To Tame a Rogue Heart

By Jorja Grael

Lady Morgan O'Neil was running; running away from an arranged marriage in Ireland, to her estranged father on Barbados, and straight into the arms of the most dangerous man she'd ever met.

Buccaneer Captain Tristan van Gelder had everything he wanted: his ship, the freedom of the high seas, and all the Spanish plunder he could take. 

Until he met her.

The fires that smoldered between the two across an ocean crossing won't be denied, bursting into flames in the sultry heat of a Caribbean night. They part after a brief, torrid love affair on the buccaneer stronghold of Tortuga and the high seas, convinced that they have no future together. 

But horrific events soon force Morgan to step back into Tristan's world, reborn as the fearsome female buccaneer known only as Hell's Daughter. She has only two goals: exact a terrible revenge on the crew of one ship, and avoid Tristan van Gelder at all costs.

From Protectorate Ireland to the pirate lairs of the Caribbean, from blood-soaked decks along the Spanish Main to the glittering court of Charles II, To Tame a Rogue Heart is a sweeping epic of unquenchable passion and unbreakable love. It is the story of a woman who will not bow to convention, a man who will risk anything to be by her side, and a love that will rise from the flames like well-tempered steel, stronger than ever before.

*Contains some graphic sex scenes*

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jorja Grael
• Release date: Mar 15, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386313977

Jorja Grael

Jorja Grael lives on a farm in the mountains of North Carolina with a cat, a dog, and her husband. When not in front of her computer, she gardens and devours books on an alarming scale. With an avid interest in everything from history to zombies to crime scene investigation, she is currently busy parlaying these interests into some sort of romantic fiction. She is the author of To Tame A Rogue Heart and The Rental.

Book preview

Acknowledgments

There have been so many people who have helped and encouraged me through the writing of this book that I don't really know where to start to thank them. So, in loose order of earliest to latest:

Debbie, who was my first reader, all those years ago;

Denna, who was my first reader this time around, and who pushed and pushed and pushed;

Melanie, who found various little factoids for me, and admitted under pressure that it was in fact a good read;

Debi, Marquita, and Renee, who read and enjoyed it;

Mike, for never letting me get discouraged, and for the name Dauntless;

Kevin, for finding books for me and never remarking (much) on how strange the subject;

Jaimon, for outstanding artwork;

Henry, for all the help with files and other computer stuff that I don't understand;

Joe, for encouragement, keeping my computers running, and insight into the male psyche;

Barbie, for a great job editing (note the semicolons), for tireless research, for putting up with my neurosis, and for more Japanese food than is good for anyone;

And most of all, Tom, for putting up with me while I was writing, and the rest of the time, too.

Part One

The Runaway Lass

CHAPTER ONE

County Clare, Ireland, 1657

The manor house at Fallondere was a prison. This wasn’t apparent to just anyone, but it was painfully obvious to the young woman who stood at an upstairs window, watching the procession of lighted carriages that made their way slowly up the long drive. This was her prison, she thought, her dark grey eyes staring out into the night, and once the door closed, she would be trapped here for the rest of her life. Her name was Morgan O’Neill, and in her mind, she could hear the creak of the hinges as the cell door began to swing shut. She was seventeen years old, and decided that she was not ready for her life to be over.

Come away from the window, my lady, and see how pretty you look.  The voice was that of Lissette, her maid and chaperone. Lissette had known Morgan most of her life and was therefore aware of the nervous tension in her young charge. She attributed it to the coming festivities; she was wrong.

Morgan turned her attention away from the window and moved to face the large looking glass in the corner. She stared, not really caring how she looked, but was forced to admit that Lissette had done a wonderful, if thankless job of getting her ready for her engagement ball. Her hair, which she had refused to have dressed in the ‘spaniel’s ears’ style that was popular, was pulled high at the crown of her head, a mass of copper curls left to fall loosely down her back. The style accentuated her high cheekbones and large, slightly slanted eyes with their slash of dark brows and lashes, so at odds with her hair color.

