with a hooded gaze. His chest rose and fell sharply beneath Luke’s touch. 46

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Luke drew his hands down Conall’s chest, slowly exploring. His fingers caught on a knot of scar tissue, just beneath the ribs. Conall’s skin twitched beneath Luke’s touch. “What—” “Knife fight.” He covered Luke’s hand with his own, moved it away from the old injury and up his stomach. Luke stared at the pale, puckered flesh. “That is not a clean wound,” he said unsteadily. Conall shrugged with one shoulder. “My opponent was not inclined to fight fair. Can’t say I blame him.” Conall drew Luke’s hand up to his mouth, kissed his fingertips, then nipped at them until Luke shuddered beneath him. “Luke,” he murmured. “Why are you doing this?” Luke frowned up at him. “Excuse me?” “Why?” he repeated, and bent down to suck at Luke’s throat. “Not that I’m complaining, but these last few days, I’ve been lucky to steal a kiss.” Luke pressed his lips together. His hands curled into Conall’s shoulders. “I want to feel…something else.” Conall raised a brow. “Something other than angry,” Luke snapped. “Or frightened. All I’ve been is angry and frightened since you brought me on this damned boat, and I’m tired of it.” “I see,” Conall said, smiling faintly. “Well, in that, I can oblige you.” He brushed his mouth over Luke’s, let his lips part and his tongue tease. Luke slid his hands from Conall’s shoulders up into his hair, and didn’t let himself think about anything but the kiss.

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CHAPTER 5 Conall’s arms wrapped around Luke’s back, dragging him in close as Conall’s kisses chased away all reason. Luke clung to him, kissing him back, chasing the pirate’s tongue with his own as he sought a greater oblivion. He cried out quietly in disappointment when Conall broke away. Conall pressed his lips to the pulse point just beneath Luke’s jaw, then trailed them down his throat. He sucked lightly, and scraped his teeth over Luke’s skin. Luke arched beneath him, nails dragging over his shoulders. Conall smiled against him and continued down the line of his throat to his chest. He spread a hand over Luke’s ribs, careful to avoid the bruises, and left a slow spiral of kisses around Luke’s nipple. Luke tensed. Conall stilled, glancing up at him with a question 48

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in his eyes, but Luke grabbed fistful of his hair and pulled him back, arching up into his kisses. Conall laughed, his breath gusting over Luke’s flesh. He slowly drew the flat of his tongue over the tight pebble of flesh. Luke’s breath left him in a rush. He tightened his legs around Conall’s hips and shifted beneath him, trying to get closer, needing more. Conall’s laughter turned to a choked sound and his hips flexed, pressing into Luke’s. “Like that?” he murmured, grinning, and Luke nodded so he did it again, then blew softly over Luke’s wet flesh. Luke dragged his hands down Conall’s back, pulling him close. At his waist, the rough wool of his pants stopped Luke’s fingers. He hesitated, then slowly, deliberately slid his hands beneath the fabric. Conall leaned his brow on Luke’s chest and moved against him, their bodies sliding together, muscles tightening beneath Luke’s fingers. “What do you want?” he whispered against Luke’s skin. “Tell me.” Luke stilled. He looked down at Conall’s head, his hair falling over his face, obscuring it. “What if I said no?” he asked, his heart pounding so hard that Conall must have surely been able to hear it. Conall laughed. “Well, then I’ll just have to experiment, I suppose.” “That’s not what I mean.” Luke brought a hand up to the back of Conall’s head and curled his fingers in his hair, holding him still. “What if I said no, now?” Conall turned to stone beneath Luke’s hands. Then he threw himself back and sat at the end of the bed, glowering. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered beneath his breath. “Are you testing me?” Luke pushed himself up so that he was sitting, too, the length 49

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of the bed between them. “Just answer me.” Conall made a sound of disgust and climbed off the bed, snatched his shirt from the floor. “I gave you my word.” He wrestled the shirt back on over his head. “I’ll abide by it.” He stalked across the room, snatched a decanter of port from the desk, and drank straight from the bottle. “But the next time you take it in your head to play the tease—” “I wasn’t.” Luke rose and closed the distance between them. Conall’s brow quirked, but his expression remained as unyielding as granite. “What are you after, Luke?” he demanded. “I’m tired of playing games.” “I just needed to know the answer.” Luke put his hands on Conall’s chest. Conall moved back beneath the slightest pressure, until the backs of his legs came up against his chair and he dropped down into it. Luke climbed up into the chair with him and watched fire melt away the ice of his anger. He braced his hands on Conall’s shoulders and held him against the back of the chair. “I needed to know that I’m not doing this as your hostage.” Conall started to reach for him, then hesitated. His brows drew together. “Luke,” he said, his tone guarded. “You don’t think you’re trading this for your freedom, do you?” “No. I’m only talking about tonight.” Luke spread his fingers wide over Conall’s chest. “Conall,” he whispered, frowning, and felt the way the pirate went still beneath him. “Do I need to beg?” Conall shuddered beneath him. His hands came up to press against Luke’s back. “No,” he answered, and the corner of his mouth twitched with a repressed smile. “But it would be absolutely delightful if you did.” Luke moved in close, his body pressed to Conall’s from hips to 50

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chest. He brought his mouth to Conall’s and whispered between soft, tentative kisses, “Please. No more teasing, I swear. I just need—Please…” Conall’s hands wrapped around his waist and hauled him in hard against Conall’s hips. Luke groaned and pressed into his mouth. His fingers clenched on the plush arms of the chair. Conall ran his hands up Luke’s chest to the back of his neck, angled Luke’s mouth against his for a deeper kiss. Then he drew them back down again, over chest and stomach and hips until his fingers curved around Luke’s cock, softly stroking. Luke broke away from the kiss with a gasp. “Now who’s a tease?” “Ah, but there’s a difference,” Conall breathed, tightening his grip. “I have no intention of stopping.” “Gods,” Luke muttered. “I hope not.” Conall’s grin flashed. “Hold on,” he said. “Tight.” Luke wrapped arms and legs around him, but still made a startled sound when Conall picked him up and stood, carrying him back to the bed. Conall laid him down in the center and climbed over him, hitching Luke’s legs up around his waist. He slowly, maddeningly ground their hips together, kissing across Luke’s chest. Luke fisted his hands in Conall’s hair. “You stopped,” he accused. “Did I?” Conall closed his teeth over Luke’s shoulder. “How negligent of me.” Luke hissed and twisted, rolling Conall over onto his back. Conall grinned up at him, allowing it, though they both knew he could have easily regained the upper hand. “Well,” he murmured. “This is interesting.” He took Luke in 51

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his hand again and stroked him, firm and steady. “Do continue.” Luke kissed him, continuing the rocking motions of their bodies together, and as their tongues tangled, he slipped his fingers beneath the waist of Conall’s pants and tugged them down off his hips. Conall obliged, helping to kick them off when they were at his knees, and then there was only skin, hot and flushed and damp with sweat. Luke ran his hands restlessly over Conall’s chest, down to the scar at his ribs and farther, fingertips skimming low over Conall’s waist. But not low enough. His own hips, pressed to Conall’s, impeded his progress. He broke the kiss and slid back so he could reach for Conall’s cock. Conall grabbed his arm, hauled him back up and pressed him down into the bed. Luke tried to sit up but Conall pinned him there with the weight of his body. “Not yet,” he said, kissing a straight path down the center of Luke’s chest. “Me first.” Luke groaned in protest, until Conall pressed the next kiss to the head of his cock. He gasped, arching up off the bed, and let out a long, low groan when Conall’s lips parted and took him into his mouth. Conall’s tongue stroked over him, drawing long lines of fire. He took Luke deeper, slowly swallowing his length. “Gods!” Luke’s fingers tightened in Conall’s hair. He struggled not to flex his hips, angle closer, press deeper. Conall laughed and drew back just long enough to say, “You really are innocent, aren’t you?” Words poised on Luke’s lips, the usual defenses—I need to get an heir not a bastard, there’s been no time for dalliances, my father’s ill and I’ve had to learn so much so fast—he swallowed them all. “I don’t want to talk about that,” he snapped, harsher than 52

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he’d meant to be. Because if he talked about that, if he even thought about it, then everything would come crashing back and he’d have to stop. And right now, what he needed more than anything else was just to lose himself. Just for one night. “Very well.” Conall licked him from root to tip. “What do you want?” Luke closed his eyes and shuddered. “That. Again.” “Oh, I don’t think that will be a problem,” Conall murmured, and took him deep again. Fire collected beneath his skin, unbearable, undeniable. Conall’s mouth moved over him, steady and rhythmic, and it was somehow both too much and not enough. He groaned and writhed beneath Conall, sounds he’d never have expected of himself spilling from his throat, until Conall laughed and had to pin his legs to the bed. “You’re making this rather difficult, lad,” he said, his voice warm with amusement. “Sorry.” Luke gasped, praying that it didn’t mean he’d stop. “I’m sorry. I need—” “More?” “Yes.” Conall grinned and swallowed him again, as deep as before, then deeper. Luke tried to hold still for him, but the things he did, it was next to impossible. His body wound like a spring under tension, back arched, toes curled, fingers digging into Conall’s shoulders, everything within him braced for that moment of release. He was nearly there, surely no more than a breath away, when Conall released him and sat back. Luke cried out in dismay and pent-up frustration. He threw a 53

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punch at Conall’s shoulder. “What?” he demanded. “You didn’t answer me.” Luke stared at him. “What?” “I asked if you were truly innocent, or if that was just another part of your disguise.” “Oh for heaven’s sake.” Luke flopped down on his back and stared at the ceiling above them. “Does it matter?” “It does,” Conall said quietly. “Yes.” Luke pushed himself up on his elbows and glared at Conall. “Are you happy now? Is that what you wanted to hear?” Conall looked down at him with an enigmatic little smile. “If it’s the truth, it is.” He spread his hands over Luke’s stomach and slid them slowly up to his chest. Despite his ire, Luke’s chest tightened, and his blood coursed slow and thick with desire. His heart pounded when Conall leaned over and sucked a nipple into his mouth. He caught it between his teeth, held it captive with just enough pressure to drive Luke mad as his tongue flicked over its tip. Luke’s hand groped up to the back of Conall’s head, holding him close, Conall’s lips pressed just above his wildly beating heart. “Why?” he asked through clenched teeth. Conall slipped a hand between his legs, nails scratching lightly over the inside of his thighs, caressing the juncture between thigh and hip. “Why does it matter?” Conall sucked him into his mouth, then released abruptly with a rush of pleasure so acute it was painful. “Because I don’t want to hurt you.” He licked over the abused flesh as though to give proof to his words. “But I am not much in the mood for gentleness tonight.” He caught Luke’s nipple between his fingers, held it pressed there until fire seemed to course from his skin to Luke’s 54

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and Luke was trembling with the urge to react. “And I do not think you are, either.” “No,” Luke agreed. He covered Conall’s hand with his, holding it in place. “Conall.” His voice shook. Conall raised a brow expectantly. “I’m sick of waiting.” Conall laughed and pulled his hand out from beneath Luke’s. “Don’t they teach you princes anything about patience?” He scraped his teeth over the edge of Luke’s navel, then continued lower. “No. Not a thing. Conall.” Luke thrust his hips up against him. “Do you want me to beg again?” “No,” Conall said, “though you’re awfully pretty when you do.” He took Luke in his hand and stroked a few times. He caught Luke’s gaze and Luke couldn’t look away from the intensity of it. “I want you to tell me what you want.” Luke stared at him, bewildered. “Isn’t it obvious?” “It is.” He tightened his grip, stroked a little faster. “But I want to hear you say it.” “Why?” Luke persisted. Conall’s lips flattened into a thin line of displeasure. And then Luke remembered—Conall kissing him and touching him, and Luke’s body responding, and Luke invalidating everything by insisting, I do not want this. “Oh,” he breathed, and a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He took Conall’s arm and pulled him up his body, took his face in his hands and kissed him until the pirate’s body was moving against him despite Conall’s reluctance. “I want this,” Luke said against his lips, and Conall stilled. “I want you. Please, gods, Conall, you’re driving me mad.” “Likewise,” Conall muttered, looking away. He covered Luke’s 55

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hands with his own and drew them away, guiding them down his chest, his stomach, lower. Conall hissed softly as Luke wrapped his fingers around the pirate’s cock. It felt hot against his palm, soft and hard at once. Slowly, Luke tightened his grip and gave a long, slow stroke, watching Conall’s face as it twisted with pleasure, reacting to his touch. Conall let his head fall back, muttering an oath. Luke reached out and traced his fingers along the cords in his throat. Conall’s pulse leapt beneath his fingertips, rapid and strong. Luke slid his hand around to the back of Conall’s neck and tugged him down until their mouths met. Conall groaned against his mouth and let Luke coax him into a hungry kiss. “Gods,” Conall muttered when Luke increased the pace of his strokes, and broke away from the kiss. “For heaven’s sake, Luke, touch me.” Luke raised his brows and made Conall groan with another firm stroke. “I believe I am.” Conall gave a choked laugh and shook his head. “Not nearly enough.” He caught Luke’s free hand in his and brought it to his lips. He kissed the palm, then sucked Luke’s fingers into his mouth and nipped at each. Luke made a soft, approving noise that turned to sharp surprise when Conall curled his other hand around Luke’s cock. His breath raveled at the feel of Conall’s touch, stroking, squeezing. He tightened his grip on Conall’s flesh and their rhythm hitched, shifted into something new. Luke’s fingers curled in Conall’s hair and dragged Conall’s mouth against his as he thrust into his fist. Conall rocked against his grip in turn, making harsh, hungry sounds into the kiss. 56

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It was too much to think about the way Conall’s body was stretched atop his, bare flesh pressed together and sliding, Conall’s tongue in his mouth as they stroked one another. The fire that collected beneath his skin felt like it would consume him at any moment. It was too terrifying to continue, too wonderful to stop. He cried out against Conall’s mouth, a quiet sound of shock and wonder, and then there was no stopping it. He grabbed at Conall as it burst through him, as devastating as an explosion, and left him shuddering and limp, near-incoherent. Conall continued to move above him, thrusting into Luke’s fist, and it wasn’t long before he was coming, too, his hips bucking, brow pressed to Luke’s shoulder as he arched and spilled hot, sticky semen over Luke’s stomach. Conall slid off of him, collapsing at Luke’s side, an arm draped over his chest. Luke let his eyes close and listened to the beat of his heart as it gradually slowed back to a steady pace. Conall’s breath blew against his neck, as heavy as if he’d been running. Luke felt languid, lethargic, content to lay where he was and savor the last few frissons of pleasure that shivered through his system. Conall broke the stillness first, sitting up and leaning over Luke. He put a hand on Luke’s hip, then bent and began licking over his stomach. Cleaning him, Luke realized, and he made a small sound of surprise. Conall finished with a soft kiss to his bruised ribs, then lay back down at Luke’s side. “Better?” he asked. Luke opened his eyes to look at him. “Sorry?” “You said you didn’t want to feel angry or frightened anymore.” “Oh.” The corner of Luke’s mouth turned up. “Do I look angry or frightened?” 57

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Conall rose over him. He looked him over with a slow, leisurely glance. “No.” He grinned. “You look thoroughly debauched.” Luke groaned and rolled onto his side, bringing his arm up over his eyes. “Oh, don’t get shy on me now.” Conall nipped at his shoulder. Luke shivered and leaned back against him, but couldn’t bring himself to speak. Conall kissed his back and rolled away. “Well, you lay here and take all the time you need to think about it, then.” Luke turned over and watched as Conall moved about the cabin, plucking his clothes from where they’d been so haphazardly discarded. “Where are you going?” he asked quietly. Conall laughed. “I’ve got a ship to run, princeling.” His laughter died and his smile faded, leaving him looking drawn and grim. “And punishment to mete out, as I recall.” He looked at Luke over his shoulder. “Do you want to witness it?” “No!” Luke shuddered and curled in on himself. “I’d be happy if I never had to see him again.” “I’ll see it’s done,” Conall said, soft and solemn, and stepped out into the sunlight, leaving Luke alone with nothing but his thoughts. Slowly, he rose and gathered Conall’s borrowed clothes from the floor. It was absurd how much better he felt at the idea of wearing them. If they were not his own clothes, at least they were garments designed for his own gender, and not a woman’s restricting dresses. It seemed it had been ages since he had been able to breathe freely. He dressed, trying not to think about Conall’s hands running over him with rough possessiveness, tearing them off. 58

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CHAPTER 6 The cabin door swung open and Luke’s tenuous feeling of ease vanished. He shrank back into the corner of the bed, grasping at the edge of the blanket to cover himself. But it was Mrs. Ginnings who came through the door, not one of Conall’s men. Luke let out a heavy sigh of relief and climbed off the bed. “Oh, child.” Mrs. Ginnings had him in her arms in a heartbeat, stroking the top of his head as though he were nothing more than a child. “I’d kill that great lout myself for touching you. Did he harm you?” “No!” Luke protested. “He didn’t—” He realized, too late, that she was not referring to Conall. “I am fine. Any damage I took will heal.” She tsked with disapproval and held him back at arm’s length. 59

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“Well, look at you. You can’t be going around like that.” “My dress was ruined,” he told her. “Torn, and stained from the bloody nose I gave him. Even if I wore it, it would not conceal a thing. Conall lent me the clothes.” “Conall, is it?” Mrs. Ginnings’s brows drew together. “You’re awfully familiar with this pirate, child.” “Well, it is his name,” Luke snapped. “I must call him something.” “Oh, I can think of a number of names I’d like to call him,” she muttered, “and none of them so nice as Conall.” Luke sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. “He is a pirate. I’ve no illusions about that. But he did not kill me when he discovered my lie, and he stopped that man when he would have assaulted me, or worse. Is my life not worth the small courtesy of calling him by name?” The ice that held her stiff melted and she crossed to his side. “Now, don’t you talk so. You’re worth more than that man could steal in a hundred lifetimes.” “Well, thank you.” Luke sighed. “You don’t have to like him, but considering he holds our lives in his hands, you might at least feign respect.” She huffed a little bit, but sat at his side and seemed somewhat mollified. “There’s that, I suppose. I’ll try, child. For your sake.” “For yours, too,” he insisted. “Or you’ll be sleeping in that cell again.” She turned her head, watching him closely. “What’re you on about? He asked me if I wanted to take some air, and I said only if I might look in on you while I was up here. He didn’t say a word about sleeping.” Of course he didn’t. Where would the mischief be in that? 60

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“You’re staying here,” he told her, firmly so she wouldn’t argue. “I insisted. I won’t have you alone down there with those brutes.” Mrs. Ginnings gave him a strange, lopsided smile and patted his arm. “It’s my duty to keep an eye out for you, you know, not the other way around.” “Don’t be absurd,” Luke told her. “You’d have been left on the ship if they hadn’t thought you were my lady’s maid. You’d be on your way home by now. You’d be with your husband, safe and happy, not here with me in the midst of this mess.” She scoffed. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking that just because I work for you, I don’t care about you, child. I am worried for my husband, to be sure. But I watched you grow up, you know. I’d be heartsick if I knew something had happened to you.” “Well,” Luke said, nonplussed, and blinked at her. From outside, there came a growing rumble of voices. Luke stared at the cabin door, dread lodged in his throat like a stone. Mrs. Ginnings stared, too, then turned to look at him. “What on earth do you suppose is going on out there?” “I imagine Conall is gathering his men to bear witness as he punishes the one who attacked me,” Luke said, much calmer than he felt. The thought of every pirate on the ship gathered just outside the door weighed on him like a tangible force. All it would take was an incautious glance through the window to reveal his true nature, and spell his doom. Conall might be able to command his men by making an example of one of their own, but if they were united in a common purpose, he could not hope to protect Luke. The only thing that kept him safe now was that his men had too much respect—or too much discipline, in any case—to go peering through their captain’s windows. How long would that last against their curiosity? They already thought Conall had bedded 61

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Leticia. Now that “she” was staying in his cabin, it would surely only cause further speculation. Mrs. Ginnings huffed and shook out her skirts. “I shouldn’t be surprised if he only gets a lash or two. Might as well slap his hand and give him a stern warning, for all the good it’ll do. I don’t imagine he’ll get anywhere near the thrashing he deserves.” Luke remembered the fierce rage on Conall’s face when he’d broken off the attack, and murmured, “I think you may be surprised.” “That’ll be the day. Hmph.” She crossed the cabin to peer through the window at the decks below. Luke remained where he was, sitting at the edge of the bed, far from the window where there was little chance of either seeing or being seen. He’d meant it when he’d told Conall he had no desire to witness this affair. The noise from outside died suddenly, and Mrs. Ginnings pressed her face to the window. From where he sat, Luke could only see a distorted jumble of the ship and the darkening sky through the beveled panes, a fact for which he was profoundly grateful. He did not need to see a thing, however, to recognize the sound of a whip impacting against human flesh. Luke flinched at every blow, though he told himself that a prince ought to be stoic and unaffected. When a dozen had passed and more continued to follow, he lurched to his feet and snatched the decanter of wine from Conall’s desk. He poured a glass and drank it all, poured another and carried it to the armchair. It was situated facing away from the door, and the window, so he could stare at the charts pinned to the walls and try to pretend that nothing at all was happening. The sound of the whip ceased without warning, leaving a 62

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silence that seemed deafening in its absence. All the world seemed poised, even the wind silent and waiting. Mrs. Ginnings’s sudden cry made Luke jump from the chair. He turned, alarmed by her distress. “What?” he demanded. “What is it?” She turned from the window, her face ashen. Her hands trembled as she tucked them into the folds of her skirts. “Well,” she murmured unsteadily. “Well, I never.” “Mrs. Ginnings!” He crossed to her. “What happened?” She sat in the chair he’d vacated and gestured at the decanter of wine. “Pour me some of that, won’t you, child?” He did, and handed her the glass. She took a long drink, then leaned back and rubbed the furrow between her brows. “I suppose you do know this pirate after all. Never would have guessed that he’d deal so harsh with one of his own. Not for the likes of us.” “Please! Won’t you tell me what’s upset you?” She straightened and seemed to gather herself, but before she could answer, the door opened and Conall strode through, wiping blood from his hands with a soiled rag. Luke rounded on him in a fury. “What did you do?” “What I had to,” Conall answered blithely, as though oblivious to Luke’s upset. He tossed the rag into his wash basin and turned to Luke with a shrewd look that said he’d missed nothing at all. “I take it you didn’t watch.” He glanced at Mrs. Ginnings. “But she did?” “Yes, and now she’s pale as a ghost, no thanks to you!” Conall turned to her fully and took her hand in his. She squeaked with fear. “I apologize, madam,” he said gravely, and if he did not truly mean it, he faked it so well that Luke could not tell. “I did not think to warn you not to watch. I assure you, I’ll be 63

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more cautious of a lady’s sensibilities in the future.” He turned back to Luke, an odd light in his eye, but continued to speak to Mrs. Ginnings. “There is an adjoining room I use for stores and provisions. I thought I might clear some space and lay a pallet for you in there. Please, won’t you look in on it and tell me if it will be space enough for you?” She hesitated, glancing uncertainly between the two men. “Oh, I’m sure it’s just lovely—” “I insist,” Conall said, never looking away from Luke. “I won’t have you displeased with your accommodations.” Reluctantly, she turned away from them and stepped through the door to the storeroom. When the door closed behind her, Conall dropped down into his chair and propped a boot on the desk, picking at flecks of blood caught beneath his nails. “What’s the problem, lad?” “I just want to know what you did to frighten her so. The way she reacted, I’d almost think you’d killed that man!” “I did, of course,” Conall said, and left Luke speechless, gaping at him. “But—What? Why?” Conall dropped his foot to the floor and sat up straight, frowning at Luke. “It’s what you asked of me. Don’t you go laying blame on me for it now the deed’s done.” “No,” Luke whispered, breathless with horror. “No, I didn’t—I only said I didn’t want to have to see him again!” “And now you won’t.” Conall snorted derisively. “You’ve been happy enough to call me murderer to my face, lad. What did you expect I’d do, with a request like that?” Luke knotted his hands together. “I only thought you would keep him away from me.” 64

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Conall raised a brow. “I did that, didn’t I? He’s fathoms away by now.” “Gods.” Luke brought his hands to his face, pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes. “You killed him. I didn’t—” His voice shook. “I didn’t want—” “Oh,” Conall murmured. His expression cleared. He leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers together over his knee. A smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth. “Oh, I see. It’s not the killing that bothers you. It’s that I did it at your behest.” “I did not— ” “No,” he said. “Not quite. But close enough that it troubles you.” He laughed quietly and angled his head to the side. “Poor, innocent little princeling. All those lessons and tutors, and no one ever bothered to teach you what it really means to rule.” “This has nothing to do with being king,” Luke snapped. “Doesn’t it? Naïve indeed.” He stretched his legs out to the desk again. “What a shock you’ll have, when you send your soldiers out to war, and they come home with their hands bloodied, their bodies broken. Have you even seen them fight?” “Of course I have!” “Outside of the practice fields?” Conall countered with a mocking grin. Luke pressed his lips together and glared at the pirate, helpless fury roiling in his breast. Conall rose and slowly closed the distance between them. “Poor little princeling,” he murmured again. “You don’t know a thing about how the world works. Is that why your father sent you away, instead of having your bride-to-be come to you?” Luke turned his head to the side, struggling not to rise to Conall’s bait. “Just forget it,” he said. “Leave it alone.” 65

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“Oh, but that’s not how it works.” Conall took another step, bringing him to stand directly before Luke. He put his hands on Luke’s shoulders, let his thumbs slide up along Luke’s throat. “Tell me, princeling. What do you know of the world that you did not learn from a book?” Luke glared up at him. “I know that you are a scoundrel and a blackguard and worse. You’re a parasite, making your living from the livelihood of others, and if there’s any justice in this world at all, the gods will shun you when you die.” Conall laughed lightly. “True, all of it.” His thumbs lingered just above Luke’s pulse, a bare hint of pressure. Amusement lurked in his voice. “Anything else?” Luke was so tense he shook. “I will not stand for being mocked, Captain.” “Ooh, it’s Captain again, is it?” He tugged Luke closer, but Luke would not yield. “You could do worse than a pirate for a tutor, if you wanted someone to teach you the ways of the world. I don’t suppose your father would approve, though.” He gave a husky laugh and slipped his hands down Luke’s back, brushing over his hips. “But then, I guess we’ve already had our first lesson, haven’t we?” Luke jerked back. “Don’t you breathe a word about that,” he snarled. Conall’s brows rose, a smile playing about his mouth. “Ashamed, are we? How the mighty have fallen—sharing a bed with a common pirate.” “It’s not that!” Luke spun away, tunneling his fingers through his hair. “But if she finds out—” “The maid?” Conall’s voice rose sharply with surprise. He stepped back, then laughed and turned to sit on the edge of the 66

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desk. “It’s her opinion that worries you?” Luke set his jaw and met Conall’s gaze evenly. “You don’t have to answer to anyone but yourself. You couldn’t possibly understand.” “Is that what you think?” The sharp edges of Conall’s smile softened, turning it pensive. “You don’t imagine I’ve been a pirate from birth, do you, princeling? Not all my life at the helm of a ship, of course.” Luke laughed harshly and crossed the room to sit on the bed, his arms wrapped around his knees. “Were you born the heir to a kingdom?” Conall chuckled. “No. Not that.” “Then trust me, you don’t understand.” Conall pushed off of the desk and closed the distance between them. He stood before Luke, stood above him, and said quietly, “Then why don’t you teach me a lesson of your own, and enlighten me.” Luke looked up at him, scowling. But he saw only sincerity on the pirate’s face. He sighed. “If she found out, and breathed a word of it to anyone… If my father found out…” Conall raised a brow. “I gather they would not approve.” Luke gave a disbelieving laugh and shook his head. “Because of who I am?” Conall asked softly. “Or what I am?” Luke looked up at him through furrowed brows. “And what are you, exactly?” “Ah, well.” Conall caught his wrist and pulled Luke’s hand to his stomach, then down over the front of his pants. Luke’s fingers traced the hard outline of his flesh through the material. A blush burned on his cheeks. “I am not a lovely princess you can get heirs on, of a surety.” 67

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“No.” Luke sighed, and reluctantly pulled his hand back. “What you are is a criminal, of the very worst kind. A king cannot be seen consorting with the likes of you.” “But you are not a king yet.” Luke gave him a rueful smile. “It’s only a matter of time.” Gently, Conall pushed Luke’s knees down and traced a hand over his chest. “We’d best make use of what we have then.” “No.” Luke pushed his hand away, then grabbed it and held it there when Conall would have returned. “We’d best go tell Mrs. Ginnings that she can stop hiding now.” Conall laughed. “If you insist.” He held his hand out toward Luke. When Luke took it, Conall pulled him up to his feet so they stood uncomfortably close. He took hold of Luke’s arms before Luke could draw away. “We can be circumspect, if that’s what you desire,” he murmured close to Luke’s ear. “But don’t pretend that you didn’t enjoy what we did together.” “I enjoyed it.” Luke shivered at the brush of Conall’s breath against his skin. “That’s the problem.” Conall drew back, enough so he could smirk down at Luke. “Ah, princeling,” he breathed, and this time he spoke the title with fondness, rather than contempt. “You still have so very much to learn.”

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CHAPTER 7 Luke turned away sharply and crossed the room to the door Mrs. Ginnings had disappeared through. He found her on the other side, arms crossed, looking over the room. It was much smaller than the main room, and crowded with boxes and barrels. But if they shifted things around and moved some things out to be stored elsewhere, there would be room enough on the floor for a pallet. Even cramped as it would be, it was bound to be more comfortable than the cold, exposed cell below deck. Mrs. Ginnings glanced sideways at Luke as he joined her and huffed quietly, but said nothing other than, “It’ll do, I suppose.” Luke hugged her impulsively. “He is trying to be kind,” he murmured. She glanced at him sharply. “Is that what you think? Child…” 69

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She sighed. “I can think of any number of reasons for this, but not a one of them have to do with kindness.” “It is true,” Luke insisted. She patted his cheek, then turned and walked out of the room without another word. Luke followed her into the main cabin. She faced Conall with her chin held high. “It will do,” she told him, like a queen bestowing a blessing. To his credit, Conall did not betray even an ounce of mirth at her bearing. He bowed deeply to Mrs. Ginnings. “I will have space made and a pallet brought up immediately. It has been a long day—for all of us, I imagine—and you must be weary.” Mrs. Ginnings nodded stiffly, and Conall left to make the arrangements. Luke hid out of sight while the pirates brought the pallet up and moved supplies out, carrying them out of the cabin to be stored who-knew-where. When the pallet was set up on the storeroom floor, blankets and a pillow were brought, and in the end, they had a rather nice bed made up, even if it was tucked in the middle of such clutter. Mrs. Ginnings looked it over critically, then glanced sideways at Luke. “What about you, child?” “I—” Luke hesitated, suddenly realizing that he didn’t know what Conall intended for him. “It’s the floor for me, I imagine.” “The hell it is!” Mrs. Ginnings bristled with outrage. “You’ll not be sleeping on no floor, not while I’m around! You’ll have the bed then, child, and if anyone sleeps on the floor it’ll be me.” “Don’t be ridiculous,” Luke said softly. “I won’t take your bed from you. You’re sleeping in that bed, Mrs. Ginnings, and I won’t hear any argument about it.” She started to respond, her expression twisted with indignation. Luke spoke over her. “Don’t force my hand in this. I’ll pull rank if I must.” 70

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She snapped her mouth closed and frowned fiercely at the bed. “Some days I fear I’ll never comprehend you, child.” Luke gave her a wry smile. “Good night,” he said, and closed the door firmly behind him, lest she take it in her head to follow after him and continue the debate. Back in the main cabin, Conall was sitting in the armchair, pulling off his boots as he prepared for bed. “Fetch a pillow and blanket from that chest in the corner, won’t you?” he asked distractedly as he wrestled with a buckle. Luke did as he said, and laid them out carefully near the foot of the bed. Conall’s boots dropped to the floor with a startling thud. “What on earth are you doing?” he demanded. Luke glanced up at him, startled. “Preparing for bed, of course.” “Gods above. You thought I was going to make you sleep on the floor like a dog?” Luke hesitated, nonplussed. His gaze slid around the room, wondering what else Conall might have had in mind. It lit at last on the bed behind him. Luke stiffened and frowned. “I am not sharing your bed.” Conall’s brows raised, then lowered. “Don’t be foolish, lad,” he said quietly. “You’ll not thank yourself for it in the morning.” Luke set his jaw and lay down on top of the blanket, using it for padding, curled into a ball on his side to conserve warmth. Conall rose and crossed to him, bare feet quiet on the wooden boards. He knelt before Luke and took his face in his hands. “You will deny yourself simply to spite me for doing what it is that a pirate does? Where’s the sense in that?” Luke would have rolled over, putting his back toward the 71

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pirate, if it would not have seemed petulant and churlish. “I am quite comfortable.” A faint smile softened Conall’s expression. “You are a liar.” He bent over Luke and skimmed his lips along Luke’s cheek. “It is only a bed, lad.” “It is your bed,” Luke snapped, pulling away. “And you do not have the right to assume I will join you in it.” Conall looked down at him, his expression solemn in the lamplight. “Do you think I would force you into it?” “Is that not what you are doing now?” “No.” He laughed quietly. “This? This is coaxing,” he said, and leaned in to steal a kiss. Luke tried to hold him off, hands fisted on the pirate’s shoulders, but Conall was stronger than he and paid no mind at all to Luke’s resistance. His lips brushed Luke’s, soft and warm, enticing. Luke turned his head to the side but Conall only continued the kiss along his jaw, up to his earlobe where Conall kissed and nibbled and sucked until shivers stole over Luke’s skin, unwelcome and uncontrollable. Conall shifted his weight, rolling Luke onto his back and bracing himself above him. He was nothing but a dark shadow, thrown into profile by the lamp that glowed behind him. Luke stiffened and twisted beneath his weight. “Get off of me!” he hissed. Conall spread his hands over Luke’s shoulders, pinning him to the floor. “Why?” he demanded. “Because you do not want it? Or because you think that accepting my pleasure means accepting my bed?” He laughed, a little harshly, and settled his weight between Luke’s thighs so that their hips fit together like jigsaw pieces. “We can do this just as easily on the floor, my lad, if that’s your 72

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preference.” Heat burned across Luke’s cheeks, and if some of it was borne of desire, much of it was also caused by anger. “I do not want you,” he snapped, trying again to twist himself out from beneath Conall’s weight. “Will you force yourself on me now, like your man tried to do?” Conall froze. Luke could not see his face to read his expression, but the pirate’s hands clenched on his shoulders, fingers digging painfully. “Don’t compare me to him,” Conall snarled. “Then prove yourself different!” Conall grabbed handfuls of Luke’s hair and dragged Luke’s mouth to his, claimed it in a fierce, fast kiss. Luke tried, at first, to remain stiff and unresponsive beneath Conall, until he wearied of this battle of wills, but it soon became intolerable to lie there, unmoving, unresisting, passive, and accept Conall’s domination. He grabbed fistfuls of the pirate’s shirt and returned the kiss with one just as fierce and demanding, taking from Conall everything that he would have demanded of Luke. Conall broke away first, with a husky, startled laugh. “Ah, well. There’s something I’d not have expected.” “Shut up,” Luke snapped. “Just shut up.” “What is it you want of me, Luke?” Conall demanded, and Luke was so startled to hear his own name—not lad, or princeling, or some other pet name—that he stopped struggling and stared up at Conall. “I cannot fish him from the sea and undo what I did, so what do you want of me? Penitence? You shall not have it.” Luke did not know what he wanted, only that anger burned hot and deep within him, but he could not admit that to Conall. He brought a leg up, braced his knee against Conall’s waist and tried 73

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to use the leverage to topple him off, but Conall only caught it and pulled his leg over the pirate’s hip, so that it held them closer together and left Luke with no leverage at all. “If you want to take your anger out on me,” Conall said against his lips, “then do it. Laying in the dark stewing on it will get you nothing but a sleepless night.” It only fueled Luke’s anger to be given permission to vent it. He slammed his fists against Conall’s shoulders, sending shocks up his arms, then did it again because the jolt was so viscerally satisfying. Conall pressed forward as Luke’s blows landed on him, taking Luke’s mouth in another kiss so that they battled for dominance as Luke beat on him, so full of frustration and rage that he thought he might burst. A blow glanced off the edge of Conall’s jaw, knocking him away from the kiss. Conall grunted and caught Luke’s wrist when he swung again, stretched his arm out above his head and pinned it to the boards. “That’s enough of that,” he muttered. Luke shoved at Conall’s shoulder with his free hand, his breath coming fast and sharp, and every one of them filled with the saltand-earth scent of Conall. Conall pushed Luke’s legs wider with his knees and ground their hips together so there was no denying that they were both aroused, but Luke couldn’t find it in himself to mind. His blood beat hot and thick through his veins, anger burning just as bright as need, a heady cocktail that left no room for anything else. Conall’s touch raced over Luke, his chest and ribs and hips, fingers tracing down the outside of his thigh and back again, stealing beneath the edge of Luke’s shirt. Luke twisted beneath Conall’s touch, his breath hissing through his teeth. Hands rough and impatient slid over his skin, kneaded 74

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his muscles, snuck beneath the waist of his pants to caress the sensitive skin low on his stomach. “If you’re going to change your mind,” Conall muttered breathlessly, pressing his body to Luke’s from shoulder to hips, “best do it now. I’m not feeling nearly so patient as I was before.” “Shut up,” Luke snapped. Conall grinned and tugged the material down off his hips. He took Luke’s flesh in his hand and stroked hard and fast, so that Luke’s back arched up off the floor and he was gasping too hard to speak. Luke’s hands clawed at Conall’s shirt, dragging it off without a care for popping seams or torn laces. The need to feel Conall’s skin beneath his palms, the heat and strength of muscles shifting just beneath the surface, was a compulsion too strong to be denied. He raked his hands down Conall’s back, fingertips digging deep, down to the narrowest part of his waist where fabric got in the way again. A growl vibrated through Luke’s throat, a flare of irritation at being denied, even for a moment. He fumbled with Conall’s pants, fingers tripping over buttons, gone clumsy in his haste, until Conall had to draw back and help him with the fastenings. And then he was naked, his long, muscled body pressed to Luke’s, skin sliding against skin. Conall’s fingers closed on the fabric of his shirt, bunching it up around Luke’s chest to create even more points of contact. Luke filled his hands with the firm muscles of Conall’s buttocks, squeezed and stroked so that Conall tilted his hips against Luke’s, but when he slipped one around to take hold of Conall’s cock, Conall grabbed his hand and pulled it away. “No,” he growled, and held Luke’s hips against the floor. Luke reached for him, uncomprehending, but Conall knocked 75

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his hands to the side and slid down, took Luke in his mouth and sucked him mercilessly. A cry caught in Luke’s throat. He dug his teeth into his lip and tried to hold it in as his body writhed beneath Conall’s ministrations. The pirate’s mouth was soft and hot, and he seemed to know Luke’s body and his responses even better than Luke did. He built Luke’s arousal relentlessly, dragging him up to the precipice at a reckless pace. Luke twisted beneath him, his chest heaving, and fought back away from its edge. “Not yet,” he breathed. “Not yet.” Conall raised his head and sent him a fierce, challenging look. Then bent again and drove Luke just as hard. Luke braced his hands on Conall’s shoulders and pushed, twisted his hips sharply and managed to slide free, half-rolling onto his side. Conall drew back and grabbed his hips, continued the roll until Luke was on his stomach and held him there with a hand spread over the small of his back. Luke twisted, trying to look over his shoulder, but he couldn’t see Conall, couldn’t guess what he was thinking. His heart pounded within his chest, too fast to count the beats. And when Conall bent and bit Luke’s cheek, his whole body reacted, tensing and pushing back toward Conall, hips arching against the blankets beneath him. Conall growled and pressed harder on Luke’s back, holding him in place. The bite became a kiss, which became a greedy exploration over Luke’s backside. When Luke did not struggle again, Conall took the weight from his back and used both hands to spread his cheeks. Luke’s mouth gaped open, his eyes squeezed tightly shut in preparation for Conall’s touch, but even so, when he swept his tongue in a long stroke over Luke’s tight, sensitive bud, Luke had 76

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to bite into the heel of his hand to stifle his cry. Conall repeated the caress, licking and licking until every breath Luke took tore through his throat like a tiny cry. Ripples shuddered over his skin, his hands clenched into fists in the blankets, his hips arched up off the floor. This time, Conall didn’t bother to bear him back down onto his stomach. Luke thought he might snap, like a string held under too much tension, if Conall stopped. Gradually, Conall’s licks focused on Luke’s ass and the tight pucker of tissue. He swirled his tongue around it, over it. When he pressed against it with the tip of his tongue, Luke grunted and bore back against him, knowing nothing beyond the need for more. Conall worked his tongue into him, stretching muscles, beginning a careful thrust and withdrawal that made Luke arch higher and press back harder. When Conall stopped and slid back, Luke thought he might die of the agony. “What…” He gasped, trying to look over his shoulder. “Why?” Conall pressed him down again and the pressure returned, different. Harder. Luke closed his eyes and held himself still as Conall worked a slick finger into his ass. “Oh, gods,” he breathed. Conall drove his finger much deeper than he could his tongue. Luke’s muscles clamped around him, holding him, and Conall paused until Luke had forced himself to relax. It was a struggle. Even the smallest movement—Luke breathing, Conall shifting his weight, the rolling of the ship over swells—sent fresh waves of sensation coursing through Luke’s body. Conall coaxed him with tiny, rocking motions of his finger, and when Luke drew a long, deep breath and consciously relaxed his muscles, Conall withdrew and returned with two fingers. Luke leaned his brow on his forearms, his ass in the air, wanton 77

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and needy. Conall allowed him no respite, no chance to acclimate to the intoxicating pleasure. He drove Luke onward until Luke was drunk on it. And then Conall withdrew and Luke tried to stifle himself, but he could not contain a small, unhappy cry at the loss. Conall crawled up over him, his chest sliding over Luke’s back, and his hands planted in the blankets on either side of Luke’s head, fingers curled tight in the blankets. Luke stared at them, tendons standing out over the backs of Conall’s hands as a greater, firmer pressure pressed against his entrance. Pressed, but did not claim. Conall held himself still, and the great gusts of his breath against the back of Luke’s neck betrayed the amount of control it required of him. Luke made a soft, inquisitive noise and tried to look at him, but Conall was too close. “Tell me,” Conall growled close against Luke’s ear. “Tell me you want this.” “I…want… What?” Luke blinked rapidly, trying to clear the fog of need from his mind. But Conall growled again and increased the pressure, and everything but that contact and the elusive promise of more fled him. “Tell me!” “I want this.” Luke leaned back into Conall’s weight, into the pressure, seeking more. Conall fisted a hand in Luke’s hair, turning his head to the side. “Tell me you want me,” he demanded and pushed forward. “I want you,” Luke whispered urgently. “Gods. I can’t—” Conall grinned fiercely and untangled his fingers from Luke’s hair, thrust sharply and lodged the head of his cock inside Luke. He held still as Luke moaned, muscles contracting around Conall’s 78

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invasion. It seemed impossible, inconceivable. Luke had held Conall in his hand—he knew his girth, and it seemed surely he would split in two before he took all of it. It felt like he might, stretched tight around Conall’s flesh, aching at the intrusion. But the idea of protesting—of stopping—was just as inconceivable. He doubted he could have, even if he’d wanted to. Conall gave him time to adjust, one hand stroking over the small of Luke’s back, over his hips, up across his ribs and chest. Luke shivered, and even that small movement shifted Conall within him and sent a fresh shower of pleasure raining through him. “Gods,” Luke cried, muffling it with his hands, and shifted his weight back onto his knees, driving Conall marginally deeper. Conall’s hands closed hard on Luke’s waist, holding him in a bruising grip. His hips twitched, nudging deeper. Luke crept a hand down between his body and the floor, along his stomach, until his fingers met the swollen, aching rod of his erection and he nearly cried out again in relief. That emotion turned swiftly to frustration as Conall caught his wrist and pulled his hand away, pinning it to the floor by his shoulder. “No,” he said, a rough rumble close by Luke’s ear. Luke shuddered, overwhelmed—Conall was above him, around him, in him—and jerked futilely against the pirate’s grip. Pride held his tongue when he might have begged for mercy. But Luke suspected that if Conall kept up his exquisite torment, it would not be long at all before need drove him to the brink of delirium, and he forgot to care about paltry concerns like pride or principle or anything at all but raging hunger and the quest for its satiation. 79

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Conall gave a sudden, sharp thrust that settled him inside Luke completely, his hips pressed to Luke’s ass. Luke had only a moment to register the feel of it, Conall deep inside him, filling him up, and then slowly, slowly, Conall began to withdraw. The slide and friction was maddening. Luke squeezed his eyes shut, but he could still see stars bursting across his vision. He could not help the soft, strangled noises that spilled from him, pleasure and need and greedy hunger in one. Conall curved an arm around Luke’s chest, gripping tight, and used the leverage to pull Luke back as he thrust forward, slow but firm, filling Luke again with one smooth stroke. Luke bucked beneath him, breath hissing through his teeth. Conall leaned his brow against Luke’s shoulder as he withdrew again, cinched his arm tight as he thrust again. Luke’s breath shuddered out of him, and pleasure wrapped too tight for him to feel like he could fill his lungs. Whispered words fell from his lips, pleas and imprecations and praise, so faint that Conall wouldn’t have heard them if they hadn’t been pressed so close together, skin-to-skin, bodies joined and fingers twined. He was supposed to be angry, he remembered. This had all started because of his anger. But now, there was no room left within him for anything but need. Another stroke, firmer, faster, and again, and then it was as though something broke within Conall, some chain holding him in check, because now he was plunging, fast and deep and hard, relentlessly driving into Luke with no opportunity at all for him to adjust. His fingers clawed into the floor, his body bowing underneath Conall’s, twisting with need that beat at him like flames, white-hot and consuming. 80

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It was an agony to know that what he needed was at hand, but just out of reach. A torment, to grind himself against the floorboards and know that Conall would not allow him to reach down and claim his release. He pressed back against Conall’s thrust, tightening his muscles around him, trying to bring Conall his release so he might grant Luke his own. Conall muffled oaths against Luke’s skin, his fingers curling too deep into tender flesh. A few final short, sharp thrusts and he dragged a hand down to Luke’s cock, stroked him firmly, and Luke began to shake, muscles tightening and twitching as heat exploded across his skin and the ferocity of his climax rocked through him. Above him, Conall’s movements had gained a sense of urgency, and it was not moments before he tensed and groaned against Luke’s shoulder, spilling heat into him. Carefully, Luke eased himself down onto the blanket-padded floor and slumped forward, leaning his brow upon his forearms. Conall was still surrounding him, still inside him, but he was unmoving now, the only noise the heavy sound of his breathing. “I suppose,” Conall murmured after a time, “that you will still insist on being stubborn.” Luke shifted, pushing back against Conall’s weight so that Conall rolled off of him. “If you mean that I’m not going to climb into bed with you, yes, you’re right.” “As you like.” He stood and retrieved a blanket, held it out to Luke. “Here. Give me the other. We made rather a mess on it, I’m sure.” Luke shifted off of the blanket, grimacing, and wadded it into a ball. Conall exchanged it for the clean one, then climbed into bed. 81

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Slowly, Luke lay down and rolled his back toward the bed. He could hear Conall breathing somewhere behind him, and he listened as it slid quickly to the slow, deep rhythms of sleep. Outside, sails snapped in the wind and rope creaked at the strain. Men shouted to one another as they went about their work. Luke closed his eyes, and waited for sleep.

