Devil's Embrace (Devil 1)

“The Spanish have not given it up yet. Indeed, the situation grows more tense by the year. Charles III is not a man to accept English control of such a strategic site. It is a constant thorn in his imperial side.”

Cassie shrugged her shoulders contemptuously. “Oh, the Spanish, they are nothing compared to us.”

The earl smiled wryly. “Unfortunately, most Englishmen share your opinion. Only time will tell.”

“Are there still pirates about? We are near the Barbary Coast, are we not?” She eagerly scanned the jagged African coastline, but saw nothing save craggy black rocks and barren rolling hills. There was no sign of activity anywhere.

“Yes, that is the Barbary Coast. There are pirates, unfortunately, but not so many as a hundred years ago. You see those inlets cutting into the coast? They look deserted enough, but looks are many times deceiving. The pirates move swiftly, for their livelihood depends upon surprise. Now, if it were the sixteenth century, we would not be standing here by the railing enjoying the scenery. That was the time of Barbarossa and his Turkish pirates.”

“Barbarossa,” Cassie repeated slowly. “How dashing his name sounds.” She sighed. “I wager you are not being honest with me, my lord. There are probably no pirates left at all now. Today is terribly modern and unexciting.”

“I will let you read some accounts of Barbarossa,” the earl said, his tone dry. “No man, woman, or child was safe from his raids. He much enjoyed pillaging, taking the men for slaves in his galleys and ravishing the women, a pastime I find hardly romantic.”

Cassie slowly turned at his words. “And just how would you describe the ravishing of women, my lord?”

She thought he flushed, but his tan was so deep that it was difficult to be certain.

He regarded her steadily, and when he finally spoke, his voice was curiously gentle. “It is said that Barbarossa once deflowered twenty-four virgins in one day. The girls were of various ages, the youngest supposedly but twelve years old. As this exploit was the result of a wager with a neighboring prince, Barbarossa filled the long hall of his palace with many men to witness his prowess. None of the girls resisted him, for to have refused Barbarossa would have meant a painful, lingering death. They were all naked, of course, with no veils over their faces, for Barbarossa wanted all the men to see their faces when he thrust through their maidenheads. He did not concern himself with what became of them after he won his wager. It is written that many of the girls were stoned to death, for what man would want a girl who was no longer a virgin, who had no longer any claim to honor?” He paused a moment, and looked at her whitened cheeks.

“I believe, Cassandra, that there are differences, if you wish to find them.”

She shivered, even though the sun burned hot and white overhead. She looked at the man beside her and thought inconsequentially that if she were standing closer to him, she would not be able to see the sun. She felt oddly bereft. Her voice was cold and crackling dry. “I believe, my lord, that men have changed little since the time of your cruel story. Women are still to be possessed as a man’s chattel. They are to be protected or cast aside, according to a man’s whim. I see little difference, my lord. Regardless of what you make me feel in your bed, I shall always hate you for what you have done to me.”

“You are wrong, cara, and I shall prove it to you.”

She turned on her heel and hurried away from him.

“Cassandra.”

She felt fear at the cold fury in his voice, but continued her headlong flight, nearly tripping over a coiled rope that lay close to the mainmast.

His fingers closed about her upper arm, and he jerked her none too gently about to face him.

“You are worse than Barbarossa. At least he did not cloak his villainy—”

“You will be silent.”

She drew a shattered breath and saw from the corner of her eye that members of the crew were watching them.

He drew her close to his chest, and she winced, for her back was still tender.

“What is it you intend, my lord? Another beating so that I will learn to cower before your wrath? I will see you in hell first.”

“Come, Cassandra. Don’t make me carry you.”

She thrust her chin up defiantly, but fell into stiff step beside him.

Her step lagged at the cabin door, but he shoved her inside, and ground the key in the lock. His fingers closed over the silver buckle on his belt.

“I will not submit to this beating, my lord. You will have to tie me down.”

He stared at her. “By God, you witless little fool. You honestly believe that I—”

He got no further, for at that instant a heavy book struck his shoulder.

“Witless, am I, my lord?” she yelled at him. “You will see that I am not helpless.” She grasped two more weighty books from the library shelves and flung them at him with all her strength. He raised his arm and knocked them aside.

He strode toward her and Cassie, with a sob of anger, abandoned the books, clutched the huge ivory candle holder from atop his desk, and flung it at him. He ducked it, vaguely wondering as he heard one of his prized possessions crash heavily to the floor if the ivory had cracked.