You’re far too pale, Lissette announced. A little touch of the Spanish paper will fix that.

Morgan endured the application of the cosmetic to her cheekbones and lips, just as she had endured the rest of the maid’s fussing all afternoon. She should look her best at her engagement ball, despite the fact that she had no intention of going through with the marriage.

The maid fluttered about, fluffing the wide panniers of her mistress’s midnight blue velvet gown, making certain the snowy white satin petticoat was shown to the best advantage. Finally she was shooed away with an impatient wave of the hand that Lissette took in stride, being well acquainted with Morgan's temperament.

"What does it matter, Lissette? I may as well be naked for all that anyone will notice when they see these.  She raised her hand to her throat, where a necklace of diamonds lay on her white bosom like melting ice. Matching ear bobs completed the set. Earlier this afternoon, the Earl had presented her with his engagement present, the diamonds. Never mind that they had belonged to her grandmother and were hers by right, having been in her family for generations. She knew this because she had seen at least half a dozen portraits of women, her ancestors, throughout the house, all wearing this same diamond necklace. I assure you that no one will notice my gown."  She turned away to look out of the window again, slightly amazed at the sheer number of carriages below, people she didn’t know, all come to celebrate her impending marriage.

. Her paternal grandfather had arranged what he supposed would be a grand marriage for her. She would have the title and estates she was born to, as well as protection from the hated English government. As her guardian, with her father off in the West Indies and not concerned with the welfare of his only child, he had taken it upon himself to arrange her life. Unfortunately, he had not figured his granddaughter’s willful, headstrong nature, inherited from both her parents, into his plans.

Two months ago, she had arrived at Fallondere accompanied by Lissette and two dozen of The O'Neill's best fighting men as an escort. Lissette made the journey in the coach, but Morgan had ridden most of the way, the result of which was that she had arrived in a travel-stained riding habit and smelling strongly of horse. This had not made a good impression on the new Earl. He walked around her while she stood in the front hall as if she were a brood mare he was inspecting for purchase, then declared to the room at large that with a bath and clean clothes, she might be presentable. Morgan was humiliated beyond words. Having grown up a virtual outcast in a large family, she had learned early to trust nothing but her own judgment, and she had made up her mind in that instant that she could not wed this pompous Englishman. Still, with her grandfather's lecture about her place in life, and her grandmother's talk of how an arranged marriage could grow into something more in time still ringing in her ears, she had set herself to the task of finding some redeeming quality in Robert Sinclair that she could live with.

She had tried, she told herself as Lissette pronounced her ready. She had endured two months of Robert’s company, trying to convince herself that she could be content with him as a husband. Her parents had married for love, the results being disinheritance by both families. The O’Neill family had only taken Morgan in at the age of four when, after Brenna’s death in childbirth, Liam had abandoned her with them and departed for the Indies, never to return. No, if love was not in her future, at least the title of Countess was, or so she had thought then.

Now, however, she could barely endure his company for a half hour at a time. She had been proven right in her initial assessment of him:  he was not the man for her to spend her life with. She was continuously pleading a headache or fatigue, anything that would get her away from him. His pompousness, his superiority over anything Irish, his constant bragging about his connections in Parliament strained Morgan’s patience to its limit. The thoughts of marriage, and the mysterious intimacy that entailed, were not to be borne. She had been turning plans for escape over and over in her mind for more than a week now, always coming back to the same problem:  lack of coin. Then, this very afternoon, he had contemptuously presented her the solution. The diamonds would buy her passage to anywhere she wanted to go. In the crush of people at the ball, her disappearance would go unnoticed for a while, hopefully long enough for her to ride into Limerick and find a ship to take her somewhere, anywhere away from here.

In the grand hallway, the newly appointed sixth Earl of Fallondere greeted his guests as they made their way from the front door to the ballroom, careful to allow none of his distaste for the Irish to show on his face. Dressed lavishly in satin and lace, he was slight in stature, bordering on middle age, with thinning hair now hidden under the wig he wore. His eyes were a pale blue, cold and rather lifeless, and his chin was weak. Compared to the old earl, who was remembered by the Irish as being a high handsome man in his youth, he came up short indeed.