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CHAPTER 8 Sometime in the night, Luke woke to the sound of winds screaming outside and a sense of movement nearby. The cabin was shrouded in darkness, unbroken even by starlight through the windows. Footsteps sounded near his head and the door opened, letting in a gust of wind that had Luke curling tighter beneath his blanket. Just as quickly the door closed again, and the cabin was still. When next he woke, it seemed darker than it should have been, but there was at least enough light to see by. Luke pulled on his borrowed clothes and turned up the lamps. He crossed to the door that led to Mrs. Ginnings’s room and opened it, found her with her back against the wall and her body curled into a ball, her face drawn and pale in the weak light. 83

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“Are you all right?” he asked her, reaching a hand out to her and gripping the door frame as the ship rocked beneath their feet. She nodded and reached for him, let him help her to her feet. “I’m fine, child.” She sounded less steady than her words would have had him believe. “I’ve had my fill of storms, is all.” Despite her words, when Luke handed her the flask of brandy, she raised her brows at him and drank from it, long and deep. Luke crossed to the cabin door and pulled it open just a crack. Rain and wind crashed into him like a wall, soaking him from head to toe and chilling him to the bone. Luke wiped water from his face and shielded his eyes from the onslaught, peering out through the torrent. The sails had been stowed, tied securely along their yardarms, and the lines of rigging whipped about in the storm. Men crawled the lines like ants whose hill had been disturbed, rushing about to repair whatever damage the storm inflicted. Conall was in the midst of it, a faint figure through the dark and the rain, bellowing orders from the height of the foredeck, where he could oversee his men. He stood with a wide stance, braced against the wind and the ship’s precarious lurching, but otherwise showed no concession to the storm that raged around him. A lesser man might have taken shelter under some convenient overhang, or hunched his shoulders against the chill of wind and water, but Conall stood steady and strong, leading his men through the danger. Mrs. Ginnings wrapped her hands around Luke’s arm and pulled him back away from the door, scowling with disapproval. She clutched her blankets close about her shoulders, but Luke could still see gooseflesh on her exposed skin. He apologized and returned with her to the bedside, and urged her to drink some more 84

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brandy to keep away the chill. “Did you sleep well?” he asked her. In the dimness of the lamplight, he couldn’t tell if the smears under her eyes were shadows, or bruises caused by sleeplessness. “Just fine,” she assured him, and patted his knee. “Better than the night before, in any case. It was kind of you to think of asking for this for me.” “Did you think I would leave you down there with those louts?” he chastised her. “When you have been so good to me? I could not.” She patted his knee again. “It’s not your duty to see to my comfort, but I appreciate it all the same.” She took another drink from the bottle and gave a baleful glare at the dark windows. “I’d be happier if this weather eased up, truth be told.” “Yes,” Luke agreed. He got to his feet and paced across the width of the room to keep himself warm. Outside, the wind howled like a living thing, and the shouts of the sailors that rose beneath it did nothing to discredit the impression. Luke wrenched his mind away from the topic and ruthlessly forbid himself to dwell on the tales of sea monsters and creatures of the deep that he’d heard in his childhood. They were only stories, of course, tales concocted to frighten young children and keep them from venturing into unsafe waters. There was no merit to them. But with the sound of the storm just outside, wind seeping through cracks and brushing over skin like invisible fingers, it was easy to forget ration and believe even the worst of the stories. At home, he had never feared the storms. But then, at home he had had thick walls to protect him and steady ground beneath his feet. Out at sea, it was all too obvious that the only thing that kept 85

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any of them alive was the soundness of their ship and the gods’ good graces. He prayed only that this storm would not bear lightning. His nerves might take it, but he did not know if Mrs. Ginnings’s would. As morning progressed, the sun managed to sneak a few, feeble rays through the dense clouds overhead. Enough to see by, in any case. Luke doused the lamps, lest a sudden swell upset the ship and spill the oil, and he and Mrs. Ginnings waited, faces occasionally pressed to the windows as they tried to peer through rain-streaked panes and see what was happening outside. A sudden crack seemed to confirm Luke’s fears about the lightning, but there was no accompanying flash. He waited, confused, and another crack sounded like a gunshot. His breath formed steam on the window. He wiped the glass clean and strained to see what had happened. Detail was lost through the sheets of water that slid down the windowpanes, but Luke could discern enough to see that a yardarm had snapped and crashed onto the deck. Rigging and canvas sails were tangled around it, trailing over the rail and into the sea. Ropes hung free in its absence, dripping and sodden, swaying with the motion of the ship. Men scurried about it, harried shouts rising into the air, though Luke could not make out the words, or if the falling spar had caused an injury. The ship rose over a swell, then plunged down the other side. The broken yardarm rolled across the deck, dragging lines behind it, and the men scattered from its path. Luke’s stomach clenched into a knot as he watched the men close in on it, wary of another surge, and work together to hoist it over the rail and into the water. It fell down into the stormy seas, ropes trailing like the tentacles of a great beast, then disappeared. Men returned to the 86

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work of seeing the ship through the storm, and one broke away and limped toward the steps that led up to the aft deck, and the captain’s cabin. It was Conall, Luke realized as he neared, and he scrambled out of his seat and burst through the door before he had a chance to think about the consequences. Conall drew up short before Luke, blinking at him as though he could not quite fathom where Luke had come from. “Are you all right?” Luke demanded, and Conall shook him off impatiently, continuing forward toward the cabin. “What in the name of the gods are you doing out here?” he snapped gruffly. “It’d be just my luck to have you swept overboard, and all this talk of ransom gone for naught.” “I won’t be.” Luke wiped sodden hair out of his face. “What happened? You’re injured.” “I’m fine, princeling.” Conall brushed him aside and burst into the cabin. Mrs. Ginnings jumped up from the edge of his bed as though she’d been caught with a hand in his coffer. “You’re not!” Luke insisted, trailing after him. “You’re limping.” “It’s nothing to worry yourself about, lad. I’ve sailed through storms worse than this for years, and I managed just fine without you fussing over me.” Luke caught him by the arm and wrenched him around, stared at a growing dark streak along the side of Conall’s thigh. “You’re bleeding.” “A mite, perhaps,” Conall conceded. “A spar snapped, and sent splinters flying everywhere. I just came for boots that I’m not squelching in,” he added, and sat to wrench off the offending footwear. 87

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Luke dropped to his knees before Conall’s chair and reached for the pirate’s leg. Conall froze, staring down at him, and there was no small amount of hostility in his gaze. “Stop,” he said, his voice as hard as stone. “I’m fine.” “You’re obstinate, is what you are!” Deliberately, Luke reached out and touched the spreading stain on Conall’s pants. Conall jerked away, his breath hissing through his teeth. “I’ve suffered worse,” he said, with no room in his voice for argument, and pulled on a fresh pair of boots with harsh, jerky motions. Every movement made his anger obvious. Luke watched him from where he knelt on the floor, his lips pressed in a thin line. He watched as Conall shoved to his feet and spun toward the door, watched as he stalked across the cabin toward it, watched as his leg buckled halfway there and only quick reflexes and the carved post at the corner of his bed kept him from falling. Painfully, Conall eased himself down onto the bed. Luke rose to his feet and crossed to him, knelt again and tore the rip in Conall’s pants open without waiting for permission. Conall growled and stiffened, but didn’t protest beyond that. His leg was red with streaked blood, the wool of his pants soaked with it. A shard of wood as long as Luke’s hand had embedded itself in the flesh of Conall’s leg. Luke cringed in sympathy and gently prodded at the skin around it. Conall jerked away and knocked his hands aside. “Sorry,” Luke murmured, and reached out again. He kept his touch gentle, very gingerly took the splinter between his fingers. He drew a deep breath and, when Conall was relaxed, pulled it out in a swift, smooth motion. Conall roared and shoved him back, swearing worse than Luke 88

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had ever heard of him, raining threats and curses down on his head. Luke ignored them and spread his fingers on either side of the wound, inspecting it. It was deep, but the bleeding didn’t seem serious. “It’ll need to be cleaned,” he said as though apologizing, and glanced up at the bottle of brandy on the desk. “I don’t suppose you have anything stronger?” Through clenched teeth, Conall directed him to a cabinet that held, safe in the back, a small bottle of Nighini liquor, the best and strongest available. Luke might have felt guilty at the expense of it, if there were any chance at all that Conall had come by it honestly. He poured the alcohol liberally over Conall’s wound, ignoring the snarled oaths that the pirate hurled at him. When he deemed it clean, he passed the bottle to Conall, who drank deeply from it. “Are you done playing lady’s maid now?” he demanded. “I’ve a ship to run.” “You expect to be able to walk on it?” Luke asked incredulously. “Like that?” “Damn right I can.” Conall shoved himself to his feet as though to prove it, but his face went ashen after two steps. He glared at Luke as he returned to the bed, as though the entire incident were Luke’s fault. Luke shrugged it off and inspected the wound again. “It’ll need to be sewn,” he decided. Conall laughed. “Did they give you lessons on that, too, princeling?” “No,” he said quietly. “It’s woman’s work, not deemed fit for a prince. But I’m sure you have a sewing kit about, for repairs at sea, don’t you?” “Yes,” Conall admitted and told him where to find it in his chest. “But if you think I’ll let you near me with a needle, you’re 89

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mad,” he added. “It’d be a miracle if you even knew which end to thread.” Luke only raised a brow, sending Conall a skeptical look. Then he glanced over his shoulder and gestured Mrs. Ginnings toward them. “Will you do it?” he asked her quietly. Mrs. Ginnings stared at him as though he’d asked her to stab her mother through the heart. “I’ll do no such thing!” she cried. “I’m no physician!” “Nor am I,” Luke said softly, “but I know enough to know that his wound needs stitching. I’ve seen your mending, Mrs. Ginnings, and there’s no finer.” “I mend linens, child. Not men!” “It is mending all the same. He needs to be able to walk, Mrs. Ginnings, or who will get us through the storm?” “I am sure his men are…perfectly capable,” she said faintly. “My men are very capable sailors,” Conall told her. “But they are not navigators. It is not their duty. They know how to sail, not to guide.” Any color that Mrs. Ginnings had left in her face fled it at that. She took the needle and thread from Luke as though he offered her a poisonous snake, and bent uncertainly over Conall’s leg. “Payback?” Conall asked Luke grimly as Mrs. Ginnings began to ply her needle. “No.” Luke sat back on his heels. “If I wanted that, all I’d have needed to do was keep quiet and let you go about your foolishness. That wound would have festered soon enough.” Conall grunted, though Luke couldn’t be sure if it was acknowledgement or a reaction to Mrs. Ginnings’s next stitch. “Meddlesome,” he muttered. “My men will think I’m in here cowering from the storm, unwilling to brave what I ask them to 90

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face.” “No. They will think that you are caring for yourself, as any responsible captain would, so that you can continue to lead them without risk of injury.” Conall’s expression softened into one of wry amusement. “You don’t know pirates half so well as you think, lad.” “Show them your leg, then,” Luke snapped. “I am sure they will be suitably impressed by the damage you took.” Conall laughed a little, but it caught in the middle as Mrs. Ginnings took another stitch. “They’d be more impressed if I lost the leg.” Luke stared up at him, unsure if Conall was sincere or simply trying to get a rise out of him. “You’re mad,” he decided at last. “Every one of you.” Conall grinned wolfishly, then glanced down at where Mrs. Ginnings was bowed over his leg. “Aren’t you finished yet, woman?” She raised her head, glaring up at him. “Well, I might be if you’d stop twitching,” she said acerbically. “Gods above, I’ve never had linens fight me this much.” Conall laughed, and Mrs. Ginnings blinked at him in surprise. Her brows drew together and she bowed her head again. “You must be more careful,” Luke chastised Conall, not looking at him. “If something were to happen to you—” “Why, princeling!” Conall’s voice was warm and rich with amusement. “Could it be you’re concerned for my welfare?” “I’m concerned for mine,” Luke snapped, pushing himself to his feet. His shoulders knotted with tension. “It’s only your luck that the one is dependent upon the other.” “Well, then. It’s a lucky day for me indeed.” 91

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Luke glanced down at the angry red wound on Conall’s thigh, inflamed from Mrs. Ginnings’s stitching, and snorted. “I’d hate see what befell you on an unlucky day.” “I haven’t had one yet,” Conall said, grinning. Luke snorted again and shook his head. While Mrs. Ginnings finished her stitching and tied the thread in a knot, he crouched before Conall’s chest of clothes and dug through the contents. “You’ll need a bandage,” he said, half to himself. “Have you a knife?” “You intend to destroy my clothes?” Conall’s tone was arch, but when Luke turned to look at him, his mouth was twisted in a crooked smile. “Yes,” he said, raising his chin. “You destroyed mine, after all.” Conall inclined his head in acknowledgment. His gaze followed Luke as he moved about the cabin, retrieving Conall’s knife and cutting a long, wide strip from the hem of one of the pirate’s shirts. “I didn’t know they trained princes in medicine,” he said at last. Luke looked at him over his shoulder. “They don’t. But that doesn’t mean I don’t pay attention. I know enough to keep my soldiers from doing something stupid in battle and losing a limb due to foolishness, at least.” He punctuated it with a pointed look at the bloody splinter on the floor. Conall did not rise to his baiting, only raised a brow at Luke and watched as he bundled the strips of bandages up. Luke knelt again at the pirate’s feet and began wrapping the makeshift bandages around his thigh. Vexation made him pull the wrappings snugger than he otherwise might have, and it was simple, petty vindictiveness that made him feel a sense of 92

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satisfaction at Conall’s quietly indrawn breath. On its heels came guilt, though. Luke sighed and forced himself to be gentler, though he doubted Conall would have appreciated the treatment if known he’d put it in those terms. The pirate was distressingly obstinate about such things that might be perceived as weakness or indulgence. Mrs. Ginnings pushed herself up from her knees and dusted off the front of her skirts. She took the splinter of wood and stepped outside onto the balcony to toss it away and wash her hands clean in the rain. Conall shifted as Luke continued his ministrations. In the relative privacy of Mrs. Ginnings’s absence, Luke became suddenly aware of just how close he was to Conall, the fact that he was kneeling between the pirate’s legs and running his hands over skin high on the pirate’s thigh. He caught his breath, a swift gasp as the realization ricocheted through him and left its impact on every part of Luke’s body, from the sudden tightness in his chest to the heat that glowed low in his stomach. Luke tied a hasty knot and snatched his hands away, slid back abruptly. “Try your weight,” he said, and dropped his gaze down to the floor at the rough sound of his voice. Conall rose slowly, easing his weight onto the injured leg. It held and did not buckle, even as he took slow, deliberate steps across the width of the cabin. He completed a full circuit, and the second brought him around to stand before Luke. Luke retreated until the desk came up behind him, giving Conall the opportunity he needed to pin Luke where he stood, the table behind him and Conall’s broad chest before him. “I believe thanks are in order,” Conall murmured, but there was much more than gratitude in his tone. He reached toward Luke’s 93

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face. Luke jerked away before Conall could touch his cheek. “I told you.” Now he sounded breathless and timid. Luke did not like it any better. “I am looking out for my own welfare. Do not thank me.” Conall angled his head to the side and studied Luke closely. “You don’t want me to say it?” Luke swallowed the knot in his throat. “No.” Conall dropped his hand away from Luke’s face, curled his fingers instead around Luke’s hips and tugged him forward. “There are other ways to show it, lad.” Luke jerked away, sidling out from between the pirate and the desk. Conall let his hands fall to his side. He did not pursue as Luke retreated, but he watched him closely, his brows drawn together. “Gods above. You’re not still angry with me, are you?” “No,” Luke admitted, though he’d have preferred to lie and make him think that he was still livid. But everything Conall had said the night before was true. He was a pirate, a criminal and murderer, and it had been pure foolishness to expect him to act with tact or mercy. If anyone was to blame for the pirate’s death, Luke supposed it was him, for making such a thoughtless wish to someone he knew to be dangerous, and all the more so because of his anger on Luke’s behalf. He sighed, his shoulders slumping. “I’m not mad. But I don’t want your thanks, any way you care to give it.” Conall sat, his movements careful as he favored his leg, and gave Luke a glance from the corner of his vision. “Well, what on earth do you want?” “The same thing I have always wanted,” Luke said carefully. “To go home.” 94

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Conall raised his brows. “Is that all?” he asked, deceptively gentle. “Yes.” Luke tucked his hands behind his back and avoided Conall’s gaze. The pirate knew too much, saw too much. It disconcerted Luke how easily Conall saw right through his facades and pretenses. Conall angled his head to the side. “Fair enough. What changed your mind?” Luke opened his mouth to speak, then snapped it shut and stared at Conall. “I beg your pardon?” He laughed lightly. “Don’t try to convince me that going home is the only thing you’ve wanted since setting foot on my ship, princeling. Not when I’ve heard otherwise from your very own lips.” Heat flushed Luke’s cheeks as he remembered Conall demanding, Tell me what you want, and Luke answering him with candid honesty. You. Conall laughed again, not light at all this time, but husky and intimate. “Yes, princeling. That. So what changed?” “Nothing,” Luke said woodenly. “Nothing has changed. That’s the problem.” Luke was still a prince and his father’s heir. Conall was still a pirate. Desire hadn’t changed any of that, nor would it. The hunger that Conall could create within him did nothing but confuse Luke, and make what he had to do more difficult. Conall rose and stalked toward Luke, and even limping there was still a predatory gleam in his eye that had Luke staggering back, made his heart race like a cornered rabbit’s. What Conall intended to do, Luke didn’t know, and Mrs. 95

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Ginnings returned before Conall had reached his side, ruining his chance of finding out. She slammed the door shut behind herself, swiftly cutting off the gusting wind, and shivered as she wrung water from her garments. She swept a shrewd gaze over both of them, the distance between them and the way Luke had shirked away from Conall’s advance, but she made no comment. It was Conall who broke the tense silence. “I’ll be returning to my duties, then.” He put distance between them again and bowed to Mrs. Ginnings. “My thanks to you for your aid.” She flushed pink and stammered, “Oh—well—It’s no bother, er—Captain.” Conall turned to Luke. “And to you, young princeling. You make a fine physician.” He bowed again, his face turned so that only Luke could see the grin that stretched his lips. Something twisted beneath Luke’s breastbone, a prickly emotion that might have been irritation or something more pleasant and entirely unwarranted. Luke pushed it aside, refusing to examine it. He stared at Conall’s back as the pirate turned and limped back out into the storm. When he had gone, Luke turned on Mrs. Ginnings, gaping. She saw his expression and snapped, “There’s no call for that!” “I thought he was a blackguard,” Luke said, as mildly as he could manage, and sat on the edge of the bed. “And a scoundrel and a criminal and a—” “Oh, he is. All those things and more.” She sounded as though her words were meant more to reassure herself than Luke. She drew a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “Aren’t you the one who was telling me all about how kind he was trying to be?” 96

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“Yes,” Luke murmured wryly. “And you were the one who wasn’t listening to a word I said. Or so I thought.” “He is a good patient,” she said grudgingly. “I’ll give him that much. Squirmed something awful, but he didn’t complain, now did he?” Luke shook his head in wonderment. “Mrs. Ginnings, if I didn’t know better, I’d think that he had just gained a new convert to his crew.” She snapped to attention, her spine straining and her expression blazing with indignation. “You bite your tongue, young man. I’ll not condone what he does, make no mistake about that. But I’ll not deny that he’s been merciful to us, either. He might have killed you when he learned of who you are—or me, for concealing it from him.” “He wouldn’t have,” Luke assured her. “Not you. Not at sea.” Mrs. Ginnings gave him a level, no-nonsense look that did not seem reassured at all. “Should I find the idea of being kept as a slave for weeks and then killed once we reach land a preferable alternative?” “You are not a slave,” Luke reminded her. “Nor much of anything else, besides your chaperone,” she bit off. Luke folded his hands carefully in his lap, wary of her temper. “You seem somewhat softened to him, Mrs. Ginnings. That’s all I mean.” “Softened.” She scoffed. “Of all the ridiculous notions.” Her shrewd gaze fixed on Luke again. “I don’t think I’m the one who needs to concern herself with softening, child.” Luke felt heat rush to his cheeks, and he thought back to the night before. They had been quiet, yes, but not silent. That had 97

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been impossible. He’d thought she slept, thought for sure that if she’d heard a thing, she’d have come rushing out to defend his erstwhile virtue. The idea of her lying in the dark, listening—just listening—made Luke’s mortification burn all the hotter. “You do not know of what you speak,” he said at last, growled low in a harsher tone than he could remember ever taking with her before. “Don’t I?” she countered, her chin raised high and her eyes snapping with a terrible disapproval. Luke wondered if this was how all young girls felt when confronted by a scornful chaperone. Did all ladies’ maids possess this distressing ability to unnerve their charges so, or was it a trait peculiar to this woman? Luke remembered that his sister had often complained about her tyrannical chaperones, and Luke at the time had dismissed it as girlish dissatisfaction. Now, he thought he better understood her plight. Luke snatched up Conall’s mutilated shirt and a handful of others and carried them to the chair, where he began to tear them into long strips. Mrs. Ginnings watched him for a moment. “I don’t think destroying his clothing is going to help things much, child.” Luke threw a hand out, gesturing to the door that protected them from the storm howling outside, the door that Conall had disappeared through. “He’s not about to start babying that wound just because I told him to. He’ll need clean bandages, and lots of them, if there’s to be any hope of preventing it from taking infection.” She watched him for a few moments more. He bowed his head over his work, ripping and tearing, and pretended to ignore her obvious disdain. When he had a pile of bandages big enough that 98

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Luke did not think even Conall could manage to deplete it within a few days, he set aside the remaining rags and bits of trim, all that was left of Conall’s fine shirts. The storm still raged outside, the wind howling a mournful cry. Luke moved to the window and stared out through the rain, watching Conall move about the deck, shouting orders, fighting against wind and wave and storm to bring his ship to safety. He limped a little, but otherwise seemed to pay no mind to his injury. Luke watched, fascinated, as the storm whipped about him. The ship herself shuddered and pitched beneath the onslaught, but Conall stood like a statue in its midst, strong and unyielding.

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CHAPTER 9 Dawn came, eventually, but all it meant was that the clouds overhead were slate gray instead of black, and that Luke could see the massive swells of water that tossed their ship about. The waves reached beyond even the main yard, several times a man’s height. Luke dug his teeth into his lower lip and watched anxiously, marveling at how Conall remained sturdy in the midst of such chaos. The storm wore itself out near midday, though the banks of clouds continued to threaten in the sky, so close it seemed one could reach up and touch them. Luke wiped condensation from the windows and watched through the beveled panes as the men, drooping with exhaustion, dragged themselves below deck to catch what rest they might. 100

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Conall did not retire with his men. Luke pressed his brow to the window to see better as the pirate captain leaned against the forecastle rail. Even his shoulders slumped, despite the seemingly indomitable strength he’d shown during the worst of the storm. He propped his elbows on the rail, leaned his brow against his palms. His fingers dragged through his hair as he hung his head down in a gesture of unspeakable weariness. At last, he lifted his head and turned toward the cabin. His limp was much more pronounced now, his injured leg nearly dragging behind him. Luke gathered up the bandages he’d made earlier and, when the cabin door swung open to admit Conall, turned with his arms full of them and demanded, “Sit.” Conall leaned in the doorframe, watching Luke with raised brows as a wind snuck in and whipped about the cabin, scattering ledgers and charts across the floor. “Haven’t you had your fill of tormenting me for one day?” “I ought to leave you to your own devices,” Luke snapped, “and let you see what true torment is like. Can you even put weight on your leg? Sit down, for heaven’s sake.” “What on earth would I do,” Conall wondered, grinning, as he limped to the chair, “without you to hover over me like an anxious hen over her first clutch of chicks?” Luke stared down at him for a moment. “Very well,” he said at last, and dumped the armful of bandages into Conall’s lap. “Tend to it your own self, and see how little sympathy I have when it festers and the surgeon says he must take your leg.” Conall prised at the bandage’s knot, but his gaze remained on Luke, and a faint smile hovered about his mouth. “Will you play physician with your men when you are king as well, princeling? Will you flit about bandaging the wounds men have taken at your 101

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behest?” “If you were one of my men,” Luke snarled, “I would send you away in disgrace for endangering yourself so foolishly. What use have I for a man who does not even have the sense to keep himself alive?” Conall laughed lightly and began to unwrap the soaked bandages. “Then it is a good thing I am not your man, isn’t it?” Luke opened his mouth to answer, then shut it without making a sound. When the bandage came off, stained with blood and dripping with seawater, he crossed his arms over his chest and watched as Conall twisted, trying to get a look at the wound. It was in an awkward place, high on his thigh, toward the outer edge of his hip. At last, Luke tired of watching him contort, grimacing as each movement tugged at the fresh wound. He crossed the cabin and shoved on Conall’s shoulder, pushing him back into the chair. “Let me see, then,” he said impatiently. “Mrs. Ginnings will not thank you if you tear open her stitching.” Conall’s gaze laughed up at him as he sank back into his seat, allowing Luke to crouch and inspect the wound. It was hot and inflamed, worse than it had been before. By all rights, Conall should have been resting, allowing his body to begin the process of healing. But it was no use telling him that, and considering it had weathered a ferocious storm, Luke supposed that the wound seemed to be in rather good condition. Mrs. Ginnings’s stitches had not, in fact, come undone, but remained as sturdy and rugged as he’d have expected of any task she set herself to. Luke retrieved the bottle of Nighini liquor from where he’d stowed it and poured another dose over the wound. Conall swore and jerked away, glowering. “Don’t tell me that time wasn’t meant as a torment, lad.” 102

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Luke grabbed his knee and held his leg steady. He looked up at Conall, unflinching from the pirate’s livid gaze. “You’re drenched,” he said. “And your bandages, too, and that water is filthy. It’s not my fault that you keep dirtying up your wound.” Conall continued to scowl. After a moment, a hint of a smile tugged at the corners of Luke’s mouth. “Perhaps I am enjoying it just a little.” To his surprise, Conall barked with laughter, and relaxed back into the chair. “Do your worst, then. I’ve no doubt I’ve earned it.” Luke gave him a wry smile and splashed more liquor on the wound, for good measure. Conall’s fingers clenched tight on the arm of the chair, tendons stranding out along the backs of his hands. “Do you know,” he spat through clenched teeth, “I won that bottle from a Samari nobleman a few years back, in a game of piquet, and he was a pretentious sod about it, too. Said I might as well be drinking bilge water, for all that I’d be able to appreciate such a nuanced drink. I don’t know whether he’d be more appalled that you were spilling it all on the deck, or that you were using it to save my leg.” “I imagine he’d be both,” Luke commented mildly, and shoved the cork back into the bottle’s mouth. “Samari noblemen do not consider the day complete until they have managed to be outraged about half a dozen things at once.” He wrapped the first loop of bandages around Conall’s thigh and pulled it tight. Conall grunted. “Did you cheat?” Conall grinned down at him. “I’m a pirate. What do you think?” Luke continued to apply the bandages, tugging each new layer tight around Conall’s thigh. He watched the way the pirate captain’s smile became strained. Pain drew faint lines at the 103

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corners of his mouth, but he never allowed it to fade away entirely. “He was right, in any case.” Luke looked down at his hands as he worked. “You’d have been better off drinking bilge water.” Conall chuckled and shifted in his seat. “You think I am uncultured, too, young princeling?” “No. I just think it’s a vile drink, unsuited for all but those who have spent a lifetime training their palate to appreciate it.” He tied off the bandages and sat back on his heels. “I haven’t the fortitude to learn to like it.” Conall’s grin flashed, bright once again. “What do you like to drink then, lad, when you take wine with your supper?” Luke hesitated to push himself up to his feet. His calves burned from holding the crouched position for so long, but when he stood he’d be higher than Conall. It was easier to shy away from the pirate’s gaze when he was on a lower level. “We imported some casks of wine from Ilia. I have been sampling from the selection, of late, to gain an appreciation for the food and drink of Nume’s homeland, before I came to ask for her hand.” “Your princess?” Conall inquired. Luke nodded and looked down at the rough boards beneath his hands. Conall gave a harsh laugh. “Is this what you mean when you speak of your duty? Quaffing wine you don’t care for to woo a girl you don’t know into a marriage you don’t want? Tell me again, lad, why you’re so keen to return to this life?” “Because it’s mine,” he snarled. “It’s who I am and what I know, and I will not have it stolen from me.” Conall’s brows climbed his forehead, but he only said, mildly, “I don’t see how having a life forced upon you is any better than having one taken away.” Luke shoved himself to his feet and turned away, stalking 104

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across the cabin. “You wouldn’t understand, of course.” “Why is that? Because I’m a lawless pirate incapable of conceiving of something like duty or responsibility?” He followed after Luke with a limping gait and threw a hand out toward the cabin door. “I am responsible for this ship, for these men. Every day, I hold their lives and livelihoods in my hands, and they trust me to see them through it. Do not tell me I don’t know what it is to lead, lad, just because you do not approve of what I lead them for.” Luke sniffed with disdain and looked back at him over his shoulder. “They are hardly the same.” “You’re right. They’re not.” Conall closed the distance between them. Somehow, even with his bad leg, Luke could not manage to avoid him. “The difference is, I chose this life for myself.” He pinned Luke against the cabin wall. He did not touch him, but his presence kept Luke in place, staring up at him, refusing to be intimidated. “What can you say that about, young princeling? You do not choose the life you will live or the wine you will drink or the girl you will marry. What sort of a life is that?” “A very pleasant one, actually.” Luke jerked his chin up and met Conall’s look with as much icy disdain as he could muster. “I have anything I might like.” “And if what you wanted was freedom?” Conall asked, very softly. “I want what’s best for my land!” “Oh, is that what you think?” He gave a slow smile. “You really are an innocent, lad.” “Just because you don’t have any care for land or country doesn’t mean the rest of us don’t, Captain.” To Luke’s chagrin, the sneered title only made Conall’s grin 105

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widen. He leaned in closer. Luke’s pulse sped as he strained back. “Oh, princeling,” Conall said, laughter in his voice. “What have you done with your chaperone?” “I…sent her to bed when the storm broke,” Luke whispered, suddenly wishing he hadn’t. “It frightened her, and she was exhausted by it.” Against his better judgment, he asked, barely breathing, “Why?” In answer, Conall leaned in and nipped at the side of his neck. Luke sucked in air through his teeth and shoved at Conall’s shoulders. Conall just laughed, husky and warm, his breath hot on Luke’s skin. He caught Luke’s hands and pulled them away, so there was nothing at all Luke could do to stop Conall when he pressed his body in against him. Conall nipped at him again, then licked slowly over his skin. He ground his hips against Luke’s. Luke couldn’t help but notice the way he was hardening beneath his trousers. He struggled against Conall’s restraint, pushing against the grip on his wrists. “Damn it,” he hissed. He gained enough room between them that he was able to twist and shove Conall back another step with his hip. “Why do you do that? Stop, damn it.” “Do what?” Conall asked. He let Luke bear him back another step, but didn’t release his grip on Luke’s wrists. When Luke tugged, he only took it as an excuse to pull him close again. “Do—this. Start grabbing at me every time you anger me, like you think it’ll—” Conall caught Luke’s earlobe between his teeth and Luke’s breath hitched. “Like you think I’ll just forget, if you distract me.” “Am I? Distracting you?” He nuzzled against Luke’s throat, raining kisses down until Luke’s skin felt hot and flushed. Conall raised his head and grinned down at him, so very much like a 106

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predator that Luke shuddered. “I couldn’t say, lad. I can’t help myself when you’re like this, all breathless and flushed.” Luke stared at him. He could feel the heat rushing to his cheeks, deepening his blush, making things worse. Conall’s grin sharpened and he leaned down and flicked his tongue over the edge of Luke’s jaw. “Come now, lad. Don’t tell me things didn’t work out to your satisfaction last night.” Luke closed his eyes. His cheeks felt like they were on fire, they burned so hot at the memory of the night before. The memory of Conall’s body pressed close to him in the dark, of sharp, sweet kisses and Conall inviting Luke to vent his anger upon him. It had only made Conall more ardent then. It would do the same now. He stopped struggling, letting his arms hang limp in Conall’s grip, standing straight and still as Conall tried to mold their bodies together. To his chagrin, it only made Conall laugh harder, wrapping his arms about Luke and leaning into him for support as he shook with it. “Do you think that will dissuade me? That I am only interested so long as my partner is fighting me like a hellcat and spitting in my face? Oh, Luke. You do have the strangest notions.” “I do not know what you want of me,” Luke muttered, stiffening in his embrace. “I do not know what it will take to be rid of you.” “Well to start, you might try not looking so thoroughly delectable, my lad.” He took Luke’s face between his hands and leaned in, covering Luke’s mouth with his. Luke stiffened, he couldn’t help himself. It was entirely unfair for a man so rough and uncouth to have such impossibly soft lips. It was not like the earlier kisses they had shared, rough and greedy and demanding. Conall seemed almost to coax at him. But 107

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even so it was relentless, unyielding. His lips caressed Luke’s, his tongue flicked across them, until it was nearly impossible not to part for him. Conall made a sound in his throat when Luke opened to his kiss. His hands sprang open on Luke’s wrists and moved instead to curl around the back of his neck, drawing Luke closer, fitting their mouths together and pressing into Luke’s mouth, taking what had been yielded. Luke moaned against Conall’s mouth. His hands came up to the back of Conall’s head, curled traitorously around strands of his hair. “Stop,” he whispered into the kiss, shivering. “Oh, Conall…stop.” Conall broke away and held Luke close, breathing gently against his hair. “Why?” he demanded. He slipped a hand down Luke’s chest. “Because—Mrs. Ginnings…” “She is asleep.” His fingers trailed lower, over the front of Luke’s trousers. Luke gave a quiet cry and stuffed his fist against his mouth. “She will wake,” he breathed, shuddering, leaning into Conall’s touch. “We will wake her.” “Not I,” the pirate said, laughing quietly. His fingers traced the outline of Luke’s cock, then cupped it through the fabric. Luke groaned, his hips flexing into Conall’s touch. “But she— if she—” “Hush, lad.” Conall nipped at his lower lip. “Here we are together, and all you can think about is another woman. If I were a different sort of man, I might be jealous.” Luke drew back and stared up at him, incredulous. “You can’t be serious.” 108

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“Do you think so?” Conall shoved him back against the wall and sucked hard at the skin on his throat. Luke moaned and arched up against him. “Am I laughing?” He wasn’t, but he was smirking, and his gaze was still warm as he looked down at Luke. Conall watched Luke’s face as he rubbed his cock through his trousers. Luke closed his eyes and slumped back against the cabin wall. Heat rushed through him in a prickling wave. When Conall unfastened his trousers and took him in hand, skin against skin, Luke gave a low cry and a sharp thrust into the pirate’s fist. Conall raised his head and quirked an eyebrow down at Luke. “No wonder you’re worried about being heard,” he said with an exasperated sigh. “I’ve barely touched you and you’re already moaning like a virgin.” Luke pried his eyes open and glared up him. Conall’s fingers sliding over his skin made it difficult to maintain the expression. “Would you prefer I not be affected?” “No.” Conall threaded his fingers through Luke’s hair and tugged. “I’d prefer you do something with your mouth other than keen.” Conall kept up the pressure until Luke sank to his knees before him. His heart pounded like a drum in his chest, too loud, too fast. He stared up at Conall. The pirate seemed to tower a mile over him. He tugged at Luke’s hair again, gently, urging him forward. Luke braced himself with a hand on Conall’s hip. It was obvious their kisses and touches had excited him as much as they had Luke. His erection strained against the fabric that confined it. Luke dug his teeth into his lip and, haltingly, began to tug at the laces that held the trousers together. He pulled Conall’s trousers down just enough that he could 109

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take his cock out. He was hard in Luke’s hand, hot as an ember. But his skin was soft and smooth. Luke slid his hands up Conall’s thighs and cupped him. He stroked, watching Conall’s face, the way his lashes fell and fluttered against his cheeks. A drop of moisture welled at the tip of his cock. With a breath for courage, Luke bent and licked it up. Conall made a choked sound and threw a hand out to brace against the wall. He tasted of salt and sweat and sea. It was not as off-putting as Luke would have expected. He licked again, slower, letting his tongue drag over the flesh just to watch Conall’s face twist with need. He returned again, and this time let the head of Conall’s cock slip into his mouth. He sealed his lips around it and sucked gently, tongue stroking, hand pumping along the shaft. Conall curved a hand around the back of his head and pulled him in, a slow thrust into Luke’s mouth, driving himself deeper. Luke took him in, then reached up and carefully disentangled Conall’s fingers from his hair so he could withdraw. Conall opened his eyes and scowled down at Luke. He reached for him again, but Luke batted his hand away and sucked him into his mouth again at his own pace. Conall’s fingers spasmed closed around a fistful of air and he let his head hang forward, muttering a soft string of obscenities. Luke grabbed Conall by the hips, holding him still so Luke could take him deep, swallowing as much of him as he could and maintaining a steady, stroking rhythm over what he could not. Conall drew a sharp breath through his teeth. His hand clenched into a fist against the wall. Luke glanced up and saw that his eyes were open, watching, as Luke’s mouth worked over him. Luke looked away first, because it was too much to bear. He 110

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slid a hand up the inside of Conall’s thigh and cupped his balls, rubbing circles with his fingertips. Conall made a sound, not quite a growl but harsher than a sigh. Luke flicked his tongue along the underside of his cock and the noise became a fierce cry, punctuated by another sharp thrust into Luke’s mouth. Luke broke away, and when Conall frowned down at him he met it with a scowl of his own. “Now who’s moaning like a virgin?” he demanded. Conall flashed a grin. He reached down and threaded his fingers through Luke’s hair. Luke pushed against his hips, holding him back, but Conall did not try to draw him in again—he drew him up, to his feet, then pulled him close and lifted him into his arms. Luke wrapped arms and legs tight around Conall, startled. Conall carried him the few steps to the bed and tumbled Luke down beneath him, hands on his shoulders pinning him to the mattress, using the momentum to bear him down into a ravenous kiss. Luke whimpered in the back of his throat and pushed Conall’s pants, shoving them down his hips. Conall broke the kiss just long enough to shuck them off then returned, tongue snaking into Luke’s mouth, twining with his, his body constantly moving above Luke’s like the unceasing surge of the waves. Luke dragged his hands down Conall’s back. His fingers dug into the rigid muscles, feeling the way they shifted beneath his skin with every movement. He slid down, over Conall’s taut ass, and slipped a finger between his cheeks to rub over the puckered opening to his entrance. Conall shoved himself up and stared at Luke with a frightful intensity. Were it not for the way he ground their hips together 111

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with every careful caress, Luke would’ve thought he’d done something wrong. “Gods,” Conall muttered, bearing back against the slight pressure of Luke’s finger. His voice didn’t break, but there was a tenuous note to it. “Princeling.” Luke pushed himself up on an elbow so their chests were matched together again. Gradually, he increased the pressure of his finger, shuddering at the way Conall’s body opened for him, at the feel of Conall’s breath gusting against his ear, as though he were as shocked by all this as Luke was. Luke pressed a little deeper, curving his finger in, and suddenly Conall was a flurry of movement, surging against him and dragging his shirt off over his head, raking a hand down Luke’s bared chest to his own neglected erection. His strokes set a frantic pace. Luke writhed beneath him, and when he started to cry out his need, Conall swooped down and drowned the sound with his kiss. Luke pressed deeper, his other arm wrapped around Conall’s shoulders, holding him close. Conall muffled an oath and suddenly twisted away, pushing Luke’s hand aside. He slid down Luke’s body and kissed his stomach, licking along the lines that defined his muscles, leaving a trail of them up his side. His breath blew over Luke’s nipple, and Luke thought that was unbearable, until Conall sucked the beaded flesh into his mouth and it was a hundred times more intense. Conall drew circles around his nipple with the flat of his tongue, laughing huskily against his skin as Luke writhed beneath him and dug his teeth into his lip to quiet himself. When Conall caught the flesh between his teeth and gently tugged, looking up through his lashes to watch Luke’s reaction, Luke clapped his hands over his mouth and bit the heel of his hand hard to stifle his 112

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cry. Conall laughed again, his breath brushing over Luke’s dampened flesh, making Luke writhe again at the exquisite torment, and climbed back up Luke’s body to drop kisses over his face. He kissed the backs of Luke’s hands where they pressed against his mouth, kissed between his brows and at the corners of his eyes, everywhere that was contorted with tension as Luke struggled to silence himself. “Stop,” Luke whispered through his fingers. “Stop tormenting me. You’re enjoying it.” “Do you mean to tell me you’re not?” Conall drew his tongue along the shell of Luke’s ear, arching his body down into Luke’s as though to punctuate the question. Luke managed not to groan, but only just. “I cannot bear it.” The confession was wrenched from him as though driven by the force of all the other sounds he would not allow himself to make. “It is too much.” “Sorry,” Conall said, laughing. Luke didn’t think he meant it at all. “I can’t help myself. The noises you make are so sweet.” Carefully, Luke pulled his hands away from his mouth. “You ought to learn a bit about restraint, Captain. It would do you good.” Conall rose up. His eyes glittered down at Luke, bright with mischief. “Teach me, then,” he said, “and I’ll learn by example.” And he slid back down Luke’s body, tugged his trousers off his hips, and took the whole of Luke’s cock into his mouth. Luke lost his breath, his voice, at the feel of Conall’s mouth on him, hot and wet, his tongue flicking maddeningly over Luke’s skin. He pulled back, letting Luke’s cock slide slowly through his lips, and Luke shuddered at the touch of the air on his damp flesh. 113

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Conall stopped with just the tip still in his mouth, and sealed his lips around the flared based, sucking and licking at the head of Luke’s cock until Luke thought he would go out of his mind from the intensity of it. Conall’s hand pumped along his shaft, setting a fierce pace that offered no mercy. Luke reached down and grabbed him by the hair. “Oh, gods,” he whispered, shaking. “Conall— ” And he had to moan, he couldn’t help it, it was too much to be contained. Conall raised his head and slowed his stroking to a leisurely pace. “You are a terrible teacher,” he said, grinning. “How do you expect me to learn restraint when you cannot even manage it your own self?” Luke pushed up on his elbows and stared down at him, dazed, aching with need. Conall laughed at his expression. “Lie back, princeling, and we’ll see how restrained you truly are.” Luke sank down onto the bed slowly, and stared down at the top of Conall’s head. “I cannot,” he whispered. “It is too much.” Conall gave no answer, except to press his lips again to Luke’s flesh and suck at the underside of his cock. He kissed down to Luke’s testicles and took them gently into his mouth, one at a time, sucking and rolling them about on his tongue. Luke’s hands tightened on his hair, pulling Conall toward him, arching up against his mouth. Conall stopped kissing his balls and lifted them gently. His tongue flicked over the stretch of skin behind them and Luke had to cover his mouth again, choking back a cry as stars burst across his vision. Conall spent some time there, licking and kissing, drawing Luke’s pleasure out until he was shaking beneath the other man, 114

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and it was all he could do to keep silent. He wanted to whimper, to moan, to beg and plead until Conall took him in his mouth again and fulfilled the wicked promise of his kisses. He wanted, perversely, to push Conall back and roll over him, to pin him to the bed as he’d pinned Luke and make him suffer these same torments, and see how long it took until Luke made him cry out. He didn’t move. Conall’s mouth was still upon him, and the feel of it was too exquisite to risk losing. Conall settled down between his thighs and tugged at Luke’s knees, encouraging him to bend his legs. Luke obeyed, and Conall hummed his pleasure against Luke’s skin. His hands curved around Luke’s waist, tugging, adjusting the angle of Luke’s hips so that he could bend down and lap at the cleft between his ass. The tip of his tongue pressed deeper, brushing over Luke’s sensitive bud. Luke’s mouth gaped open, his back arching up off the mattress, pressing himself against Conall’s mouth. “Please,” he whispered before he could catch himself. “Ah—Please!” Conall answered him with another lick. He stroked Luke’s cock as his tongue prodded at the ring of muscle, easing him open. His thumb swept over the head of Luke’s cock, teasing the tiny slit at its tip. Luke thrust up into Conall’s fist, and then he couldn’t help but do it again, and again, until Conall grabbed him by the thighs and held him down. “Stop that,” he snapped. “Be still.” And before Luke could find his voice to protest, Conall bent and pressed his tongue into him again, stretching and probing. Luke knotted his fingers in Conall’s hair, pulling at him, until Conall raised his head and replaced his tongue with a single fingertip, bearing down with a firm pressure, sinking slowly, steadily into him. “Is this what you want?” Conall whispered. 115

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Luke shuddered at the heat in his voice. “No.” His muscles clenched around Conall’s invasion, and it was nearly too much to bear. Abruptly, Conall stopped moving. Luke’s eyes snapped open. He pushed himself up, searching out Conall’s gaze. The pirate’s eyes were narrowed, dark with displeasure. “We’re back to that, are we?” he demanded. “You’ll let me touch you, but heavens forbid you admit you like it?” Luke reached for him, holding him there when he would have withdrawn. “Conall, you idiot.” He sighed. “I want much more than that.” Conall stilled, looking up at him. Slowly, a grin stretched across his face. “Oh, really?” His finger nudged deeper. Luke shuddered and fell back upon the mattress. “And what precisely is it that you want then, princeling?” A blush burned on Luke’s cheeks. He dug his teeth into his lower lip to restrain the hungry, desperate sounds that Conall’s touch elicited within him. “Surely you know,” he protested, his brows drawn with chagrin. “I could hazard a guess.” Conall’s teeth nipped at the inside of Luke’s thigh. His finger sank deeper, and he wrapped his free hand around Luke’s cock again. But he didn’t stroke, and the slow, maddening pressure of his finger in Luke’s ass wasn’t nearly enough to sate Luke’s hunger. He whimpered and bucked his hips against Conall’s touch. “But where’s the fun in that?” Luke closed his eyes. His whole face felt aflame with the heat of his mortification. “Where’s the fun in tormenting me?” “I’m not,” Conall said lightly. Luke could have hated him for sounding so unaffected, when Luke was at his mercy and affected more than he thought he could bear. “I’m trying to please you, lad. 116

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But how am I to know what you want if you will not tell me?” “I want—” The words tangled over themselves. How could he say such things? He pressed his hands to his cheeks and stared up at the ceiling, trying not to think about the feel of Conall’s hand on his skin, the meaning of what he would have Luke say. “I want— you. Inside me.” “I am inside you, silly boy.” Conall flexed his finger, as though Luke needed proof, and brushed something within him that made Luke’s body jerk, and a choked cry catch in his throat. “I thought you wanted more than that.” “I do—I—gods.” Luke pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. He could not bear to say it—he couldn’t. But if he did not, Conall would stop, and he couldn’t bear that, either. “I want you to—” “Yes?” Conall prompted after a moment, when Luke did not continue. He stroked that spot again, and gave a husky laugh at the way Luke’s body shook. Luke drew a deep breath, and exhaled it all on a rush. “Fuck me,” he whispered. “Please. Gods! Please fuck me.” Conall’s grin became a brilliant thing, wide and bright. He dragged his tongue over Luke’s cock, from root to tip, then continued his kisses up Luke’s stomach, across his chest, up his throat to suck at the skin just beneath Luke’s jaw. “Well,” he said, rising up above Luke, his hips settling heavily between Luke’s thighs. “Since you asked so nicely.” He withdrew his finger, and Luke felt a momentary ache of emptiness. But Conall spat in his palm before he could manage to protest the loss, and reached down to stroke himself. He replaced the slight pressure of his finger with the broad head of his cock, stretching Luke open. 117

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Luke thrust his fingers deep into Conall’s hair, gripping tight as the world seemed to fragment around him. Conall sank into him slowly. Allowing him to adjust, though the thought seemed ridiculous. There was no adjusting to something like this, no way he could ever become used to something so impossibly intense. Conall’s hips moved with short, sharp little motions, driving himself deeper until he was buried to the hilt inside Luke. Luke’s muscles convulsed around him, and Luke stared up at him and watched every movement reflect on Conall’s face. He withdrew just as slowly, with just as much patience and care, until only his head was seated inside Luke and Luke thought he might beg shamelessly, as bold and lewd as Conall cared to hear if only he would not stop. Conall’s teeth dug into his lip, and his hands fisted on the mattress by Luke’s head, barely enough warning for Luke to draw a breath before Conall drove back into him with a single, fluid stroke. Luke dragged Conall down to him and muffled his wanton cry in the pirate’s kiss. “Tell me again,” Conall growled against his mouth, and took another stroke that had Luke’s fingers clawing at his back. “Say it again, princeling.” He bit at Luke’s lip again, and laved his tongue over the captured flesh. “There is something marvelous about hearing such a pretty mouth say such dirty words.” Luke tried to glare up at him, but Conall drove into him again, locking their hips together, and then stopped moving. He tugged at Luke’s lip, letting it slide slowly between his teeth. Luke felt the expression slide off his face, melted away by the heat of desire. “Fuck me,” he breathed, following Conall’s mouth with his, trying to lure him back into a kiss. It suddenly seemed like a small price to pay, if saying the words meant that Conall would give him 118

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what he needed. “Conall, please, just fuck me.”