The guests were divided into two separate groups, very apparent when they had entered the house and arranged themselves in the ball room. Although everyone inside was civil to one another, the two groups did not mingle with each other. On the one side were the Irish gentry, people who could, most of them, trace their ancestry back to the kings of Ireland. They viewed the others as interlopers, and while they understood that their titles and estates were held in a tenuous grip and they must placate the hated English at every turn, they had no intention of mingling overmuch with them. They were born and bred Catholics, but virtually all of them had converted to Protestantism in a desperate effort to preserve their holdings. Their clothing set them apart; while not dressed in the unrelieved black that the Puritan sect favored, dark colors predominated. The majority of the Irish had come only to see the house, and what, if anything, the new English lord had done with the ancient manor. Most were seeing it for the first time in years, for there had not been a ball at Fallondere since the years before the Protectorate, the time of the Stuarts. The old Earl had not been one for entertaining after the death of his wife.

The second group was the transplanted English, who had no intention of socializing overmuch with what they considered an inferior race. Protestant to a man, they were dressed in the bright flowing silks and velvets that were banned by the Roundhead government in London. They were there to show the backward Irish how the real gentry behaved, despite the fact that there was not a drop of aristocratic blood in the lot of them, and support their fellow countryman.  Also, there was the attraction of seeing the Irish girl that, for whatever reason, Robert Sinclair, was apparently determined to marry.

Robert soon sent word up that all the guests were there and Morgan could come down and make her ‘entrance’. He was standing at the foot of the stairs, waiting for her, dressed like a dandy from court in plum-colored satin that made him resemble nothing so much as a huge grape. Morgan stifled a giggle as she stood in the shadows in the upstairs hallway and looked down upon the assembled crowd. She remembered the pale plum colored gown he had purchased for her, and realized that he had intended for them to be a matched pair, as if they were horses to be harnessed to a coach. He would not be happy when he saw her in blue, and she wondered if his complexion would soon match his suit.

Lissette touched her arm, indicating that Robert had signaled for her to come down. She took as deep a breath as her stays would allow and stepped into the light, knowing this distasteful job would be over the sooner she started it.

As she descended slowly down the wide staircase a hush fell over the party goers. She heard bits of whispered conversations:  ...just like Brenna when she was that age.  ...that O’Neill red hair.  ...too pretty for him.  ...her grandmother’s diamonds!  She knew Robert could hear them, too, and she hoped they made him feel like the interloper he was. If it did, he gave no sign as he stepped forward and took her gloved hand in his, bowing to kiss it lightly. Turning, he tucked her hand in his arm and led her into the ballroom.

Was there something wrong with the gown I bought you, my lady?  Robert was smiling for the benefit of the onlookers, but his voice was furious.

It did not suit, I’m afraid, she answered. I am still officially in mourning for my grandfather, and did not wish to give the gossips more to talk about.

We will discuss this later, he warned.

Morgan had never seen the grand ballroom except when it was empty. Tonight it was filled with people, here to celebrate her engagement to one of the hated English. The thought made her stomach churn, but the room itself was lovely. Creamy silk covered the walls, and garlands of winter greenery were strung about them, all lit by two massive crystal chandeliers filled with candles. Tables had been set up along one wall, and were filled with food and drink. The musicians were hidden above in a gallery, and the guests stood or sat in chairs along the edge of the dance floor, waiting as Robert led her out for the first dance.

To give him credit, he danced well. She wondered where he had acquired such a skill in Puritan England, where such things as merriment and frivolity were forbidden, but then realized that he was old enough to have grown up under the rule of the Stuarts.

She went through the motions of the dance, a smile frozen on her face, and then someone else was there to claim her hand. She was whirled from partner to partner until she was breathless and enjoying herself in spite of everything. Finally, a young man about her own age pressed a cup of punch into her hand and led her to a group of women sitting along the wall.

My mother, he explained shyly, would like to speak with you. I believe she knew your mother.  He stopped in front of a small dark haired woman surrounded by what Morgan assumed to be her three daughters, based on the resemblance. Lady Morganna, my mother, Madam Evangeline MacMurrough.

Morgan dipped a curtsy. Good evening, Madam MacMurrough.

Evangeline MacMurrough gave her a warm smile. I’ve looked forward to meeting you since I heard you were at Fallondere, my dear. Come, sit with me a bit and rest from your dancing.  She dismissed her children, shooing them all away with a wave of her fan. Morgan took the seat vacated by one of the daughters. Evangeline studied her, shaking her head slightly. You look so much like your mother. She was my closest friend, you know. We grew up together.

No, I didn’t know, Morgan was intrigued. I know almost nothing about my mother. My father’s family barely speaks of him, much less her. They did not approve of their marriage.

This prompted a very unladylike snort from her companion. Well!  The only thing your mother ever did in her life that was the least bit wrong was falling in love with an Ulster man.  Her eyes twinkled as she smiled at Morgan. Of course, Liam O’Neill was a high handsome man, and we were all in love with him, but he had eyes only for your mum.  Morgan saw the smile and the twinkle, heard the warmth in her voice and knew she had just found her first friend here, now that it was too late.

Just then, another gentleman asked Morgan for a dance, but she made an excuse about needing to rest, and turned back to her companion. Please tell me about them, she said softly. I know nothing about them, only that they disgraced both their families by marrying.

My dear, their families disgraced themselves, carrying on so about two people in love. Oh, I know it wasn’t proper to run off like they did, but that was only after they had tried to convince two hateful old men that they could make a good marriage for themselves, without their help.  Evangeline’s hazel eyes met Morgan’s grey ones, and her voice carried more than a hint of disapproval when she spoke. "I can tell you for a fact that you would not be here if your mother had lived. She loved your father so much; she would never have allowed an arranged marriage for her daughter.

You look so much like her, except for that red hair.  She laughed, causing several of the guests to turn and stare. Her only fear in marrying Liam was that their children would be covered in freckles if they had his hair.  She looked at Morgan’s porcelain skin; even under the powder it was obvious that it was flawless. I can see that she should not have worried. She would have been so proud of you, Lady Morganna.

Thank you, madam, but my name is Morgan.  She didn’t add that she hated the name Morganna. My mother’s best friend should not call me ‘lady’.

Evangeline nodded, and dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. Do you know she even talked of stealing her mother’s diamonds to run away on? Liam forbade it, saying he had money of his own, and she couldn’t lay hands on them anyway.  If she noticed the startled look on Morgan’s face, she didn’t comment, and Morgan didn’t have the chance to ask anything more.

Just then Robert appeared out of the crowd and came to Morgan’s side. He spoke politely but coldly to Evangeline. Good evening, madam. I’m afraid you will have to excuse your companion, as I am in need of her company.  That said, he pulled Morgan to her feet and almost dragged her away to dance. You should take care who you associate with, my dear. The MacMurroughs do not move in exactly the same circles as you do.

Morgan bristled, but kept her voice steady. But you invited them here tonight?

"I invited everyone here tonight, but that does not mean we shall be associating too closely with them in the future. The so-called Irish ‘gentry’ is being replaced by decent civilized Englishmen, and they will be who we associate with.  He spoke with the usual contempt, but then changed the subject. Now for the highlight of the evening." 

He led her to the center of the dance floor and motioned for the music to cease. When all was quiet and a servant had brought them both glasses of champagne, he raised his glass and spoke in a loud voice. My dear friends, I would like you to join me in a toast. I would like to announce that the Lady Morganna has made me the happiest man on earth tonight, by agreeing to be my bride. We shall be married in the spring, in April. A toast to my lovely bride, and a long and prosperous marriage.  He tossed off his champagne and looked expectantly at Morgan, who smiled, a rather brittle smile, and raised her glass to her lips. She did not drink, however. Robert took her glass and handed it off to the waiting servant, then took a large amethyst ring from the pocket of his coat. He lifted her left hand and placed the ring on her third finger, then kissed her full on the mouth, to the cheers of the guests.