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CHAPTER 10 Conall let Luke pull him down into a greedy kiss. His lips curved against Luke’s. He drew back, then thrust into Luke again, driving the breath from him. He set a fierce pace, relentless, driving Luke toward completion until his body was twisting against Conall’s, writhing, fingers digging into his shoulders. “Is this what you want?” Conall asked, and drove into him again, deeper, harder. “Yes.” Luke groaned and arched up against him. “Yes.” “Oh good.” Conall slid a hand between them and curled his fingers around Luke’s cock. “Me, too.” There was no use trying to keep quiet any longer. Luke was not even aware of the sounds he was making, could not differentiate his groans and cries from Conall’s. It didn’t matter. Nothing 120

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mattered more than the feel of Conall in him, driving into him, stroking him with the same powerful rhythm. Conall pulled his hand away and Luke cried out at the loss of his touch. He hooked it beneath Luke’s knee and tugged his legs up higher, and suddenly every stroke was hitting that spot he’d found earlier and Luke’s whole body was tightening, gathering, clenching around Conall’s cock. It was too much to bear. Luke thought the tension that twisted through him would surely tear him apart. He sobbed against Conall’s mouth, wordless, desperate sounds. Conall grunted and drove faster, harder, until Luke’s body was no longer his to control. He shuddered, convulsing around Conall, arms clenching around his broad shoulders, heat rushing through him and exploding from him as his seed spurted between them, spattering across his chest. Distantly, through the sound of his own cries and the thunder of his pulse, Luke heard Conall growl, and felt a renewed urgency in his touch, pistoning into him until at last he locked their hips together and gave a long, low groan against Luke’s skin. Conall slumped on top of him. Luke shifted beneath him but didn’t protest. It was not an unpleasant sensation, to be limp and languorous and pinned beneath the one who had made him so. He tugged absently at the locks at Conall’s nape, watching the lantern light flicker across the ceiling. Conall turned his head and lapped at the side of Luke’s throat, then slid down the bed and licked the stickiness from Luke’s stomach. Luke made a small sound of wonder and pushed up onto his elbows, watching Conall’s tongue drag across his muscles. Conall grinned when he noticed Luke was watching, and bit at the edge of his navel. “Can’t have you dirtying another blanket, 121

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can we? I’ve only so many to spare.” Luke slid out from underneath him, sitting up. He wiped at the dampness Conall had left on his stomach and looked up, his gaze catching on the swath of bandages wrapped around the pirate’s thigh. “How’s your leg?” Conall grinned wider. “Why, princeling, are you concerned for my welfare?” “Just worried you’ve undone all my work,” Luke countered. “And that wasn’t an answer.” “You noticed that, did you?” Conall sat up and reached for his shirt. He pulled it on over his head, then tossed Luke’s to him. “Do you think you are enough to unman me, when even the fury of a storm could not accomplish such a thing? You do think highly of yourself.” “Consider it self-preservation, then, if you like that better.” Luke slid off the bed, hunting for his trousers so he did not have to look at Conall while they had this conversation. “I’ll not fare well at the hands of your men, if something happens to you.” “Oh, I think you underestimate us, lad. My men like their bounty as well as I. They’d not turn their noses up at a king’s ransom.” Luke sent him bitter smile. “You’ll pardon me if I don’t share your faith in these brutes. Your man yesterday seemed perfectly willing to sacrifice his bounty for a few moments beneath Leticia’s skirts.” Conall’s expression grew tense, his smile sharp as a knife’s blade around the edges. “He’s no concern of yours any longer.” “Indeed not. You saw to that well enough.” Conall snatched his boots from the floor and jerked them onto his feet. “I’ll not have this argument with you again. What’s done 122

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is done, and you’d best get used to that. In the meantime, I’ve a ship to see to.” He pulled on a coat and stalked out of the cabin without a backward glance. Luke sat on the edge of the mattress to finish dressing, then crossed the cabin and carefully eased open the door to Mrs. Ginnings’s makeshift room. She lay curled on her bed, her back to the door, her head pillowed on her arm. Luke started to draw back, but then she moved, rolling over and pushing herself up in the bed, looking at Luke with a curious gaze. “Did I wake you?” he asked, stepping into the room. “Don’t worry yourself about me, child,” she answered, which was no answer at all. She patted the bedding next to her. “Sit down, then. What’s on your mind?” “I just came to see how you were.” He sank down gingerly onto the pallet, looking at his knees. She had known him all his life. If he looked her in the eye, would she be able to see the truth—that he had let Conall touch him, that he had wanted it, that he had asked for it—written there? Or was it only Luke’s fear that made him hear censure in her innocent words? “You seemed strained, after the storm.” “Don’t worry yourself,” she said again, and gave him a tense smile. “I’ve weathered many a storm in my time, and I’ve come through them all just fine.” A wry smile tugged at Luke’s lips. “Yes, but how many on a ship, in the middle of the sea, held captive by a pirate and his crew?” “Well…” Her smile stretched a bit. “Considerably fewer, I confess.” Luke plucked at the mattress, biting at the edge of his lip. “Mrs. Ginnings, you still haven’t answered me. Did I wake you?” His 123

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chest felt too tight as he waited for her answer. “No, child.” Her voice was warm, as though she smiled while she spoke. “You didn’t wake me when you came in.” Luke looked up at her, stricken. “You were already awake,” he whispered through lips that felt stiff and numb. And if she’d been awake…how could she not know what they’d been doing? He closed his eyes and pressed his palms to his face, wishing he could sink down through the deck and let the ocean swallow him. Fingers circled his wrists and pulled his hands down. Mrs. Ginnings crouched before him, watching him with a wry expression. “I didn’t say anything, now did I?” “But…” He stared up at her, shaking with mortification. “Oh, gods. You heard.” She sat back and patted Luke on his head like he was still a little boy, just as she always had. “What’s this? Don’t look at me like that, child. There’s no cause for it.” He wrapped his arms about himself and looked up at her, shivering as though chilled to the bone. “But, you know… You know what we…” “Oh, I’ve a fair idea.” He jerked his gaze up to her. She sounded…amused. He lost his breath all at once, like he’d been kicked. His fingers clenched on his arms. “What, no lectures?” he asked bitterly, miserably. “About my duty to crown and country, to wed and produce heirs, to act in the best interest of Samar?” She made a quiet sound and frowned down at him. “Is that what you expect from me? No, child. No lectures.” She crouched again and took hold of his chin, turning his face until he met her gaze. “It’s no secret that you didn’t want to make this voyage, or wed that princess.” 124

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He jerked back. “Don’t be ridiculous. I want to do my duty.” “No.” Her lips twitched. “You’re determined to do your duty. It’s not the same thing.” “Of course it is! I want—” “You want your father to be proud of you,” she said quietly, cutting him off. “And he wants you to wed this girl. But I— Well, I’m not obligated to want what’s best for the country.” She took Luke’s face in her hands and smiled down at him. “Which means I’m free to want only what’s best for you. So, no—you do what makes you happy, child, and there’ll be no lectures from me.” “Happy?” he whispered. It was not a word he’d have ever thought to apply to the strange interactions between Conall and himself. The pirate incited any number of emotions in him—rage, irritation, fury, lust, embarrassment—but happiness? Just the thought of it was strange. “Though,” she added with a sniff, “I daresay you could find a better candidate for that than this rapscallion.” Luke had to laugh at that, and leaned his brow against his knees. “He is kind, in his way,” he reminded her. “He has not harmed us—has even gone so far as to defend us, against his own men no less. He is sharing his rooms with us, despite the inconvenience. He is very unlike what I would have expected of a pirate in some ways.” And in others… Well… In others, he was very much like a pirate after all. Luke remembered Mrs. Ginnings’s cry as she witnessed the punishment Conall meted out in Luke’s defense, and the barely-heard splash as the body was dropped overboard. It was not happiness, Luke thought, shivering at the memory, but something else entirely. Something he could not begin to name. 125

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*

*

*

Conall returned toward evening, and brought with him wine and biscuits and salted meat. He swept the surface of the desk clean and lay the food out upon it. It was not much, as feasts went, but Luke was hungry enough that he’d have eaten anything put before him. He fetched cups for the wine while Conall dragged his armchair over to the desk. He dropped down into it with a lengthy sigh, and leaned his head back upon the seat. Luke let Mrs. Ginnings have the other chair while he stood, his hip propped against the desk’s edge. He dunked a biscuit into his glass of wine, letting it soak and soften, and watched from the edge of his gaze while Conall scrubbed his hands over his face and dragged his fingers through his hair. “Have you eaten at all?” Luke asked him. “You should have some of this, too. You won’t heal if you don’t eat.” Luke expected him to protest, or to make a joke and tease him for fretting over him so. Instead, Conall just dropped his hands and reached wordlessly for a strip of meat. He watched, startled, frowning, as Conall tore off bite-sized pieces and ate like an automaton. “What on earth is wrong with you?” Luke demanded, setting down his cup. Conall’s brows lowered, his gaze darkening. He glanced past Luke, at Mrs. Ginnings, then back. “I don’t know what you mean.” “Don’t you?” Luke’s stomach tightened into a knot around the few bites he’d eaten. Was it Mrs. Ginnings’s presence that made Conall deny it? Luke couldn’t fathom something so bad that he’d balk at discussing it before the woman. Conall had certainly shown precious little shame in such things until then. “Did something 126

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happen?” Conall sent him a smile so sharp Luke could have cut himself on it. “I’m just fine, princeling. Finish your supper, why don’t you?” Luke bristled, but subsided. He swallowed the last of one biscuit and sucked wine from his fingertips, frowning down into the cup. Mrs. Ginnings rose suddenly, and gathered a few biscuits and a couple strips of meat. “Well, gentlemen, I do believe I’ll retire. The day’s excitement has left me quite exhausted,” she said, and turned and disappeared into her room. Luke stared after her, nonplussed and disconcerted. “I’ll be damned,” he said beneath his breath. “I didn’t think she meant it.” “Meant what?” Conall asked in a somewhat more normal tone. Luke grabbed another biscuit and broke it in half, letting the pieces float about in his wine. “Will you tell me what’s wrong, now that she’s left?” Conall’s lips twisted into a humorless smile. “Well, lad, my ship’s broken, my men are disgruntled, and my leg feels like it’s been doused in oil and set afire. Isn’t that enough wrong for one day?” Luke rocked back. He opened his mouth, then shut it without a sound. Then opened it again and said, “Your leg? I should check the dressings—” “No, Luke.” Conall reached toward him. “Come here a moment.” Uncertain, Luke edged back, just close enough that he could put his hand in Conall’s. The pirate’s fingers wrapped around his, and he pulled Luke in. Luke stumbled and caught himself, but Conall kept up the tension until Luke was in his lap, stiff with 127

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surprise and frowning down at him. Conall leaned his brow against Luke’s shoulder and snaked an arm around his waist. “I—I don’t understand,” Luke said, trying to slide away. Conall tightened his arm, holding Luke in place. “Just sit with me a moment.” He turned his face against Luke’s arm. “It’s been one hell of a day.” Luke swallowed the stone in his throat. “Conall.” “Princeling.” He could feel Conall’s lips move against his skin. “You sit like you’ve got a snake in your pants. Relax a minute, will you?” “I can’t.” He licked his lips and tried once again to squirm out of Conall’s grip. “Conall, she knows.” “Who knows about what?” He shook his head, his hair brushing across Luke’s arm. “Why do I feel like I’ve missed half the conversation?” “Mrs. Ginnings!” he hissed, turning to glare. “She knows about—about—” Conall’s expression cleared. He sat back in the chair and a smile tugged at his lips, like he knew what Luke was trying to say. But he didn’t let Luke off the hook, just sat and watched him, quiet, waiting. Luke’s hands balled at his sides. “Us, that’s what! She knows about you and I and what we do—what we have done.” “And?” Conall prompted, brows raised. “I take it she did not entirely disapprove, or she’d not have gone off to her bedroom so obligingly just now.” “I—She—Dammit.” Luke bounced his fists off Conall’s chest. “She was fine. She thinks you make me happy.” “Does she?” Conall laughed, a light sound, but true and sincere 128

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and unblemished by bitterness. “And do I, then?” His arm tightened, drawing Luke in. Conall pressed his face to Luke’s throat and inhaled against his skin. “Don’t be ridiculous.” Luke shoved at his shoulders. “You make me mad beyond all reason.” “Hush, lad.” Conall caught Luke’s hands and pulled them away, drew him closer against Conall’s chest. “Tell me what she said.” Luke twisted to frown at him. “What does it matter?” “It doesn’t.” His arm slipped farther around Luke’s waist. “I’m curious, is all. Talk to me. Tell me about it.” Luke blew out a breath and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. “She said she wants what’s best for me.” Conall laughed and leaned forward, resting his chin on Luke’s shoulder. “Well, that’s flattering. And here I was under the impression that she didn’t like me.” “She doesn’t. She—” Luke turned within his grasp so he could scowl down at Conall. “You are not what’s best for me, and that’s something we both agree on. You’re a pirate and a thief and you’ve no respect for laws or decency or—” Conall moved suddenly, setting Luke away from him, his gaze snapping with temper. “And you, lad, are a prince and an heir and someday soon, you’ll be the sort of man who hunts down men like me and puts nooses around our necks. Don’t think you’re any better for me than I am for you.” He drew a long breath. Some of the anger drained from his expression. His brow smoothed, and sank back into the chair again. “And yet, here we are.” “No!” Luke shook his head hard. “This—what is this? It’s not happiness. It’s not wanting what’s best for me. It’s just—it’s a game, that’s all it’s ever been from the start. You’re just a pirate 129

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like any other, thinking like all pirates do, that anything you want you can take for yourself, even if it’s not gold or treasure or merchant goods, even if it’s a man’s body and his pleasure—” “Is that what you think?” Conall’s voice was very soft. Luke would have called it a whisper, except that it was full of hard edges and brimming with danger. “That all that drives me is lust and greed?” He bit off an oath and shoved himself out of the chair. Luke scrambled back, eyes wide, his heart racing with fear, but Conall didn’t make a move toward him. He snatched the bottle of wine from the desk and stalked out of the cabin without another word. The door slammed shut behind him hard enough that Luke jumped. He could hear Conall climb the stairs and then, overhead, the sound of his footsteps as he paced across the upper deck. Luke slid down onto the floor and sat with his back against the edge of the bed, arms wrapped tight around his calves. He leaned his chin on his knees and listened to the rhythm of Conall’s gait— uneven, because of his injured leg—track from one side of the cabin to the other, back and forth, again and again. Eventually the sun set, and the temperature plummeted along with it. Outside, the wind howled across the waters, and Conall still did not return. At last, Luke pushed himself to his feet and stretched out his cramped back. He picked up the blanket and pillow Conall had given him to use and eased open Mrs. Ginnings’s door. She didn’t stir, despite the strip of lantern light that fell through the gap. Her breathing was even and slow, undisturbed. Luke slipped inside, latching the door behind him, and wedged himself into the narrow strip of floor between the edge of her pallet and the wall. He meant to wait until he heard Conall return. Some foolish part of him hoped that Conall would note his absence and seek him 130

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out to—what? Apologize? Beg him to return? Both thoughts were ridiculous.

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CHAPTER 11 Luke woke without remembering having fallen asleep. Mrs. Ginnings was already awake, sitting on her bed with her hair down and drawn over her shoulder. Her fingers worked through the strands, pulling knots loose. She watched him with a wry expression as he sat up and rubbed the grit from his eyes. “Had a spat, did you?” “Don’t be silly.” He dragged his hands through his hair. “I felt like gentler company, that’s all.” “Oh, is it?” she asked, laughing. “You poor child. You’ve done yourself no favors by staying sheltered in the ways of love for so long.” Luke’s mouth gaped open, but before he could devise a response she had already turned away, twisting her hair up into a 132

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knot and rising to shake out her skirts. “Sometimes you have the strangest notions,” he said at last, watching her. “I did what was expected of me.” Mrs. Ginnings shot him an arch look over her shoulder. “Child, what was expected was that you’d have left a string of heartbroken girls behind you by now, and perhaps had your heart broken a few times in turn. No one expected you to cling to your virtue like a maiden.” Her expression softened. “I suppose it makes a bit more sense now, considering…” She glanced at the door that led out to the cabin and didn’t complete the thought. She didn’t have to. Luke felt the impact of her meaning like a physical blow, knocking the breath from him. “Wait!” He scrambled to his feet. “Mrs. Ginnings, they can’t be told! They can’t know about…this.” He stared at her, desperate and aching. “They can’t.” She turned around to face him, and blinked slowly at him. “Luke… What do you expect to do when you return?” “I expect to marry my princess! I expect to father heirs and do what is best for my country, and I expect to forget about every moment I spent aboard this damned ship. And I expect you to do the same.” She watched him for a moment, then sighed and crossed the space between them. “I’ll not speak of it, if that’s what you wish, child. But I won’t forget.” She rose up on her toes to kiss his cheek. “And if you knew anything at all about love, you’d know that you won’t either.” “You are mad,” he hissed, picking his way past the mattress. “I don’t—” And then he had to cut himself off, because Mrs. Ginnings had opened the door and Conall was there in the cabin, shoving his foot into a boot. He glanced up as Mrs. Ginnings 133

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stepped out, then his gaze flicked sideways, past her, to Luke. Inexplicably, heat rushed to Luke’s face. He pressed the cool backs of his fingers to his cheeks. There was no reason for it, no reason to be blushing or wondering whether Conall had overheard their conversation. So what if he had? What did it matter to a pirate if Luke hoped to forget all about him and what had happened between them? All Conall cared for was his ransom. Luke was sure that he would send him away without a backward glance once he had his coin. Conall didn’t say anything, though, nothing to confirm or refute Luke’s worries. His gaze slid away from Luke as quickly as it had jumped to him. He tugged his boot on the rest of the way and stood, addressing Mrs. Ginnings. “There’s food left from last night, if you’re hungry. I’m sorry we can’t manage a better breakfast for you, but with the damage we took we can’t spare a man for the galley. We’ll be in port before the day’s out, though, so perhaps we’ll manage to serve up a hot supper, at least.” Mrs. Ginnings blinked at him, startled, and glanced once at Luke. But after a moment she recovered herself and dipped briefly in acknowledgment. “We’ll take what’s available, Captain, you needn’t worry. I’m sure we’d both much rather sacrifice a proper meal or two than risk our safety on the water.” Conall nodded and snatched his coat from the bed. The blankets looked disheveled, Luke thought. More so than usual, as though he’d had a sleepless night. He watched as Conall moved about the cabin, and as he strode toward the door. His limp was more pronounced than it had been the day before. Did it pain him because the activity the day before had irritated the wound? Or because he had taken poor care of it, and the wound was beginning to fester? 134

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Luke nearly spoke, to call Conall back and make him let Luke change the dressings. But Conall was already halfway through the door by the time he found his voice, and he hadn’t spared even a single backward glance for him. Luke closed his mouth without speaking, and sighed as he sank down into a chair. Mrs. Ginnings lowered herself into the other chair and watched him with a canny gaze across the desk. “Perhaps you don’t think you two had a spat,” she said, “but he does, I promise you.” “Don’t be silly.” Conall had taken the wine with him the night before, and it seemed he had drunk it all. Luke broke a piece off a biscuit and sucked on it to soften it up. “I didn’t tell him anything he didn’t already know.” “Perhaps,” she conceded doubtfully. “But not all truths are pleasant.” “He’s a pirate,” Luke cried. “He makes his living off unpleasantness!” “Oh, indeed.” Mrs. Ginnings bowed her head over her food. “But he’s a man, too, and he has his pride.” Luke huffed quietly and shook his head, and Mrs. Ginnings said nothing more. He finished his breakfast in silence and moved to the back of the cabin, where he could peer through the windows without fear of being seen by the crew. He pressed his fingers to the cool glass and watched the water boil in their wake, foaming and white. The sun hung almost directly overhead when they heard the cries. “Land!” they shouted, faintly at first, then louder as the news passed down to and among the men on deck. Luke scrambled to the forward-facing windows and pressed his face to the glass, straining to see. Mrs. Ginnings was at his side, peering just as hard, but they could not see anything but water, wherever they looked. 135

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It was nearly an hour before they could see it, a grayish blur like smoke on the horizon. Mrs. Ginnings pressed her fists to her mouth and stared like she could not believe it, like if she looked away for even a moment it might vanish. Luke could not stay still. He paced across the cabin, but returned every few moments to look through the window again, watching as the blur on the horizon became the definite shape of land, and then resolved itself into trees and buildings and long, spindly piers that jutted out from the shore. Ships of every size cluttered the bay, their tall, bare masts and empty lines of rigging like a forest at winter. It was an agony to have to stay inside the cabin while their ship inched into harbor, trapped, unable even to step outside and breathe the tree-scented air. They inched ponderously into harbor. Out on deck, Conall bellowed an unceasing string of orders to his men, guiding them through the crowded waters to a safe berth. Mrs. Ginnings practically quivered at Luke’s side, but when he told her gently, “You should go. Go out and see. There’s no need for you to hide in here,” she turned a fierce scowl on him. “Don’t be preposterous,” she snapped. “I’m staying with you.” He offered her a smile in thanks, and they both pressed their faces again to the glass. It had been midday when they first sighted land. By the time they had brought their ship in to the dock and weighed anchor and seen to all the various business required to bring a ship into port, the sky had darkened to a cobalt hue and the sun had already begun to sink past the horizon. Luke watched through the window as Conall gathered his men on deck and spoke to them. Whatever he said, it pleased them 136

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greatly—the crew let up a roar that was near-deafening, and made even the people bustling about on the docks give the ship a startled glance. Pouches were passed around amongst the men—their bounty, Luke thought, from our ship, and his stomach lurched—and Conall spoke for just a moment more. And then a gangway was stretched down to the dock and the pirates were scrambling down it. Luke was surprised no one ended up pushed over the edge in their haste to go find whatever unsavory pastime it was that they preferred to spend their coin on. At last, there was no one left on deck but Conall. Luke eased the door open and stepped out. The wind here was noticeably different than the ones he had grown used to at sea. It was drier, and carried with it the scents of dusty earth and green growth and city life. Conall glanced at Luke as he joined the pirate on the deck, and he started to speak. But Luke stumbled forward to the rail, fingers wrapped around the wood so tight that it turned his knuckles white and bloodless, and Conall didn’t end up saying anything at all. There were people down on the docks, people who were not Mrs. Ginnings or sailors or pirates, the only companions he had known since leaving Samar. They walked amongst one another, talking and laughing and bickering, unloading goods from merchant ships or bartering for passage to who-knew-where. Luke spun, his gaze seeking Conall’s. “I want off this damned ship.” His voice shook with emotion. Conall’s brows drew together. Slowly, he shook his head. “No, lad. That’s not a good idea.” “Gods.” Luke fisted his hands in his hair. “Are you serious? You’re not even going to let me walk around?” 137

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“Walk all you like,” Conall growled, “but you’re not going down there. Don’t you know where you are?” “I haven’t the faintest idea.” Conall grunted and rolled his eyes toward the heavens. “Of course you don’t. Well, it’s not exactly a land known for its friendliness toward the Samari. Nor are its people kindly disposed toward kings and monarchs. So yes, I’m entirely serious. You’ll not be setting foot off my ship, princeling. You wouldn’t last a minute out there.” Luke rocked back and stared at Conall, then turned to stare at the city that stretched out before them. The mountains in the distance could have been the Sebura Range. Which meant… “Ranna?” he whispered. “You brought me to Ranna?” It was the only country anywhere near the course they’d charted that could be cause for such concern. Ranna had been a colony once, until the Rannan people had risen up in protest against their Samari king. That had been before Luke was born, but he knew a people’s memory could be long. Conall sighed. “I brought us to the nearest port of call, is what I did. We need repairs, and we can’t afford to take our time about getting them. Besides, I’ve countrymen here who I can prevail upon to do the work fast and cheap for me. Here, come with me.” He took Luke by the arm and drew him back into the cabin. Mrs. Ginnings followed after them, looking concerned. Luke stood in the middle of the room, watching with a frown as Conall rifled through the drawers of his desk. He turned up two large brass keys. They looked identical. Conall tucked one into his belt and kept the other in his hand, fingers wrapped around the shaft. “What’s that for?” Luke asked. 138

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Conall looked down at it. “I’m sorry, lad,” he said, and before Luke could ask him why, he stepped out onto the deck and closed the door behind himself. Luke followed, his frown turning into a scowl, but he hadn’t taken more than two steps when the sound of a lock scraping through its casing made him freeze. He ran the rest of the way to the door and pulled at it, but the handle would not turn. “Conall!” He slammed his fists against the wood. “Conall!” “Sorry, lad,” he said again, stepping into view of the window. “But you’d just run off and do something stupid and get yourself killed.” “Let us out of here! Damn it, Conall!” Conall brought his hand up and pressed his fingertips briefly to the glass pane, then turned and strode away. “Bastard!” Luke snarled, spinning away from the door. “Gods damned pirate. I should’ve figured.” Mrs. Ginnings watched him warily as he paced across the cabin. “Child…” “What?” he snarled. “It’s not enough that I’m going out of my mind, that I’ve been trapped in this damned cabin for days at his whim.” “Child,” she said again, gently. He turned to look at her, scowling. “You’ve been stuck in this cabin because to go out there amongst his men as you are, without your disguise, is certain doom. He did not devise it simply to torment you.” “Of course,” he snarled. “And there’s no profit in it for him if I die before he’s had his ransom.” Luke pressed the heels of his hands to his brow. “Gods. I just want off this damned boat. I want stable land beneath my feet again, and to be able to walk more than a hundred yards in any direction.” 139

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She came over to him, her movements cautious, like she expected him to turn his anger on her if she made any sudden motions. He sighed and dropped his hands, and she drew him into an embrace. “You will be soon enough, child. This will all be over soon enough.” He shook his head, then sighed and leaned his brow against her shoulder and let her comfort him like she had when he was a boy. “I didn’t expect this of him.” “He’s a pirate,” she said, gently chastising. “I know, but I’d thought—” He squeezed his eyes shut. “Never mind,” he whispered hoarsely. “I’m just an idiot, is all.” “It happens to the best of us, eventually.” Luke raised his head and looked down at her. “What, trusting a pirate who’s kidnapped you and is holding you for ransom? I hardly think so.” “No.” She smiled and patted his cheek. “I mean loving someone we know we shouldn’t, and expecting better of them than they’ve given us any right to. We’ve all done it.” She tilted her head to the side and considered him. “You’re doing it perhaps a bit more dramatically than most, but I’d have expected no less of you.” Luke shoved back, stumbling away from her. “Don’t say that!” He dragged his hands through his hair again, fisting them at his crown. “I’m not that stupid. I don’t love him! He’s—he’s—” “A pirate?” she prompted quietly when he did not continue. “A murderer, and a thief, and an outlaw?” “Yes,” he whispered. “All those things and more.” “Tell me, child—Would you feel so betrayed if it had been any other pirate to lock us up in here?” “No,” he admitted, sinking down onto the edge of the bed. “But 140

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that hasn’t a thing to do with love, I just thought… He has been kind until now, is all. I did not expect him to turn back to a scoundrel the moment we saw land.” She came over and sat beside him, took his hand in hers and gave it a squeeze. “Call it what you will, but when the heart makes a choice it has little to do with reason, and even less to do with what we think we ought to want.” Luke groaned and buried his face in his hands. “I don’t love him. I just want off this boat.” “Well, he’ll be back eventually,” she said, ever the optimist. “You can give him a piece of your mind then.” “I certainly intend to,” Luke muttered, and glowered out at the darkening sky.

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CHAPTER 12 The sunset was spectacular, turning the clouds to fire against the black outline of the cityscape. Luke watched through the window as the colors faded to twilight, then to the black of true night. Without even the light of the moon to see by, there was little but shadows outside. Luke turned away from the window and watched as Mrs. Ginnings went around the room, picking up little items that had fallen as they sailed, straightening a disordered stack of charts and manifests. “Why would you do that for him?” he asked when she began to smooth out the rumpled blankets on the bed. “Do you think he’ll be grateful?” She sent him a patient look over her shoulder. “I don’t do it for his sake, child. I do it for my own. It keeps my head busy. 142

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Besides,” she added, “there’s little else to do.” Luke grimaced. “I’m being terrible company. I’m sorry.” She laughed and shook her head. “You’re not here for my amusement. I can keep myself busy just fine on my own, you know.” “Yes, I can see that,” he said, watching her with a wry expression. “Please, stop, come sit with me. You’ll make me dizzy, moving about like that.” She turned to smile at him, and he knew she’d seen it for the transparent excuse it was. But she came and sat with him anyway, and wrapped an arm about his shoulders. For all that he’d insisted, though, he suddenly couldn’t think of a single thing to say that wouldn’t renew her preposterous accusations of loving Conall. He was just about to blurt out something entirely inane and ridiculous, just for the sake of having said something, when she suddenly stiffened beside him and twisted toward the window. “What is it?” he asked. “I heard something. Hush.” He listened, and this time he heard it, too—the unmistakable hollow thump of footsteps upon the deck. With their lamps burning and the darkness outside, though, all he could see in the window was the cabin reflected back at them. But the gait was uneven, like Conall’s had been the night before when he’d paced the deck above their heads. Luke stood and faced the door, shoulders set, anger flaring to renewed life within him. The lock rasped as it slid free and the door swung open and Conall staggered in, lost behind an enormous armful of baskets. He blinked owlishly from around the load. “A little help, 143

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perhaps?” he suggested. “Unless you’d prefer to have your supper strewn across the floor.” Luke moved forward automatically to take the baskets from him. There were too many to put them all on the desk; he left the extras cluttered around its legs, then stared down at them in astonishment. Steam wafted out from beneath the lids of most of them, bringing with it the scent of meat and herbs and spices, succulent enough that Luke’s stomach growled and hunger hit him like a fist. He was ravenous, he’d had nothing for days but tough, salted meat and biscuits hard enough to break teeth if one wasn’t careful. He wanted to tear the baskets open and eat until he couldn’t stomach another bite. But he held himself in check, and turned instead to gape at Conall. “What…what is this?” He gestured, helplessly. “It’s a feast. You can’t possibly expect we three to eat all this.” Conall stepped back and looked at the baskets as though only now realizing how many there truly were. “They’re not all food,” he said, and opened one up to reveal forks and spoons and knives, gleaming silver in the lamplight, and little cloths like the ones you’d use to wipe your fingers on at a formal supper. “This is a pirate’s ship, after all,” Conall continued, speaking down into the basket as he unloaded its contents and spread them out upon the desk, “and rather lacking in the necessary supplies for a proper meal. So I bought”—he waved his hand, absently, at the silver—“cutlery, and cups”—they’d have been more accurately called goblets, long-stemmed and made of hammered pewter— “and wine, too, since I seem to have drunk more than my share last night,” he added, looking up with a chagrined grimace. “But there’s plenty of food. I intend to take advantage of the opportunity to have some decent meals while I’ve got it. We’ll be back to 144

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galley fare soon enough.” Luke helped Conall pull the food out of the remaining baskets, numb with the shock of it all. There was braised rabbit and pheasant pie and herring, loaves of bread and even butter to spread on it, an extravagance that made Luke shake his head in wonder. “I thought…I thought you weren’t going to be back until… I don’t know. Later,” he whispered. “I thought you’d be carousing with the rest of your men.” Conall glanced up as he laid plates on the table. They were made of fine ceramic and they were a foolish thing to have on a ship, too fragile to survive rough waters. “My men prefer to spend their coin drinking and whoring, but I choose to spend mine on other indulgences,” he said, as haughty as any nobleman standing before a formal table, preparing for an elaborate meal. But he was very carefully, very studiously setting the table completely wrong. Luke started to speak, to warn him that knives were meant to go across the top of the setting with their handles facing to the right, and forks and spoons were never supposed to lay on the same side of a person’s plate. But he had bought the silverware, hadn’t he? And goblets, though they’d had perfectly serviceable cups they’d been drinking from the day before. And precious, fragile plates, and more food than twice as many people could eat, and that he was making the effort to set the table at all was stunning enough in its own right. He slowly closed his mouth without speaking a word, and lowered himself into a chair and said, quietly, “Thank you, Captain.” Conall glanced up, pinning him with a sharp look. “There’s no cause for that.” A slight smile tugged at the corner of Luke’s mouth. He ran a finger around the rim of the plate. It took a master potter to throw 145

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an edge so fine, that did not chip or crack in the kiln. “This is a formal table, isn’t it?” he asked, his smile widening. “My tutors would have my head if I dared to address a dinner guest—a captain, no less!—by anything less than his proper title.” Conall watched him for a moment, bemused. Then he took his own seat and, tearing the end off a loaf of bread, said, “I’ll be damned if I’m going to call you Your Highness.” Luke had to duck his head to hide his grin. They each filled their plates and began to eat. There was little conversation—the other two seemed as ravenous as Luke, and after the food they’d been eating, even this simple tavern fare seemed to Luke to be the finest meal he’d ever had. It seemed at first he’d never get his fill, that they would make their way through all the food Conall had bought after all. But inevitably, his appetite began to wane, and he picked at the few remaining bites left on his plate. Suddenly the silence around the table seemed awkward and tense. He glanced up through his lashes and saw Mrs. Ginnings pushing her food around with her fork, and glancing uncertainly between Luke and Conall. He dared a glance at Conall, and then had to look away just as quickly, because Conall was watching him, chewing on the edge of his lip and frowning as though something was bothering him, or puzzling him. “Well,” Mrs. Ginnings said brightly, pushing to her feet. “It’s such a lovely night out, I think I’ll go look at the stars.” Luke gaped after her, then dug his teeth into his lip and slumped down on his chair. Conall didn’t seem perturbed; he was still watching Luke with his enigmatic look. Luke drained the wine from his cup, then poured himself another. “Have you had enough to eat?” Conall asked him quietly. 146

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“Yes.” Luke set his goblet down with great care, and tucked his hands in his lap. “I couldn’t eat another bite.” Another moment passed, and Luke fought the urge to squirm beneath the weight of Conall’s gaze. “What is it, lad?” Luke glanced up at him and dug his teeth in harder. Then he blew his breath out all at once and said, “I won’t be your prisoner, I told you that from the start.” Conall’s brows rose. “You’re referring to—” He waved his hand at the door. Luke’s gaze narrowed, and Conall gave a soft laugh. “You wouldn’t have stayed here if I hadn’t, no matter how nicely I asked.” “You don’t know me,” Luke spat. “Oh, I’d say I do, at least well enough to know that.” Conall leaned forward, his forearms braced against the edge of the desk. “Lad, I didn’t want you to do something stupid and get yourself killed.” Luke growled, deep in his throat. “I am tired of being nothing more to you than a damned ransom!” “Do you still think that?” Conall crossed his arms over his chest and frowned at Luke. “Princeling, you’ve no sense at all.” “I’ve more than you give me credit for. You lock me up like a common prisoner and then have the nerve to tell me that’s not what I am?” Conall’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Make no mistake, if a prisoner is what you were, I’d have thrown you in the hold with the rats and the vermin, not in my own private rooms.” Luke glowered at him. “You wouldn’t dare.” “No, actually!” Conall snapped. “That’s my point. Now I know you’re upset with me for it”—Luke snorted and rolled his eyes— 147

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“but I’d rather have you alive and livid than slaughtered in the streets, so you’ll excuse me for not apologizing over it.” Luke tried to retort, but Conall raised his voice and spoke over him. “And don’t you say a word about your damned ransom. It’s not the money I would mourn if you went off and got yourself killed.” Luke rocked back and stared at him, aghast. “Oh, gods,” he groaned. “Don’t you start on that, too.” Conall’s brows furrowed. “What are you talking about?” “Mrs. Ginnings. She said—” He leaned his brow in his hands. Embarrassment flared within him, overwhelming his anger. He blew out a long breath and blurted, “She thinks I love you.” Conall was silent for a long moment. When he did speak, it was only to say, in a strangely subdued tone, “Does she, then?” He didn’t laugh, and Luke didn’t know if that was better or worse. “It’s preposterous!” Luke spat. “I don’t love you! I couldn’t possibly…” He trailed off, and Conall said nothing, and the silence that fell between them was so thick it was nearly tangible. At length, Conall cleared his throat and asked, “Well, then, what’s the truth of it?” Luke looked up at him, tucking his fingers beneath his chin. “What?” “She says you love me, and you say she’s wrong. What’s the truth? You hated me, not too long ago. Is that how you still feel?” Luke sighed. “No. I don’t hate you.” “What then?” “I…” He shook his head, and looked up at Conall in consternation. “I don’t know.” Conall rose from his chair and came around the desk. Luke pressed back against his seat as Conall approached him, staring up 148

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in apprehension. When Conall knelt before him, Luke made a wondering sound. “You’d best figure it out, lad,” he said softly, resting his hands on Luke’s knees. “Or the not knowing will tear you up.” Luke worried his lower lip between his teeth. “You talk about it like it’s an easy thing to do, figuring this sort of thing out. It’s a nightmare.” Conall’s grin flashed. “Oh, I don’t doubt that. But it needs to be done all the same.” Luke grimaced. When Conall rose up onto his knees and curved a hand around the back of Luke’s neck, he sighed and let himself be drawn forward, his brow pressed against Conall’s. Luke put his hand on Conall’s shoulder. The other man’s breath brushed over his face. He wondered if Conall meant to kiss him. With Mrs. Ginnings conveniently absent, he wondered if kissing might lead to other things. “Well?” Conall whispered. Luke drew back. “What?” Conall closed his eyes and shook his head, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Never mind.” “No.” Luke’s fingers curled into the collar of his shirt. “What?” Conall looked up at him, his eyes dark in the lamplight. “What do you want?” he asked on a breath. Luke gave a short laugh and drew back, though Conall didn’t let him go far. “The last thing I asked you for, you refused me.” Conall’s brows furrowed. “The last thing you asked me for would have killed you.” “And if I tell you that is still what I want?” His smile came again, brighter. “Then I shall be sorely disappointed, and my ego bruised beyond all repair.” Slowly, he 149

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sobered. “But I shall still refuse you. It’s not worth your life, lad.” Luke sighed and leaned forward again. But Conall slid his hands from the back of Luke’s neck to his shoulders, holding him back. Luke frowned down at him, but Conall just gave him a tense smile and said, “If there’s nothing else you want of me, then we ought to retire and get some sleep. Dawn will come soon enough, and there will be plenty of work to do in the morning.” “I… What?” Luke blinked at him, bewildered. When was the last time Conall had passed up an opportunity to lure Luke into his arms, his bed? Luke could not think of a time. But now… Conall looked back and watched him expectantly. But when Luke still said nothing, he turned again and continued toward the bed, shedding clothes carelessly along the way. Luke followed after him, uncertain. Surely there was something more he had in mind, some game or plan he had yet to spring. It was not like Conall to just shrug and climb into bed. He did not even tease Luke for continuing to insist on sleeping on the hard floor, just mumbled, “Night, lad,” and rolled over to face the wall. Luke left a single lamp burning low so Mrs. Ginnings could find her way to her pallet when she returned, and slid into his own bed. He lay for a long time staring up at the ceiling, listening to Conall’s breathing steady and slow, wondering what game the pirate had in store for him. This was surely part of some larger plan, wasn’t it? It seemed impossible that Conall had suddenly decided to give up his pursuit, for no apparent reason at all. *

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They ate leftovers for breakfast the next morning, and there 150

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was still food left once they’d finished. Mrs. Ginnings didn’t say anything to Luke beyond the usual meaningless chatter, but he thought he could feel the weight of her gaze upon him whenever his was elsewhere. He didn’t remember seeing her return last night, and he wondered how long she’d stayed out on the deck, waiting for them to…what? She’d obviously intended to give them privacy, but what Luke couldn’t determine was why. He twisted a bone from the rabbit carcass between his hands and fixed his gaze on Conall, because seeing her watching him out of the corner of his vision was making him anxious. Conall was quiet this morning, eating his breakfast in silence, but he didn’t seem surly or upset. He didn’t do or say anything to shed light on his inexplicable behavior the night before. Luke gnawed on his lip and wondered whether he’d tease him, and how much, if he asked. He forgot to be preoccupied with such things when he watched Conall walk across the cabin—though he was only half paying attention, and the other half lost in thought—and realized that he was limping so bad that he was barely putting weight on his injured leg. Luke set the bone aside and rose to his feet. “Sit down.” Conall glanced back. “What?” “Sit down and take off your pants.” Conall stared at him as though he didn’t know whether to take offense at the order, or burst out laughing. Laughter won out in the end, and he sank into the desk chair, wheezing with it. “Your pants,” Luke reminded him, stone-faced, too worried to appreciate the joke. “I’ll cut them off if I have to.” Mrs. Ginnings fled into her room, pleading fragile nerves, and Conall looked up at Luke with merriment in his gaze. “For you, lad? I’ll shed them happily. But what’s this about?” He rose and 151