Morgan couldn’t repress a shudder of revulsion when his lips touched hers. The way Robert smiled at her as he drew back told her he had mistaken it for a shiver of anticipation, which encouraged him to do it again. It took all of her self-control not to run screaming from the room, to stand smiling as their guests crowded around them, offering congratulations. Instead, she went through all of the motions expected of her, dancing with him, then being handed off once again to a different partner. After several more dances, she murmured an excuse to her partner and made her way through the crowd to Evangeline MacMurrough’s side. She could see Robert giving her an odd look from across the room, and knew she was making him angrier with her. She didn’t care. In a few hours she would be gone, and this would probably be the last chance she would have to speak to Madam MacMurrough.

Hello again, Morgan, Evangeline said as she approached. I rather thought your young man, this with a slight smile, for Robert was at least her own age, had forbid you to talk to me, judging from how he looked when he dragged you away.

"He is not my young man, and no man forbids me anything I wish.  She knew she probably should not have spoken so, but it was too late now. I’ve a question I would ask of you, madam, since you knew my parents well."

Evangeline’s eyes softened as she looked at the younger woman. You are so like Brenna. What would you ask me?

Morgan took a deep breath and plunged in. If my parents loved me like you say, why did my father abandon me? Why did he not take me with him when he left?

"What have they told you?"  The astonishment was clear in the older woman’s voice.

Nothing. That my mother died in childbirth when I was four, and my father left me with his family and went to the Indies.

Evangeline led her over to a bench and sat down, pulling Morgan with her. Her voice was gentle and compassionate when she said, "Morgan, your mother died in childbirth when you were born. I was there, I saw her die."

The color drained out of Morgan’s face, making Evangeline fear she might faint. No. I remember my mother, I remember her rocking me and singing to me.

You remember Alise, her maid.  Evangeline said.  She became your nurse after Brenna’s passing.  She decided not to mention the rumors that had flown about Alise and Liam after Brenna’s death; Morgan was in no shape to hear that right now. As for your father, he had no choice. He took part in an uprising against the English, and faced hanging if he had stayed, or at best, transportation to the colonies. He chose exile on his own terms instead. Your grandfather gave his loyalties to the English to save his lands and title. He converted to Protestantism, did whatever he had to do, but it kept his people safe. Please try to understand, Morgan, those were terrible times; if they lied to you, it was because they thought they were protecting you.  Over Morgan’s shoulder she saw Robert making his way toward them again.

Lord Robert, she called when he came closer. I think your lady is not feeling well. Too much excitement, perhaps?

Robert could easily believe Morgan was ill, for she had gone a deathly shade under the powder. Perfect, he thought viciously, for the damnable wench to be sick at her engagement ball.

Even in her stunned state of mind, Morgan saw the chance she had been waiting for. She turned a wan smile on Robert. I think I would like to go to my room for a bit to rest. It is quite warm in here.  This was a complete truth; with all the people crushed inside and the windows closed against the wind and rain, the room was stifling. I'm afraid all the dancing has made me tired. Would you mind terribly if I slipped away for a bit?

Robert would have liked to keep her on display longer, but could not deny her without appearing heartless. Of course not, my dear. Shall I send for your maid?

No, I’ll be fine when I rest a bit and cool off.  She turned and bid Evangeline goodbye, giving the woman a hug. I have so enjoyed talking to you, madam. Thank you.

When they were out of earshot, Robert asked in a demanding voice, And what, may I ask, have you so enjoyed talking to her about?