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shucked his trousers down as he spoke. “You can barely walk. What do you think it’s about?” Luke pushed him back into his seat and took a knife from the table. “Sit still while I get these bandages off.” “Yes, sir,” Conall murmured, grinning. But there was something other than mirth in his eyes, something thoughtful and intrigued. Luke cut through the strips of cloth, careful not to nick Conall’s skin as he worked. He breathed a sigh of relief when they came off easily, without sticking to the wound. The stitches were holding nicely, the edges of the wound knitting together well, if not evenly. Conall would have a scar, that was a certainty. But Luke didn’t imagine the pirate set enough store by his vanity to mind. Luke prodded the wound gently with his fingertips. There were no lines of infection, no indications that there was an abscess growing under the skin. It seemed to be healing cleanly, except that the whole area about the wound was swollen and livid red. Heat radiated from his skin, so hot Luke could feel it just by hovering his hand above Conall’s leg. He hissed a breath through his teeth. “What is it?” Conall twisted, trying to look at it. Luke grabbed him by the knee to hold him still. “Is it festering?” There was a true note of concern in his voice as he asked the question. Luke knew that the unspoken one, the one that lurked behind it, was Will I lose the leg? “No,” Luke said. “It looks clean.” “Why does it hurt like the blazes, then?” Conall demanded. Luke gave him an arch look. “Because you’re a stubborn fool who doesn’t know the limitations of his own body. You’re 152

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aggravating it, that’s why. You need to rest.” Conall smirked. “No rest for the wicked, lad. I’d never have survived on the waters this long if I cooled my heels every time I got an ache or pain.” Luke sighed and poked the muscle of Conall’s thigh, more than a hand’s breadth distant from the wound. Conall yelped and jumped as though he’d shoved his fingers directly into the gash itself, then glowered down at him. “This is more than just a bruise you can grit your way through, Captain. You’re no use to your men if you can’t even walk.” He pressed his lips together and sat back on his haunches. “You’re no use to me, either.” Conall’s brows rose. He looked down at Luke for a moment, then leaned back in the chair and cupped his hands behind his head. “And here I thought I was just your gaoler.” “You’re more than that.” Conall’s gaze flashed down to Luke, pinning him where he crouched. Luke stammered out the rest. “You’re the—the only means I have of getting home.” “Oh, is that it?” Conall laughed softly. He jiggled his leg against the pressure of Luke’s hand on his knee. “Will you let me up now, princeling?” Luke sighed and sat back. There was little to be done for it, and nothing at all that Luke himself could do. It was all in Conall’s hands. “Do as you like,” he said. “I suppose you will anyway.” Conall grinned as he dressed himself. “Well, who’d have known. You’re learning.” “Learning what, exactly?” Luke asked as he followed the other man out onto the deck. “That you’re a pain in the ass? I knew that one already.” Conall glanced over a shoulder at him, grinning and waggling 153

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his eyebrows. “You would know, lad,” he called back. Luke’s face flushed with heat. He hung back in the cabin’s shadow, protected from the brightness of the morning sun, and watched with arms crossed over his chest as Conall strode out and looked up at the mizzen mast. The jagged stump that was all that remained of the yard jutted out like a broken tooth. Conall walked the circumference of the mast, studying it. When he grabbed onto the rigging and began to climb, Luke blew out a breath and rolled his eyes toward the heavens. Conall took the next step with his injured leg. When he tried to transfer his weight to it to climb up, Luke could hear the swearing clear from where he was standing. “Gods!” Luke took the stairs down to the main deck two-at-atime and stood at the bottom of the rigging, scowling up at Conall. “Get down from there, you great idiot!” Conall hooked an arm through the lines and leaned back to look down at Luke. “This ship won’t fix herself, lad.” Luke gave a sharp growl and grabbed onto the rigging. He hauled himself up before he had a chance to think about what he was doing, until he was even with the other man and glowering fiercely. Conall gaped at him in astonishment. “Contrary to what you believe,” Luke snapped, “I am not entirely helpless. But you are not fit for climbing.” Conall reared back. “Don’t tell me you’re volunteering to take my place?” “Volunteering, hell.” Luke shifted his grip and moved over one step, so he was standing right next to Conall, looking him in the eye. “I’m not giving you a choice. Now get down there before you fall to your death, and tell me what to do.” Conall raised his brows, but Luke set his jaw and stared him 154

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down, until at last Conall laughed and began to climb back down the rigging. “Well, lad, if you’re so hell-bent to take orders from the likes of me, who am I to deny you?” He stepped down onto the deck, and as he backed away and raised a hand to shield his eyes from the sun, Luke heard him mutter, “Can’t say I’ve ever had a prince under my command. No one will ever believe me when I tell them.” “Stop gloating,” Luke called down to him, “and tell me what you need.” Conall gestured, pointing to the broken yard. “Climb on up there, lad. I need to know what damage was done.” Luke looked up at the broad beam, snapped off only a few feet from the mast. “Well, I’m no expert, but I’m pretty sure it’s beyond salvage.” He glanced down as the other man’s laughter drifted up to him. “Seriously, Conall, the whole thing’s gone. How much more damaged can it get?” Conall grinned. “Just do as you’re told for once, will you?” Luke made the painstaking climb up to where the yard had joined the mast. For weeks he had watched sailors and pirates scuttling up these webs of rigging as though it were as simple as climbing a ladder. Now, he marveled at their fleetness. The ropes sagged beneath his weight and swung with every movement he made, and the higher he climbed, the worse it became. The coarse ropes scraped at his palms until they turned hot and red. He was barely a fraction of the mast’s height off the deck, but even that was enough to turn the ship’s gentle bobbing in the harbor’s waters to a wild swaying that made his heart hammer in his throat. At last he made it to the yard, though with neither the speed nor the grace of a true sailor. He twisted a line around his arm several times to anchor himself, and called down to Conall, “Okay? Now 155

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what?” Conall gestured again. “The iron bands, lad. Tell me how they look.” Luke leaned forward, trying to get a decent look at the wide strips of metal that banded the yard’s circumference. There was one left near the broken end, and another at its base, joining yard to mast. But he couldn’t get a clear enough view of either while swaying from the rigging. Quickly, before he could realize the magnitude of what he was doing, Luke freed an arm and a leg from the lines and reached out to grasp the yard. With a swift breath and eyes screwed shut, he threw himself out, away from the rigging. The yard caught him square in the stomach, knocking the breath from him. Luke clung to it desperately, feet scrabbling at air as he fought to haul himself up onto the wide beam. When at last he gained his seat, he straddled the yard and leaned back against the solid bulk of the mast, gasping for breath. “Luke!” Even from as high as he was, Conall’s shout was still thunderous, deafening. “Gods above, are you mad? Of all the harebrained notions—Get down here or I’ll kill you myself!” He had his hands fisted in his hair, his mouth gaping, slack-jawed. Luke flapped his hand in a halfhearted wave. “I’m fine. Just a minute.” When he could breathe normally again, he slid forward along the yard until he had reached its end. There was nothing but splintered wood and air before him, and now, not even the mast at his back to give him a sense of steadiness. Luke swallowed down a surge of fear that tasted a lot like bile and called down, “This one’s a lost cause, Conall.” The bands of iron, as thick as Luke’s finger, had been twisted and warped, even shorn through in places, when the yard broke. 156

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“What of the others?” The others were behind him. Luke twisted, looking over his shoulder. The mast seemed a mile away, at least. He clung tight to the spar as the ship bobbed on another gentle swell of water, then carefully swung his leg over so that he sat perched sideways on it, with no real way of holding on if it lurched again. He swiftly completed the turn so he was straddling the spar again, and slid forward to within arm’s reach of the mast. Down on the deck, Conall was pacing across the deck, casting frequent glances up to where Luke sat. “This one looks good,” Luke called down to him. He stopped and looked up, shielding his eyes. “What of the mast? How’s her bindings look?” He had to bend low, stretched along his stomach on the spar in order to see, and Luke thought he heard an oath from down on the deck. “They look good,” he said, and pushed up onto his elbows so he could look down at Conall. “I did mention I’m not an expert, right?” Conall’s laughter sounded harried. “That you did. Come on down from there, lad, before I die of apoplexy. We’ll need to have a shipwright out for the rest.” It was just as precarious getting off the yard as it had been getting on it. In the end, the best Luke could manage was to lean out, ignoring Conall’s warnings from below to be careful, and snag a handful of rigging, grip tight, and slide off the spar, so that momentum swung him into the net of ropes and he could scramble to get his feet beneath him before his grip gave out. It was easier to climb down the lines than it had been going up, since this time gravity was helping rather than hindering him. He jumped down the last few feet to the deck and turned, looking for 157

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Conall. The pirate grabbed him by the shoulders and shoved him back against the mast. “Hey!” Luke cried, and then could not say anything more because Conall’s mouth came down hard on his.

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CHAPTER 13 Conall forced Luke’s mouth open and claimed it with a fierce, reckless kiss that made heat erupt over Luke’s skin all at once. He moaned and brought his arms around Conall’s back, clutching tight. “Gods!” Conall muttered, breaking away. He leaned his brow against the mast, his body like a cage around Luke’s. “If you were one of my crew, I would whip you raw for scaring me so. What on earth were you thinking?” Luke turned his head, frowning. “Well, I couldn’t see from the rigging. I don’t know how else you expected me to get onto that spar.” Conall shook his head, swearing beneath his breath. “And you called me an idiot. You’re lucky you didn’t break your neck.” He 159

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pushed back and glared down at Luke. “I ought to wring it all the same, just on principle.” Luke chewed on the edge of his lip, searching Conall’s expression for some indication of whether he was truly that angry, or if it was concern that made his words so harsh. Conall’s gaze flicked down. He groaned and dragged Luke’s mouth back to his. “Oh,” Luke murmured when Conall finally released him, and blinked up at the other man in a daze. “I thought—” He cut himself off before he could blurt the rest, heat washing up the sides of his face. But even that was too much. Conall raised a brow, grinning slyly, and asked, “Thought what, lad?” I thought you’d grown tired of me, after all. “You…you shouldn’t,” he said instead. “Someone will see.” Conall laughed. “Who’s to see, lad? The crew is gone, and they’ll not even think about leaving their cups for another day at the least. As for the rest—” He gestured to the other ships cluttering the harbor around them. “Should anyone be paying the least bit attention to our ship at all, and should they happen to see you and I, and should they realize that you are not, in fact, the lovely Leticia, they shall merely assume you are some catamite, bought at the nearest whorehouse, and pay you no mind whatsoever.” “A what?” Luke stared up at him, horrified. “Gods! I would rather they think the truth than that I’m some—some rentboy!” Conall bit at his lip, sharp enough to sting. “We can’t all be princes, lad.” His words were light, but there was something dark and bruised in his eyes. “That’s not what I meant,” Luke whispered. Conall’s lips twisted, but there was too much bitterness in his 160

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smile for Luke’s liking. “There are worse fates to be had, my boy. Better to be a catamite, with surety of a roof over your head and a bed on which to sleep, at least, than living in the gutters, or working for a pittance in the mills until your lungs give out.” “Conall—” He stepped back. The distance he put between them felt like a chasm, impassible. Luke stared at him, wretched with the thought that he’d said something wrong, and wasn’t even sure what it was. “You’d sooner have them know the truth, that you are Samari, and a prince—even though they’d kill you for it—than think you might be something as distasteful as a whore?” Conall shook his head. “Sometimes I fear I’ll never understand your like.” “My like?” Luke asked softly. Conall gave a flick of his hand. “Aristocracy. I’ll never conceive of how the lot of you can care more for your pride than your subsistence.” “I see,” Luke said. “Well, I suppose next time I’ll just let you tear your leg open with your foolishness.” He sent Conall a dark look as he strode past the other man. “Since all I care for is my pride.” “Lad.” Conall scrubbed a hand over his brow and trailed after him. “Luke…” “Don’t you have a shipwright to speak to?” “Yes.” He stopped and sighed, and added beneath his breath, “Damn it.” Luke eyed the door to the cabin distastefully. It had seemed a haven compared to the cell they’d been kept in originally, but now, when he wanted only the scent of fresh air in his lungs and the sun on his skin, it seemed no better than any other prison. “I suppose it’s lock-and-key for me again, then.” 161

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When Conall didn’t respond, Luke turned to look at him. He was watching Luke with furrowed brows and an uncertain expression on his face. “What?” Luke prompted when it seemed he might never speak. Conall drew a deep breath. “Swear to me you’ll not leave the deck of this ship, and I’ll not lock you in.” Luke’s brows rose, and he nodded eagerly. “I swear. I won’t leave.” Conall held out one of the iron keys, looking grim. “If anyone approaches this ship—anyone other than me—you lock yourself in the cabin and stay there, you hear me?” Luke nodded and reached to take the key. It was heavy against his palm, and warm from Conall’s own heat. “Yes,” he whispered. “I will.” Conall swung around, and Luke watched him stride away. He stood straight and tall despite the limp, as proud as any other sailor. Luke bit back the belated observation that Conall was not as immune as he thought to the pride that he despised in the noble classes. Perhaps he would not die of shame if he were mistaken for a common whore, but he would run himself into the ground before he’d ever concede that his injury had limited him. Luke leaned against the rail and watched Conall disappear into the press and hubbub of the city. Then he climbed up to the aft deck, where the breeze was strong enough to keep the sun’s heat from becoming uncomfortable, and gazed out at the land that stretched out before them, hard angular buildings and the softer slopes of the mountains in the distance. It was a rather pretty place. Samar City didn’t have mountains like these to gaze upon. He’d never have guessed where they were without Conall’s clue that the people here hated his countrymen, 162

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though. From what he’d heard from his fellows and read in his studies, Ranna had seemed a barbaric and inhospitable place, and her citizens no better. But this seemed to be no different than any other Samari port Luke had traveled through. “No,” he murmured to himself, “there is one difference.” And he thought of Conall’s offhand comment, that anyone observing them would think Luke was a catamite, and take no offense at such a notion. That was certainly something that one could not find in Samar, where even the notion of such relations was too distasteful to be spoken of in polite company. And if they did, it would only be to serve as further evidence of the Rannan’s barbarism and twisted ways of thinking. Luke wished he could talk about it—just talk, so it could stop rattling about his head and muddling his thoughts—but Conall would only mock him, and that left only Mrs. Ginnings. Luke leaned against the rail and let his head droop forward, too weary to navigate his thoughts of speaking about such things to her. But he had no respite—as though the mere thought had summoned her, he heard the cabin door below him swing open, and her voice cry out, “Child? Where are you?” “Here,” he called, straightening. It did not befit a prince to slump and glower. “Come up and join me.” She climbed up the stairs and joined him on the deck. Luke smiled at her, and started to say, It’s such a nice day, isn’t it?, but she interrupted him before he’d gotten it even half out. “What’s wrong?” He blinked at her. It took a moment before he could respond. “What on earth are you talking about?” “Oh, child.” She blew out a heavy breath and came to stand 163

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next to him at the rail. She didn’t spare so much as a glance for the impressive vistas spread out before them. “You must think I know you very poorly indeed. Now answer the question.” He pinned his smile in place as he shook his head, but it felt strained, forced, false. “Nothing’s wrong.” “Don’t you lie to me!” she snapped, straightening and glaring up at him with the full weight of her matronly scorn. “You tell me to mind my own business and keep my nose out of yours, if that’s what you like, but don’t you lie to me, child.” “Mrs. Ginnings…” Luke gestured helplessly. “I don’t know what to tell you. Nothing’s wrong.” And that was true, wasn’t it? He was well, and Conall was well, and the ship was on its way to being repaired. He would be home soon enough, and all this mess would be far behind him. He didn’t know why he felt like he was going out of his mind. There was no reason for it. “I’ve just been cooped up on one ship or another for too long, that’s all,” he told her, forcing another smile. He didn’t believe this one any more than he had the last, and gods knew if he couldn’t convince himself, he’d never convince her. Mrs. Ginnings snorted and slanted him a dubious look. “That you have, child, but if that’s your trouble, I’ll eat my petticoats.” Luke laughed, choked. “Well, we can’t have that,” he murmured. “So it had best be true, then.” Her expression softened. She stepped in close, and when Luke didn’t retreat, she wrapped her arms about him and held him close. “There now, child. We’ll work it out, whatever it is.” He made a soft sound, not quite disbelief, but near enough. “Thank you,” he said at last, but it made his chest feel hollow, as though it was the most feeble, pointless thing he could have told 164

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her. “You’ll tell me when you’re ready,” she said with a brisk nod. “Until then… Well…” She patted his cheek. “I’ll bide my time.” Luke stared after her as she turned away and crossed the ship’s width. She leaned out, looking down at the water. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” he said wonderingly, and she spun back around, wide-eyed. “Now don’t you talk like that,” she snapped. She sounded shaken by the idea of it. “You didn’t have to do a blessed thing. I chose to come, if you’ll recall. And I’ll be staying as long as I please, so don’t you start entertaining any pointless notions about not deserving me.” A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of Luke’s mouth. “That’s just what I mean, actually,” he said softly. “You chose this, knowing the risks you took, and I don’t…” He sighed. “I don’t understand why you would do such a thing. For me.” “Now you listen to me,” she said, but her voice was kind and gentle, not harsh. She closed the distance between them and stood just before him, looking up into his gaze. And, softly, she asked, “What on earth makes you think I wouldn’t?” “Have I ever given you any cause?” he whispered. “You were…you were just my valet’s wife, then. And I thought—” He laughed, despairing, and dragged his hands through his hair. Gently, Mrs. Ginnings took hold of his wrists and drew his hands down. “I was just your valet’s wife then,” she repeated. “And now?” “Now…” He stared at her, emotion like a knot in his throat, choking him. He had to continue in a whisper: “I do not want any harm to befall you.” A smile spread over her face, slow and bright. “Well, then,” 165

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she said, as though satisfied, and let her hands fall. “That is reason enough, don’t you think?” He shook his head, staring at her, unable to look away. “It’s not enough. I can’t do anything to prevent it.” “It is, child.” She sighed, and her lips thinned as she gazed upon him. “You’re too used to shouldering everyone’s share of blame and responsibility. This—” She waved a hand about them. “This isn’t yours to claim.” The smile slid back into place, just a little wicked. “And I bet your pirate would agree with me.” “Oh, gods,” Luke groaned, and spun away. “He’s not my pirate.” “Oh, so we’re going to have this argument again, are we?” She gave a sharp laugh. “Say what you like, dear. I know what my eyes tell me.” “I don’t…I don’t understand,” Luke said with a great sigh, and dragged his hands through his hair again. Mrs. Ginnings leaned against the rail next to him. “How you feel, you mean?” “No.” Though that, too, was true enough. He gave a mirthless laugh. “How you feel.” She turned to him, her brows arched high, her expression startled. “I don’t know what you mean, child. What do I have to do with any of this?” “You’re wonderful,” Luke said quietly. “And what you said…” He cast back, trying to remember the words she’d said. And was stunned to realize that she hadn’t said any at all. “You just said you wanted me to be happy,” he whispered, staring at her. Mrs. Ginnings sent him a bemused smile, uncomprehending. “Shouldn’t I?” “No—I mean, yes, but that’s not what I meant. When I… 166

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When you…heard… You knew that we were…what we were doing, and…” He blew out his breath sharply. He could not even manage to speak the words his own self. How could he ever hope to broach such topics with anyone else? He squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to speak. “Conall and me.” “Oh,” she said. He didn’t have to open his eyes to know she smiled. He could hear it in the warmth of her tone. “Well, child? What about you two?” He dropped his hands and looked at her, feeling as helpless as a child. “They can’t ever know,” he whispered. The last time he’d told her such a thing, it had been a demand. Now, it was just the bitter truth. “No one would accept it, and you… I don’t know why you do.” Mrs. Ginnings sighed and brushed a strand of hair back from her face. “You don’t imagine you’re the first person to fall in love with someone you shouldn’t, do you?” “I don’t love him!” Luke cried. “Gods, the both of you—you’re incorrigible.” She gave him a side smile. “It doesn’t really matter, child. You’ve stumbled into…whatever this thing between you is, and now you’re stuck with it. It’s not a pleasant spot to be in, I know.” Luke frowned at her, dubious. “Do you?” He’d never have taken her for the sort to go about falling for the wrong person, getting herself into the sort of knot that Luke was in. He was quite certain she’d never have let herself fall for the likes of a pirate. “Oh certainly! I’ve made my fair share of mistakes, just like anyone.” Luke turned his head to look at her. “Do you think this is a mistake?” he asked quietly. “That I shouldn’t be…” He floundered 167

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for words that weren’t vulgar or shocking, but couldn’t find any. She seemed to have little trouble grasping his meaning, though. She smiled at him, patted his cheek, and said, “Who’s to say? Certainly not I. No one but you can make that distinction, and I’ll wager that even then you won’t be able to make it until long after the fact. But,” she continued, raising her voice when Luke began to slump with resignation, “I’ll not tell you anything that makes you happy is a mistake, child. You’ve had little enough joy to call your own as it is.” “Don’t be ridiculous,” he protested feebly. “I’ve never wanted for anything.” She slanted him an amused look. “Don’t think I haven’t watched you growing up, child. You were not a happy boy.” Luke gaped at her, astonished. “You didn’t laugh and play like the other children. You were so serious about everything.” “I was studying,” he whispered. “I had my tutors, and lessons—” “Yes,” she said, and gave a disparaging snort. “All your life, you’ve had one person or another telling you what you must do, who you must be, what your future must hold. That’s my point, of course. You never had the chance to pursue anything of your own.” She gazed out across the water and sighed. “And now you have found something that you take pleasure in, something all your own, and you fear that when you return, it too will be taken from you.” She turned and caught Luke’s gaze with her own, and murmured, “My heart breaks for you, child. It truly does.” Luke’s mouth worked, but he could not manage to speak. At last, he stammered, “That is…that is all preposterous. Who on in their right mind would pity a prince? And…you mean Conall, of 168

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course, when you talk of this thing I’ve found, that I take pleasure in and fear to lose? That is…” He shook his head wildly. “I had not even dreamt of such a thing, to bring him home and hope to keep him, like a puppy found wandering the streets? He would never stand for it. It had not entered my mind that this might be anything but a temporary arrangement.” But that was not quite the truth, because for a brief moment, when he had gazed out at the city and contemplated a place where two men might take pleasure in one another without anyone batting an eye at it, he had felt…nothing so strong as hope, but a sense of wonderment, of fleeting possibility. Mrs. Ginnings braced her elbows on the rail and leaned her chin on her fists, watching Luke from the edge of her vision. “He has been good for you, I think.” Luke turned and stared at her. “He kidnapped me!” A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “I watched you climbing those ropes, child.” She gestured behind them. “You’d never have dreamed of doing such a thing before.” He followed her gaze, staring up at the mast and the broken yard that he’d climbed to, and climbed out upon. “It had to be done,” he said weakly. “And Conall could not manage it.” Her smile spread. “A month ago, you’d not have spoken a word in protest, and would have let him kill himself trying to do it himself.” “I certainly would not!” Luke snapped, stung. But would he have? Truly, it had never occurred to him to offer the least bit of help to the crew who had sailed his ship. If it had been one of them injured, would he have offered his help so readily, or expected them to find a solution themselves? “Or you could have let him wait until one of his own men 169

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returned to help him.” Mrs. Ginnings looked at him a moment and sighed. “I don’t know what you ought to do, child. I don’t know what I would do, were I in your position. But there’s time yet to figure it out.” Luke nodded and gazed out to sea, too choked to reply. Only days before, it had seemed he could not be home soon enough. Now it felt like there was not enough time at all, and every minute of it was slipping through his fingers while he floundered for a solution that likely did not even exist.

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CHAPTER 14 Soon enough, the growing heat drove them down off the exposed deck. Still, Luke could not stomach the idea of spending the day in the cabin, even with the key in his hand and no chance of being locked inside against his will. So they dashed inside just long enough to ransack the chests and cubbyholes and turn up a cribbage board. They took it out to the shade on the main deck, along with pillows on which to sit, and played until the rising sun chased them inside. The sun was nearing the horizon when Conall returned, with baskets once again in tow—though considerably fewer than he’d brought the night before. “How’re things, lad?” he asked as Luke scampered down the gangway to help him carry his load up. “Just thrilling,” Luke answered dryly. “The excitement never 171

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ends.” Conall grinned and fell back, allowing Luke to step off onto the deck first. Luke set his basket down and turned to take Conall’s. The pirate gave him an arch look. “I can carry my own load.” “You’re still limping,” Luke pointed out. “Well, my leg still hurts. What do you expect?” He bit his tongue and didn’t answer. “And how’d things going at the shipwright’s?” “Oh, well enough, I suppose. It’ll cost me the whole of my share of the bounty, but he swore he’d have a replacement up and fitted within a few days. With that and provisions, we’ll be on our way before you know it.” Luke nodded and forced a smile, but couldn’t summon as much enthusiasm for the idea as he’d have had even a day before. If Conall noted his silence he didn’t comment on it. They carried the food into the cabin together and dragged the chairs back around the desk for supper. And again, as before, after she’d finished eating Mrs. Ginnings quietly excused herself and slipped outside, leaving the two of them alone together. Luke tore his roll in half and picked at the crust, avoiding looking at Conall. But he could feel the weight of the other man’s gaze upon him. “Oh hell,” he said at last, sighing as he set down the bread and drained the wine from his cup. He rose and came around the desk. Conall’s lips stretched into a crooked grin as Luke approached, but it evaporated when Luke climbed up into the chair with him and pressed their bodies close, wrapping his arms tight around Conall’s neck. “Well, now,” Conall said, trying to sound light and carefree, but his voice was rough when he spoke, surprised and pleased. “What’s this?” 172

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“Nothing,” Luke whispered, pressing his face into the crook of Conall’s neck. “It’s nothing.” “Missed me, did you?” That, too, didn’t come out nearly as teasing as it should have. Conall eased his arms around Luke, hands settling lightly at his waist. Luke couldn’t answer, but he pressed in tighter, held on harder, and that seemed to be answer enough to satisfy Conall. “I know you’re starting to weary of me,” he whispered against Conall’s skin, where it was dark and close and Conall seemed to surround him entirely, “but I just need…” Conall grew still against him. “What?” he asked roughly. “Tell me.” Luke closed his eyes and shuddered. “If you would just hold on to me…please…” Conall’s arms tightened around him, pulling Luke in close against his chest. “Weary of you?” he murmured, and gave a choked laugh. “Lad, you don’t know half as much as you think you do.” “But…” Luke tried to push up, to see Conall’s expression, but the pirate’s grip wouldn’t ease. He relaxed within Conall’s embrace again and spoke into his shoulder, “Last night you did not want me in your bed.” Conall cupped Luke’s chin and turned his face up to his. “Is that what you think?” Luke blinked at him slowly. “You didn’t…offer. What else should I think?” Conall shook his head with a quiet, disbelieving laugh. His thumb brushed over Luke’s cheek. “And you didn’t ask.” “I thought…” he whispered. “That’s never stopped you before.” 173

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Conall’s smile pulled sideways, wry and bitter. “Even a pirate tires of having to take what he wants through force and coercion eventually, lad. It would not kill you to ask for what you want, would it, rather than waiting for me to offer it?” Luke sat back, just enough that he could frown up at the other man. “Are you mad? I’ve told you what I want, time and again. You’ve made me.” “Yes, when your pants were already off and my hands were on you.” His smile stretched, thinned. “It would be nice to have you in my bed once without having had to first convince you that you wanted to be there.” “Oh,” Luke murmured, and frowned thoughtfully. He sought Conall’s gaze, held it. “I want…” He chewed on the edge of his lip, then blew out his breath with a sigh. “I don’t want to sleep on the floor again.” Conall’s smile brightened a few degrees. He skimmed his lips along the edge of Luke’s jaw. “That is not quite what I’m looking for, lad.” Luke sighed again, sharper, frustrated. “You are asking quite a lot of me, you know.” Conall rocked back and looked down on him curiously. “Am I really?” “I don’t—” Luke waved his hand, struggling to grasped for the right words to explain. “I don’t know how to talk about such things. To…ask for such things.” He stared up at Conall, aching with frustration. “Now, I know that’s not true,” Conall murmured. His fingers slid through Luke’s hair. “You asked me very nicely just the other night.” Luke frowned, trying to remember. And once he had, his 174

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cheeks burned. Fuck me, he had begged. Please just fuck me. “I…can’t,” he whispered, shuddering at the memory. “I can’t say that. It’s…shameless, and vulgar, and…” He could not even remember what had possessed him to say it in the first place, except that Conall’s hands had been on him, teasing him, and the need for more had been all he could think of. Conall bent down, laving his tongue slowly over Luke’s lip. “It is a shameless, vulgar thing you want of me, lad,” he murmured, smiling. “Which is just as it ought to be. Can you truly not bring yourself to tell me what you want?” Luke reached out and slid his fingers along Conall’s cheek. “I want…” His voice shook. “I want to…to go to bed…with you…and…” He broke off with a cry, and beat his fist against the other man’s shoulder. “Conall! This is cruel! Just, just touch me, for heaven’s sake.” Conall’s smile bloomed slow and warm across his face. “Well,” he murmured. His arms tightened, holding Luke against him, lifting him as he rose from the chair. “Now that’ll do just fine.” Conall covered Luke’s mouth with his own as he carried his across the cabin, luring him into a greedy kiss. “Be careful—” Luke gasped against his mouth as Conall’s gait hitched with every step. “Do shut up,” Conall interrupted, grinning, and tumbled him down onto the bed. His weight pinned Luke onto his back. The feel of Conall’s hips pressed to his, his cock already straining against his trousers, made Luke groan and drag at the pirate’s clothes. Conall stretched out over him and fit their mouths together for another deep, drugging kiss. His tongue slid into Luke’s mouth, flicked against 175

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the sensitive inner surfaces of his lips. Luke threaded his fingers through the hair at Conall’s temples and cradled his face as they kissed. Conall thrust his hips sharply against Luke’s, punctuating the movement with a low growl. Luke’s breath hitched and he dragged Conall’s mouth harder against his, but Conall grunted and held him back. “Hold on,” he muttered, and gathered Luke close against his chest. “Hold on to me, lad.” Luke slid his hands down to Conall’s back, holding on tight, but he was still startled when Conall rolled with him, flipping their positions so Conall was on his back and Luke straddling his hips, blinking down at him in surprise. “That’s better,” Conall said with a grin, and tried to tug Luke’s mouth back down to his. Luke held himself back, frowning. “Is it your leg? We should—” “My leg is fine now,” Conall said with a pointed look. “We should most definitely continue what we were doing.” And he bent up, faster than Luke could scramble back, and caught Luke’s mouth once again. Luke melted into his kiss, sinking down onto Conall, his hands braced on the bed to take some of his weight. Conall pulled his shirt out from his trousers with a quick jerk that made Luke’s stomach muscles jump. He spread his hands over Luke’s abdomen, fingers wide, thumbs sweeping over the lines that delineated his muscles. Luke moaned his appreciation against Conall’s mouth and arched into the touch. The rough calluses on Conall’s hands scraped delightfully over skin as he dragged them up Luke’s 176

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stomach. His fingers walked up Luke’s ribs and stroked over his sternum. When he circled a thumb around the hard nub of Luke’s nipple, Luke exhaled sharply and bit at Conall’s lip. Conall rubbed circles around Luke’s nipple until he was writhing above him, making hungry sounds against Conall’s mouth. Conall spread his hands over Luke’s chest and pushed gently, then harder, until Luke broke away from the kiss and frowned down at him. “Sit up, princeling,” Conall murmured, smiling, his voice warm enough that Luke obeyed, pushing himself upright, without too much protest. Conall pushed Luke’s shirt up, revealing his stomach and abs. Luke caught the hem and finished the job, pulling it over his head and off. When Conall curved his hands around his shoulders and tugged him back down, Luke followed obligingly. But Conall only gave him a brief kiss, with only a hint of tongue, before he broke away and slid down the bed, so Luke was straddling his waist rather than his hips, and when Conall reared up it was not Luke’s mouth that he kissed but his nipple, drawing the flesh into his mouth and tormenting it with his tongue. Luke hunched over with a wordless cry, curling over Conall, his fingers spearing deep into the hair at his nape. He pressed kisses to the top of Conall’s head and muffled a gasp against his hair when Conall grazed Luke’s nipple with his teeth. Conall slid a hand between their bodies and tugged at the front of Luke’s trousers until they came unfastened. His hand slipped inside and hot fingers curled around Luke’s cock. Luke thrust sharply into Conall’s fist, hands clenching on the sheets. “This is hardly fair,” he breathed, chest heaving, as Conall’s hands and mouth worked over him. 177

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Conall drew away and tilted his head back, looking up at him. “No?” he murmured, grinning. “Shall I stop?” “No.” Luke closed his eyes and shuddered. “Gods, don’t do that. I just meant…” He shifted his weight, freeing one hand, and tugged at Conall’s shirt. “You’ve got me half undressed already, but you haven’t even taken your boots off.” Conall laughed, warm and rich. “Well? It’s not I who’s been remiss.” His eyes glittered up at Luke. “Why don’t you do something about it, lad?” Luke blinked down at him, then pushed himself back and crawled to the end of the bed. He tugged Conall’s boots off and dropped them over the edge of the bed to thud on the floor. He peeled his stockings off and cast them aside as well, then curved a hand around Conall’s calf and bent to kiss the inside of his ankle. Conall made a soft, murmuring sound, and when Luke glanced up he was watching him with a narrowed, heated gaze. Luke trailed his kisses up Conall’s calf, licking the defined line between leg and muscle. He continued until Conall’s trousers impeded his progress. He sat up and tore impatiently at Conall’s ties. Conall grinned at Luke as they came free, and lifted his hips from the bed so Luke could tug them down. Luke kissed his knee and let his tongue drag over the skin, then resumed his track up the inside of Conall’s thigh. He paused at the bandages, and laid a gentle kiss on top of them. Conall made a sound, not quite a laugh, and reached down to tug at Luke’s hair. “This is getting old, princeling. I’m not an invalid.” Luke scraped his teeth over Conall’s inner thigh and continued on. He licked along the hollow where hip joined thigh. His breath brushed over Conall’s cock, but he didn’t touch it, not yet. He 178

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glanced up at Conall and watched as emotion flickered across his face, until at last Conall pushed up onto his elbows and growled, “Luke. Damn it, lad, if you don’t put your mouth on me I’ll not be responsible for my actions.” Luke laughed softly, letting his breath gust over Conall’s flesh. When Conall groaned, he grinned and teased, “I had something else in mind.” “I suggest a change of plans,” Conall growled. He fisted his hands in Luke’s hair and tugged, hips arching up in wordless demand. Luke let his lips skim over the shaft of Conall’s cock, then let them part and his tongue drag over the skin. Conall sucked in air through his teeth and gave a sharp thrust against Luke’s mouth. Luke spread a hand over Conall’s hips, just at the base of his cock, and pressed him down into the bed. “Stop that,” he chastized. “You’ll hurt your leg.” “Lad! Gods.” Conall rolled his head back with a groan. “If you mention my damned leg once more, I swear—” “You’ll not be responsible for your actions?” Luke asked, brows raised, biting at his lips to restrain a grin. “Damned right I won’t,” Conall snapped. “Now quit yammering and find a better use for your mouth.” Luke bent and licked his cock again, one long line from root to tip, then took him into his mouth. He swallowed as much of Conall’s length as he could, and curled his fingers around the rest, stroking slowly as he worked mouth and tongue over Conall’s flesh. Conall shifted restlessly beneath him, biting back hoarse sounds of pleasure. Luke drew back and sucked at the head, fingers slipping over his slick skin. He withdrew completely and watched 179

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frustration chase across Conall’s features. His hand pumped over Conall’s cock, too loose and too slow, teasing, until Conall’s brows furrowed and his lips compressed into a thin line. Before he could speak, Luke bent and took a testicle into his mouth. He rolled it about on his tongue, sucking gently, until Conall’s fingers clenched tight on the blankets. Luke sucked the other into his mouth and did the same, then lifted them both gently out of the way and drew his tongue over the skin behind them. He pushed Conall’s leg up, bent at the knee, adjusting the angle of his hips, and bent to dab his tongue carefully at the small, puckered ring of muscle. “Ah, gods,” Conall breathed. “Princeling. You’ll be the death of me.” Luke licked again, slowly circling his tongue around Conall’s entrance. His fingers stroked over Conall’s cock, slid down to caress his balls as Luke’s tongue continued its torment. Conall spread his legs for Luke, his back arching off the mattress. Gradually, Luke increased the pressure and tightened the circles he drew on Conall’s flesh, until it was more of a thrust than a lick, the tip of his tongue pressing against Conall’s entrance. Until at last, with a long, unsteady sigh, Conall relaxed, and the muscle that held him closed to Luke eased. “Gods.” Conall gasped. “Luke. Princeling. Gods.” And Luke had a flash of memory so vivid it stole his breath, of Conall teasing him just like this, making Luke moan like a wanton, and the sudden, piercing desire to roll him over and turn the tables, and see just how much the pirate could take before he, too, cried out. Luke pressed in again, letting his tongue slide slowly in and out. He curled a hand around Conall’s cock and stroked, fingers wrapped tight around the hard shaft. Conall twisted sharply 180

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beneath him, but he didn’t make a sound. When Luke circled his thumb around the head of his cock and flicked it across the narrow slit at its tip, Conall groaned and wrenched at the blankets. The muscles in his thighs shuddered beneath Luke’s touch. Luke pressed in again, driving deeper than the last, and pumped Conall’s cock with a steady, demanding rhythm. Conall’s chest rose and fell like a bellows, each breath audible as it rushed through his lungs. Luke drove him on, faster, harder, shivering with anticipation as he waited for Conall’s cry. Conall’s hands suddenly closed on Luke’s shoulders, shoving at him. “Wait.” He gasped. “Stop. I’m too close.” Luke drew back reluctantly. He kissed Conall’s inner thigh and circled his thumb around the ring of muscle instead, watching as Conall shivered. But Conall grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand away, and murmured, “No. I mean it.” He tugged at Luke’s hand, watching him from beneath a hooded gaze. “Come up here, lad.” Luke climbed slowly up Conall’s body, letting skin slide against skin. Conall stretched up and caught his mouth as soon as he was above him, kissing him and running his hands over Luke’s back with an obvious hunger. Luke broke away and pressed his lips to the hollow of Conall’s throat. “There is something else I want,” he said against his skin. Conall gave a slow, lazy smile and slid his hands down Luke’s back. “Tell me.” Luke pushed up, looking down at him. He worried his lower lip between his teeth, then released it with a sigh and whispered, “Let me fuck you.” Conall’s brows shot up and he turned to stone beneath Luke, hard and motionless. Slowly, slowly, he relaxed back into the mattress. “All right.” 181

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Luke reared back, blinking at him in astonishment. “Really?” A small grin pulled at the edge of Conall’s mouth. “What, lad, did you think I would refuse you?” he asked, and his tone was light, like he was making a joke, but his words were soft, quiet. “Well…I don’t know,” Luke confessed, then gave him a chagrined smile. “A little.” Conall shook his head. “I told you, didn’t I? All you have to do is ask.” Luke lowered himself slowly down onto Conall, and slanted his mouth over the other man’s. Conall curved a hand around the back of his neck and turned the kiss fierce and needy. Luke’s breath hitched in his chest. He snaked his tongue into Conall’s mouth, seeking more as his hand raced over Conall’s chest. His fingers clutched at the pirate’s shirt, wrenching at it, and he made an impatient sound against Conall’s mouth. “Get it off,” he muttered. “Damn it…” Conall curved an arm around the small of his back, holding him tight so that when he sat up Luke moved with him, knees splayed on either side of Conall’s hips, feasting on his lips like a starving man. Conall tore his shirt off over his head, forcing Luke to break away from the kiss. As soon as it was discarded, Luke pressed in again, bearing Conall down onto his back. He sucked at the hollow beneath Conall’s jaw, nipped a trail down his throat to his sternum and licked the salt from his skin. Conall shifted restlessly beneath him as Luke kissed across his chest, his tongue drawing meaningless patterns across his flesh. Luke found his nipple, drawn into a tight knot, and teased it with his tongue until Conall’s breath grew ragged and sharp. When Luke captured it between his teeth and tugged, Conall wrenched 182

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him away and demanded, “Are you going to fuck me or not, lad?” “I’m getting to it,” Luke said, and bent over him again. He did not move on until Conall was straining beneath him, his hands clenched into white-knuckled fists, his face twisted with an expression that might have been agony as easily as ecstasy. It was unnerving; Luke had to look away. He settled himself between Conall’s thighs and drew Conall’s legs up. His slicked his thumb with saliva and circled it around Conall’s entrance, then pressed in with a slight, rocking pressure, bearing down and easing back until Conall shuddered and his body opened to Luke. Luke’s thumb sank in to the first knuckle and Conall’s muscles spasmed tight around his invasion. He groaned, a hoarse, wild sound, and Luke froze. His gaze sought Conall’s frantically, but Conall’s eyes were squeezed tightly shut, his face turned to the side, pressed hard against the pillow. “Conall,” Luke whispered, stroking his fingers over Conall’s thigh. He watched Conall’s expression flicker in reaction to his voice. Slowly, Conall drew a deep breath. “What is it, lad?” “Is it…” Luke worried at his lower lip. “It’s good, right?” Conall groaned, and the sound trailed off in the end to a choked laugh. “Princeling,” he said, “if it’s not good, you will know, I assure you.” Luke hesitated. “But…” Conall moved beneath him, a sharp thrust of his hips, driving Luke deeper into him. “Gods,” he breathed, and the corners of his mouth turned up with a bemused smile. “Damned innocents. Am I going to have to coddle you through all this, lad?” “No,” Luke murmured, stung despite the warmth in Conall’s voice. He bit at Conall’s hip in chastisement. “But you’re not 183

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going to rush me, either.” He drove into Conall again, a sharp thrust that buried him to the last knuckle, and whatever Conall meant to say was lost in a ragged groan. Luke knelt between his legs and bent to suck at the tip of Conall’s cock as he withdrew his thumb, and pressed two fingers into him instead. He lapped the first drops of fluid up from where they welled at the tip as he nudged his fingers slowly deeper, carefully stretching Conall wider. The feel of Conall’s muscles fluttering around him, a rhythmic clench and release, made Luke dizzy with desire. He pressed his brow to Conall’s stomach and pushed in a little harder, a little deeper. He remembered Conall in him like this, probing, and touching something that made explosions dance across his vision. He moved his fingers around, exploring, searching for it. The tip of one finger brushed something solid, and Conall jerked beneath him with a gasp. Luke raised his head and looked down at Conall. His eyes had flown open, his expression startled. Luke stroked that place again and watched Conall’s mouth fall open on a soundless cry, his body arching off the bed. “Lad.” Conall gasped, a bare thread of sound. “If you want to fuck me, you’d best stop that.” Luke licked a long, slow line up Conall’s shaft. “You don’t like it?” he teased. “No.” Conall groaned. “The problem is rather the opposite.” Luke kissed his way up Conall’s body, taking his time and enjoying every impatient sound that Conall made. At last he was above him, looking down at his flushed face, their hips matched together. He gave a few sharp thrusts, skin sliding against skin, just to watch the pleasure chase across his face. Conall made an 184

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impatient sound and spat in his palm, then reached down between them to stroke Luke’s cock with it. He gripped it at the base, helping Luke to angle it so he pressed against Conall’s entrance. “Look at me,” Luke whispered urgently, shaking from the strain of holding himself still. “Conall! Look at me!” Conall’s eyes blinked open. He stared up at Luke, his pupils so wide they swallowed his irises. Luke flexed his hips, slowly bearing down, easing him open. Conall’s eyes fluttered but stayed open, fixed on his as Luke sank into him. Luke’s fingers curled into the bedding at the feel of Conall enveloping him, the heat, the staggering sensation of muscles convulsing around him. “Conall,” he breathed, staring down at him in awe, and gave a short, tentative thrust. Conall reacted, body bowing off the bed, fingers clawing down Luke’s back, and Luke had to do it again, drawing back and driving forward, locking their hips together, watching Conall twist beneath him, and once he started he couldn’t stop. Luke drove into him again and again, sweat clinging to his skin, slipping down his spine, unable to look away from Conall’s face and the way it reflected every movement. Conall’s knuckles brushed his stomach. Luke pushed himself up, looking down, and groaned at the sight of Conall’s hand gripping his own cock, pumping fiercely. When he looked up again Conall caught his gaze, held it, his eyes smoldering and intense as Luke drove into him, long, deep thrusts that made Conall shudder at the end of each. Luke grabbed Conall’s leg and tugged it up higher, adjusting the angle of Conall’s hips beneath him, trying to find the spot he’d found before. Suddenly Conall convulsed around him, muscles clamping down, and he gave a sharp, piercing cry, followed by a 185

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muffled oath. It was too much to bear. With Conall’s cry still ringing in his ears, Luke buried himself deep and shuddered, gasping, shaking, as he spent himself within Conall. He slumped forward on top him, limp and boneless. Conall’s breath gusted against his ear. His hand still moved between them, fingers clenching, stroking, muffled sounds working their way out with each breath. With a groan, Luke pushed himself up onto one elbow. He snaked his other hand down between them and pushed Conall’s away, taking his place with his own. Conall’s eyes flickered to his, locked with his, as he took up the rhythm, and Luke watched from inches away as he stroked Conall to his own climax. Luke eased down onto him again, heedless of the stickiness between them. He lay there, content, lethargic, face pressed to the hollow of Conall’s throat and breathing in the scent of him. Conall spoke first, sometime later. Luke wasn’t sure how long—he’d begun to drift to sleep, feeling lazy and replete and uninterested in doing much of anything beyond laying there, feeling Conall’s heart beat beneath his chest, as he waited for his bones to congeal. “Oh, lad.” Conall sighed, grave. Luke roused himself at the sound of his voice. “That was…unexpected.” “Was it?” He licked languorously at Conall’s throat. “I wouldn’t know.” He pushed himself up and slid down the bed. Conall’s seed was smeared across his stomach. Luke dragged a finger through it, then sucked thoughtfully at his fingertip. It was salty and bitter and not entirely pleasant, but not wholly unpleasant, either. He bent and licked Conall’s stomach experimentally, and Conall made a small noise of encouragement, 186

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so Luke continued until he had licked him clean. He crawled back up the bed and looked down at Conall’s startled face. His cheeks heated. “The blankets, you know,” he murmured, grinning shyly. Conall laughed and wrapped his arms around Luke and rolled so they were both on their sides, Luke’s back next to the well. Luke laid his cheek on Conall’s arm and blinked up at his large, dark eyes. “I’m going to stay here tonight,” he murmured, “if it’s all right with you.” The corners of Conall’s eyes creased. “All right? Lad…” He made a sound that was laugh and groan combined. “I’ve been trying to get you up here from the very start.” “Good,” Luke said, and closed his eyes, letting himself sink deeper into the mattress, into Conall’s embrace, and drifted once more to sleep.

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CHAPTER 15 The next thing Luke came aware of was Conall’s hands on his shoulders, bearing him forcefully down onto the bed, his voice a rough purr in Luke’s ear, murmuring, “Wake up, princeling.” Luke rubbed the grit from his eyes and looked around, but the only light coming through the windows was faint starlight. “Why?” he asked muzzily. Conall’s lips curved against his ear. “Your chaperone is asleep.” “Shouldn’t we be, too?” Luke mumbled. “It’s too early.” Conall tsked at him. “And squander the opportunity to indulge in a little wickedness? That would be such a shame.” He released his hold on Luke’s shoulders and slid his hands down to curve into Luke’s hips. He kissed down Luke’s stomach, flicked his tongue 188

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over the edge of Luke’s navel. “Besides, I never got my turn.” “Your turn to—” Luke broke off when Conall took his penis in his hand and ran his tongue gently around the head. Heat arrowed through him, and he stiffened in Conall’s hand. “Oh.” Conall raised his head. Luke couldn’t see him, but he could imagine Conall grinning at him through the darkness. “Still want to go back to sleep?” Luke reached down blindly, until his fingers found Conall’s head, threaded through Conall’s hair, and tugged him back down. “Well, in the interest of fairness…” Conall’s laughter rumbled against Luke’s skin as he bent and took Luke into his mouth. He suckled at the tip until Luke was hard, then pressed Luke’s hips to the bed and swallowed his whole length, so deep Luke could feel the back of his throat. Luke choked back a gasp and tried to hold himself still as Conall’s tongue worked over him. But it was too much—his hips jerked. Conall rocked back, then bent over him again, and used the forward momentum to shove Luke back down onto the bed. “It’s my turn, lad,” he scolded, and there was mischief in his tone. “You’ve already had yours.” Luke let his head fall back against the mattress. Conall’s mouth covered him, surrounding him—so different from the night before, but no less intoxicating. Luke concentrated on long, slow breaths to keep his breathing even as Conall tormented him, his tongue flicking over Luke’s flesh. Somehow, his hands were tangled in Conall’s hair, though Luke didn’t remember deciding to reach for him. And a moan—his moan—was shivering on the air, though Luke knew he’d intended to keep himself quiet, for fear of waking Mrs. Ginnings. But Conall’s mouth was moving over him with a steady, rhythmic 189

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stroke, and his hands chased feverishly over Luke’s skin, and Luke dug his teeth into his lip and could not remember anything at all. “Conall,” he breathed, an urgent whisper. “Conall, wait.” Conall drew back just long enough to say, “No, lad. I don’t think so.” And then his mouth was on Luke’s cock again, driving him relentlessly toward madness. Luke writhed beneath him, aching with need, tension drawing his muscles into knots. “Please…” Conall drew back, suckling at the head of Luke’s cock, both hands wrapped and stroking over his shaft. “Let me hear you, lad,” he murmured. “Let me hear it.” Luke’s breathing hitched. He shook his head wildly. “I can’t,” he whispered. “Gods! Conall. I can’t!” “No?” Conall hummed against his skin. Luke bit back a choked sound. “Ah, I have trouble believing that.” “She’ll… She’ll hear.” He shuddered beneath Conall’s touches. “Conall.” Conall dragged the flat of his tongue along the underside of Luke’s cock. “You said she already has.” “That’s not…that’s not the same…” Conall’s lips curved. “Shall I stop?” “Gods!” Luke grabbed at his hair. “Don’t you dare.” Conall laughed huskily and sucked at his skin. “Let me hear you, lad,” he murmured, softer. His hand slipped between Luke’s thighs to caress his balls. “Let me hear you cry for me.” “Wh-Why?” Luke panted, shuddering beneath his attentions. Conall licked a finger and slid it down, between his cheeks. Luke bit his knuckle to stifle a ragged groan. Conall laughed again, his breath stuttering against Luke’s aching flesh. “Because you make the prettiest sounds when you let 190

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yourself go.” Luke stared down at him in consternation. “I certainly do not.” Conall’s grin flashed. “I assure you, you do,” he said, then bent and took one of Luke’s testicles into his mouth as though to prove it. His finger pressed deeper between Luke’s cheeks, nudging against his anus. Luke sucked in his breath and bore down against the pressure, urging him deeper. Conall sank in to his first knuckle and made small, probing movements, but went no deeper. His teeth grazed over Luke’s skin, a slight sting followed by the cool wash of his breath. Luke made a sound perilously like a whimper and clamped his muscles down around Conall’s finger. “Please,” he whispered. “Please. Please.” Conall hummed in response, lips still wrapped around Luke’s flesh, and Luke nearly came undone. He surged up, shoving at Conall, twisting and writhing beneath him, legs curling up against his chest, struggling to roll Conall off of him and free himself from the pirate’s weight, that he might claim what Conall denied him. The sudden flurry of motion took Conall by surprise, and Luke nearly won free of him. But Conall had a pirate’s reflexes, and recovered quickly. He pounced on Luke and pinned him to the bed with the whole of his weight, body slanted across Luke’s, fingers bruising his arms. “Now, lad.” Conall looked down at him in lighthearted disapproval. “Is that any way to show your gratitude?” “Gratitude!” Luke shoved uselessly at him. “What have I to be thankful for? You are a tease, and you will drive me mad with your torments!” Conall feigned a wounded expression. “A tease? Surely you do me a disservice.” He caught Luke’s nipple between his fingers and 191

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tugged at it. Luke arched up off the bed with a moan. “I’ve no desire to deny you. You shall have what you want.” He bent and covered Luke’s lips with his own, slipped deftly into his mouth for a slow, drugging kiss, so sweet it ached. When he drew back, Luke blinked up at him. The corners of Conall’s mouth turned up. “Just as soon as I do.” Luke started to protest, his brows furrowed. Conall nudged his finger deeper and Luke lost his breath all at once. Conall stretched out along his body, nuzzling close against his ear. He whispered sweet, enticing words as he rocked his finger back and forth in Luke’s ass, slowly sinking deeper, stretching him wider. “What do you want of me?” Luke whispered, pleading. His skin was flushed and hot, the air like honey in his lungs. Conall brushed his lips along Luke’s throat. “I want to hear you. That’s all.” “I can’t.” Luke gasped, flinging his head back as his body shuddered beneath Conall’s ministrations. “I can’t!” Conall’s teeth scraped over his shoulder. “Why not?” “She-She’ll hear.” Conall’s fingers dragged down Luke’s stomach, drew circles on the head of his cock. “I’m afraid she’ll hear.” Conall raised his head and looked down at Luke. For a moment, he stilled, his fingers hesitating on Luke’s flesh. “I want you to do it anyway,” he murmured, and plunged his finger in deep, all the way, so that he touched that spot within Luke that drove him wild and made him forget about everything else. Luke sobbed, the heels of his hands pressed ineffectually against his mouth to muffle the sounds. Conall slithered down and sucked Luke’s cock into his mouth, bobbing over it as he thrust his finger into Luke again and again. Each stroke drove him a step 192

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closer toward madness, made him clutch at the blankets and thrash as wild, keening sounds tore themselves from his throat. Conall added a second finger, stretching him, and didn’t give him any chance at all to adjust to the new invasion. They pumped into Luke, relentlessly demanding, and as he hit that spot a final time, it all burst through Luke like a firestorm, his body rocked as though by an explosion, jerking and shuddering, muscles clamping tight around Conall’s fingers and seed spraying across Luke’s stomach as a high, piercing cry wrenched through him. Chills stole over his skin as the heat faded, and it seemed to Luke that he’d never stop trembling. Conall dragged his tongue over Luke’s sweat-slick skin and stretched out beside him. Luke could not decide whether he wanted to push him away or curl up against his warmth, which was just as well, because he could not summon the energy to move. “There, now,” Conall murmured, and nipped at his chin. “You did not die of mortification.” “That remains to be seen.” Luke opened his eyes and turned his head to look at him. “Why do you delight in tormenting me so?” Conall’s smile turned bemused. “And here I thought you were enjoying yourself,” he said breezily. “My mistake.” Luke looked away. “That’s not the point.” Conall rose over him, and turned his gaze back with a gentle hand on his cheek. “Then what is, lad?” Luke groaned and covered his face with his hands. “You’re shameless,” he said through his fingers, not a criticism, just the simple truth. “I’m not. I can’t be. Bad enough Mrs. Ginnings knows. If we woke her up because of…that…because of me…” He shook his head hard. His cheeks heated beneath his palms. “I would never be able to look her in the eye again.” 193

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Conall’s fingers circled Luke’s wrists. He drew Luke’s hands away from his face with gentle insistence and looked down on him curiously. After a moment, he asked, “You think she would scold you for your choice of bed partner?” “No.” Luke released a shuddering breath. “I know she wouldn’t. Though gods alone know why.” He gave a great sigh and rolled over onto his side, facing the cabin’s wall. Conall pressed up against his back and draped an arm over his side. Luke closed his eyes, feeling Conall’s breath ruffle through his hair and tickle the nape of his neck. “This would be so very much simpler if I were not Samari,” he murmured after a while. Conall made a soft, inquisitive noise behind him. “Or a prince.” He gave a soft, broken laugh. “If I were your catamite, like you said, it would be so very simple indeed.” Conall tightened his arm, drawing Luke back against him, molding their bodies together. His lips whispered over Luke’s cheek. “If you were my catamite,” he murmured, “then I would spend a night rutting between your thighs, and leave you in the morn with a handful of coin for your troubles. And should we ever chance to meet again, I would likely not even remember your face, much less your name.” He rolled Luke over onto his back and rose up above him, looking down. His thumb brushed over Luke’s cheek. “And that would be a shame.” “And when I am not a prince?” Luke whispered, unable to look away from him. “When I am king, and…and the sort of man who hunts down men like you and puts nooses around your necks? What then?” “I don’t know.” Conall guided Luke’s mouth to his and kissed him softly, gently. “But you are not that man. Not yet.” Luke snaked his arms around Conall’s neck and pulled the 194

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other man down to stretch atop him, his weight a delicious comfort. He pressed Conall’s face to his chest and held him tight, staring into the shadows as they clung to one another, waiting for true morning to come. Luke must have drifted to sleep; when next he awoke the cabin was lighter and Conall was sprawled haphazardly atop him, one arm and leg thrown across, pinning him with their weight. A small sound wriggled its way into his awareness. Luke thought that must have been what had woken him, but before he could even begin to wonder what it was, the door to Mrs. Ginnings’s room opened and she strode out, tugging distractedly at her skirt’s ties. Luke froze and stared at her profile, petrified. Conall’s head was notched beneath his jaw like two matched pieces of a puzzle, dark hair mingling with pale. There was no mistaking it. Heat washed over Luke’s cheeks. He brought his hands up to cover his face, wishing it really were possible to die of embarrassment. His movement roused Conall, enough that he rolled over and mumbled something unintelligible, and pushed up onto an elbow just enough to drag a hand through his hair and look about in groggy uncertainty. “Good morning, lads,” she said as she strode by, with a cursory nod of acknowledgment. “It’s looking to be a fine day out, isn’t it?” She took a roll and some cheese from their supper baskets and carried them outside. Conall was staring after her, his expression caught somewhere between astonishment and suspicion. At length, he settled on the former and gave a bark of laughter. “Well, I’ll be damned.” Luke groaned and dropped his hands to stare at Conall. Conall just looked at him and laughed. 195

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“Well? The world did not end, did it?” Luke’s brows drew together. “I don’t understand how you can be so cavalier about all this,” he snapped. “If that were your mother, would you have so little shame?” Something flickered across Conall’s face, shadowing it. “Like as not,” he said lightly, his tone entirely at odds with his expression. “Gods know, she could walk in on us in the middle of the act and she’d not blush about it.” He bent and laid a line of kisses along Luke’s collarbone. “Lad, if I seem shameless, it’s because I know that no one ever cares about such things half so much as you think they will.” Luke gave a sharp, humorless laugh. “Have you ever been to Samar?” Conall’s lips curved. “Once or twice. I tried not to linger. It’s not a terribly welcoming place for men in my vocation.” “No. Not particularly.” Luke sighed. “Perhaps no one here cares about such things as you’d fear, but in Samar they do.” He turned his face against Conall’s throat, breathing in the scent of his skin. “In Samar, they care very much. And I do not know how I am supposed to go home now and pretend that…everything is the same.” Conall looked down at him solemnly, and Luke waited, tense, fearing that Conall would try to reassure him with useless, meaningless platitudes. But he didn’t say anything, only bent and kissed him. Luke rose up into the kiss and wrapped his arms tightly around Conall’s back, clinging to what meager comfort he offered. When they parted, Conall rolled out of bed and trod naked across the cabin to rummage through his chests for a fresh change of clothes. Luke’s cheeks burned just watching him, and he stayed on the bed, blankets puddled around his waist, until Conall laughed 196

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and threw a pair of trousers at him. “Come on, lad,” he said. “I’m not your valet. You can come dress your own self.” Luke wriggled quickly into the pants, head ducked to hide his shyness, then crossed the cabin to stand by Conall. “And a shirt?” he asked, pointedly looking down at his bare chest. Conall followed his gaze and gave a wolfish grin. “Oh, lad,” he cried with false earnestness. “What an oversight, I seem to have sullied all my shirts, and there’s not a clean one to be had. You shall have to do without.” “Liar.” Luke made a face at him. “You’ve got shirts in your chest right there. I can see them.” “What? Those? No, I shouldn’t dream of putting you in such rustic garb, my princeling. It would surely chafe your delicate skin.” He caught Luke by the waist of his trousers and drew him close, so their hips bumped. “You shall definitely have to wait until I can have a fresh set washed. But, such a shame, it’s so damp here on the coast, it might take a day or more for the laundry to dry.” He clucked his tongue as though disappointed, but there was a wicked, teasing gleam in his eye. Luke looked up at him, fighting the urge to smile in response to Conall’s teasing. He kept his expression stern. “It is a ploy,” he accused. “To keep me stuck on your damned ship.” Conall laughed, his smile bright and warm. “It is a ploy,” he agreed. He hauled on the waist of Luke’s trousers again, jerking their bodies together. Luke’s breath frayed. “But not for anything so dull as that.” He snaked a hand down Luke’s stomach, fingers seeking inside his pants. Luke bit at the inside of his lip, forcing himself still as Conall’s fingers traced over his skin. “I suppose it’s a good thing I must 197

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dress myself after all,” he told Conall, shaking his hair back from his face and lifting his chin. “You make a terrible valet. The job is to put clothes on a man, not take them off.” “Oh, is that it?” Conall’s lips curved. He tugged at the buttons that held the garment closed. “I’m afraid you’re right, lad. Were I your valet, I should fail miserably at my task.” Luke caught him by the wrists before Conall could disrobe him completely. He tugged, bringing Conall a step in closer to him, and rose up on his toes to press a kiss to the pirate’s lips. Against them, he whispered, “Now, about that shirt, Captain…” Conall drew back, laughing, and pulled a garment from the chest. “Here, lad,” he said, and tossed it to him. Luke caught it easily, and pulled it over his head before Conall could come up with another reason to prevent it. “Will the shipwright come today?” he asked as he rolled the too-long cuffs up to the middle of his forearms. Conall laughed. “I did not pay him that well. These things take time. But there’s plenty of work to be done in the meanwhile.” He hesitated, reaching for his boots, and glanced up at Luke with a grin. “You’ll not insist I bare myself for your inspections again, will you? I’ll promise that my leg feels miraculously better, if it will ease your mind.” A crooked smile pulled at the corner of Luke’s mouth. “You may promise it, but I doubt I’ll believe you.” He shook his head and waved a hand. “No. I’ll leave you be to attend to your business. But if you come back to me limping and grimacing, so help me, I’ll tie you to that chair.” Conall’s grin spread. His eyes danced. “You are not terribly skilled at giving proper incentive, lad,” he said, laughter lurking in his voice. 198

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Luke kept his expression stern. “I do know how to properly scour a wound, I’ll have you know. You might bear that in mind.” “So noted.” Conall did not seem the least bit daunted. If anything, his grin only spread. He tugged his boots on and winked at Luke. “I reckon it’d be worth it, though.” Luke took Conall’s coat from where it had been tossed over the post at the foot of the bed and held it out to him. Conall shrugged into it, then caught Luke by his sleeve before he could step back. He drew Luke in and bent to give him a firm kiss that only left Luke wishing for more. “Mind what I told you yesterday,” he said, raising his head. “And keep those keys at hand.” Luke nodded and followed him out onto the deck to bid farewell. “I will. You mind what I told you about that leg.” Conall flashed a grin and stepped out onto the gangway. “Oh, I shall remember it, lad. Fondly. All day.”

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CHAPTER 16 Luke joined Mrs. Ginnings on the steps where she was eating her breakfast, though every step made his cheeks burn hotter. She smiled at him as he neared. He searched her gaze for any sort of censure or disapproval or mortification over what she had witnessed, but found only warmth and welcome. “Come, sit with me, child,” she said, and patted the space next to her. Luke sat, hovering uncomfortably on the edge, fingers curled into the stair’s lip. When Mrs. Ginnings offered him a bit of bread and cheese, he accepted it without a word, but it seemed tasteless on his tongue. “Gods above!” she said with a sigh. Luke slanted a glance at her from the corners of his vision. She 200

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was watching him with a bemused smile, shaking her head. “I stand by what I said. You’ve done yourself no favors by keeping ignorant in matters of love for so long. Do you suppose you’re the first young charge a chaperone has come across in someone’s bed?” She snorted in derision. “I fully expected you’d end up in your princess’s bed once we reached Ilia, you know, and I’d end up running all over the palace trying to hide your affair from those who would disapprove with only a betrothal contract in hand.” She turned to face him and pulled on his hand until he had to look at her directly. “I’m a married woman, child. You don’t really think finding you in bed with another is shocking to me, do you?” Luke stared at her, blushing so hard his face felt on fire, and couldn’t say anything at all. “It’s not…where you found me,” he stammered at last. “It’s who you found me with.” “Oh heavens, that again?” She threw her hands up. “You’ve got to get past this anguish, child. There’s naught but misery in it for you.” “It is wicked,” he whispered, barely audible. Mrs. Ginnings pinned him with a glance. “Is that what you think?” “It’s what everyone does!” Her gaze hardened to tempered steel. “Is it what you think?” “I don’t know,” Luke whispered, hoarse. He thought back to the night before when Conall had taken him into his body, the moment’s flash of reticence in Conall’s eyes, quickly hidden, and the way reluctant submission had yielded to eager hunger beneath Luke’s touches. “No,” he admitted with a great sigh. It had felt shameless and vulgar, yes, and wonderful. But it hadn’t felt wrong. Mrs. Ginnings nodded once, and her expression eased with 201

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satisfaction. “Then you’d best make your peace, child, or it will always haunt you.” Luke hooked his heels on the edge of the step, clasping his knees to his chest and leaning his chin upon them. He watched Mrs. Ginnings from a sideways glance. “How do you know so much about this?” he asked at last. “You’ve got a proper husband, more than capable of providing for you. No one would scorn such a match.” She grinned widely at him. “I was a foolish child once, too, you know. Not so long ago as you might think.” She broke what was left of the bread loaf in half and passed the larger piece to Luke. “Eat that, don’t stare at it. I’m sure you’ve had no breakfast to speak of.” Luke ate obediently, but without tasting it. And when there was no bread left, he asked her, “Do you think they have the right of it here? To think nothing of such arrangements as ours? To think that they’re natural, not wicked?” Mrs. Ginnings laughed softly and shook her head. She finished the last of her meal with a thoughtful expression. “Who’s to say?” she said at last. “I’ve not heard kind things of the Rannans, of a surety. We all have our problems, child, people and countries alike.” “I suppose,” Luke conceded doubtfully, and stared out at the city, wondering at what other sorts of problems a city might hold for a person, and how they could possibly make him as miserable as Samar’s were. Conall returned near midday, much to Luke’s surprise, and he brought a trail of men and crates with him. “I brought porters, lad,” he cried with a grin, gesturing to the line of men behind him. “Just for you, so you wouldn’t need to fret yourself sick over my leg.” 202

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He strode across the deck to Luke and swept him up into a kiss. Luke stiffened and clutched at Conall’s shoulders, startled by the unexpected embrace and embarrassed by their audience, but as Conall drew away he murmured close against Luke’s ear, “Not a word, lad. They’re Rannan to the bone, and your accent will give you away in a heartbeat.” Luke nodded tightly in acknowledgment, then stepped back and pasted a bright smile on his face, lest the strangers discern any discomfort in his expression. He joined Mrs. Ginnings on the aft deck, where they would not be in the way as men carried goods down into the hold, and murmured the same warning to her. She put her hand over Luke’s where it rested on the banister and gave it a brief squeeze, but her expression betrayed nothing beyond mild curiosity as they watched the work going on below them. Conall had brought a cold lunch for them, along with the provisions to resupply the ship, and as the sun rose to rest on the point of the mast, Mrs. Ginnings dragged a blanket from her bed up to the deck and they spread it out on the boards. Conall joined them, after having left several jugs of beer down on the main deck to keep the other men occupied, and they spoke amongst themselves in hushed whispers through the meal, to keep their words from carrying. When they’d finished, Luke packed up what was left in the baskets and Mrs. Ginnings shook the crumbs out from the blanket and bundled it up in her arms as Conall shooed the men back down to the pier. He followed the last down and waved a farewell back up at them from the bottom of the gangway. Once silence had descended upon them again, eerie after the sudden reminder of what life on a fully-crewed ship was like, Mrs. Ginnings declared that it would do them all a world of good to 203

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have the rest of the linens properly aired out, as well. Luke insisted that he would not sit idly by while she worked, so together they hauled out the blankets from Conall’s bed and Luke’s abandoned, makeshift bed on the floor, and Luke opened Conall’s trunks where he remembered seeing others stored and brought those out as well. They tied them down, so the wind would not carry them away, and Mrs. Ginnings draped others over the ship’s lines to flap in the breeze, bright and colorful. Sometime while they worked, so gradually that the sun was setting before Luke noticed it, a great, roaring clamor began to build within the city. He raised his head from his task and climbed up to the aft deck to get a better look. There were pinpoints of light throughout the city, lamps glowing through windows or lanterns carried by hand through the street, and in some distant part of it where the buildings abruptly fell away—a market, perhaps, or a square—there were so many lights burning that it seemed the city had caught fire, shining golden light up into the darkening sky like a beacon. Luke called to Mrs. Ginnings and she came up to join him. The clamor seemed to be a celebration of sorts—at least, Luke thought that the shouts sounded pleased, rather than hostile. And inland on the docks, he could see people greet one another with exuberance and exchange joyful chatter. “What do you suppose is going on?” he wondered aloud, but Mrs. Ginnings shook her head and seemed as bewildered as he. “Do you suppose it’s a holiday?” “I couldn’t say.” A wry smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. “I confess, I do not know terribly much about Rannan holy days.” Luke chuckled. “No, I suppose not.” He propped his chin on 204

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the heels of his hands and watched the lights bob through the city like fireflies. “Whatever it is, it’s awfully pretty, isn’t it?” “Indeed.” She smiled and leaned against the rail next to him, and together they watched the activity within the city until Conall returned. Luke came down to greet him. He was standing at the edge of the gangway, gaping in astonishment at the jumble of colorful blankets draped and flapping all about his ship. “Lad!” he cried with a startled laugh. “What on earth is this? My ship looks like a gypsy caravan!” Luke glanced around and grinned at the sight. “I suppose it’s a little undignified for a fearsome pirate ship.” He turned back and gestured out at the city. “Do you know what’s going on out there? They’re certainly happy about something.” To Luke’s surprise, the amusement slid off of Conall’s face. He stared at Luke, suddenly haggard and grave. Luke blinked at him in astonishment at the sudden change of his mood. “What? What is it?” Conall sighed and dragged a hand through his hair. “I suppose you’d hear of it eventually.” He gestured to the cabin. “Come inside with me, lad.” Luke followed him, bewildered, unease coiling beneath his breastbone like a serpent ready to strike. Mrs. Ginnings glanced between them and followed after silently, her expression set with grim resolve. Conall closed the door behind her, then stood with one hand on the jamb, head hung forward so Luke could not see his expression. “Tell me.” Luke’s hands balled into fists at his sides. “Whatever it is, just tell me. It can’t be that bad, can it?” Conall grimaced. “You will wish you had not asked me that,” 205

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he murmured, then sighed. He pulled a sheet of parchment from his pocket, folded in quarters and much abused. He held it out to Luke, a grim set to his mouth. “What is this?” Luke whispered, his lips as dry as dust. Conall’s throat worked in silence for a moment. “It is a missive,” he said at last, roughly. “Brought in just today on a Caloskan tradeship. Our ransom demand was received, and they’ve set a place to rendezvous and make the exchange.” “Oh,” Luke breathed, feeling as though someone had taken all the air from the room. He looked down at the folded square, and back up at Conall. His brows furrowed. “But…that’s good news, isn’t it? You’ll have your bounty, and I’ll be going home.” Luke’s spirits were not as lifted by the news as they might have been a few days before, but he squashed those feelings down firmly and reassured himself that, of course, he was thrilled to be returning home, to the place and the position where he belonged. “Good, aye.” Conall’s laughter was sharp and pained. He dragged a hand through his hair. “Lad, the ship brought news with her, not just our letter. News of Samar. They say that her king has succumbed to his illness at last.” He stopped and looked up at Luke, his expression as torn as though it was his own heart he was breaking. “He has died, lad,” he whispered roughly. “I—I’m sorry.” Luke stared at him, his skin tingling, his ears buzzing, as though the world around him had been wrenched away and he perceived it at a distance, dim and muffled. “What?” he said, quite calmly. His voice sounded too loud, deafening in comparison to the muted tones of everything else. “No, that can’t be right. His physicians were trying a new treatment when I left him. He was feeling better.” 206

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Conall grimaced and looked away. “He was interred last week. The whole nation is in black. I’m sorry, lad, but it doesn’t feel like rumor.” “Oh,” Luke murmured. Mrs. Ginnings was at his side, ashenfaced, asking him questions that required too much thought to answer, like was he all right and would he like to sit down and could she get him anything. Luke waved her off and scrubbed the heel of his hand along his brow, screwing his face up with thought. “But what has that to do with the Rannans?—Oh.” He dropped his hand and looked at Conall. “They’re celebrating. Of course they are.” It was Luke’s father that the Rannans had risen up against, back when he was a young man and newly-seated on his throne. Luke had not even been born then, but the Rannans would remember their victory, of course, and rejoice at the news of their enemy’s demise. Abruptly, Luke’s legs felt unsteady. He stumbled to the nearest chair and sank down into it, hands fisted against his brow. Mrs. Ginnings crouched at his side, her face drawn with worry, but he waved her away and said, “Please. I just need room to think.” She stepped back a few paces, but her gaze stayed heavy on him, and Conall’s, too, until the pressure seemed enough that he would burst from it. Luke drew a long, deep breath and raised his head, looking at Conall. “I suppose we’d better get to our rendezvous, then. Has the shipwright said when he will be finished?” Conall blinked at him, his expression startled. “Yes,” he said. “He’ll come tomorrow to inspect our damage and ensure the ship’s sound enough to support her new spar. If all goes well, we should be ready to set sail in a few days. But—lad—” Luke nodded once. “Good. They’ll need me at home.” His 207

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hands trembled a little as he shoved his hair out of his face. “I’m the only one left.” Conall looked down at him for a moment, lips pressed to a thin line. “You need to eat something,” he said at last. “I’m really not hungry.” Luke started to rise. Conall pushed him back down into the chair with a firm hand on his shoulder. “I didn’t ask if you were, did I? You’ll eat, lad, or I’ll feed you myself.” Luke blinked up at him, startled. Conall’s face was grim and set with determination, and just the thought of facing a battle of wills with him made Luke feel like everything was suddenly spinning out beyond his grasp, and panic start to creep up on him. So he relaxed back into the chair and said, “Very well. If you’re going to be a tyrant about it.” “Oh, I am,” Conall assured him with a black smile, and turned away to get their supper. Mrs. Ginnings stayed by Luke’s side, clutching his hand, and didn’t even offer Conall her help. Luke looked down at her in puzzlement, thinking it strange, until Conall returned with the food and she left to retrieve the silverware, and Luke realized that neither of them were willing to leave him alone, even just to walk a few strides away. “For heaven’s sake,” he cried, and they both jumped like children caught with their fingers in the honey pot. “Stop that!” Conall looked down on him. “Stop what, lad?” he asked warily. “Treating me like you expect I’ll shatter into pieces at any moment!” Luke rose to his feet, glaring at both of them. “All my life has been is preparation for this day. I can handle it!” Conall watched him sidelong, dubious. But all he said was, “Sit down, lad. We’re worried for you, that’s all.” He set food down before Luke, and wine as well. But Luke noticed that he was 208

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careful to put the wine close by Luke’s hand, and as they ate their meal, he never allowed Luke’s cup to run dry. Too soon, the wine began to go to his head, making him feel light-headed and swamped by too many emotions that he couldn’t afford to indulge in. He shoved the glass away and stared Conall down when he tried to protest. Conall looked away first. “I’m tired,” Luke said abruptly, shoving to his feet. “It’s been a long day, and I’d like to go to bed.” “Of course,” Conall agreed with an ill-concealed sigh. He pushed his plate back and rose as well. “I’ll go get one of the blankets—” “No need. I can get it myself.” Luke strode out before Conall could protest or stop him. Outside, a bracing wind stole the last of the day’s fading warmth. Gooseflesh rose along Luke’s arms, and by the time he’d reached the blankets and pulled the knot free, shivers had begun to steal across his skin. But he took his time all the same, working leisurely. The cold air and damp breeze off the water seemed to clear the fog from his head. The cabin had begun to feel claustrophobic and cramped, too many people crowding around Luke and waiting for him to show the slightest sign of trauma so they might rush in to his rescue. He filled his lungs with the cool, crisp air and reluctantly turned back to the cabin. Conall was sitting on his bed when Luke slipped back inside, looking uncertain and out of place. He started to rise, but Luke waved him away, and he sank reluctantly back down onto the mattress. When Luke spread his blanket out on the floor next to the bed and said, “Will you hand me a pillow, please?” Conall made a sound like a wounded animal. 209

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“What on earth are you doing? There’s no need to sleep on the floor.” “I want to,” Luke said with grim determination. For a moment, Conall said nothing, just watched him. “Why?” he asked softly. Luke flinched back. “I want to,” he repeated. He took a pillow himself, since Conall would not hand it to him, and slid beneath the blanket before Conall could raise another protest. “Very well,” Conall said. The bed rustled, and Luke stiffened with surprise when Conall’s heat pressed in behind him. He wrapped his arms tightly around Luke, curving himself against Luke’s back. “You’re not going to sleep alone, lad,” Conall murmured against his neck, “tonight of all nights.” Luke shivered and closed his eyes, and didn’t argue.

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CHAPTER 17 Luke slept poorly, and woke more exhausted than he’d been when he’d lain down. Conall was already up, but he’d drawn a chair close and was sitting in it. He offered Luke a tense smile as he stirred. “I’d ask if you were feeling any better,” he said, “but I rather suspect it’s going to be a good long while before that day comes.” Luke sat up and pulled his knees to his chest. “I’m fine. I would be better if you would worry less about me, and more about getting this ship ready to sail. What I need is to get home.” “Oh, you’re fine, are you?” Conall muttered skeptically as he bowed his head over a length of rope he was splicing. “Could have fooled me.” Louder, he said, “Never you fear, lad, I’m not keen to tarry here any longer than necessary. We’ll be back in open water 211

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just as soon as I can get us there.” “Is there anything I can do to help with the preparations?” Conall raised his head and considered Luke for a moment. At last, he said, “You left my blankets flapping in the breeze all night long. If you’re feeling helpful, you might go bring them back inside before a storm rolls in and makes us all smell of wet sheep.” Luke nodded slowly and crouched to search under the bed for his boots. “Isn’t there anything else I can do, once I’ve finished?” “No, lad,” Conall said with surprising firmness. Luke glanced over his shoulder and found Conall had raised his head from his task and was staring at him with a hard, stern expression. “And once you have finished, you’ll come back inside and lock that door behind you, all right? The shipwright will be out today, and with any luck we’ll be hoisting our spar, and that’s not a job that he and I can do by ourselves. I’m off to round up the crew this morning and they’ll be reporting back here to help with the work, so it’s back to hiding for you, I’m afraid.” “I see.” Luke caught the cuff of one boot and dragged it out. He sat on the floor to tug it onto his foot. “You needn’t worry. I’m not going to do anything to put myself at risk from that lot. I can’t afford to.” He stretched, half under the bed, and finally managed to snag the second boot. He slithered out from underneath and turned to find Conall watching him with that same strange, intense look. “What?” “Nothing.” Conall coiled the length of rope and slung it over his shoulder as he rose to his feet. “I’m glad to see you thinking sensibly, for once.” Unlike the days before, Luke did not tarry at the rail to bid Conall farewell. He was sure Conall would only ask him—again— if he was all right, and give him that uncertain look that Luke did 212

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not know how to interpret. Just the thought of it wearied him beyond measure. Luke pulled the blankets down and folded them out on the deck, taking the last of what fresh air he could before he was to be forced back into hiding in the cabin like a stowaway. Conall hesitated at the top of the gangway, his gaze a palpable weight between Luke’s shoulders. But Luke kept his attention fixed on his task, and after a moment Conall turned wordlessly and continued down to the pier. Mrs. Ginnings leaned back against the rail and watched him as he worked. Halfway through the task, he lowered the blanket in his hand and frowned at her. “Any other time, you’d be scolding me for doing something so unbefitting my station as manual labor, and insisting I let you do the brunt of it. Today, you have not even offered your help.” Mrs. Ginnings smiled, but there was very little humor in it, and all it seemed to do was emphasize the age lines that bracketed her mouth. “You asked for this task to keep your hands busy and your mind occupied, did you not? He’s given you precious little enough to accomplish that as it is. I wouldn’t dream of taking any more from you.” Luke didn’t bother to argue, only finished folding the last of the blankets and carried the stack of them into the cabin. Mrs. Ginnings followed him, and shut the door behind them. Luke handed her the key without comment and turned to put the extra blankets back in their trunk, but the skin down his spine prickled at the rasp and click of the bolt sliding into place. After that, the day seemed endless. Luke flinched at the first stomping steps that marked the return of Conall’s erstwhile crew. Toward midday Conall returned with another man whom Luke 213

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assumed was the shipwright. They stood together at the base of the mast, staring up at the damage and gesturing to one another. Luke watched as they discussed, and then as Conall organized the men and they hauled the new spar up onto the ship. It seemed an impossible task, even for a full crew of men. And, once it was on the deck, it seemed much bigger than the one that had broken. Luke pressed his hands to the window and stared out through the beveled panes, marveling at how very much larger it seemed down here with men walking alongside it than when it had hung high above their heads and Luke had paid little, if any, attention to it at all. The men secured ropes around the girth of the yard and threaded them through pulleys. The shipwright climbed up into the rigging to oversee things from above, and Conall paced about below, belting out orders, as the men hauled on the lines and the spar began her slow, lurching progress up into the heavens. It seemed a miracle to Luke as he watched the massive beam rise up overhead. But as she climbed higher into the sky, she began to sway in the breeze, and Luke had to turn away from the window, his stomach clenched like a knot, for it seemed that surely the spar would fall. Conall paced the deck beneath it, slowly, favoring his injured leg. The thought of what might happen if the ropes slipped, or snapped, made Luke queasy with dread. It was after dark when Conall let himself in. Luke glanced up at him as he shut and locked the door. “Is it done?” “Patience, lad,” Conall said wryly, shrugging off his coat. “These things take time. The yard is up, more-or-less, and the men will be finishing up with that tonight. In the morning the sail and lines will have to be set, and that’s no small task.” “And then we can leave?” Luke asked. 214

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Conall sighed and dropped down into his chair. He reached for the bottle of wine on the desk. “If all goes well, yes, we may. The tide turns shortly after midday, and I’m hoping it’ll be carrying us out along with it.” He filled a glass near to the brim, then hesitated as he began to set the bottle down again. His brows furrowed. “Gracious, what’s all this?” “I was looking at your charts.” Luke shuffled them into a tidier stack, clearing room for Conall. He shoved the chart on the top of the stack toward him and pointed at a small island, barely as big as an apple seed on the scaled-down map. “That’s Mare Island, where they want to rendezvous.” “Yes,” Conall said wryly. “I read the letter, too, you know.” “And us…we’re here, right?” He slid his finger to a city along the map’s coastline, marked as a major port by a small, goldpainted anchor. He glanced up at Conall for confirmation. “It’s the only Rannan island that has triple peaks like we do out there.” Conall’s lips curved. “Very clever. Yes, that’s where we are.” “If we leave tomorrow when the tide turns, how long will it take us to get to the rendezvous?” Conall bent over the chart. His finger traced the lines of current that cut through their path to the island. “Three days,” he said after a moment. “Perhaps. If the weather holds.” “Three days.” Luke chewed on his lip in thought. “Yes. That’ll do. I suppose.” Conall sat back and looked at Luke. His gaze held equal parts amusement and exasperation. “Who’s captaining this ship, lad?” he demanded. “You or me?” “Don’t be silly,” Luke said. “I just want to understand.” He sent Conall a pointed look. “It’s not like you’ve been particularly forthcoming about these things. Well, now I need to know. It’s my 215

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country. My responsibility.” Conall sighed and shook his head, but his expression softened. “I know you’re anxious to be home, but these things take time, Luke. We don’t even know what sort of time the convoy has made. They might be waiting for us at Mare Island, it’s true. Or we might have to wait for them, for days or longer. You’re no good to anyone if you wear yourself out like this. If your country needs you, then she needs you strong and sure, and you are neither of those things right now.” He pulled the stack of charts out from beneath Luke’s hand. “Rest, lad. Go to bed, and get what sleep you can. There’s nothing more either of us can do tonight.” Luke set his jaw. “I am not the least bit tired.” Conall laughed a little. “Get some sleep anyway. If running a country is anything like running a ship, there will be precious little enough of it once you’re back home. Take advantage of what you can get while it’s still available.” Luke sighed and dragged himself to his feet. “Very well,” he muttered. “If you’re going to nag about it, I may as well.” He crossed to the bedside, and Conall set about shuffling through the charts he’d disordered. But when he began to spread his blankets over the floor again, Conall gave the papers a sharp snap and said, “There is absolutely no reason for that.” Luke stopped and looked up at him. “I told you last night. I want to.” Conall snorted. “The hell you do. I’ll not hand you back over to your people with you stiff as a board and half-dead from poor sleep to boot. They’ll think I have no notion of how to properly care for a prince. You’ll sleep on the bed, lad, and that’s not a suggestion.” Irritation flared within Luke, but he pushed it down and climbed up onto the bed with little more than a sidelong glare at 216

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Conall. He dragged his blankets up from the floor and spread them out over him, but despite their warmth he still felt chilled. Shivers stole over his skin, and he lay curled in a ball on his side. He was still not asleep when, sometime later, Conall rose from his desk and stretched and walked over to sit at the edge of the bed. His fingers stole beneath the blanket and brushed the side of Luke’s throat. “You seem tense, lad,” he murmured. Luke opened his eyes and looked up at Conall through the darkness. “Do I not have cause to be?” Conall grimaced and canted his gaze away. “You do, right enough. It was just an observation.” Luke didn’t answer, just lay there watching him, waiting for him to say something. After a moment, Conall blew out his breath. “You let me comfort you once before, lad,” he whispered. “Will you send me away now, when you need it so very much more?” Luke pushed himself upright and sat in the center of the bed, frowning at Conall. “With everything that’s happening, you’re trying to talk your way between my thighs?” A ghost of a smile pulled at Conall’s lips. “I’d intended to try to sweet talk you between my thighs, actually, but I suppose that’s splitting hairs.” He reached out and brushed his thumb over Luke’s cheekbone. “I just want to help. I’m doing what I can to get you home, but that does nothing for the pain that you’re suffering right now. Won’t you let me try?” The last he asked on a whisper as he leaned forward, and slid his fingers around to the back of Luke’s neck, so the last word was breathed against Luke’s lips. Luke tensed beneath his touch and closed his eyes. Conall kissed him softly, gently. When Luke did nothing, he made a sound and speared his fingers through Luke’s hair. 217

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“Lad,” he murmured. “I want to do what I can for you.” Luke sighed and let his lips part, let Conall slip into his mouth. Conall’s hands slipped down to caress his chest. Luke’s stomach tightened beneath his touch and he reached out, bracing his hands on Conall’s shoulders. Luke held himself still as Conall snuck his hands under Luke’s shirt, didn’t resist as he pulled it off over Luke’s head. But when he leaned in again, curving his arms around Luke’s back, and Luke didn’t soften into his embrace, Conall sat back with a sharp sigh and frowned up at him. “What is this?” he demanded, irritation creeping into his voice. “If you want me to leave you be, just tell me, but don’t just-just sit there and let me do things to you.” Luke slid back across the bed. “I was trying to sleep,” he said woodenly. “I want you to leave me be.” “As you like,” Conall snapped, and dragged one of the blankets from the bed. “Do let me know if you change your mind.” Luke bristled at the sudden venom in his tone, but only lay down again and dragged the blanket over himself. He shut his eyes and kept them squeezed tightly shut until at last sleep overtook him. He woke alone in the bed, and with no way to know the time, assumed that Conall had already risen and left to see to what work remained. But as Luke sat up and rolled to the edge of the bed, Mrs. Ginnings spoke from where she sat at the desk, facing the bed, and said, “Careful, child.” He realized at once what she meant. Conall was stretched out on the floor beside the bed where Luke usually slept, his blanket twisted around his body as though he’d spent the night tossing and turning. Luke gaped down at him for a full minute, then lifted his 218

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gaze to stare in befuddlement at Mrs. Ginnings. “I know,” she said, grinning. “It’s like finding a king in a hayloft, isn’t it? I’ve been trying to puzzle it out all morning.” “It’s my fault,” Luke admitted, stepping over Conall carefully so as not to disturb him. “I told him I didn’t want…his company…last night.” He glanced back over his shoulder to where Conall lay, still sleeping. “I didn’t expect him to take it quite that far.” Mrs. Ginnings gave a snort of amusement and offered a bowl of the gooseberries that had been brought on board with the rest of the provisions. “Perhaps you ought to be a bit more careful what you say to him, child.” “It doesn’t matter,” Luke said quietly. “I just need to get home.” She watched him in silence for a moment. “Oh, you’re going to be that kind of king, are you?” she murmured. “The sort who takes his responsibility so damned seriously that he does nothing but sit in his audience chamber from morn to night, running himself ragged over farmers’ disputes about whose pig dug up whose apple orchard.” She sighed and bit a berry in half. “I suppose I figured you would be. But I’d hoped you’d have more time to come to your senses.” “I will be the sort of king my country needs,” Luke corrected her, frowning. She gave him a soft smile, head tilted to the side, like a mother indulging her child’s whims. “What my country needs from me now is to get home as soon as I’m able, and take the throne in my father’s stead. No good will come of leaving her without leadership.” “Of course not,” she agreed demurely. “Here, have some more, child. The berries won’t keep, and then we’ll be back to biscuits 219

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and salt meat for gods know how long.” “Not long,” Luke told her as he reached out to grab a handful of berries from her bowl. “We’ll be home soon.” Soon. He clung to the hope of that promise like a drowning man to wreckage. He would be home soon, and then… Everything will be right again. But that wasn’t true. His father was dead and he was ill-prepared to take the responsibility of the throne so soon. Nothing would be right again. But it was where he was needed. Conall woke a little later, groaning as he dragged himself to his feet. “Gods. I feel like I’ve been keelhauled.” He gave Luke an incredulous stare. “If I’d known it was that bad, I’d never have let you sleep there in the first place.” “I find it perfectly comfortable,” Luke said stiffly, turning his back on the pirate. Conall snorted, not quite laughter. “You’re a few sheets short of a full rig, lad, and I don’t mind telling you that.” He pilfered a handful of gooseberries and tossed one into his mouth as he strode to the door. “We’re in good shape to make it out of here with the afternoon tide. I’ll keep you two informed if that changes.” Mrs. Ginnings murmured her thanks and Luke said nothing, only filled his mouth with another sweet berry and kept his back turned until the door had latched shut again. As the sound of activity grew outside, Luke reluctantly indulged in his curiosity and moved to the window, so he could peer out and catch glimpses of what was going on. There were men swarming all over the deck, like ants in their hill, and more clinging to the rigging. Luke watched, fascinated despite himself, as they strung lines from the mast to the deck. It all seemed a chaotic jumble to Luke’s eye, but the men made sense of it easily. Whether it was due to the efficiency of their work or Luke’s 220

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interest in the task, it seemed no time at all before the sails were set and Conall was barking orders at the men to throw off the mooring lines and pull the gangway from the pier. They eased out of the harbor, and Luke had to force himself to turn his back on the window. The torturous pace they made, threading through the other ships that clogged the waters, seemed sure to drive him mad. He rose and crossed to sit by Mrs. Ginnings, who offered him a kind smile. “I do believe I shall bathe for a month, once we’re home,” she said. “Even then, I don’t know that it’ll be enough to wash all this salt off of me. Perhaps I shall always reek of brine.” Luke’s lips curved reluctantly. “Nonsense. I shall have you anointed in perfumes each morn, if that’s what it takes. It’s the least I can do to repay all you’ve done for me.” “Oh now, child, there’s no call for such extravagance,” she protested, but her cheeks flushed. “What of you? Tell me what you shall do, once we have our feet on dry land at last.” Luke’s brows knotted with thought. “I suppose I shall have to speak with the prime minister first, to learn of what has happened since we left. And the coronation… Gods.” He sighed. “I shouldn’t be here. I should have been home, with him. There is no time at all to prepare properly.” Mrs. Ginnings slanted him a sideways glance. “Sometimes, I fear your pirate has the right of it, child. Are the affairs of the state the only thing you can think of?” Luke raised his head and stared at her. “It is my duty to think of those things first and foremost.” She gave him a wry smile. “Perhaps,” she conceded, “but that’s not what I was asking you about. Isn’t there anything you look forward to doing simply for the enjoyment of it?” 221

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Luke shook his head slowly, wonderingly. “There is too much else to be done,” he whispered. “To much to oversee to indulge in something purely for the enjoyment. Perhaps once things have settled…” Mrs. Ginnings huffed quietly. “Things never settle in a country like Samar, child. Surely you’ve noticed that by now.” “That’s the point,” Luke said, but she just shrugged, as one does when one believes they have won the argument and the other party simply hasn’t realized yet, and shook the stems out of the bowl into the palm of her hand. There was a gust of salty air and a burst of noise when she opened the door, sails and rope creaking under the strain of the wind and men shouting to one another as they worked. Luke watched from where he sat as she crossed to the rail and threw the stems overboard. “Now, then,” she said briskly as she slipped back inside. “We’ve three days left on this ship, and you’re terrible company when you’re feeling restless. Let’s find what your pirate has done with that cribbage board and play a few rounds to pass the time, shall we?”

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CHAPTER 18 Three days felt like three weeks to Luke, despite the fact that the weather held and the ship sailed over the ocean’s waves like a bird in flight. Conall’s time was taken up with his duties as captain, giving orders to his men and charting the course for his ship, which was just as well because when he did have time to join them in the cabin, it seemed like all he did was watch Luke, his gaze heavy and potent until Luke wanted to writhe beneath the weight of his scrutiny, or demand what on earth Conall wanted from him. But if there was something he wanted, he never spoke it, and after his disastrous attempt to offer Luke physical comfort, he made no more overtures and kept a cool distance. That was also just as well, Luke thought, for they would be going their separate ways soon, and it would do neither of them 223

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any good to cling to what could not be. Best to accept it now, than fight the inevitable when the time came. On the third day, early in the afternoon, the cry came that land had been sighted, and the men’s excitement was evident even from inside the cabin, where the walls muffled the sound of their cries. Luke pressed his face to the glass, but it was nearly an hour before they’d drawn close enough to the island that Luke could see it past the ship’s swollen sails. It seemed a desolate place, composed mostly of jagged hills too steep for anyone to eke a living from. They sailed around to the leeward side of the island, where the charts had shown a small cove. The cove came slowly into view, a perfect half-moon shape with a thin strip of pleasant-looking beach. But there was no ship waiting for them, nothing but the cormorants who flew amongst the treetops. Disappointment fell on Luke like a physical blow and he’d have staggered from it, had he not already been kneeling upon one of Conall’s chests to give him a better vantage. He turned and slid off, and walked unsteadily away from the window. “What is it, child?” Mrs. Ginnings asked, rising from her seat. Alarm washed over her face. “They’re not here,” he muttered, and sank down into Conall’s chair. He buried his face in his hands. Conall had said they might not be. Who knew where they had sailed from, or when they had left, or whether they had encountered any ill weather along the way. He had known the convoy might not arrive until after they had, but it still seemed a crushing devastation. He needed to get home as soon as possible, to take his father’s place and ensure a smooth transition. And now, they would have to sit and wait, doing nothing, for gods-knewhow-long. 224

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Mrs. Ginnings set the half-empty bottle of wine on the desk before him, and next to it, she laid the cribbage board. “Come on, you promised me a rematch, and gods know you’ll never have time for it once you’ve got your nose turned for home. Might as well make the most of it, since we’re here.” Luke reluctantly let her cajole him into a game, and one soon became half a dozen as he threw himself into the strategy of it, welcome for even a brief respite from the worries that plagued him. When Conall came into the cabin, Luke raised his head from his cards and was surprised to note that the light beyond the windows was growing dark. “The wind was blowing in our favor,” Conall said without preamble, with just a glance at him. “And if they’re sailing from Samar, they’ll like be headed from the northeast, which means it’ll be blowing ill for them. Have patience, lad. They’ll be here soon.” “I know,” Luke snapped, irritated that his concern was so transparent. Conall’s expression softened with a smile. “Here, lad. Take a look at this.” He held out his hand, on which he held a large, strange object. Almost round, it seemed like a rock, but its surface was fibrous and hairy. Luke reared back, gaping at the thing. “What on earth is that?” Conall laughed. “It’s quite good, actually. Here…look.” He carried the thing to his desk and set it on its end. He drew his knife from his belt and thrust the point into the strange object. The blade barely sank in at all. Conall worked at it, leaning his weight onto the knife and wiggling it back and forth, until it had swallowed nearly half the blade’s length. Then he pulled it out again, which seemed to Luke to require just as much effort as putting it in had. 225

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When the knife was free, Conall snagged one of the cups they had been using for their meals, shook the last drops of wine from it, then set it on the desk and upended the thing over it. A thin, whitish liquid dribbled from the gash, like blood from a wound. When the flow had stopped, Conall turned it upright and began to work at it with his knife again. Luke drew the cup toward himself and peered at its contents. “There are tales, you know,” he said wryly. “Of heroes so strong they can wring water from a rock.” Conall laughed and grinned down at him. “It’s not a rock, lad. It’s a fruit.” Luke peered at it doubtfully. “I have never in my life seen a fruit like that.” “No.” He laughed again. “I thought you might not have. But the islands around here are full of them.” With a great crack, the thing broke apart, revealing a hollow interior so pure a white it seemed impossible. Conall used his knife to shave off a large piece and held it out to Luke. “There, try that.” He cut off another piece for himself and ate it, as though Luke might think he was playing a trick on him if he did not have some himself. Luke bit it, unsure what to expect. Conall watched him, grinning, as he chewed thoughtfully. “It’s strange,” he said at last. Conall gave a sharp crack of laughter. “I suppose, if you’ve never had it before. They’re quite a delicacy in Ranna, but if you’ve got a ship, it’s cheaper just to pick them off the beach.” He slid the broken shell toward Luke, and laid the knife down next to it. “Help yourself, if you’d like some more.” Luke picked at it, unsure what to make of the strange food, and Conall ended up eating more than he did. But it seemed to please Conall just to have been able to share it with him, whether he liked 226

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it or not. For two days they sat at anchor, bobbing on the swells. If Luke had thought the days at sea had been interminable, he soon learned that they were nothing compared to the days spent in endless anticipation, waiting. Mrs. Ginnings did her best to keep him occupied, but one could only play so many rounds of cribbage before going mad, and they hit that threshold long before the wait was over. Conall was able to spend more time in the cabin with them, but his demeanor was still strange and reserved, and he did not have so much leisure time as Luke might have expected, in any case. Conall explained that without wind in their sails or whores in their beds, the men would grow restless with their idleness, and they required even more supervision now than at sail. He kept them busy to keep them occupied, and away from mischief. At last the cry rose up: “Sails on the horizon, Captain!” And as Conall snatched his spyglass from the desk and ran out to look, Luke scrambled to the window and tried to see as well, but he could make out nothing on either horizon. It all seemed hazy and indistinct. “It might be anyone,” Mrs. Ginnings cautioned him. “A passing merchantship, or somewhat. We don’t know it’s them yet, lad.” “I know,” Luke said, but still he waited, hands pressed to the glass, breath pent in his throat. Because it was true, what she said. It might not. But the opposite was also true. It might be them. He might be going home, at last. Slowly, the ship neared, and someone shouted, “She’s running a white flag, sir, and tacking straight toward us,” and someone nearer said, “She’s the one, all right. Has to be. Don’t no one else got cause for business out here.” 227

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Conall ran up to the foredeck to peer out with his spyglass. “Hoist the flag, boys!” he called to his men. “Let’s make her feel welcome.” The pirates burst into activity, bringing out a large unadorned flag, bleached pure white, and dragging it up to affix to the top of the main mast. Luke watched, feeling as though his chest might burst at any moment as the wind caught the flag and stretched it out to declare their peaceful intentions to the approaching convoy. Luke thought he might weep with joy and relief when the ship drew near enough to make out the figurehead, a flaxen-haired maiden whose arms stretched out along the bowsprit, a golden orb cupped in her palms. He lost all his breath at once, and had to lean his brow against the window frame. “The Adeline,” he murmured. It was his father’s flagship, and bore his mother’s face and his sister’s name, commissioned in celebration of her birth. “We are going home.” Mrs. Ginnings embraced him, her face suffused with joy. They clutched at one another and peered through the window as the ships drew up alongside one another. A line of people stood at the Adeline’s rail, watching them, but the glass distorted the view too badly for Luke to make out anyone he might know. Conall leapt up onto his ship’s rail, holding onto a line with one hand and cupping the other around his mouth to shout, “Ahoy the ship! Do you bring our ransom?” The men on the Adeline conferred briefly, then one shouted back, “You’ll not so much as see our coin, pirate, until we’ve surety that you have our prince. Bring him out, let us see if you speak the truth!” Oh hell, Luke thought, staring out at the pirates who cluttered the deck, the pirates who thought they sailed to claim a lady’s 228

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ransom, not a lord’s, who would have killed Luke at a moment’s notice had they ever learned the truth. Moments, he reminded himself, gathering his courage. You will be setting your sights toward home in mere moments, and you need never concern yourself with these pirates again. “Stay here,” he told Mrs. Ginnings, and strode out onto the deck, into the midst of the pirate crew. A fraught silence descended upon the men as Luke walked through their ranks. Dozens of pairs of eyes followed him, but he kept his spine straight and his head high, as a king ought. “Captain,” a pirate growled, “what the hell is this?” Conall glanced swiftly at Luke, his brows creased with concern. Then he smiled broadly and clapped the man on the back and said, “This is our ticket to glory and riches, boys. A bona fide prince and heir, with the ransom to go along with the title.” The pirates turned their gazes on Luke with renewed speculation. He stiffened his shoulders and strode forward as though he were alone on the deck. Behind him, the pirate demanded of Conall, “But where the blazes did he come from?” But he forced himself forward, ignoring it. Conall had known when first he chose to deceive his men that they would not take kindly to it. If he was paying for that choice now, well, it was no concern of Luke’s. Soon he would be on his way home, with much more pressing matters to consider. He stepped to the rail and waved at the Adeline. A shout went up from their decks. A million questions poised on the tip of Luke’s tongue, but before he could shout any of them across, Conall stepped up at his side and put a hand on his shoulder. “Now the coin!” he called over, drawing Luke back. There was a small commotion on the Adeline’s deck as a 229

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massive chest was lifted and the lid opened. Someone reached in and grabbed a handful of its contents, lifted his hand, and let them trickle back into the trunk, glittering gold in the sunlight. The mutterings of Conall’s men rose sharply at the sight of their bounty, so close at hand that Luke was sure they were already plotting how to spend their shares. “Boats!” they called over from the Adeline. “At a safe distance, to discuss the transfer.” Conall nodded and waved his agreement, and both crews burst into activity, drawing the ships away from one another until they were out of cannon-range. When Conall directed the men to lower the ship’s rowboat over the side, Luke pressed up close against his side and hissed, “Conall! You’re a pirate! They’ve no love for your kind. If it’s a trick—” “I’m touched, lad,” Conall said. “But they’ll not try anything while you’re still at my men’s mercy.” There was a muted splash as the Adeline’s boat dropped down into the water. They both turned at the sound, then Conall looked over his ship and beckoned the nearest pirate to them. “He’s in your charge,” Conall growled at the man, pointing to Luke. “And if anyone so much as touches a hair on his head while I’m gone, I’ll take it out of your hide. Understand?” “Aye, sir,” the pirate growled. With his brows furrowed and his expression drawn into a scowl, Luke couldn’t be sure what the man thought about his assignment. He edged a step away, wary, and murmured, “Conall. Be careful.” Conall turned and smiled down at him. “I shall be, lad.” He raised his head and gestured beyond Luke. “Anders! With me.” And then he was gone, swinging himself over the rail and down into the boat. Luke watched them row away, and for the first time 230

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since their capture, he was painfully aware of how very isolated he was. The two boats made for one another, and met more-or-less halfway between the two ships, distant enough that Luke had to lean out over the rail and squint to see what was going on. Even still, he couldn’t make out much, but he saw the men meet, and begin to talk to one another. Then, after only a few moments, one of them—was it Conall? He couldn’t tell—made a gesture that seemed from a distance to be angry, or agitated. And then they were both gesturing, both angry. Too suddenly for Luke to comprehend, they were rowing away from one another, back toward their own ships. Luke could make out his expression as Conall neared, and it was grim, set with stony fury. The boat thunked against the hull of the ship and men threw lines down to haul them up. Conall was barking orders before he’d even reached the deck. “Haul the anchor! Gunners, below deck! Turn her about and get the wind behind us, now!” “Conall?” Luke stumbled toward him, numb and senseless. “What… What are you…” He searched Conall’s face and found only livid rage. “I don’t understand…” “Get inside,” Conall growled, striding past without sparing him a glance. He ran up to the foredeck, taking the steps two at a time. “Rawling! We need those sails down before she gets in range!” “In range?” Luke stared out at the Adeline, then back at Conall. “Conall, stop this! What are you doing?” “Damn it!” Conall spun on him. “I said get inside, lad! Once she starts firing—” “Firing!” Luke gaped at him. “They’re not going to attack you! Not while I’m—” The first roar of cannon-fire nearly threw him 231

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off his feet. He stumbled forward and Conall caught him beneath the arms, then turned him around and shoved him toward the stairs. “Get inside!” he bellowed. “And stay low!” Another thunderous explosion silenced Luke’s protest. He scrambled down into the cabin and dragged Mrs. Ginnings, who was wide-eyed and white-faced with fear, to huddle with him in the corner, curled in tightly on themselves as guns roared and the ship shuddered with every impact.

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CHAPTER 19 The next explosion seemed to come from beneath their very feet, so loud it seemed the air itself was screaming and the ship danced beneath their feet. Luke raised his head, gaping, and breathed, “Those were our guns.” “Child—” Luke shook Mrs. Ginnings off and ran for the door before she could stop him. Outside, the air was acrid with gunsmoke. Luke choked on it as he dragged himself up the steps. “Conall!” he cried, wiping his stinging eyes and peering through the haze. “Conall, stop this!” “Gods damn it, lad!” Hands grabbed him by the shoulders, shook him roughly. “Don’t you have a lick of sense?” Luke wrenched himself free and stared up at Conall’s fierce 233

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visage. “You can’t fire at them! You can’t! They’re my people, my countrymen! They came all this way for me and you—you’re going to—” “No,” Conall said grimly. “They’re traitors. And so long as they’re aiming their guns at you, by god, I will return fire.” He grabbed Luke by the back of his collar and hauled him back down the stairs. “You stay in there, lad,” he snarled and threw Luke back into the cabin. Luke threw himself at the door as soon as he had his feet back under him, but Conall had already locked it. “Damn it!” he raged, pounding his fists against the door. “Conall! You can’t do this!” But Conall was already gone, without so much as an acknowledgment of Luke’s protests. Luke threw himself away from the door, snarling with frustration. Mrs. Ginnings watched him from the corner as he stalked across the room and tore open the drawers in the desk. Every explosion made him flinch, made his hands shake as he upended the drawers on the desk’s surface and rifled through the contents, searching for the heavy iron key that Conall had returned to him after he’d promised not to lock Luke up again. He could not find it, and he left the desk’s contents in a jumbled disarray as he stalked over to the trunk and threw its lid open. He dragged out blankets and articles of clothing, left them strewn like rags upon the floor, but even when the trunk was emptied there was no key to be found. “Gods damn it,” he snarled, rising to his feet and turning, scouring the room for some other place it might have been. “What are you looking for?” Mrs. Ginnings asked him. She hadn’t moved from where she’d wedged herself into the corner, but her gaze had tracked his every step about the cabin. 234

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“The key!” he snarled, hands balling at his sides. “The damned key!” “Oh,” she said, and pushed herself to her feet. She glanced about nervously, as though fearing another explosion of cannonfire, but the battle seemed to have ended, at least for the moment. “You should have said something. Don’t you remember, child? You gave it to me.” She drew it from her pocket and held it out to him. Luke let out his breath slowly, forcing his temper under control. He crossed to her and took the key, murmuring, “Thanks.” But he had not even reached the door to unlock it when it opened from the outside and Conall stepped in, looking grave and exhausted. Luke kept the key clutched in his hand like a weapon. “What the hell is going on?” he demanded. Conall scrubbed a hand over his brow. “We’re smaller and faster than they are. They’re still chasing, but we’re outpacing them. We’ve gained enough ground that we’re out of range of their guns, at least.” “That’s not what I mean! What happened? Why—” His voice shook. “Why am I still here? Why are you shooting at them?” Conall’s lips twisted into a humorless expression. “Better to ask why they were shooting at us.” He sighed and took Luke by the shoulder, guided him in, and pressed him down into the chair. “Sit, lad, and I’ll tell you.” Luke sat, staring up at Conall, shaking so hard it felt he might come apart. And still Conall hesitated, gnawing at his lip and looking anywhere but at Luke. “Tell me,” he cried. “Why did you not leave me with them?” Conall groaned and let his head fall back, squeezing his eyes 235

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shut. “Because they do not want you,” he rasped. He raised his head, looking at Luke, wretched. “I’m sorry, lad.” “You… What?” Luke blinked at him. “No. I don’t understand. They don’t… No.” “I’m sorry,” Conall said again, his hands fisting and opening at his sides. Luke flinched back. He shook his head. “No. That’s not right. Of course they want me. Why else would they…” He spun to face Conall again. “Did they not bring enough ransom for you? Was that it? Gods!” He shoved his hands through his hair. “I’ll be king once I’m home. I could give you whatever ransom you desire, a hundred times what you asked for. Just, please…” His voice cracked. “I want to go home. Conall, please, just let me go home.” “Gods, lad, will you listen to me!” Conall caught him, hands framing his face, and gave him a single, fierce shake. “It is not the damned money! If they had offered me no more than their sincere thanks and a pat on the back, I’d have handed you over to them. There’d have been hell to pay with my crew, for they’ve sailed all this way expecting a bounty for their efforts, but by the gods, I’d have done it and to hell with the crew. But they do not want you.” Luke stared up at him, blinking tears from his eyes. “I don’t know why you keep saying that,” he whispered. “I don’t know why you would think that.” Conall groaned and released him, spinning away. He fisted his hands in his hair. “They brought the coin,” he said, voice ragged and rough. “They offered it to me there, without even having you in hand first. And when I asked why, they said it was not payment for your return. They said—” He broke off, cleared his throat. It was a moment before he continued. “There is another who sits on the throne, acting as regent in your stead. They wish to keep him 236

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there. The coin they offered was to…provide proof of your demise.” He spun to face Luke again, snarling, “I am not an assassin, and all the coin in the world will not persuade me to harm you!” “No…” Luke stumbled back, shaking his head. “No. They wouldn’t… They wouldn’t!” Conall sighed and leaned back against the wall. He scrubbed his hands over his face. “My ship has holes in her that would seem to serve as fair compelling evidence says they would.” Luke sank down slowly into the chair. He buried his face in his hands, drawing shuddering breaths. “This is all wrong,” he whispered. “All of it. None of this was supposed to happen. My father is dead, and my countrymen have betrayed me, and you…” He gave a despairing laugh. “You’re a pirate.” “Lad…” Conall touched his shoulder tentatively. “I have been a pirate as long as you’ve known me.” Luke raised his head and looked up at him, tears burning trails down his cheeks. “Yes,” he said bitterly. “But before, I would not have counted you among my closest allies. Now…” He spread his hands on his thighs and stared down at the gaps between his fingers. “You are all that is left to me.” A wry smile tugged at Conall’s mouth. “Well, talk about damned by faint praise. I’m touched, lad, truly.” “Don’t—” Luke thrashed at him. “Don’t even. You—the both of you—” He turned, seeking Mrs. Ginnings. She had risen from the corner and taken a step toward them, but no more, and stood with her hands pressed over her mouth. “You are the only two left who care at all for me.” He laughed and leaned his head in his hands. “A pirate and a lady’s maid. What a retinue for a prince.” “Now that’s not true,” Mrs. Ginnings snapped. “There’s folk a 237

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plenty in the palace who love you as well as I, and no regent can change that.” She slanted a glance at Conall. “Who is it, did they say? It would have to be that cousin of yours, Darrin, of course, unless something has happened to him since we set sail. Never mind that.” She came and crouched before Luke, gripping his hands in hers. “We all love you,” she said in a tone that forbade protest. “I was supposed to return home with a bride,” he whispered. “My father was supposed to see me wed.” “Well, we cannot live on supposed to, child, only what is.” Luke was still trying to figure out what to say to that when someone pounded on the cabin door and a harsh voice shouted, “Captain! A word with you, if you don’t mind!” Conall raised his head and looked toward the door. “Oh, this bodes ill,” he muttered. “Stay here.” He rose and crossed to the door. Luke followed uncertainly a few paces behind. Conall opened the door, but not completely, just wide enough that his broad shoulders filled the gap. “Gentlemen,” he said pleasantly, but there was steel in his voice. “Haven’t you a ship to sail?” Over his shoulder, Luke could see one of the pirates standing before Conall’s door, a number of others arrayed behind him. None of them looked pleased. “A word with you first, Captain,” the man said, just as pleasantly, just as firm. “We’ve been talking with Anders, see, and he had a mighty interesting story to tell.” Conall stilled. Standing behind him, Luke saw the muscles in his shoulders tense and bunch. “Well, then.” Conall’s tone made fear flutter beneath Luke’s breast. “Let’s hear this story, shall we?” He made to step forward, out onto the deck. 238

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The pirate stopped him with a raised hand and a smile sharp as a knife. “Bring the lad along, why don’t you? We ain’t been properly introduced.” “No.” Conall’s voice lashed out, making Luke jump. “He stays here.” Where it’s safe. Luke edged backward. He thinks I’d be in danger out there. And then, on the heels of that thought: Of course I would be. They’re Rannan, most of them, and they know I’m Samari, and the heir, and not a lady at all. The pirate shrugged, a careful study of nonchalance. He took a half-step forward, not enough to push Conall back, but enough that he couldn’t close the door on them. “We’ll have our say here, then.” Conall glanced over his shoulder, just the once and just for a moment, but the look in his eyes made Luke scramble across the room to the desk, his heart in his throat, searching for a dagger, a knife, even a letter opener—anything with which to protect himself. “Talk, then,” Conall said, his voice light and smooth. “And speak your piece.” “You said we were betrayed,” the pirate said, jutting his chin out. “Anders says it wasn’t us was betrayed, that we’d have our gold if you’d’ve stuck that Samari lad.” Like a pig, Luke thought, buffeted by twin waves of fear and rage. He found a stiletto dagger in a drawer and shoved it into Mrs. Ginnings’s hands. “You point that at anyone who comes near you,” he told her, and tore open another drawer. “Me?” She gave him a hard stare. “What about you?” “I’m working on it.” The desk yielded nothing more. He crept 239

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back to Conall’s trunks, and the disarrayed contents he’d scattered about in his search for the key. He dug through the heaps of blankets and garments, searching for the hard hilt of a weapon. “We were betrayed,” Conall said softly. “All of us. They broke the terms of their own agreement.” “Terms!” The pirate scoffed, and the others behind him grumbled. “Who cares about the terms, so long as we get our due?” Calmly, casually, Conall lowered his hand to the hilt of his sword. “We are not assassins.” The pirate’s gaze flickered down to Conall’s hip, then up again. “The lads and me, we like to think we might be, if the pay was good enough.” Luke could not find anything in the trunk’s scattered contents. “What kind of pirate doesn’t have any weapons?” he demanded beneath his breath, and dragged Mrs. Ginnings back against the wall with him. “So it’s mutiny, boys?” Conall asked softly, sadly. “It’s come to that?” “Mutiny?” The pirate reared back, brows furrowing as though stung by the implication. “Now, Captain, it’s nothing like that. You’ve done well by us, and we’ve no quarrel with you over that.” He gestured past Conall’s shoulder, toward Luke. “We want our pay, that’s all.” Steel rang like a bell as Conall drew his blade. The gathered men backed up a step, eyeing him with expressions that ranged from surprise to indignation. “Then you do indeed have a quarrel with me,” Conall said, leveling the point of his blade at the group’s leader. “Oh, gods above,” Mrs. Ginnings muttered, and pulled her dagger from its sheath. “What else have you in store for us?” 240

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As though to answer her, a dozen swords rang free of their sheaths at once. The leader flicked his blade—lightly, more a test than a true attack—against Conall’s. “Come on, Conall,” he protested. “We don’t want to fight you. Just let us have the boy.” “No.” Conall parried with a swing that was neither testing nor light. Despite the force behind the swing, the pirate deflected it and danced forward. “Or is the problem that the poor lad’s already been stuck?” he asked with a lascivious grin. “And here we all thought it was a lady you were mooning over in here.” “Whoreson!” Conall growled. The pirate swung at him again, too close. In trying to block the door, Conall had let him get past his defenses. He stumbled back a step now, blade rising to block a glancing blow. The pirate tsked, grinning fiercely. “Now, Captain, that ain’t fair. You know my ma and yours were cathouse sisters.” Behind him, the others roared with laughter. Luke stared at them all, despairing. They were fighting for the right to Luke’s life, the right to take it from him, and it was all a great joke to them. He squared his shoulders and stepped forward. Mrs. Ginnings caught at his sleeve. “What are you going to do, child?” “Well, I’m not going to stand here and wait for them to come slaughter me.” He twisted free and continued on, expecting a protest. But she just pressed her lips together and followed after him. The pirate took another step forward, driving Conall back, and suddenly all the others were pressing past them and Conall could not guard against them all. Luke threw an arm out to hold Mrs. Ginnings back, but she was 241

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already past him, taking the lead, her dagger held tight in her fist. Luke cried out in fear and dismay, but the men hesitated at the sight of her, frowning in consternation. “Not one more step!” she cried, pointing the blade at the nearest of them. He glanced down at her weapon and grinned. “Lady, I eat my supper with a knife bigger than that pig-sticker.” He advanced a step, brows raised, testing her response. She did not back down, but instead moved forward to meet him, taking away all the space he’d meant to leave between them and pressing the dagger’s tip against his stomach. “One more step,” she said, her voice low with warning, “and it’ll be sticking you.” While they were distracted by her, Luke sidled around and approached from the side. Just as the nearest glanced at him, as his eyes began to widen, Luke grabbed him by the wrist and slammed his elbow against the pirate’s temple. The blade slipped from his grasp. Luke caught it and shoved the man back into his comrades. By the time they’d regained their balance, he had the sword leveled at them and Mrs. Ginnings drawn back even with him. “And how does this one compare to your supper knife?” He sent the pirate an icy smile. “I reckon it’s a mite bigger.” The pirate gaped at him in surprise for a moment. Then his expression hardened and he lunged at Luke. He had strength and power behind his swing, but little finesse. Luke stepped out of the way of the blow, letting the man’s momentum carry him past. When he edged forward, Mrs. Ginnings fell in behind him, guarding his back and wielding her little dagger with a ferocity that surprised him no less than it had their foes. “You are quite handy with that,” he murmured to her as they 242

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fought their way toward Conall. She spared him a wry glance over her shoulder. “Child, I’ve been watching you—and your father before you—take fencing lessons since I was a girl myself, plying my needlework and hoping to catch the eye of the swordmaster. Don’t you think I’ve learned a thing or two? I’m no swordsman, but I know which end of the thing to hold.” She knew a great deal more than that, Luke noted. She hadn’t the speed or precision that came from endless hours of drills, but she wielded her blade with the ferocity of a mother bear defending a cub, and more than a few pirates stumbled away from her, clutching wounds and gaping in dismayed shock. They reached Conall, standing in the center of the battle, his sword flashing with an endless, untiring series of blows and parries. He spun, sword raised, eyes blind with rage and fear, but Luke cried, “Conall!” and he stopped mid-stroke. “Damn it, lad,” he growled, swinging around to block an attack from behind. “Get back out of the way! It’s not safe—” His gaze flicked over Luke’s shoulder. Luke spun, bringing his sword up, and locked hilts with the pirate who’d come up behind him. A twist of his wrist sent the man’s sword skittering away, lost beneath the tangle of feet and bodies in the overcrowded cabin. “Never mind,” Conall said with a startled grin. “Let’s get out where we’ve room to maneuver, shall we?” With their backs toward one another, the three of them fought toward the door. Steel rang all around them, and Luke’s arm felt numb from the constant barrage. But he only tightened his grip and kept his sword coming up, lashing out, driving the pirates back every time they surged forward. They spilled out onto the open deck in a flurry of motion, men 243

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scrambling for advantageous ground or breaking away to shake out their tired arms. Luke ducked beneath one man’s swing, then rose up inside his guard and caught him across the stomach with his blade. The man went down. Luke turned from him into another attack, and another. “Not bad, lad,” Conall called, swiping sweat from his brow and grinning fiercely. “For a schoolhouse education, anyway.” “You’re one to talk,” Luke snapped. “They’re not even trying with you.” As if to prove his words, a pirate threw himself at Luke with a blow so strong it jarred Luke all the way to his shoulder. When Luke shoved him away and he found himself before Conall, the pirate parried and countered his swing, but there was no strength behind it. “You fight like boys at their first sparring match,” he gasped, edging toward the stern stairs, “too frightened of hurting one another to do more than tap blades.” “Well, they’re not trying to kill me.” Conall pushed Mrs. Ginnings up the stairs after Luke, and he took the rear, sword flashing in the sunlight as he fought to hold his position. “There’s no coin for them in that.” “If it’s coin you want,” Luke cried, leaning against the rail and shouting down at the men below, “then you’re all fools!” The pirates hurled insults back at him and renewed their efforts to slide past Conall. “Did they teach you how to calm the ravaging hordes in that schoolhouse of yours, too, lad?” Conall called back to him. “No,” Luke said. “But they did teach me how to deal with men.” He leaned out again and shouted down at them, “You all want a prince’s ransom? Well, I am not a prince!” That, at least, seemed to get their attention. The pirates hesitated, staring up at Luke in suspicion. Luke lowered his sword 244

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to his side and straightened. “I am heir to the throne of Samar, and when I return home, I will be king! You all think the price on a prince’s head is impressive? How much sweeter do you imagine the prize would be for helping a king retain his crown?” That got them thinking, and while they were still trying to work their minds around such a sum, Luke said, softer, “Think on it. There’s more than coin I can offer you. You can have homes. Lives. Wives to come home to, and children to bounce on your knee.” Below him, some of the faces softened at the thought. Others hardened, and tightened grips on their swords. Luke continued on before they had the opportunity to renew their attacks. “Letters of marque, for those of you who still find pleasure in a pirate’s life. Merchant vessels and the finest of Samari exports, for those who wish to sail the sea under a respectable flag. Whatever it is you desire, I can make your fortunes and give you the lives you want. What I want are men I can trust at my back.” “We heard what Anders said,” one of the pirates called. “It ain’t your throne no longer. They’ve put someone else on it. You’ve got nothing to barter with.” “It is my throne,” Luke growled. “And I will take it back!” Someone else gave a harsh laugh. “Yeah? You and what army?” “The Rannan army, of course,” Conall said softly, from where he still stood on the stairs. When Luke turned, staring at him in astonishment, he grinned. “You could persuade them to it.” “I do not need an army,” Luke told him firmly. “Whoever those men were, they were Darrin’s men. Not my men. Not my father’s. I’ll have allies enough, once I get back home. It is only getting there safely that will be problematic.” Conall’s grin pulled crooked. “A Rannan escort, then. All the 245

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better.” Luke marveled at him. “You imagine your countrymen would be willing to send even a handful of men with me? A Samari? You think rather highly of my skills of persuasion,” he said faintly. Conall’s grin spread, and he gave a sharp laugh. “Lad, you’ve talked a pirate crew down from murder. How difficult could it be to convince a country to go to war, after that?” Luke shook his head slowly. “But I am Samari, and royalty, and son of the man whose death they so recently celebrated. They will kill me before I can even ask for their help.” “Well…” Conall grinned. “I may know a few officials who could be persuaded to hear you out before they decide whether or not to kill you.” “Oh,” Luke said. “That is so very comforting.” Conall winked at him and leaned out over the stair’s banister. “What do you say, boys?” he called. “Shall we cause some mischief?” The pirates roared their approval. Luke stood above them, baffled and bemused by how quickly the tide had been turned. Conall waved him forward and urged him first down the steps to the main deck. Anxiety prickled along Luke’s spine as he stepped down into the midst of the men who had, moments before, been clamoring for his death, and still held their blades in their hands. But he understood Conall’s reason. The men would remember if it was Conall who waded out into the throng first, and Luke followed in his wake, and he would forever be in Conall’s shadow, in need of his presence to ensure his safety. Luke kept his shoulders back and his head high, and he strode out without hesitation in his step, expecting the men to yield before him as a king would. And because he expected it, they did, and no 246

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one raised a hand against him. “Well?” Luke said, turning to look over the men around him. He crossed his arms over his chest. “This ship’s not going to get us to Ranna all by herself. You all have work to do, if you want to earn your coin.” They hesitated, glancing at Conall for confirmation. Luke bristled, but Conall just raised his brows. “Well?” he said. “You heard the man.” The crowd dispersed as men returned to their tasks. Luke let out a long breath and turned just as Conall caught him by the arm. “Excuse us for a moment,” he said to Mrs. Ginnings, and pulled Luke into the cabin. He closed the door, and Luke had only just drawn breath to speak when Conall pushed him back against it and covered Luke’s mouth with his own.

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CHAPTER 20 Luke stiffened with a small sound of surprise. Conall slipped into his mouth and kissed him long and deep before he broke away, skimming his lips over Luke’s throat and laughing quietly. “Lad, that was absolutely beautiful.” Luke wrapped his arms around Conall’s back, holding on to him. He released a shuddering breath and leaned his head back against the door. “How am I supposed to convince the Rannans to give their aid to Samar of all places?” “You’ll think of something.” Conall took advantage of his bared throat to suck at the skin. Luke swatted him away before he could make a mark, but he grinned, unrepentant. “I find your faith in me quite terrifying,” Luke protested. Conall bent and sucked on his throat again. Luke shoved him back. 248

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“Stop that! Gods. You’re in quite a mood.” He raised his head, smiling. “My ship is still sound, and mutiny has been averted. All in all, it’s been a good day.” Luke stared down at him. “I should hate to have to endure one of your bad ones.” “A bad day is one that ends with a noose about my neck,” Conall said. “I haven’t had one yet.” Luke choked on a laugh and brought his hands up to curl around the back of Conall’s neck. “What…what share of the bounty do you think you’ll claim for yourself?” he asked. “Sailing under a merchant’s flag would be less fraught.” “I hadn’t thought on it,” Conall murmured, frowning. Luke’s fingers pressed into his skin. “You didn’t think I wouldn’t offer you the same as your men, just because you weren’t one of the ones pointing your sword at me, did you?” “I hadn’t thought on it,” Conall repeated, rougher. He turned Luke’s face up to his and silenced him with a demanding kiss. When they broke away, he said, “There’s time enough for that. And better ways to pass it, in the meanwhile.” Luke turned his face aside when he leaned in again. “Conall,” he said reproachfully. Conall’s hands tightened on him briefly, then eased. “You’re strung tight as a wire, lad,” he murmured against Luke’s skin. “And no wonder. I’m likely little better.” His hands slid down Luke’s chest. “Let’s help one another out with it, shall we?” “Conall.” Luke pushed, staring down at him. “How on earth can you be thinking about that now?” He laughed quietly and let his fingertips toy with the waist of Luke’s trousers. “We’re three days yet from port. What the hell else are we supposed to do to pass the time?” He kissed along 249

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Luke’s shoulder. “Nothing half so interesting, I warrant.” Luke shoved harder. “Stop that,” he snapped, frowning. “There is more to do than I can even wrap my mind around! I must decide upon a strategy to convince the Rannans to offer their aid, and think of how best to utilize it if they do—and gods help me, have a plan in place for if they will not—” “In three days?” Conall arched a brow at him. “Lad, you’ve a lifetime to rule your kingdom, and more stress than a body can handle, right now.” He licked over the hollow of Luke’s throat. “I could help you with that, if you’d let me.” “Stop.” Luke writhed away from him, and ducked away beneath his arm. “I cannot shirk my responsibilities to indulge in these, these dalliances. I wouldn’t expect you to understand, but I have my duty, and I must—” Conall grabbed his arm, spinning him around. Luke’s gaze flew up to his, and he stumbled back from the temper he saw burning there. “Of course,” Conall whispered, deadly soft. “I’m only a pirate, after all. I wouldn’t know anything about matters like loyalty or responsibility or holding the lives of others in the palm of my hand, would I?” Luke’s mouth gaped open. He closed it soundlessly. “That’s not what I meant,” he whispered. “It’s what you said.” “It’s not! I—” Luke stared at him. “There are more people living on one floor of the palace than sail under your command. It’s not the same.” Conall laughed, a harsh sound, and shook his head. “You do not even hear yourself when you speak, do you?” Luke stepped toward him, but Conall waved him back. “I’ll not be looked down on by you, lad. All I’ve done for you, I’d think I’d have earned 250

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respect, if nothing else.” “Respect!” Luke cried. “You think I don’t respect you?” Conall’s lips twisted, mirthless. “I think you would not protest half so much if I were an aristocrat and not a pirate.” Luke stared at him, at a loss for words. “You’re not making any sense,” he whispered. “What would being an aristocrat do? It is still my duty to put the needs of my country first, and that would not change were you a pauper or a king.” “You truly think that, don’t you?” Conall’s eyes narrowed. “Gods. I shouldn’t send you back, not if that’s the life you intend to live.” He caught Luke by the shoulders and shook him. “Do you think that being a king means you cannot be a man? That you must deny everything you want, and never have anything—anyone— purely for the desiring of it?” Luke blinked, fighting a wave of dizziness. “I must marry for the good of my people,” he managed to say. “It would be selfish and—and irresponsible to do otherwise.” “Gods.” Conall groaned. “I am not talking about marriage. I am talking about being happy.” He shook Luke again. “You’ve been happy with me, haven’t you?” “I—” Luke stared at him, feeling as though his chest were suddenly too small. “Happy? I have been kidnapped and assaulted and tossed in a storm and nearly killed!” Conall’s voice lowered to a dangerous rumble. “That’s not what I’m talking about.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about! You’re not making any sense at all. I have to do my duty. I have to! It’s not about what I want, or what makes me happy—” “Isn’t it?” Conall’s hands clenched on Luke’s shoulders, dragging him close. “If I were an aristocrat, would you still be 251

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trying to get rid of me?” “What?” Luke shook off his hands and stumbled back, gaping at him. “Be rid of you? What are you talking about?” Conall’s expression was dark and thunderous. “Homes and families and lives, you promised my men. And then you go and try to talk me onto some damned merchant ship, like you cannot get me away from you fast enough!” “I thought—I did not think you would be happy, were you not on the sea,” Luke said faintly, unable to look away from him. “You…would want to stay in Samar?” His heart fluttered painfully beneath his breast. Conall advanced on him, wrapped fingers about his arms and pushed him back against the door. “I don’t give two whits about Samar, lad,” he growled. Luke stared up at him, speechless. Conall gave a harsh laugh and shook his head. “There, and now you are looking panicked at the thought of living within the same city walls as me. That is what I’m talking about.” He spun away with a sound of disgust. “Would you find it so horrifying, were I someone respectable? If I were one of your damned lords, would you have been so mortified to be caught in my bed?” Luke stumbled away from him, fists pressed to his brow. He sank down into a chair and stared up at Conall, feeling as though he was only just seeing him for the first time. “I did not think you would want to stay,” he whispered. “I did not think you would want…me.” Conall stared down at him, his brow twisted, his expression caught somewhere between shock and disbelief. “Gods! What on earth do you think I want?” “I…I don’t know.” Luke gestured feebly. “I didn’t think on it 252

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at all. I thought…it was a game for you, at first. It didn’t mean anything.” He raised his head and scowled up at Conall, suddenly fierce, demanding, “How was I to know?” “Well, I thought you were a sensible lad,” Conall murmured, the corner of his mouth curling. “Doesn’t a king need to have insight, to understand his people?” “There is no sense in this.” Luke’s voice shook. He curled his hands around his knees. “It is pure madness.” “Well…” Conall’s tone was warmer, gentler. “I’ll not disagree with you there.” He came and crouched before Luke’s chair, looking up at him with a gaze that held Luke pinned. “Forget your duty, lad. Forget what you think must be. What do you want?” “Want?” Luke echoed softly, staring down at him. “I… What I want…” He jerked back, shaking his head wildly. “No. Conall, don’t ask this of me. Don’t make me say it. It is too cruel, when I know I cannot have it!” Conall dragged him back to the edge of the seat. “Tell me,” he demanded. Luke sobbed and brought his hand to Conall’s face. “Oh, gods help me,” he breathed. “I love you, and I cannot bear it.” Conall rocked back, his mouth hanging open. “What?” His voice sounded reedy and thin, as though Luke had knocked the wind from him. “What did you say?” Luke’s brows furrowed. “You will make me say it again?” “Yes.” Conall dragged him off the chair, up into his arms. He cradled Luke’s head in his hands and dusted his face with kisses. “Again and again. A hundred times. A thousand. Say it.” Luke shuddered, fingers clenching on fistfuls of Conall’s clothing. He turned his head, his mouth seeking Conall’s. But Conall’s lips danced—frustratingly, enticingly—across his skin, 253

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and would not be lured in for a kiss. “I love you,” Luke whispered, jerking at Conall’s shirt. “I love you. I—” Conall scooped him off his feet and dropped him onto the bed. Luke pushed himself up and reached for Conall as he crawled over him. “Please,” he whispered, and Conall groaned. “Lad, you will be the death of me.” He pulled Luke’s shirt off over his head, bent and scraped his teeth over Luke’s chest. Luke lay back, slipping his hands over the skin at Conall’s waist, and Conall held himself above him, looking down. “Princeling,” he breathed, awed, and gave an unsteady laugh. “Who’d have thought?” “I’m not,” Luke whispered. “Not anymore.” Conall smiled, slow and warm enough to make Luke shiver. “Well, I shall not call you king in bed,” he said teasingly. “It will give you airs.” “You might call me by my name,” he suggested. “You could use the practice.” “Ah, there’s an idea.” Conall bent and whispered, “Luke,” against his lips. He threaded his fingers through Luke’s, then gripped tight. “My prince,” he growled, scowling down so fiercely that Luke had to laugh. “You are not Samari,” he chided Conall, smiling. “Well, I claim you for my own all the same.” He slid Luke’s trousers down to his knees. “Completely,” he murmured, and took him into his mouth. Luke lost what he had meant to say in the feel of Conall’s tongue sliding over his cock, the heat of his mouth, his breath caressing him. He groaned and pulled at Conall’s shoulders. Conall laughed at him, and the feel of it made Luke’s groan break off into a choked cry. Conall nudged his knees farther apart 254

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and slid a hand up his thigh. His fingertips circled Luke’s anus, slick and teasing. Luke drew a long, deep breath, and let it out slowly. Conall released him, drew his tongue over Luke’s testicles. The pressure of his fingers increased, tormenting Luke with the promise of penetration and leaving it unfulfilled. “Still think you are shirking your responsibilities by indulging in this…dalliance?” Conall teased. “Shut up,” Luke said, laughing. “Don’t you dare stop, or I shall show you a king’s wrath.” Conall licked him from root to tip. “Damnation.” He sighed. The tip of his tongue toyed with the narrow slit at the head of Luke’s cock. Luke fisted his hands on Conall’s hair and tugged, moaning. “It has already gone to your head. A king’s wrath, indeed.” He tugged his hair free of Luke’s grip and held it gathered over his shoulder so Luke could not reach for it again. “I am Rannan, lad, and we care naught for titles or crowns.” His finger sank into Luke, not even all the way to the first knuckle. “In fact, we delight in teaching your like their proper place.” “Conall,” Luke whimpered, with no pride left at all. Conall’s teeth scraped over his hip. “Tell me what you want, Luke,” he murmured. “You,” Luke said, wrapping his legs around Conall’s waist and rolling him over beneath him. “I want you. I want you in me.” He arched his hips against Conall’s. “I want you to fuck me.” His cheeks burned, but he said the words anyway, and watched heat and hunger wash across Conall’s face. “Well,” he murmured, smiling. “That’s direct.” His hands curved around Luke’s waist and he adjusted the angle of his hips so that, when he thrust, his cock slid with delicious friction against 255

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Luke’s. His hands fisted on Conall’s shoulders. “Three days. We have only three days, and then—” He broke off, not only because Conall had reared up and sealed his mouth over Luke’s nipple. “Damn these games. I intend to make the most of it.” “We’ve all the time we want, lad.” Conall’s hands covered Luke’s ass, spreading his cheeks. He dragged a fingertip along the cleft and grinned when Luke shuddered. “But perhaps I oughtn’t give that away just yet. I rather like this new side of you.” Luke shook his head. “We don’t. We can’t. How—” Conall thrust his finger into him. Luke broke off, biting down hard on his lower lip. “Ah, gods.” The words burst from him like an explosion. His pulse sounded in his ears like the roar of cannon-fire. He rocked back, bearing down on Conall’s touch, forcing him deeper. Conall twisted his finger, working it in all the way to the last knuckle. He probed, searching, and found the spot within Luke that made fire flash across his skin. Luke made hungry, insistent noises as he shuddered, at the mercy of Conall’s touch. “What is the use of being king,” he asked, stroking that spot again and again, “if you must live your life in deference to the dictates of others?” “That…that is not the point.” Luke bit his lip, but could not stifle his cry. “The point is to rule. To guide the country and— gods—to keep her people safe. It’s not about getting what you want.” Conall laughed and hooked an arm around Luke’s neck, dragging him down into a kiss. “Lad, I do believe you are the only monarch ever to feel that way. The gods should be ashamed of themselves for giving someone like you such a raw deal.” “I don’t have any idea what you mean.” Luke sucked a breath in through his teeth. “Damn it, Conall, touch me.” 256

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Conall crooked his finger and arched a brow as he said, “I’m fair certain I am, lad.” Luke glared, but could not manage to put much heat behind the expression. “One hand, and you are barely moving it. That is a poor excuse for touching.” “Is it? My mistake. I’d best stop, then.” He snaked an arm around Luke’s waist and reversed their positions before Luke could form a protest. The impact drove him in hard and deep, and Luke groaned. “What I mean, lad, is that ruling a country is a miserable job for someone as determined to do it well as you.” He circled a hand around Luke’s cock and stroked him steadily. “You are only one man, and you care so very much about your people. You will never be able to provide for them as you think you ought. But you will work yourself into the ground trying.” Conall bent and laved the drops of moisture from the head of Luke’s cock. “And because you are so very decent, you will not even take for yourself the compensation that most kings demand, of riches and finery and privilege. Instead, you will do what others expect of you, and try to do what you expect of yourself, and all you will have to show for it in the end is a lifetime of joyless duty.” He slid up and left a circle of kisses above Luke’s heart. “I cannot even bear the thought of it,” he murmured against Luke’s skin. “I don’t know how you can face it with such equanimity.” “I do not have a choice,” Luke whispered, as shaken by Conall’s words as by his touches. “It is what must be. It’s…fate.” Conall’s expression twisted. “I’m a pirate, lad,” he growled. “We make our own fate. And you could do well to learn from our example.” He sucked at Luke’s nipple until Luke arched up tight beneath him, sharp, needy sounds clawing from his throat. “You’re 257

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king, aren’t you? You could have what you wanted, if you were bold enough to take it.” “It’s not that easy,” Luke whispered. “I cannot change my country or my people on a whim.” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “I don’t even know what you are suggesting.” “What are you suggesting?” Conall demanded, stretching him with the tip of a second finger. “That you give me a home of my own and a pretense of respectability, and we nod nicely at one another if we happen to meet on the street?” His breath blew harshly against Luke’s chest. Luke brought his arms up around Conall’s shoulders, holding on to him. “Would you be content with that?” “No,” Luke whispered, pressing his eyes closed, trembling. “I wouldn’t. I can’t. But what else am I to do?” Conall was quiet a moment, steadily easing Luke open. “You’ll figure it out, lad,” he said at last. Luke blinked his eyes open. “But…” Conall’s fingers thrust deep, and Luke lost his voice on a ragged cry. “Conall!” Conall nuzzled against the side of his throat, tongue flicking over his pulse. “Aye, lad?” “Stop…stop this. Stop tormenting me.” His fingers scraped over Conall’s back. “I just want you. Now. Please.” Conall drove his fingers into Luke, in and out again in quick succession, with no opportunity to catch his breath. Luke arched up off the bed, keening, clawing at Conall’s shoulders. “I want you, too,” Conall murmured as he pulled out, leaving Luke empty and aching. “Gods, it is like a madness sometimes.” He pulled Luke’s leg up. The broad pressure of the head of his cock nudging against Luke’s opening made Luke writhe up against him. 258

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“Madness. Yes.” Luke bore down, taking Conall into him. “That is exactly what it’s like.” Conall worked himself deep with small nudges, slight movements, until at last their hips were locked together and they were both gasping. Luke curled his hands around the back of Conall’s neck and looked up at him. “I love you,” he whispered, for the joy of being able to say it and the wonder of witnessing Conall’s reaction, the way his hands tightened and his lips parted and his eyes shuttered, and then opened again blazing with emotion. “Say it again,” he growled with a long, deep stroke. “I love you.” Luke gasped, and Conall stroked into him again, establishing a steady, driving pace. Luke slid his hands down to grip Conall’s shoulders, kept his gaze steady staring up into Conall’s, watching him as he moved within Luke. The rising tide of pleasure made him bite down on his lip. Conall lowered himself enough that he could kiss Luke, sliding his tongue along the edge of Luke’s teeth, carefully easing his lip free. He caught it between his own, sucked on it carefully, swept his over the sensitive inner surfaces. Luke made a hungry sound and rose up into the kiss, seeking more. Conall’s movements stirred something bright and deep within him. Luke tightened around him, thrust up into Conall’s next stroke, and had to cry out at the piercing heat that shot through him. Conall gave a ragged groan and his rhythm faltered, quickening. Luke slid a hand up to curl around the back of his neck and tugged his mouth down more firmly against his, drove his hip up against Conall’s so the pirate’s muttered oath was muffled by his kiss. Conall’s hands tightened on him and the pace quickened again, 259

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so he was driving hard into Luke with each stroke, Conall’s body straining into his. Luke shuddered and clung onto his broad shoulders. When his head fell back, Conall pressed his lips to Luke’s throat and sucked at his skin. “Ah, lad,” Conall murmured against him. And then, husky, “Luke,” not as though he wanted something, just as though it were a gift simply to speak his name. Luke raised Conall’s head up and kissed him, over and over again, swift, darting little kisses placed on his lips, a quick graze of teeth or tongue. His fingers traced restlessly over Conall’s face as desire built to a crescendo within him. He tried to hold back, to make it last. But Conall swept his thumb over Luke’s cheek and opened his eyes to look down at him with such a tender expression, and he was lost. He cried out as the first waves of shock rippled through him, and dragged Conall’s mouth down to his. There was nothing brief or darting about it this time. He claimed Conall’s mouth with a fierce hunger, crying out as his body shook and convulsed beneath Conall’s, and he spent himself between them. Conall’s strokes were powerful and frantic now, his eyes glazed with need. He drove into Luke, and Luke watched as color washed across his face and he squeezed his eyes shut, a moment before he drove deep and locked himself there, groaning and shuddering. Luke wound his arms around Conall’s neck and drew him to down to lie on top of him. Conall’s breath gusted against his cheek. He held Luke tight and slumped onto him, still lodged deep inside as he slowly softened, and his breathing steadied. Conall’s fingers stroked softly over Luke’s throat, through his hair. He pushed himself up enough to gaze down at Luke, then 260

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leaned in for a gentle kiss. Dimly, Luke heard the door rattle, and felt Conall tense above him. He drew back from the kiss and turned his face against Conall’s chest as blinding light fell across the bed. “Pardon me, boys, but I need— Oh.” Luke startled and pushed at Conall’s chest, trying to roll away, at the sound of Mrs. Ginnings’s voice. “Do excuse me, I’ll just be a moment.” Conall’s brows furrowed. He rolled off of Luke and grabbed a blanket from the bed, slinging it around his hips as he followed after her. “Damn it, woman!” he growled. “Can’t you knock?” “Well, I’m getting under your men’s feet out there, Captain,” she said, stepping over her bed and retrieving a small bundle from the corner of her room. “So I thought I’d get my sewing and make myself useful, so’s they can be about their work.” Luke grabbed his trousers from the floor and hastily wriggled into them before she came back out, Conall trailing after her, glowering furiously. “You still might’ve knocked. Gods above.” He turned his frown on Luke. “Don’t you royalty bother to teach your people manners in Samar?” Mrs. Ginnings arched a brow at him over her shoulder. “They surely do. And I’d have interrupted you considerably more if I’d stood there banging at the door until you dragged yourself away and came to let me in, wouldn’t I?” She slipped through the door and waved at them over her shoulder. “Never you fear, lads, this’ll keep me happy for quite some time.” Conall closed the door behind her, hard enough that Luke frowned, then just stood there, leaning his brow against the jamb. Luke sank down onto the edge of the bed, gnawing on the edge of his lip. “Sorry,” he ventured. 261

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Conall turned and looked at him over his shoulder. “What on earth are you apologizing for, lad?” Luke gestured futilely. “Well, she’s my chaperone.” He snorted with halfhearted laughter. “Still doesn’t make her your fault.” Luke found his discarded shirt on the floor and pulled it on. Even though Mrs. Ginnings was gone—and Conall locked the door behind her with a fierce scowl—he still felt suddenly vulnerable. “You’re blushing,” he said with it half over his head, trying to work his arm into the sleeve. “I’d’ve expected you to be a little more unflappable.” He finally got his arm through and shoved his head through the neck so he could see again. “You didn’t care at all when I was worried she might hear us.” “Hear us, hell.” Conall turned, leaning back against the frame, and tunneled his fingers through his hair. “She can listen all she likes. You live on a ship this small, you get used to the idea that whatever you’re up to, somebody’s bound to overhead it. But I’ll not have a damned audience watching over my shoulder. I’ve earned the right to a little privacy, when I desire it.” Luke rose and crossed the cabin. He slid his arms around Conall’s waist and held on to him, turning his cheek against Conall’s shoulder. “Sorry, lad,” Conall murmured, returning the embrace and clutching him tight. Luke shrugged and slipped away. “Next time,” he said, grinning, “I’ll make sure she knows to knock first.” But the smile fell from his face as he stepped outside. The sails billowed full above their heads and a small island passed on the distant horizon, not the one they were sailing toward but a reminder all the same that soon their voyage would be over, and 262

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then… He did not know what came next, not in regards to Conall and himself. Conall still had not said whether he’d want to take a home in Samar or not. He’d seemed insulted when he’d thought Luke would not offer him one, but even then he’d still not said whether he would accept such an offer, were Luke to make one. Days. They had only days left. Whether because she was aware that the end of their time together neared, or to make up for her interruption earlier, Mrs. Ginnings excused herself to bed as soon as they’d finished supper, while the sun still sat half above the horizon. Luke spared only a passing thought for such peculiarity, then did not think anything at all about it except in terms of gratitude as he pulled Conall from his chair and dragged him to the bed. It seemed a crime to waste even a moment, when they had so few left to them. He buried his face in the pillow as Conall took him, to stifle his cries but also so he did not have to look up at Conall and wonder how long it would take before he began to forget the finer details. When Conall collapsed on top of him, sated and sweaty, Luke rolled over and wrapped around him, arms and legs locked tight around his back. Conall tilted his face up and gave him a bemused smile, but when Luke did not offer an explanation, he left it at that and urged Luke to lay his head down upon his breast again. For two days, every spare moment they had together they spent in one another’s arms, grappling to touch and feel and claim. Until on the last day, Luke stood at the ship’s brow, fingers wrapped around the weatherworn rail, and stared out at the stretch of land darkening the horizon. “Lad.” Conall’s voice was soft, almost lost beneath the rush of the wind and the creak of the ropes. But Luke turned and found 263

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him standing at the edge of the deck a few paces away, watching him quietly. Luke didn’t say anything, and couldn’t manage a smile. “You don’t have to go home,” Conall said roughly, closing the distance between them with slow steps. “Yes, I do! I have to!” Luke shook his head hard. The wind caught at his hair and blew it in his face. “My cousin…he’d be a terrible king. I can’t leave Samar in his hands. I can’t do that to my people.” “Even if it will make you miserable?” Conall asked quietly. “Even if you must give up everything you desire?” He was close enough now that Luke could have reached out and touched him, but he kept his hands behind his back instead, fingers straining at the wooden rail. “You said you want me.” “I do! I—” Luke sobbed and turned his face aside, squeezing his eyes shut. “Conall, please. You are making this more difficult for me.” “I would make it impossible, if I could.” Conall grabbed him by the shoulders and gave him a brief shake. “I would throw you in the hold and keep you there until we’d sailed to the middle of the ocean, months from anywhere.” “You could come to Samar,” Luke whispered. Conall’s fingers eased on his shoulders, until Luke could hardly feel they were there at all. “And live in an empty house in the middle of a land I don’t know, surrounded by people I don’t know, and only catch a glimpse of you from the crowd as you presided over state affairs?” he murmured. “No, lad. I should rather not have you at all, than be constantly tormented by what is beyond my grasp.” Luke closed his eyes and nodded, and he tried like hell for the 264

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gesture to seem understanding and accepting. But tears dripped down his cheeks, and when he opened his eyes, he was sure he looked wretched. “Gods.” Conall groaned, shoving his hands into Luke’s hair and dragging him forward. “You cannot cry. That is not fair at all.” Luke dried his cheeks on his shoulder. “I am trying. You are not helping.” “Damn me to the depths of the ocean,” Conall muttered. “How can I send you off, knowing that I send you to tears and misery?” He framed Luke’s face in his hands and turned it up to his. His eyes were wild and frantic. “I can’t. I can’t, Luke.” His hands slipped down to find Luke’s, gripped them so tight Luke’s knuckles ached. “Stay with me. I can’t let you go, not like this. Not when we both know you will be unhappy.” Luke jerked back, frowning. “You’ll have to. It’ll not make me any happier to know I’ve abandoned my people.” “Damn your people!” Conall cried. “Do you think any one of them would make the same sacrifice for you?” “It doesn’t matter.” Luke stepped away, shaking Conall’s hands off. “It’s my choice to make. You don’t get to make it for me. And I won’t abandon my country.” Conall stared down at him, his expression taut with frustration. Luke met his gaze steadily, unwavering. But after a moment, he sighed and stepped in again, and brought his hands up to Conall’s face. “I’m going home,” he whispered. “That won’t change. But I don’t want to leave angry with you.” Conall’s lashes lowered, shuttering his eyes. “I’m a pirate,” he growled. “I take what I want, and the hell with permission.” Luke shook his head slowly. “Not this time.” He turned away before Conall could stop him. 265

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CHAPTER 21 Theris, Ranna’s capital, was considerably bigger than Sebura, but the harbor was smaller. Luke stared out at the long, rambling avenues and the grand villas, as fine as any that Samar City boasted. There were fishmongers down by the docks hawking their wares, and impatient cargo haulers selling their goods right off the boat. Teams of mules hauled the rest of the goods away, a seemingly unending stream of rattling carts that made their slow progress into and out of the city proper. Luke looked out at it all as Conall guided the ship into port. A shudder stole down his spine. When Conall came to join him, standing at his side, he finally spoke up. “You said they would kill me. You said my accent would give me away.” Conall cleared his throat and put a hand on the small of Luke’s 266

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back. “They would,” he said gruffly. “Most of them. That’s why you’re to let me do the talking until we get to the Square.” “And after?” Luke wondered. “Well, lad, I can get you through the doors. The rest you have to do yourself.” The process of anchoring and mooring the ship to the dock and registering their arrival with the proper port authorities seemed interminable, and yet all too soon it was done and Conall was standing at the head of the gangway, watching him with one brow raised, as if to say, “Well?” Luke squared his shoulders and followed him down. There were stables just pass the docks and Conall led Luke to one and kept him close as they walked the stalls, inspecting the horses within. “It’s not far to the Square,” Conall told him, leaning down to murmur in Luke’s ear, “but there’s less time for people to get an eyeful of you, if you’re passing at a trot.” The stablemaster came out and gave a shout when he saw them, and Luke thought it had all gone to pieces already, but the man was looking at Conall, not at Luke, and beaming fit to split his face in two. “Conall, you old scoundrel!” the stablemaster cried, pounding Conall on the back. “What business brings you to Theris?” “My own,” Conall said affably, smiling, and to Luke’s surprise the other man did not press him. “I need two of your finest, Daire, just for a short while.” “Two, is it?” the man murmured, and glanced at Luke. Luke pretended he didn’t notice and stayed as he was, leaning against one of the stalls and trying to lure its horse to him with a handful of grass, so that Daire could not see any more of him than his profile. “Well and good, I know just the ones.” 267

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They were mounted soon enough, Luke on a fine gray gelding, Conall on a stockier chestnut. Luke trotted the gray around the courtyard, testing his temperament, and Daire called out, “You ride like you were born to it.” The words were genial enough, but Luke chilled and reined his mount to a stop. His gaze flashed to Conall, but he was already distracting the stablemaster by counting coins out into his palm. They left shortly after that, and Luke edged up next to Conall as they made their way to the road and murmured, “This is risky. I don’t ride like a commoner.” “It is all risky, lad. I never said it wasn’t.” He glanced sidelong at Luke, and the corner of his mouth turned up. “You might try to ride a little less well.” Luke sent him a disbelieving look. “If someone suggested you sail a ship poorly through a storm, intentionally, could you do it?” Conall grimaced, looking pained, and Luke nodded. “You see?” “I see, lad.” He nudged his horse into a trot. “Let’s get on with it.” Luke followed him through the city, wending their way up a large hill. Luke kept to the outside edges of the street, hidden from the eyes of most observers behind Conall and his horse, but even so it felt like stares followed him on his ride, and his gelding fidgeted beneath him in response to his tension. Still, Conall had been right when he said it was not far. They came soon enough to the top of the hill, and the vast building that sat at its crown, flanked by colonnades and statuaries. Luke would have liked to linger and study the men and women depicted in the marble statues, nearly half again as tall as normal men, but that was not their reason for coming. 268

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They dismounted before the building and handed their mounts off to stablehands. Conall gave Luke’s hand a brief squeeze, then dropped it and squared his shoulders. Luke did the same, and they strode in together, side-by-side. A clerk greeted them in the hall. Conall said to him, “Tell the representative from Leros that Conall of Perlor has come to call, and that it is a matter of grave importance.” The clerk blinked, as startled as Luke by Conall’s officious tone, and scurried off with a hurried suggestion that they might wait in the sitting room until they were summoned. Conall seemed to know where he was going, so Luke followed after him. There were chairs and settees in the sitting room, and a decanter of wine with glasses on the sideboard, but Luke was too anxious to sit, and Conall seemed happy to stand as well. So they remained on their feet, awkward and tense. Luke wished he could close what distance there was between them and lean in against Conall’s chest, take comfort from his strength. But he was here on state business, as a representative of his country, and it would not do. They were not made to wait long, in any case. Soon the clerk came again and bid them follow him. He led them down the hall and knocked upon a door. A voice from within called, “Yes, let them in.” The clerk pushed the door open. Conall stepped through first, Luke on his heels. The room was part office, part library. Shelves covered every available wall, filled to bursting with all manner of books. In the center of the room was a large desk, cluttered in the manner of someone who had more work to do than he could rightfully manage, but not so much as to seem untidy. The man who sat behind the desk, and rose as they entered, was 269

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older, with salt-and-pepper hair and the lines of old age just beginning to draw creases on his face. “Conall,” he said with a warm voice, smiling broadly, and even if Conall had not stepped forward and embraced him and greeted him, “Uncle, it is good to see you,” Luke might still have guessed they were related. They had the same broad shoulders, and a similar look to their features. The official had the same look of deep, wry humor that Luke had come to associate with Conall, so much so that Luke found it deeply disconcerting. “You are always welcome, my boy,” he said, smiling down at Conall. “But you said it was a grave matter?” “It is, yes, but not mine to tell.” Conall stepped back and looked to Luke. His uncle followed his gaze. Luke came forward and bowed deeply. “My lord, I am—” “It’s Harbin,” he said. “Or Grace, if you insist upon a title.” Luke hesitated, then continued. “Your Grace, I am Lucas of Samar, son of Phillip of Samar and rightful heir to his throne, and I have come to beg your assistance.” Harbin rocked back, his brows climbing high on his forehead. He glanced sideways at Conall. “You always do manage to bring home the damnedest things, don’t you?” he murmured. Luke held his ground, waiting, refusing to let him turn the conversation to one held between himself and his nephew. The corners of Conall’s mouth curled up. “Occasionally, I have been known to stumble upon a rare treasure. I do believe I’ve outdone myself, this time.” He nodded at Luke, easily directing Harbin’s attention back to him. “Speak your piece, lad.” Luke told him, briefly, about the events that had taken place since he’d been taken onto Conall’s ship, about his father’s death and the ill-fated ransom exchange, and the revelation that this was 270

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all meant to prevent him from unseating the regent who ruled in Luke’s absence. “I have no one outside of Samar,” he said. “No one but your nephew, and a lady’s maid who sailed with us. I need Ranna’s aid if I’m to reclaim my throne.” Harbin sat back and laced his fingers together over his stomach. “What on earth makes you think that we would offer it, young Lucas? We have no stake in preserving your rule—quite the opposite, in fact.” Luke gave an unsteady laugh. “Trust me, your Grace, you do. My cousin rules in my stead, and he…he is no friend of Ranna. He will turn his gaze on your country as soon as he is comfortable in his seat, and you have not the resources to protect yourself. Not against the might of the Samari navy.” Harbin’s lips pursed. His brows lowered. “And you would have us believe that you are our friend?” he asked, deceptively soft. Luke hesitated, painfully aware that he was treading dangerous waters. By rights, he should have had months of preparation and hours of instruction about a given diplomat’s particular personality and style before ever entering into negotiations with another country. Not a few days on a pirate ship when he was exhausted and fretful and strained to the breaking point, and more than a little distracted besides. “Neither I nor my father have ever given you reason to call me friend,” he said at last, quietly. “I should not presume to make such a claim. I can only hope that you’ll believe me when I assure you that I have no designs on your country. I do not want your country. I only want my own.” He stretched his hands out before himself, palms up, open wide. “I cannot do it on my own. I need your help. But I did not come here to threaten or intimidate it from you. 271

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Goodness knows, I have nothing to threaten you with. If you deny your aid, I have nothing at all.” He dropped his hands to his sides. “All I can do is prevail upon your mercy, and hope that you share a similar desire that our nations might someday be, if not friends, then at least not enemies.” Harbin cocked a brow, and Luke did not breathe until he said, “Well, then. You’d best tell me what it is you’re wanting, specifically.” Luke let out his breath, carefully, so as not to reveal the depth of his relief. It was not an offer of aid, nowhere near, but it was a far cry more patience than he’d expected a Rannan to show him. “A small retinue of men, just enough to escort me home, and serve as my guard until I have reclaimed my throne and cleared the traitors from my court.” There was a moment of silence. Harbin seemed to be waiting. After a moment, he straightened, frowning. “That’s it?” he demanded. Luke made a wordless gesture. “What else did you expect me to ask for?” Harbin laughed humorlessly. “An army, mayhap. A declaration of war. Lands, or goods, or who-knows-what.” Luke slowly shook his head. “Your lands do not interest me, your Grace. And I do not need an army. It is my throne, by rights. If I come to claim it, they cannot keep me from it. It is why they tried to kill me in the first place. All I need is protection, to get me there safely.” “Even so. These are our men, our resources, our means of defending our families and our homes. What do you offer in exchange?” “An alliance,” Luke said, “with all that it entails. Your lands 272

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are vulnerable, and frequently targeted for attack because so many of the pirates that plague these waters have ports-of-call among your islands. We can help you defend yourselves. And trade—your merchants will have full access to Samari ports.” He smiled a little, thinking of the strange, rock-like fruit Conall had showed him. “I can assure you that some of your exports will be in very high demand in Samar, once we know about them. And you will no longer need to sail all the way to Kalor for those resources that you must import.” Harbin drummed his fingers on the desk, lips pursed in thought. “And what surety can you offer that you’ll keep your word? You would not be the first Samari king to ply us with honeyed promises, only to betray us as soon as our backs were turned.” “I am not my father,” Luke murmured, eyes shuttering. “I will sign a treaty, witnessed and sealed, if that is what will ease your minds. I swear to you by all I hold dear, I mean you no treachery.” “Your word?” Harbin said softly, brows lifting. “Words are easily forgotten, oaths easily broken. It is not enough.” Luke quelled the sense of despair and panic that twisted through his chest. “What, then?” he demanded. “Tell me what you would have me do, to prove my sincerity.” “Lucas…” Harbin sighed. “You don’t think it’s that easy, do you? We are an island nation, and we have had rather poor luck with the alliances we’ve made in our past. We have learned through hard experience, time and again, that outsiders are not to be trusted. We trust our own—our family, and our kin. No one else has ever stood by us.” “I trust him,” Conall said softly from behind Luke. “With my life, Uncle. He is a good man.” Harbin’s gaze flashed to his nephew. “Well and so,” he 273

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snapped, brows creasing. “Your word might—might—be enough to sway me in his favor. But I am not the only one who must be convinced. For something of this magnitude, it would take a majority vote of all our representatives. I doubt your word holds much sway with them.” “Wait,” Luke breathed. A whisper of an idea niggled at the back of his mind, half-formed and tentative. Kin, Harbin had said. Family. Had he not set sail on this journey intending to make a strategic marriage alliance? A loveless marriage, as Conall had noted, but one he had reconciled himself to all the same. You will be miserable, Conall had said. Well, he would be no less miserable if he lost Samar. “Family, then,” he said, louder. Harbin frowned at him uncertainly. “I shall join your family, if that’s what it takes. An alliance, sealed by a marriage. By blood ties.” “Lad,” Conall said, a rough, warning edge to his voice. “This is hardly the way—” “Do you see another?” Luke kept his gaze steady on Harbin, gauging his reaction. The man looked like he didn’t know what to think. “I can see any number of alternatives that end better than a loveless marriage with someone you hardly know.” Luke watched the way Harbin’s gaze flicked to Conall, a wry smile pulling at his mouth, and he realized that Conall was already voicing every protest Harbin himself had to make about the idea. Luke turned, frowning at Conall over his shoulder, and said whisper-quiet, “You are not helping me.” Conall glared back at him just as fiercely. “I cannot watch you do this,” he hissed in response. “I cannot watch you resign yourself 274

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to misery.” “Marry me yourself then!” Luke snapped, rounding on him. He hadn’t meant to say anything at all, and certainly not that. But he watched Conall rock back as though he’d been hit with a physical punch. Conall’s eyes widened with pure shock, his mouth hanging open. “What?” he demanded. “Do what?” Nothing, a voice in the back of Luke’s mind whispered. Do nothing. It doesn’t matter. Just a bit of foolishness. Forget I said anything. “You heard me just fine,” he said, and though he kept his back straight and rigid, his voice trembled. Conall didn’t say anything, just gaped at him. Luke shook his head and turned back to Harbin. “I should, of course, be happy to meet with any—” Harbin held up a hand, silencing him. His gaze was not on Luke, but on Conall. Luke feared to look over his shoulder and see what in Conall’s countenance had grabbed Harbin’s attention so. For a moment, they were all silent, still. Then Harbin glanced back at Luke and murmured, “It’s a rare man who can render my nephew speechless.” He spoke over Luke’s attempts to answer him. “This is not a decision I alone can make. I will bring your offer to the others for deliberation, and we shall give you an answer in the morning.” His gaze slid again to Conall. “It has been too long since we have had a chance to talk, you and I. Will you have supper with me tonight?” “Yes. I should be happy to.” Conall’s voice sounded strange, rough. Choked. Luke turned, but Conall stared straight ahead at his uncle, and would not look at him. “You will, of course, offer Luke a room—” “No,” Luke said quickly, shaking his head. “I’ll stay on the 275

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ship. I don’t want to leave Mrs. Ginnings alone. She’ll worry.” Conall did glance at him then, just for a moment before he jerked his gaze away again. Luke thought he might protest, but he only hesitated a moment. “Very well.” He bowed to Harbin. “I shall see you tonight, Uncle.” Conall was quiet, withdrawn, as they returned to the stable and mounted their horses. Luke followed him through the city in silence, but as they climbed the gangway to the ship, he could not keep himself in check any longer. “Did I do something wrong?” he asked, grabbing a handful of Conall’s coat to stop him. “Back there, with your uncle?” Conall turned, frowning down at him in puzzlement. “What? No, lad. You were just fine.” He reached back and took Luke’s hand from his clothing, unclenched his fingers from the fabric and threaded them through Conall’s instead. “You convinced him to listen to you, to hear you out and consider your offer. All things considered, I’d think it was a rousing success.” “But you seem upset with me.” “Upset? Gods, lad, no, I’m not upset with you.” He stepped down onto the deck and turned to help Luke down after him. “Just thinking.” “About what?” Luke persisted, but Conall just shook his head. “You’d best go find Mrs. Ginnings. I’m sure she’ll be wanting to know how it went. Dinnertime will come soon enough, and I’ve work to do in the meantime.” Luke released his hand and watched him walk away, frowning at Conall’s back. At length, he sighed and turned away to look for Mrs. Ginnings. Conall was right—she would want to hear about their meeting with Harbin. But Conall’s sudden pensiveness weighed on him uneasily. 276

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He’s just upset you’re leaving. Luke consoled himself as he ducked into the cabin. And irritated because he thinks you’re sacrificing your happiness. He’ll come around. As evening fell, Luke came out to see him off. Conall hesitated at the rail, and turned back to him. “I may be back late. My uncle… He can be talkative, if he’s in the mood for it. And it has been a while.” Luke nodded, and smiled at him. “He’s family. I understand.” Conall pulled him into a rough embrace and kissed his brow, then turned and left. Luke watched him from the rail as he walked into the city, smiled a little when he waved to the stablemaster they’d met earlier. When Luke could no longer make him out among the rest of the city’s inhabitants, he turned away and returned to the cabin, where Mrs. Ginnings sat with her sewing in the lamplight. She set it aside when Luke came in, and looked up at him shrewdly. “You look a fright,” she said, not unkindly. Luke sighed and sat next to her. Their shoulders brushed. He’d have leaned in against her and let her comfort him, but that was something a child would do, and he was not that any longer. “I want to go home,” he said quietly, looking down at his knees. “But I don’t want to leave.” She gave him a puzzled look and said, “I don’t think life as a pirate would suit you, child.” Luke slanted her a sideways glance. “It’s not the ship I mind leaving.” “Ah.” She set down her sewing. “It’s the man at the helm you don’t want to leave behind.” Luke sighed and leaned his brow on the heels of his hands. “You knew this day was coming,” she said gently. 277

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“The day, yes. It’s how I feel about it that’s surprising me.” She grimaced in sympathy. “Snuck up on you, did it?” “I told him I loved him,” Luke whispered, closing his eyes. “And then I told him I was leaving.” “Child…” She lifted his chin so he had to look at her. “He knew this day was coming, too. Your leaving is not a surprise to him.” “He asked me to stay.” She sat back, her mouth pursing with surprise. “And what did you tell him?” “That I couldn’t, of course.” He pressed his fingers to his eyes. “That I cannot abandon my country. That I would hate myself if I did.” He dropped his hands and looked at her. “It’s all true, all of it. But it does not make it any easier at all.” “No,” she murmured. “I imagine it doesn’t.” They were both quiet a moment, until she set her sewing aside and rose to her feet. “I feel like stretching my legs, I think. Why don’t you come along with me, child? Your pirate seems a decent enough sort, but I can’t say as I particularly trust his men to abide by their word.” “Are you afraid of being accosted?” A reluctant smile tugged at Luke’s lips. “I doubt any would dare, not after the way you wielded that dagger.” “Well, I should like the company all the same,” she said. “And it will do you no good to sit in here and brood.” He let her coax him to his feet, and out onto the deck, where the air had turned cool and the sky dark. They made several circuits around the deck, and Luke kept his hands shoved into his pockets and his head tilted back to watch the stars, and tried not to think about what the Rannans would say in the morning. The moon rose eventually, full and bright, glowing through the 278

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canvas of the ship’s sails like a paper lantern. Mrs. Ginnings made no mention of returning to the cabin, but she’d wrapped her arms tighter around her ribs and was looking uncomfortable, so Luke returned and brought out a blanket for her to wrap around herself. She smiled at him and said, “Thank you, child,” and silence fell again between them. They waited together a while longer, and Luke was glad for her wordless companionship. But when her eyes began to droop and her head nod forward, despite how she struggled to stay awake with him, he gently insisted that she go to bed. “I’m just fine,” he told her firmly. “There’s no need to worry about me. I just want to wait for Conall, and know how dinner with his uncle went.” She obeyed reluctantly, her footsteps dragging as she walked back to the cabin. Luke watched until she’d disappeared behind the cabin door and the lamp that shone through the windows had been doused, then climbed the decks to the ship’s prow and stood leaning out, watching the moonlight scatter off the waves below them. He was no less tired than Mrs. Ginnings, but even had he tried to sleep he knew he would not have. Nerves roiled in his stomach as the night drew on, and Conall still had not returned. Harbin had called it a dinner, to catch up with his erstwhile nephew. But Luke had grown up on the field of politics, and he suspected it was more. Were they debating their answer even now? Was Conall so late because he was arguing in Luke’s favor, fighting to get him the resources he needed to go home, even though they both knew he’d rather have kept Luke with him? He didn’t know. He couldn’t know, not until Conall returned. And so he paced across the deck, weary and fretful, until at least he 279

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heard the hollow echo of steps on the gangway. Luke leaned out over the rail. Conall raised his head and lifted his hand in a weary gesture—not even enough to be called a proper wave. Luke held himself in check until Conall had stepped off onto the deck, and then he could not restrain himself any longer. “Well?” The question burst from him, too much to be contained. “How was it? What did they say?” “Give me a moment, lad,” Conall muttered. Luke followed him into the cabin, noting the way his steps dragged and he brought a hand up to scrub over his face, and also the way he could not keep still, how his hands were constantly moving. Even when one hung at his side his fist was flexing and clenching, his thumb running over his knuckles, his fingers tapping out an anxious rhythm against his thigh. He was tired. But he was also upset. Luke hung back, worried and silent, as Conall crossed to his desk and tore the drawers open, searching for something and growing more and more agitated when he could not find it. “Damn it!” he growled at last, throwing up his hands. “Where the hell is my Caloskan liquor?” Luke ran his tongue over his lip, wary of Conall’s temper—and warier still of whatever news might have caused it. “The brown bottle, with the red seal?” he asked, and Conall snapped his head up. “It’s in your trunk, wrapped in one of your shirts. I saw it when I was looking for the key the other day.” Conall spun and stalked over to the trunk. He dug the bottle out and sat on the trunk’s lid as he wrenched the cork free. Luke watched, brows furrowing in growing concern, as Conall tipped it back and drank at least half of the strong—and expensive—liquor before even coming up for air. 280

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“Gods,” Conall muttered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He dropped his head back and stared up at the ceiling. “Gods.” “Please,” Luke whispered, still frozen by the doorway. “Please, won’t you tell me? You are frightening me.” Conall let his arm drop to his side and looked at Luke across the width of the cabin. “I don’t mean to frighten you, lad,” he said at last, roughly. He took another deep swig from the bottle and shoved the cork back in. “Come here.” Luke stumbled forward on feet that felt numb, mingled relief and pain rushing through him so violently that he was dizzy from it. Conall would not have reassured him like that if the news were bad, would he? He is upset, you fool. He looked up into Conall’s face. Of course he is. It means you’re leaving now, well and truly. “I’m sorry,” Luke whispered, and it came out like a sob. “I’m sorry. I’m hurting you to leave like this, I know I am, and I hate it. But I have to. I have to.” He framed Conall’s face in his hands and leaned their brows together, failing miserably as he tried to fight the tears. “I know it is poor consolation, but it is killing me, too. I feel like I shall fall apart.” Conall gave a rough, humorless laugh. Luke raised his head, stung. “You don’t believe me?” he whispered. Conall stroked his hand over Luke’s cheek. “I believe you mean it. Every word.” He drew a deep breath, let it out tremulously. “Ah, lad.” He sighed. “Come here. Let me hold you a moment.” Luke climbed up onto the trunk with him and slid into his arms. Conall clutched him tight, face buried in Luke’s hair. Luke twined his arms around Conall’s neck and held on to him. When Conall 281

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turned his head and blindly brushed his lips over Luke’s, Luke hadn’t the strength to deny him. He kissed Conall sweetly, gently, trying to soothe the hurt that he had caused him. Conall surrendered to it with a groan, fingers curling around the back of Luke’s head, mouth opening hungrily beneath his. But when Luke dragged his hands down Conall’s chest, Conall broke away and held him back. “Truly, lad,” he said ruefully. “This is not necessary.” “Please,” Luke whispered, pulling at him. “Please. Tomorrow I am to be betrothed and I need…I need you to touch me.” Conall still kept him at bay, his expression hardening with resolve. Luke wrapped his hands around his wrists and stared at him, aching. “Conall,” he whispered. “Whoever this girl is I’m to marry, I do not love her. I love you. Please, won’t you let me have just one more night to think back on when I am—when—” Conall shook off Luke’s hand and pressed his thumb to Luke’s lips, silencing him. “Hush, lad,” he murmured. “You’ve got it wrong.” Luke stilled, a sensation like ice water crashing over him. “I don’t understand.” His voice was strained and thin. “Will they help me or not?” “Oh, they will. It’s a sweet deal you’ve made them. Power and protection and money, and a formidable ally to call on should our enemies come knocking. And they’ve found a fine match for you, besides.” Conall propped his heel on the edge of the trunk and draped an arm around his knee. He took another swig from the bottle. “One who will be sure to keep Ranna’s interests at heart, and not be intimidated by what a fierce, formidable man you are.” He rolled his eyes as he spoke the last. “Someone who will stand toe-to-toe with you, who is not inclined to be timid or meek in the 282

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face of opposition. That was the criteria—and they know just who they want for the job.” He took another swig, then grimaced down at the bottle. “I don’t know that you’ll like it, though. And you’ve only yourself to blame.” “Conall!” Luke cried. “Won’t you just tell me?” Grimly, Conall offered him the liquor. Luke looked at it, and took it, but left the bottle resting in his lap. “Drink up, lad,” Conall said. “You and I are getting hitched.”

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CHAPTER 22 Luke thought it quite a miracle that he did not fall off the trunk. For a full minute he stared at Conall, unable to make any sense of his words. Once he realized what Conall meant—once he realized that he actually meant what it sounded like he’d meant—Luke’s mouth fell open. He gaped at Conall, speechless, breathless. “We’re… What? But… Why on earth would they…” “Well, don’t look at me,” Conall said. “You’re the one put the idea in their heads.” “I never would have thought to suggest this,” Luke protested feebly. But of course, he had, and hadn’t meant to at all. It had just been a moment of temper, when he’d snapped at Conall, Marry me yourself, then, not a sincere suggestion. 284

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“Oh,” he whispered. “Oh, but it is a little bit brilliant.” Conall raised one brow at him in query, and waited for his answer. Luke made a fruitless gesture. “They will not like it in Samar. They will not like it at all. If anyone knew I was entering negotiations for such an arrangement… Well… There would be hell to pay. But if I sail home with it already done and signed and bound, people may protest all they like, but there’s little point in it.” He reached out, blindly, until he found Conall’s hand and gripped it tight. “And helping me regain my seat upon my throne will ingratiate them to you somewhat, as well.” Conall grunted and leaned forward to take the bottle back from him. Luke frowned and caught his wrist, then his gaze. “Conall,” he said softly, searching the other man’s eyes. “You do want to do this, don’t you?” He hesitated, afraid of the answer. “It’s not just because your uncle thinks you’re best suited to defend Ranna’s interests, is it?” Conall let out his breath on a long, slow sigh. “I promised I’d get you home. I mean to do it. Whatever it takes.” He gave Luke’s fingers a careful squeeze. “My uncle has asked any number of things from me in my life, lad, most of which I’ve refused him. Don’t think that I’m doing this because somebody else wants me to.” “I see,” Luke murmured. “Well…that’s good.” And then he just sat and stared at Conall, until at last Conall laughed. “You look like you’ve been standing too close to the cannons,” he said, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind Luke’s ear. “I feel like I have.” Luke turned his head, grazing Conall’s palm with his lips. “It is not possible. I am dreaming. I must be.” “Well, you’d best wake up,” Conall said with a slow, heated 285

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grin. He slid off the trunk and backed away from Luke, hands rising to work at his coat’s buttons. “You’ll be pledging your troth tomorrow. I intend to take complete and shameless advantage of you before they make you into an honest man.” Luke turned, letting his legs hang off the edge of the trunk, and watched as Conall backed across the cabin, shedding layers with each step, so that in the end he sat full-bare at the edge of the bed and his clothes lay in a trail upon the floor, guiding Luke to him. Luke slid to his feet, smiling faintly. He left his own clothes scattered on top of Conall’s as he crossed the distance between them, so that when he reached the bedside and Conall drew him into his arms, there was nothing but skin between them. Luke rolled above him, bearing him down onto his back, then laughed in startled surprise when Conall used his momentum to carry him over and back onto the bottom. “You are my spoils,” he growled, but the fierceness was lost amid the laughter in his eyes. He pushed himself up, gazing down at Luke. Luke tried not to squirm under his inspection. “And you know how we pirates love to admire our treasure.” “Admire?” Luke said softly. “Is that all?” Conall bent and drew him into a kiss. “I may get carried away.” Luke wrapped an arm around Conall’s neck, holding him close. He slipped his other down Conall’s back, following the lines of muscles and the hollow of his spine, until he reached its base and Conall made a sound halfway between a hum and a groan against Luke’s mouth. Luke smiled and caught Conall’s lower lip, working it between his teeth as his hand spread wide over Conall’s ass. He dragged Conall down against him, grinding their hips together, and they both groaned. “If you want your spoils,” he whispered, “then first 286

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you must claim them.” “Is that so?” Conall grinned and tugged free of Luke’s hold, kissing him again. He kissed Luke’s throat and his collar, kissed down his breastbone and pressed his lips just below Luke’s ribs. “Shall I stake my claim? And leave my mark for all to witness, like an explorer planting a flag?” His teeth scraped over Luke’s skin. “It does not matter,” Luke said, and he tried to keep his voice light, but it came out breathy and needy instead. “Tomorrow I am to be betrothed, and my intended is quite the scoundrel. He cares little for previous claims of ownership.” “Is that so?” Conall’s lips left a trail of fire down to Luke’s hip. His tongue swept over the hollow, then down the juncture between hip and thigh. It flicked over the base of Luke’s cock, a brief caress, and Luke choked back a needy cry. “Well, I shall have to make the mark indelible.” “Conall,” Luke whispered, unsteady. Conall raised his head, eyes glittering down at Luke in the darkness. “Yes, lad?” Luke let out his breath slowly, closing his eyes. “Please.” “Ah, lad.” Conall crawled back up Luke’s body. He curled a hand around the back of Luke’s neck and looked down at him from a breath away. “You ask so nicely.” Luke tilted his head back, and Conall’s mouth was there, crushing to his, claiming him completely. Luke wrapped a leg over Conall’s hip and ground up against him, and laughed breathlessly when Conall groaned. “Fuck me,” he whispered into the kiss. “Oh, Conall. Now.” Conall’s fingers clenched on him in response to his pleas. He pushed himself up, sliding down Luke’s body and leaving a trail of kisses along his flesh. Luke stifled a cry as Conall circled his cock, 287

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but did not touch it. Luke bent his knees and pushed against the mattress, angling his hips up. Conall’s lips curved as he dusted kisses across the inside of Luke’s thigh, slowly working his way up to where Luke needed him. Conall carefully lifted Luke’s testicles and sucked at the skin behind them. He worked his way down, parting Luke’s cheeks, until his tongue probed at Luke’s anus. Luke bit on his knuckle and spread his legs, arching up against Conall’s slight pressure. Conall worked him open slowly, carefully, running his hands over Luke’s thighs and stomach. When Luke relaxed with a shuddering sigh, he switched tongue for fingers and kissed up to Luke’s aching cock. “Oh,” he breathed, eyes springing open to stare down at the wickedly delicious sight of Conall’s lips wrapping around him. “Conall.” “Hmm?” The vibration of Conall’s voice made Luke throw his head back and shudder. “I—Oh—Yes.” He thrust up into Conall’s mouth, unable to help himself. Conall swallowed him without protest and worked his mouth all the way down to Luke’s hips, so that every inch of him was surrounded by the damp heat of Conall’s mouth, aroused by the teasing flick of Conall’s tongue. Increased pressure made Luke squirm as Conall added a second finger. He worked them in carefully, rocking forward and then easing back. It was an effort for Luke to remain still and relaxed for him. Conall’s mouth worked over him, a slick glide of tongue and lips, as he thrust his fingers into Luke. A dazed cry pressed at Luke’s lips; he swallowed it and curled his hands into fists. When Luke had taken both his fingers to the last knuckle, as 288

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deep as they would go, and was whimpering for more, arching up toward Conall in wordless demand every time he withdrew, Conall added a third finger and Luke sobbed aloud. Conall’s tongue circled over the head of Luke’s cock, lingering everywhere that made Luke cry out. “Please,” he begged breathlessly. “I cannot take any more.” “No?” Conall withdrew from him slowly, tormenting him with the feel of his fingers sliding through him, leaving him empty. He stretched out above Luke, braced up on his hands. “You shall have to take at least a little more, lad.” He reached down between them, adjusting himself so that his cock pressed against Luke’s entrance, and there was no mistaking his meaning. Luke grabbed Conall by the back of the head and dragged him down into a needy kiss as Conall buried himself inside him. The pace he set was easy, unhurried. Luke whimpered and bit at his lips, tightening around Conall’s cock with each lazy thrust. He wrapped Luke’s cock in his fist, but those strokes were torturously slow, too, keeping pace with his thrusts in and out of Luke’s ass. Sweat prickled along Luke’s skin, a rush of heat that climbed his throat and his cheeks. Conall broke away from the kiss, but only rose up a few inches. He stared down at Luke, his eyes dark, his face intent, as he moved within him. Luke’s lashes fluttered with each stroke, but every time he opened his eyes Conall’s gaze caught him again, held him trapped by what he saw in its depths. Haltingly, Luke brought his arms up between them and reached his hands toward Conall. He blinked when Luke spread them on either side of his face, and he turned into the kiss when Luke reared up to him, but he didn’t look away. Luke slid his hands down Conall’s chest, tugged at his nipples 289

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and was rewarded with a single, sharper thrust. He kept going, wrapping around his waist and fingers spreading, curved over the muscles over his ass. He used the leverage to pull at Conall, making each thrust a little harder, a little deeper. “Greedy,” Conall whispered, grinning down at him. “Very.” Luke nipped at his throat. “I am royalty, after all, and we are accustomed to getting what we want.” Conall tsked disapprovingly. “I hope you did not expect to be bringing a meek, timid little thing to your marriage bed,” he warned. “Or I shall surely be a disappointment to you.” Luke laughed breathlessly at the thought. “I had feared she would be a meek, timid little thing.” His fingers scraped over Conall’s skin. “It is a good thing you are marrying me. I fear you have ruined me for all others. I should hate to be lying with a wife and accidentally cry out your name.” Conall’s grin was fierce and pleased. “Will you?” he demanded, timing it with another thrust. “Will you cry out my name?” “Every night,” Luke said, laughing. “Again and again.” Conall’s eyes blazed down at him. “I want you to.” He thrust harder, faster, rocking Luke back with each stroke. “Now.” “Make me,” Luke said, half challenge, half plea. Conall groaned and braced his forearms on the bed, his hips pistoning into Luke, his breath coming in harsh, heavy pants. His hand tightened on Luke’s cock, stroking feverishly with short, fast strokes that brushed his palm over the head of Luke’s cock again and again. Luke dragged his hands up Conall’s back, fingers digging into his broad shoulders as he arched beneath the other man, shuddering. His legs closed like a vise around Conall’s waist, 290

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raising himself up into each of Conall’s thrusts, making each one stronger, faster. Conall kissed Luke’s neck and the side of his throat. His teeth scraped over Luke’s skin until it was even more sensitive, and even the brush of his lips made Luke shiver. When Conall released his cock, Luke cried out in dismay. But he stifled the sound quickly when Conall cupped his testicles in his palm, rolling each carefully between thumb and finger. “Gods,” Luke hissed as he exhaled sharply. Conall rose up and arched a brow at him. “That is not my name.” “Well, then you are not doing your job properly,” Luke countered with a thrill of excitement that came from the knowledge that he played with fire. Both Conall’s brows climbed his forehead. “Am I not?” He pressed his hand to Luke’s stomach, holding him still as he slowed his pace to a more leisurely glide. “I have not heard you complaining.” “Conall,” Luke protested, clenching tight around his cock as panic washed over him. “Conall! Don’t you dare stop!” “Oh, this is a fine precedent to set,” Conall murmured. “I cannot deny you.” He flexed, thrusting deep, and Luke arched up off the bed with a sharp cry. Conall grabbed his hips, using his grip to pull Luke into each thrust, pounding into him. Luke rose up against him, scrambling for purchase on his sweat-slick skin. He clutched at him and panted against his shoulder, shuddering violently, gasping every time Conall buried himself in him, groaning every time he withdrew. “Now,” Conall growled close by his ear, bearing him back onto the bed and straining over him. “Luke! Now!” He wrapped his 291

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hand around Luke’s cock and pumped him with a fast, tight grip. “Conall!” Luke’s cry was wrenched from him as his body convulsed, spurting jets of his semen between them to land on his stomach. At last he stopped quaking and slumped back down onto the bed with a softer, startled cry. “Gods above,” he breathed. Conall arched over him, still driving into him with a frantic pace that grew more urgent with every thrust. Luke wrapped his arms around Conall’s neck and brought his mouth to Conall’s, kissing him softly as Conall pounded into him. He locked their hips together with a long, wrenching groan, tiny movements nudging him deeper as he emptied himself into Luke. Slowly, Luke dropped his legs down off of Conall’s hips, and slid his hands up to run fingers through Conall’s sweat-damp hair. “Well,” Luke murmured, brushing a thumb over Conall’s lower lip. Conall laughed unsteadily. He leaned his brow against Luke’s shoulder. Carefully, he withdrew from Luke, but even then Luke only held on to him harder, and pulled Conall down to lie on top of him. He closed his eyes, feeling the tickle of Conall’s breath against his throat, the slight chill across his skin as his sweat cooled. Luke’s pounding heart slowly steadied to a more peaceful rhythm. The gentle movement of Conall above him as he breathed was a comfort. A day before—an hour before, even—he’d thought it was a comfort he’d have to forego after this night, when he returned to his home in Samar and Conall to his upon the waves. Now… Now, miraculously, he did not. Luke turned his face in against Conall’s throat and lapped the sweat from his skin. Conall made a soft 292

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sound of amusement and threaded his fingers through Luke’s hair. “What are you thinking of, lad?” “I don’t know,” he confessed. “I cannot think properly at all.” He pushed Conall up so he could look at him. “I wonder what it will be like…” “Well…” Conall gave him a crooked smile. “I imagine there will be rather a lot more of this,” he said, and pressed his pelvis against Luke’s to make his point. Luke grinned. “I should hope so.” “Never you fear, lad.” Conall rolled off of him with a groan, and pulled Luke against his side. “I shall be the same temperamental bastard I have ever been. Don’t you go thinking I’m going to get all domesticated just ’cause you’ve thrown a yoke about my neck.” “You will charm the skirts off all the ladies at court, you know,” Luke said, smiling. “And all the men will hate you for it, but not half so much as they will wish they had your knack at it.” He rolled over, laying nestled in the crook of Conall’s arm and curled up against his side. Finally, he let himself begin to succumb to sleep. “We have never had a pirate in court before,” he murmured, eyes drifting shut. “It will be quite an adventure.”

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CHAPTER 23 The next day, they returned to meet with Conall’s uncle. Luke stood before the man with his arms wrapped around his ribs, his shoulder just brushing Conall’s, brimming with a restless energy. It didn’t seem real. It still didn’t. Half of him was certain that, when Harbin spoke, it would be to inform him that they would not be making the alliance after all. Harbin glanced at Conall, standing stoic and still by Luke’s side, then back to Luke again. The corner of his mouth turned up. “I take it my nephew has already informed you of our terms.” “Yes,” Luke said. “It is…” He shook his head in wonderment. “It is very acceptable. I should be pleased to make such an arrangement with you and your country.” Harbin nodded once, slowly, but his expression remained 294

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reserved. “I have already explained to Conall some of what he might expect. The opposition he will face in your home.” His gaze narrowed on Luke. “Have you considered the impact this will have? Your people are not so open-minded in such matters as ours.” Luke’s shoulders drew back. “They are my people,” he said stiffly. “I am quite aware of what they will think.” “And you will do it anyway?” he asked softly. “Despite the difficulties you will face?” “Yes. Yes.” Luke drew a breath. “Your Grace, it is a fine offer you’ve made me, and I am happy to accept. I thank you for it.” Harbin snorted as he bent over his desk, shuffling a mess of papers into a pile. “I didn’t do it for you, young prince. I did it for my country.” He looked up, glancing at Conall. His expression softened a little. “And for him, perhaps.” Conall shifted suddenly, and Luke glanced at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, oddly subdued, as though he had to make an effort to keep his words even. “For me? This is to help Luke. And Ranna,” he added at his uncle’s arch look. “Don’t think I’m not thrilled to see you settling down with someone who makes you happy,” Harbin said, coming around the desk with papers in hand. “You’re a fine seaman, and I’ve always been proud to call you family. But you can’t be a pirate your whole life. If this will keep you happy instead—” He handed half the papers to Luke, and the rest to Conall. “I am pleased to be a part of it.” Conall looked as though he might protest. But in the end, he cut a sideways glance at Luke and frowned down at the papers in silence. It was a contract, Luke saw, looking down at his own. The 295

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papers outlined the terms they’d already agreed upon. Luke read through to ensure that all was as it should be, and there had not been any terms left out or altered, then nodded at Harbin and said, “Have you got a pen?” Harbin handed him one, and Luke bent over the desk to sign. When he’d finished, he handed the papers to Harbin and glanced up at Conall, who was still frowning down at his own set. “Conall?” he said softly, alarmed by his expression. “Is something wrong?” Conall glanced up at him and swiftly shook his head. “No. Nothing.” He dragged up a faint, crooked smile. “I’m a pirate, lad. Contracts are not my forte, that’s all.” He gestured with the sheets. “It makes my head spin. But I know well enough what I’m signing—we discussed it aplenty last night.” He reached his hand out toward Luke. “Pass that pen over, would you?” Luke gave it to him reluctantly, frowning and studying his expression. There was something amiss, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Conall had been happy, the night before. Or, he’d seemed that way to Luke, at least. Now… He seemed like a man facing the executioner’s blade, frightened but putting on a brave front for the sake of appearances. When the contracts were signed, Harbin took them both and co-signed them himself as witness. Finished, he set his pen down and looked up, smiling. “Good. Our first order of business will have to be getting you rooms here in the complex—” Luke tried to speak, but Harbin continued over him. “—Yes, for your maid, too, of course. I’ll send porters for your things.” He swept a critical gaze over Luke. “I suppose those are Conall’s garments you’re wearing.” “Your nephew wasn’t kind enough to bring along my trunks 296

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when he kidnapped me,” Luke answered with a smile. “Of course not. Well, it’s both of you off to the tailor’s, then, and quick about it. I’ll have lists drawn up while you’re being measured of the other tasks that must be seen to today. Conall, you can show him the way, can’t you?” “Yes,” Conall said uncertainly, his brows furrowed. Harbin glanced up at him. “You haven’t forgotten, have you?” “No.” Conall shook himself like a man coming awake. “I remember it.” He turned and reached for Luke. “Come on, it’s not far.” Luke followed him out of his uncle’s office, and after a moment, slipped his hand into Conall’s. Conall glanced down at him and gave him a wan smile. “What’s wrong?” Luke asked him quietly. “Don’t tell me nothing. I know something’s wrong.” Conall squeezed his hand briefly and drew him closer against his side as they walked through the halls. “Nothing’s wrong, lad. I’m out of my depth, that’s all.” Luke frowned up at him, lips pressed together, but Conall wouldn’t yield, so he sighed and said, “If you insist.” The tailor, when they found him, wasted no time in ordering them to undress to their undergarments. His apprentices scampered forward to take their measurements while the tailor paced circles around them, making notes and holding swatches of fabric up against their skin, mumbling to himself about what colors might look best with their complexions and how many sets of garments they might be able to get away with if they were all done in a complementary palette so items could be swapped around with one another. Luke let the apprentices whip around him like a whirlwind, 297

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measuring his reach and the length of his legs, the circumference of his hips and the distance from his nape to his waist. He watched from the edges of his vision as Conall underwent the same battery, fidgeting with each new measurement so that the boys sometimes had to redo it two or three times to be sure their numbers were accurate. At last he burst out, head whipping around to scowl at Luke, “The hell do I need a new wardrobe for? I’ve trunks full of my own clothes back on my ship that suit me just fine.” The tailor sputtered and seemed fit to turn purple in outrage at this suggestion, but Luke just said evenly, “And how many of those clothes have been ripped and torn and mended since they were first new? It’s a state affair, Conall, and you’re representing your country in it. You can’t wear pirating garb.” Conall turned white as one of the sails on his ship, but didn’t protest further. As promised, a clerk came and delivered a list of appointments for them to attend to after they’d finished at the tailor’s, as well as additional sheets of paper with various items that needed decisions or approval. Luke skimmed over them as he followed Conall to their next engagement, a consultation with the master chef to taste samples he had prepared and decide upon the courses to be served at the banquet. When the chef asked whether they might like to serve the soup before or after the fish course and Conall gave him a blank look and wondered, “Who on earth needs soup and fish in the same meal?”, Luke turned and handed him a confection made of braised fruit wrapped in delicate pastry and said, “Here, what do you make of this? A little less honey, I think,” and while Conall ate it, he bowed his head together with the chef to discuss logistics. After they left the chef, there were further appointments to discuss where they ought to perform the ceremony and whether the 298

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venue was large enough to allow an open invitation to any of Ranna’s citizens who cared to attend, or whether they ought to divide the number of spots available between each representative’s home isle and leave the decision of whom to invite in their hands. They ate lunch with all the representatives, so that they might be introduced to Luke and get reacquainted with Conall, and then there was another flurry of appointments that sent them running from one end of the complex to the other, followed by an intimate supper with those members of Conall’s family who were currently in the city, and afterward, at last, they were shown to their suite, where a steaming bath was already waiting and there was no one waiting to demand their attention. But it seemed the door had not even closed behind them when there was another knock at it. Conall groaned, while Luke steeled himself and turned to answer it, prepared for another demand or decision. But it was Mrs. Ginnings who stood on the other side of the door when he opened it, not any Rannan. Luke smiled, pleased beyond words to see her. She bustled into the room and cried, “Heavens, child, what have you done?” “What I must,” he told her. “To get home and reclaim my throne.” She huffed in quiet skepticism and cast a glance at Conall, but then her gaze returned to Luke. She looked bewildered and overwhelmed, but she didn’t look disapproving. Luke breathed a sigh of relief to see it. He had been worried about how she would take the news, truth be told. It was one thing to condone an illicit relationship upon the waters, where no one was the wiser. It was quite another when Luke meant to be bringing home a 299

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husband. “Well, I never,” she murmured, and took Luke’s face in her hands. She stared into his eyes intently for a moment. “Perhaps you’re not the martyr for your throne that I feared you’d be, after all.” She rose up and pressed her lips to his cheek. “Are you happy, child?” Luke glanced involuntarily at Conall, who had dropped down to sit upon the edge of the bed. He’d leaned his brow on his hands and looked weary beyond all telling. “I am well pleased with this arrangement,” Luke told her. She gave him a wry look, but said nothing, just kissed his cheek again. “Well, I’m glad for you, then.” She, too, glanced at Conall. “I’ll just leave you to your rest. I’m sure you’re both in need of it.” Luke thanked her and saw her to the door. When they were alone again, he turned back to Conall. “You wash first. I’ll just finish looking over these lists.” Conall looked up, but hesitated, frowning. “The water will be cold by the time it’s your turn.” “Go on.” Luke waved him off and stretched out on his stomach on the bed, the remaining lists spread out before him. “I’m sure it’s been longer since you’ve enjoyed a hot bath than since I have.” He pored over the documents while Conall bathed, allowing him the luxury of undemanding silence. When Conall had finished bathing and said, “It’s all yours, lad,” Luke grunted in acknowledgment but didn’t move. Dimly, he sensed Conall walking across the room and coming to stand by the side of the bed. “Lad,” he said, more insistent. Then, “Luke.” “Hmm?” Luke shuffled through the papers, frowning. “Just 300

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give me a moment, I’ve nearly finished this one… Hey, we’re not expecting gifts, are we? I don’t know what we might need that we haven’t already negotiated for.” He blinked up at Conall when the other man snatched the papers from his hands. “Well, if you feel strongly, we can always say we’ll accept them. I don’t much care either way, it just seems silly—” “No,” Conall said shortly. He dropped the papers down on the bed and took Luke by the arm. “Come on, lad. This will wait.” “But—” Luke sighed and gave in, smiling, as Conall drew him across the room to the bath. He loosened the laces of his shirt as they crossed the room and left it discarded on the floor, left his trousers and boots a few steps beyond. “You haven’t sat down all day,” Conall muttered as Luke climbed into the bath. “You’ll run yourself ragged before you even get home.” “I have so,” he protested. “I sat down at lunch. And at dinner.” Conall’s brows climbed his forehead. He looked down at Luke, unconvinced. Luke shrugged and ducked his head under the water. When he came up and shoved his wet hair out of his face, blinking water from his eyes, Conall was still at the side of the tub, crouching next to it and trailling his fingertips through the water. Luke smiled and leaned out past the edge, heedless of the water that dripped onto the floor. “Kiss me.” A reluctant smile pulled at the corners of Conall’s mouth. He leaned in and brushed a sweet kiss over Luke’s lips, but when Luke tried to coax him deeper, he drew away and said, “You’ll never get your bath if I let you tempt me into that.” Luke sat back in the tub with a sigh and let the fading heat of the water seep into him. 301

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“I attended my cousin’s wedding a few years ago,” Conall murmured, wiggling his fingers so that ripples chased out across the tub’s surface. “He sure as hell didn’t have fish and soup.” Luke laughed and stretched his legs out, letting his toes poke above the water. “I bet he didn’t have two nations with vested interests in the ceremony, either.” “No,” Conall confessed wryly. “Just two very opinionated families.” Luke said, “When my cousin got married—and she was just a marchioness, marrying a duke, no royalty involved—it took them the better part of a year just to plan the thing, and she swore all the while that she hadn’t enough time to do everything that was needed.” Conall shook his head and rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “I can’t say as I see the point.” “Well, at least this will not be a protracted affair,” Luke suggested. “Busy, in the meantime, but over quickly enough.” Conall nodded and brushed his hand over Luke’s shoulder as he rose. “Finish your bath, lad. I’ll take a look at those papers.” “Are you sure?” Luke twisted to watch him as he made his way back to the bed. “It’s all right if you don’t care. I can finish it. I was nearly done, anyway.” “I insist,” Conall said, throwing a smile back at him over his shoulder. Luke finished his bath, and when he’d climbed out and dried off, he walked back to the bed and found Conall sprawled fast asleep upon it, the papers slipping from his limp fingers. Luke rescued the papers and set them aside, then slid into bed with Conall. He pressed in close and let his arm drape across Conall’s chest, fingers twining in the damp strands of his hair. In 302

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his sleep, Conall sighed and rolled toward him, and some of the lines on his face eased as he relaxed within Luke’s embrace. The next day dawned early with a warning knock at the door. The clerk who’d come for them let himself in without waiting to be invited, much to Conall’s consternation, and set a brightly-glowing lamp on the bedside table for them. “Good morning,” he said brightly. “The scullery maid’s bringing breakfast and His Grace Harbin suggests you eat it quick, because your fitting with Master Garrett is at first bell.” Luke scrubbed at his eyes and thanked him and rolled out of bed, but Conall refused to get up until the clerk had left. “I’d not have expected you to be shy,” Luke said as he pulled a clean shirt on over his head. “You, of all people.” “It’s not shyness,” Conall growled, snatching up clothes. “It’s the audacity of it, striding on in here as though it’s not even occurred to them someone might mind.” “Oh, well.” Luke put on his trousers and sat on the edge of the bed to pull on his boots. “It’s not personal. They’d never get anything done if they had to wait for it to be convenient for us.” He stood and gathered up the forms and lists that they needed to return to Harbin while Conall finished dressing. Master Garrett had a simple, completed outfit for each of them ready to try on when they arrived, as well as a few muslins of more complicated pieces that needed fitting. Luke stood still while the tailor marked his adjustments, stretching and reaching when directed to so he could see whether there was more ease needed anywhere, and grimaced in sympathy each time Conall yelped or muffled an oath. “If you stopped moving,” he suggested, “you wouldn’t end up jabbing yourself on their pins.” 303

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“Can’t help it,” Conall muttered. “It’s a pirate’s instincts. I get nervous when people are running around me wielding sharp objects.” Despite his protests to the contrary, they made it through the session relatively unscathed, and left wearing their new clothes. The next few items on their agenda passed by in a whirl with little time even to breathe until they found themselves sitting down to lunch. This meal was a much grander affair than it had been the day before. Ranna’s representatives were all in attendance again, and so was just about anyone active in Rannan politics and within riding distance of the city, summoned to the complex to meet their new Samari ally. There were introductions to the most notable of the attendees, and Luke smiled and nodded warmly to them and knew that he would never remember any of their names in a day or two. But that wasn’t the point—the point was to make them feel included in what was, admittedly, a very sudden change for all of them. To hopefully make them feel less like it was a change that was being thrust upon them unwillingly. Mrs. Ginnings had merited an invitation to the meal, to Luke’s great delight, and there were a few in the crowd whom Conall knew middling-well, enough that with the group of them crowded around their table swapping stories of childhood mischief and adventures at sea, Conall began to relax and open up, and even seem like he might be enjoying himself. Luke beamed and kissed Conall’s cheek, and those close enough to see either laughed or cheered or made ribald jokes, competing with one another in an effort to make either Luke or Conall—or both—blush, and Luke thought it was all going quite well until Conall, raising his voice to be heard over the conversations going on around them, called Luke 304

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lad. Someone at the lunch overheard and took offense that he would belittle the man they hoped to forge an alliance with in such a way. Others jumped to Conall’s defense, and still more lifted their voices to echo the original complaint, until there was a small but fierce knot of debate raging in the middle of the luncheon. Luke stared out at it, nonplussed, but Conall was stiff at his side, his expression thunderous, looking like he could not decide whether to be bewildered or irate. Luke reached for his hand under the table and squeezed it. When the argument seemed fit to last clear until suppertime without intervention, Luke sighed and leaned in to murmur against Conall’s ear, “An apology might help this blow over.” Conall jerked back as though Luke had struck him. His stare bore into Luke. “An apology?” he snarled. “Do you not want me to call you that?” “No, of course,” Luke assured him softly. “I love it.” “Then the hell with apologizing. Lad—Luke—Damn it!” His face flushed bright with anger. “It’s none of their damned business what I call you!” “I know,” Luke murmured soothingly. “But we need all the support we can get from your people. If this goes on much longer, it won’t matter who has their way—either way, we’ll lose.” He eyed the growing debate warily. “But if you humbly apologized for any insult, and I graciously assured you that there was none taken, then everyone would be happy.” He glanced at Conall. “You don’t have to mean it. They just need to hear it.” Conall jerked his hand out of Luke’s. “Like hell I will,” he growled. “I’ve done nothing needs apologizing for, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to start them off thinking I’ll grovel anytime anyone takes the least bit of offense at something.” 305

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Luke searched his gaze for a moment, then sighed in defeat. “All right.” He reached for Conall’s hand, and Conall let him take it. “Come with me. I’ve lost my appetite, I’m afraid.” “Can’t say as I’ve had much of one to begin with,” Conall said, and let Luke lead him away from the table. They made their way to Harbin and Luke explained that they needed to step out for a moment, and asked him to calm the guests and make their excuses. Harbin nodded agreement, his gaze lingering on Conall, then turned and strode off into the thick of the argument. “Is that what being a king is?” Conall demanded when they were alone in the hall. “Lying to people so they’ll do what you want?” “No,” Luke said, rocking back on his heels. “Well—maybe occasionally.” When Conall growled, Luke caught him by the elbow and turned him back around toward him. “If two of your men were brawling, wouldn’t you do whatever you had to—even if it meant fighting dirty—in order to stop them before they hurt one another? And save things like reason and truth for when they’d calmed enough to listen to it?” “My men know better than to fight one another,” Conall snarled, but he sighed and rolled his head around on his neck, and some of the tension began to leave his shoulders. “And they know if I did catch them brawling, I’d throw them in the hold for a week, and keep them on short rations for another.” Luke smiled and slipped his arms around Conall’s waist, turning his face up to him. “Well, we can’t starve our people. They tend to take it ill.” He kissed Conall’s mouth lightly, and brought his hands up to frame his face. “You wouldn’t call me lad if I was insulted by it, would you?” 306

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“Of course not!” “Then it’s not lying. It’s diplomacy.” Conall sent him a dubious glance. “For all our sins, at least we pirates are forthright about our intentions.” Luke turned his head aside, leaning it against Conall’s chest. “You haven’t grown up with it, like I have.” He tightened his arms around his waist. “I’ll help you.” “Thanks, lad,” Conall said wryly, then grimaced. “Gods damn. I’m going to flinch every time I say that now.” “No. Don’t.” Luke squeezed him tighter, then stepped back and smiled up at him. “I like it.” Conall smiled, a bit wanly, and brushed his palm over Luke’s cheek. “Well, all right, then.” Harbin had resolved the dispute to most everyone’s satisfaction by the time they returned, and the meal had mostly come to an end, so Luke and Conall left to their next appointment, overseeing the day’s training session with the city’s guard and discussing with the Chief Guardsman who they might want to take with them on their trek back to Samar City. They stood on the grass at the edge of the training ground, watching the men run through their drills. When they’d finish, the Guardsman had them pair up to spar with one another. Conall shook his head as they watched, and muttered to Luke, “They’d be no use at all on the close quarters of a ship. There’s no use winning a fight if you’ve hacked your lines to pieces in the fighting.” “No? I suppose not.” Luke leaned his shoulder slightly against Conall’s as they stood watching. “Well, they’re not meant to be fighting on a ship. And your men would probably fare quite ill on a field of battle, I imagine.” Conall’s smile flashed, making Luke’s chest feel tight. Conall 307

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hadn’t smiled much, in the past few days. “Oh, they wouldn’t be caught dead on some king’s battlefield, lad. We’re not the sort who like to die for someone else’s quarrels.” Luke watched him more closely as they hurried to and from the rest of their meetings, but what few smiles did come were rare, faint and fleeting. Concern twisted beneath Luke’s breast, and grew into a solid knot of unhappiness as the evening progressed and Conall still didn’t seem anything but resigned.

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CHAPTER 24 Later that night when they’d returned to their rooms, Luke sat on the bed while Conall bathed, knees clutched tight against his chest. “The public announcement is tomorrow,” he ventured, trying to find something that Conall might take enjoyment in. But Conall just grunted and gave no reply. “Conall,” he whispered, staring down at his knees. “You don’t seem very…excited.” Conall grunted again, and the water splashed as he shifted in the tub. “Well, I can’t say this is my idea of a grand time, lad.” Luke didn’t trust himself to speak. He nodded silently and pressed his brow to his thighs, listening to the sounds of Conall bathing. “All right,” Conall said a little while later. “Your turn.” 309

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Luke didn’t move, even when the mattress dipped beneath Conall’s weight. “Hey.” Conall touched his calf. “What’s wrong?” Luke drew a shuddering breath and raised his head, and watched shock crash over Conall’s face. “Luke! You’re crying!” Luke wiped at his cheeks and stared down at his damp palms. “I can’t do this,” he whispered. “Oh, gods. Conall, I can’t. You’re so unhappy!” “What?” Conall stared down at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, lad.” Luke slid back across the bed, away from him. “You. This. I— ” He had to break off, gasping for breath as a fresh wave of tears dripped down his cheeks. “No. I can’t. I won’t.” He batted away Conall’s hands when he reached for him. “I know you made that damned promise to see me home, but that’s the stupidest reason I’ve ever heard to marry someone! Not if it’s going to make you this miserable.” Conall rounded the bed, trying to corner him in the narrow space between the bed and the wall, but Luke dodged past him and snatched his boots up from the floor. “I won’t, Conall. I won’t. I’m not going to be the cause of your unhappiness. I’ll go talk to your uncle, I’m sure there’s some Rannan maiden I can marry instead. He’ll understand. I’ll make him understand.” “Luke!” Conall grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him. “Stop this! Talk to me. What on earth’s gotten into you?” “You’re miserable,” he whispered, unable to look away from Conall, even as his heart was breaking. “Just look at you. You hate this. Conall, it’s like this all the time. I can’t do this to you. I can’t let you resign yourself to misery just to honor some stupid 310

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promise.” “Lad,” Conall growled, a dangerous note to his voice, “don’t you dare make this about me being miserable, not after you so neatly rejected all my concerns about you doing the same.” “That’s different.” Luke sobbed, shoving at him. “I’m going home, to the life I know and the people I grew up with. If there is one person in my life I do not love, well, I still have all the others. But you… You’re talking about leaving your family, your country, your life, to go be miserable with me in mine?” He shook his head wildly. “I won’t do that to you, I won’t. I would rather live without you than know that I caused you to leave behind all that you love.” He shoved at Conall again, harder, and won free of him. He rushed to the door before Conall could grab him again. Conall ran after him and slapped his hand against the door, throwing all his weight behind it, slamming it closed when Luke had barely gotten it open. “Don’t,” he growled, spinning Luke around. “Don’t do this! You want to keep me from being miserable, then for heaven’s sake, stop talking about leaving me!” He grabbed fistfuls of Luke’s hair and dragged his mouth to his desperately. “You think I’m leaving behind everything I love?” he demanded between kisses. “Gods. Not everything. I thought you knew.” He raised his head and stared down at him fiercely as he said, “I love you, lad. More than pirating. More than Ranna.” His hands clenched. “More than anything.” Luke jerked with surprise. He stared up at Conall, lips parted, but could not find the breath to speak. He felt like he’d had the wind knocked out of him. His lungs burned, but he could not remember how to breathe. “You…you love me?” he whispered. His gaze searched Conall’s for some indication that he meant it, that it was not just a 311

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cruel joke. Conall groaned and kissed him again. “You doubted it? Gods, lad.” He lifted Luke up into his arms. Luke wrapped his around Conall’s neck, holding on tight, his heart fluttering like a caged bird within his breast. Conall dusted kisses over his face, his throat, any bit of skin he could reach. “I’m fair out of my mind with love for you,” he confessed, tumbling Luke down onto the bed. “This wedding, this whole affair, it’s all madness. It’s the only explanation for it.” He pushed himself up above Luke and glared down at him fiercely. “But so help me, you are not leaving me here without you. Try it, and I shall track you to the ends of the earth, and give you the thrashing of your life once I’ve found you.” He bent and sealed his lips on Luke’s skin. Luke arched up into the feel of his mouth upon him. “But…you are miserable,” he whispered, shuddering at the feel of Conall’s tongue stroking over his skin. “I’ve seen it.” “I am not miserable,” Conall growled, and nipped at him. “I am tired, and overwhelmed by all these preparations, and I do not see the sense of it when we might find a temple and make our oaths and be done with it all in a few hours. But I am not miserable.” He kissed down Luke’s chest, and when he encountered the throat of his shirt, he tore it open down the center. Luke gave a shocked laugh and grabbed at the back of Conall’s skull. “Master Garrett will have your head for that.” “He can sew you another one.” He closed his mouth over Luke’s nipple and sucked at it. “Or you may have mine, and I’ll strut about half-nude like a proper barbarian pirate.” Luke laughed, but the sound trailed off into a moan when Conall’s teeth scraped over his captured flesh. “You would get sunburned if you worked on deck without a shirt on,” he protested. 312

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“I know that.” Conall pinched his other nipple, and twisted it between his fingers. “But your countrymen will be so terribly disappointed if you bring home a pirate husband and I am not the least bit flamboyant or outrageous.” “My countrymen will be shocked enough at the fact that I am bringing home a husband at all,” Luke murmured. “You do not mind?” Conall asked, suddenly quiet. He left a slow trail of kisses down Luke’s stomach. Luke tensed as Conall reached the waist of his pants, but he did not rend, just unlaced them and pushed them down his hips. “I would prefer they accept you easily, of course—” Conall took Luke’s half-erect penis into his mouth, and Luke broke off with a gasp. “But—but I do not mind it, no.” He reached down, grabbing Conall’s head, holding him in place as Luke arched up into his mouth. “Oh,” he breathed. “Keep doing that.” Conall obeyed, licking and sucking as Luke hardened in his mouth. It seemed to Luke he had not taken two breaths before his cock was stiff and aching. He tried to hold still as Conall’s tongue flicked over him, but his hips flexed every time Conall took him deep. When he was making whimpering, needy sounds, Conall let him slip out of his mouth and kissed his way back up Luke’s body. The weight of his hips rested against Luke’s, and Luke thrust up against him, his cock sliding against the skin of Conall’s stomach. Conall looked down at him for a moment, his expression so intense it made Luke’s heart beat faster beneath his breast. Then he pulled Luke’s mouth to his and rolled, flipping Luke over onto the top. “Oh,” Luke whispered, bracing himself up on his arms. Now it Conall who was arching up, his cock sliding over Luke’s hip, 313

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brushing against Luke’s cock, too, with every thrust. “Is this what you want?” “You, lad,” Conall growled, cupping his hands behind Luke’s head and dragging him down. “I want you. Any way I can have you.” Luke turned his head, missing Conall’s mouth, lips scraping over the stubble on his jaw and kissing down his throat. Conall’s chest rose and fell sharply beneath Luke’s palm. He continued his meandering trail of kisses, over Conall’s collar and across his chest. His tongue flicked over Conall’s nipple, teasing it until it drew into a tight nodule. Then Luke sucked it into his mouth and caught it between his teeth. He exerted just enough pressure on the captured flesh to make Conall squirm, then released it abruptly so the only touch it knew was the brush of Luke’s breath. Conall’s head lolled back, his eyes closing half-lidded. Luke flicked his tongue across the nipple’s tip and laughed softly at the way Conall jerked beneath him. He continued his kisses down, down Conall’s chest, across his stomach. He left a curving trail of them along the edge of Conall’s hip. By the time Luke reached his pelvis, Conall’s cock was hard and straining. Luke licked along his shaft and traced the patterns veins drew beneath his skin. He didn’t touch the head of his cock until Conall was shifting restlessly beneath him, making breathless, grunting noises every time Luke’s tongue neared its tip. Luke sealed his lips over the head of Conall’s cock, sucking at it while his hand pumped over the shaft. Conall gave a single, sharp gasp, followed by a long groan “Gods,” Conall breathed. “Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Oh—” Gradually, Luke let him thrust farther into his mouth, taking more of him fractions of inches at a time, until his lips grazed the 314

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base of Conall’s cock with every stroke. Conall’s groans were louder now, choked. Every time Luke withdrew he thrust up after him, urging him back, until Luke obligingly took him deep again. When Conall’s groans were coming fast and hard, his hips bucking with a desperate sense of urgency, Luke slid back, releasing him, and kissed down his shaft to where his balls hung below. He took each into his mouth in turn, inscribing circles upon them with his tongue, sucking gently at his skin. The sounds Conall made with every touch and kiss were exhilarating. Somewhat reluctantly, Luke nudged Conall’s thighs apart and stretched out between them, so he could continue the progress of his kisses farther, down to the puckered pink tissue of Conall’s anus. He touched the ring of muscle very lightly with the tip of his tongue, just once. Conall’s breath exploded from him and he arched his hips up sharply. Luke waited until he had subsided, then leaned in again and lingered a little longer this time, tracing a circle around it then prodding gently, urging him open. Conall gave a shuddering sigh and relaxed all at once, as though he’d had to force himself to do so. Luke kissed the inside of his thigh and down to his knee, then back again. He swept his tongue over Conall’s ass again, and when he pressed in with the tip, more firmly, Conall pressed back against him and he slipped past the tight muscle. Luke thrust his tongue into him, withdrawing nearly all the way and then pressing in again, stretching him open. Groaning, Conall reached down and wrapped his cock in his fist, but Luke grabbed him by the wrist and pulled his hand away. “Luke!” Conall dropped his head back against the mattress. “You didn’t warn me I was marrying someone who was downright 315

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cruel.” Luke smiled against Conall’s skin, but didn’t even pretend to wonder if he should stop. And though Conall’s other hand was still free, he didn’t try to touch himself again. Luke spread Conall’s cheeks and reined back his attentions, lapping over Conall’s skin and teasing the edges of his anus, but leaving him empty and writhing. Slowly, Luke sank his thumb past the ring of muscle with firm, steady pressure. Conall convulsed tight around him, pulling him in. Luke bent and kissed the top of his thigh, the edge of his knee, as he slow fucked Conall with the slight rocking pressure of his finger. “Ah, gods,” Conall breathed, opening his eyes to stare, dazed, up at the ceiling. “Lad—Oh, Luke.” Luke thrust again and he arched up off the bed, his fingers clawing at the linens. “I need you.” Luke licked the skin behind Conall’s balls. “Where?” he demanded. “Inside me.” Conall released his grip on the sheets and thrust his fingers into Luke’s hair, pulling at him. “Now.” Luke smiled as he crawled up Conall’s body, letting his skin slide along Conall’s just to hear him groan. Conall wrapped his legs around Luke’s waist and gave a sharp thrust of his hips. He dragged Luke’s mouth to his, kissed him hungrily. Luke broke away from the kiss just long enough to quickly spit in his palm. He stroked it over his cock so that his skin was slick and slippery, then positioned himself at Conall’s entrance, biting back a moan at the greedy way Conall’s muscles pulled at him. Slowly, Luke sank into him. He couldn’t help but shudder at the feel of Conall around him, the heat of him, the clench of his 316

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muscles and the way he could feel every movement Conall made. “Fuck me, lad,” Conall breathed, angling Luke’s mouth to his for another kiss. “Like you mean it.” Luke rose up and looked down at him, bemused by the request. He nudged deeper inside Conall. “I’ll fuck you how I like,” he said on a breath of laughter. “And you’ll not complain.” “Oh, you think so, do you?” Conall drove his hips up against Luke, forcing him in even farther. “I do.” Luke drew back a little and grinned at Conall’s muffled oaths. “If you complain, I might stop.” He bent and licked at Conall’s lip. “You wouldn’t want that, would you?” “Bastard.” Conall pinched Luke’s nipple between his fingers, making him give a sharp, involuntary thrust. “You are cruel, lad.” Luke drew back just enough that he could look down at Conall. His eyes were dark with need, his face flushed with pleasure. “But you love me anyway,” he whispered. Conall shuddered beneath him. His eyes drifted closed. “Yes. I do.” Luke bent down and kissed him again, slipping into his mouth and dancing his tongue against Conall’s as he gave a few short, sharp thrusts that made Conall groan against his mouth. Luke shifted his weight with one arm and reached back with the other, pushing Conall’s legs down off his hips. Conall made a sound of protest and disappointment and grazed Luke’s lower lip with his teeth. It broke off into a throaty groan when Luke began to take long, deep strokes into him, burying himself deep and then withdrawing almost completely, only to drive himself home again. Conall braced his heels on the mattress, rising up into Luke’s thrusts, making wondrous, hungry noises every time Luke sheathed himself in him. Luke broke away from the kiss and pressed his 317

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brow to Conall’s shoulder, shuddering at the feel of him. Conall brought a hand up to the back of Luke’s head and turned so that his lips brushed Luke’s ears. On Luke’s next stroke he groaned, then began to speak, faint whispers about how good Luke felt in him, how frightfully much he wanted him. Luke could hear the way his voice would catch and shake in response to his thrusts, and he groaned at the headiness of it. Conall’s fingers knotted in the hair at Luke’s nape as the tempo between them built. The sound of his breathing, nearly panting, punctuated by soft little groans whenever Luke hit somewhere particularly sensitive, went to Luke’s head like Nighini wine. He thrust harder, deeper, needing more. Conall’s groans grew louder, more demanding. His muscles shuddered beneath Luke’s touch, then finally convulsed as Conall gave a hoarse shout, and clamped down around Luke as he jetted semen against his stomach. Luke stilled, locked deep within Conall, his shoulders heaving as he fought down his own need so as not to hurt Conall. But as soon as Conall had regained his breath, he curved his hands over Luke’s buttocks and dragged Luke against him, forcing him deeper. “Come for me, lad,” Conall breathed against his ear, and Luke shuddered. “I want you inside me.” Luke moaned, helpless but to obey him. With two sharp strokes to bring him to the brink, he drove into Conall a final time and cried out his release, shuddering from head to foot as he emptied himself into him. When his climax released him, he was limp, boneless. He collapsed forward onto Conall and lay there atop him, gasping and shivering. Conall laughed softly and wrapped his arms about 318

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Luke’s back, holding him securely. “Now,” he murmured, “how on earth can you imagine I would be miserable, with a lifetime of that to look forward to?” Luke made a noncommittal sound, unable to find the energy to summon a more coherent response. After a few moments, Conall rolled him over onto his back and, while Luke blinked up at him, retrieved his towel and cleaned his semen from both of their stomachs. When he was finished, he pressed a kiss just above Luke’s navel and slid back up into his arms. “So,” he murmured as Luke was starting to drift to sleep. “Tomorrow’s the announcement.” Luke murmured a wordless acknowledgment and pressed in closer against him. “And then?” “And then you are stuck with me, for better or ill,” Luke said, smiling. “No changing your mind at the last minute.” “That’s not going to happen,” Conall promised him, and sealed it with a kiss.

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EPILOGUE Barely a week since sailing in to Theris, Luke stood at the prow of a ship sailing out again, taking him home. He leaned backward against the rail, watching Conall stalk across the deck, glowering so fiercely that men hesitated when they saw him, and altered their direction so they would not have to cross his path. As the Rannan islands faded into the distance, Luke crossed to him. He pulled Conall away from where he was pacing and pressed him back against the rail, fingers curled into his shirt. “They cannot work while you are hovering about like a storm cloud,” Luke murmured, stretching up onto his toes to kiss Conall’s mouth. Conall snorted in disdain. “We would do better without most of them.” He gestured impatiently at the mizzenmast. “They’ve got 320

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her trimmed all wrong for this wind. We could be going twice this speed if they’d—” Luke jerked him down, silencing Conall with a firmer kiss, and did not release him until he had softened and begun to lean into it. “This is not a pirate ship,” Luke said as he sank back down onto his heels. “Our livelihood does not depend upon how much speed we can eke out of her.” Conall scoffed and looked away. Luke guided his gaze back with a hand on his cheek. “More to the point,” he said, “this is not your ship. She has a captain already, and a very fine one.” Conall’s expression twisted, but he did not voice his opinion of that statement. Luke smiled up at him warmly. “I will not let you commandeer my convoy, you blackguard.” Conall glanced down at him, and his gaze lingered. He bent for another kiss, longer, deeper. But when the ship lurched beneath them, he jerked back, snarling, “Damn it! Ham-handed louts!” Luke grabbed him by the collar and jolted Conall’s attention back to him. “Hush,” he scolded. “Here we are, married, enjoying the last days of peace we’ll have for gods know how long, and all you can think about is this ship and the men who sail her. If I were a different sort of man, I might be jealous.” He grinned when Conall gave a bark of laughter at the joke. Conall looked down at him with a glittering gaze. “You want my full attention, do you, lad?” Luke murmured agreement. “Completely.” He braced a hand on the rail on either side of Conall and rose up to brush a teasing kiss over his lips. “Undivided.” Conall dragged Luke to him and claimed his mouth, kissing him relentlessly until Luke was pressed in against his chest, clinging tight, and the men who walked past them snickered at the 321

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sight. “I think we can come to an arrangement,” he murmured, and lifted Luke up into his arms right there in the middle of the ship. “Conall!” Luke laughed and shoved at his shoulder, but Conall only tightened his grip and carried him to the stairs. “Stop it! I can walk. People are staring at us.” “Let them.” Conall shoved the cabin door open with his hip and carried Luke inside. Luke noticed, over his shoulder, that it did not swing shut quite all the way behind them. “Conall—” He laid Luke out on top of the desk and sucked at his throat as his hands worked his shirt’s ties. “Conall,” Luke tried again, squirming beneath him. “The door.” Conall rose up enough to look down at him, one brow raised. “What of it?” “It’s open.” Luke laughed breathlessly. “Go close it.” Instead of moving away, Conall bore forward, leaning over him and pinning Luke’s shoulders to the desk. “If you’re going to demand my undivided attention,” he growled, “then I will expect the same.” “But—” Conall shoved his shirt up and sealed his mouth over Luke’s nipple, so that his protest broke off with a groan. Luke wound his fingers through Conall’s hair, holding him to him, and nearly forgot about the door until Conall whispered against his skin, “I want you to beg for me, lad.” He glanced up Luke’s torso to meet his gaze. “I want you to scream for me.” Luke suppressed a shudder at the thought. “No,” he breathed, more shocked denial than refusal. “There are men out there. They will hear.” 322

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Conall slid up his body and took his jaw in his hand, tilting his head back. His mouth hovered above Luke’s, nearly brushing when he spoke. “That has not stopped you before,” he murmured with a sly grin. “That was…different. This is…” Conall stroked him through the fabric of his trousers. Luke broke off with a gasp. “They are politicians,” he hissed. “Not pirates. We will shock them to their very core.” Conall’s tongue flicked over the edge of his jaw. “And someone might think that you are enjoying the rights of your marriage bed with the one you have married. Dear gods, what is the world coming to?” “Stop,” Luke whispered frantically, pushing at him. Conall took hold of his wrists and drew his hands away. “Ashamed of me, lad?” Conall murmured, stroking his fingers down Luke’s throat. He was smiling as he said it, a teasing light in his eyes. But even so, Luke stilled and stared up at him, and breathed, “Never.” Conall’s hand trailed down Luke’s chest to his cock, already hard in anticipation of his touch. “Embarrassed?” “Mortified,” Luke gasped, arching up. “But not because of you.” “No?” “This is…they will…they will hear.” Conall bent and licked Luke through his trousers. Luke shoved a fist against his mouth to stifle his cry. “Lad,” Conall murmured. “I want them to.” Luke stared down at him in mingled horror and trepidation. “Why?” Conall’s grin was feral and ruthless. “Why not?” 323

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“No,” he whispered. “I can’t.” Conall’s hands worked at Luke’s trousers, opening them, drawing him out. Luke bit back a cry of mingled need and despair as Conall wrapped his fingers around him and stroked slowly. “Sure you can, lad. It’s easy. Just let yourself go.” Luke shook his head futilely as Conall’s hand worked over him, driving his need higher. “Bastard,” he swore, but he couldn’t put any heat behind it. Conall leaned over him, grinning down. “I am that,” he murmured. His lips skimmed Luke’s cheek. He clasped his hand with Luke’s. His heart beat faster at the feel of Conall’s ring pressing against his palm. “But there’s nothing for it now. You’re stuck with me.” “And you with me,” Luke breathed. Conall gave him a wolfish grin. “I’ll have what I want of you, lad.” He tightened his fist, swept his thumb over the head of Luke’s cock. Luke bit his lip and shut his eyes, shuddering. When Conall pulled his hands from him, he gave a breath of relief that turned to a gasp as Conall flipped him over, bending him forward over the desk and pressing in close behind him. Luke closed his hands on the edge of the desk and moaned at the feel of Conall’s hips pressing in against his, Conall’s cock sliding between his cheeks. He heard a small sound, hardly anything, but enough to make his pulse race with the fear of discovery. He raised his head and saw that the door had been shut, and through the glass there was a distorted figure that looked rather like Mrs. Ginnings moving past. He gave a choked breath of laughter and looked back over his shoulder at Conall. “You are too late,” he murmured, and gestured at the door. “We have been spared.” 324

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Conall followed his gaze, but his grin only sharpened. “You think so, do you?” His fingers dug into Luke’s hips, drawing him back. Conall bent over him, his chest pressed to Luke’s back, and whispered against his ear, “We both know I’ll have you crying out so loud they’ll hear you clear back in Ranna before we’re finished.”

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AISLINN K ERRY

Aislinn Kerry wrote her first romance on a whim and hasn’t been able to stop since. She has always been fascinated with the misfits, the misunderstood, and the things that go bump in the night. She blames it on an unnatural obsession with Beauty and the Beast at an impressionable age. To learn more about Aislinn and her writing, please visit her website: http://www.aislinnkerry.com

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