Morgan hid her annoyance, thinking she had controlled her emotions, mostly her temper, more in the past two months than in the previous seventeen years. She was a friend of my mother's. She was telling me about when they were girls together.  They made their way through the crowd, and when they had reached the staircase, she turned to face him. Placing both hands lightly on his chest, she called upon all the charm she could muster. Thank you so much for a lovely evening, and please don’t be annoyed with me for being tired. I guess I’m just not accustomed to this much excitement.  She leaned in to him and kissed him lightly on the lips. Pulling away when he would have held her, she pretended to admire the ring on her hand. The stone shone beautifully against the color of his coat, and she thought again that she understood why he had been so angry about her refusal of the plum-colored gown; it would have provided a background to show off the ring.  It’s beautiful, and I shall never take it off.

Of course you will, he answered. At her puzzled look he explained, "Your wedding band will have to go underneath it, and that you will never take off.  Before she could reply, he pulled her back into his arms and kissed her again. This was not one of the chaste kisses he had been content with so far this evening. His tongue forced her mouth open and thrust within, exploring wetly until she thought she would gag. After what seemed like forever, he released her. Good night, Morganna," he said and walked away.

She fled up the stairs as fast as she dared, remembering that she was supposed to be near fainting with fatigue, and when the door was closed behind her she scrubbed her mouth on the back of her silk glove, trying to remove the feel of his lips from hers. Next, she tore the ring off her hand and tossed it on to the bedside table.  It occurred to her that it was probably worth quite a bit of money, but it wasn’t hers, not like the diamonds were, and she was not a thief. Her mind was racing, filled with what Evangeline had told her, but she pushed that aside for now. She would have time to mull this new knowledge over later, either on a sea voyage to the Indies or the rest of her life here, if she were stopped and brought back. She had no intention of being stopped. She would have to wait for a while to make certain Robert had gone back to the ballroom, so she used the time to change her silk gloves for leather riding gloves. From the very back of the armoire she took a heavy black woolen cloak and scarf, impatient now to carry out her plans. Finally, after what she deemed sufficient time had passed, she put on the cloak, pulling it close around her to hide the white lace and satin on her dress, then opened the door and crept into the hallway.

A second floor gallery ran part of the way around the front hall. Morgan peeped around the corner, scanning the downstairs for anyone who might have left the ballroom. The hallway was empty, and she darted across the gallery as fast as she could, the thick rug muffling her footsteps. The back stairs were in the opposite direction from the main staircase. She crept down these, then out the back door. The rain had slowed to a heavy drizzle, but the thick clouds overhead seemed to promise more rain before morning. Morgan hurried across the back yard and around the house toward the stables, thankful for the rain, hoping it would wash away any footprints she might leave. Footprints would give her away; none of the maids would be wearing high-heeled dancing shoes.

The stables were empty, for all the grooms and stable boys were in the manor kitchen, partaking of their own feast and merriment; Robert was being exceptionally generous tonight, and all the servants not currently at work in the ballroom were gathered there. A single lantern lit the center hall of the stone building. It was warm inside after the walk through the blustery, rainy night, and smelled pleasantly of hay and horses and leather. When she reached the mid way point of the hallway, the dappled gray mare she usually rode ran her head across the half door of her stall to greet her. Morgan stroked her nose absently as she passed. She hated to leave the mare behind, for the horse had come from Ulster with her but she doubted the animal had the stamina needed for this nights’ work. It was more than eight miles to the harbor in Limerick, over muddy roads, and she needed to get there with all haste. With this in mind, she walked without hesitation to the last stall.

Inside was a huge bay horse, his winter coat almost black, Robert’s prized stallion, Barbarossa. She petted him for a moment before going to the tack room for her saddle. She placed the sidesaddle on his back and tightened the girth, talking softly in Gaelic to the animal. As she worked she thought of how Robert would react if he could see her right now. He would probably be appalled, which was just another indication that they didn’t belong together. He probably had no idea that Morgan could even saddle a horse; certainly he would never suspect she could ride this horse. He never rode the huge stallion; apparently the beast was too much for him to handle. Morgan had been itching to saddle the animal up since she had first laid eyes on him, and now she would finally have the chance.

She led the now bridled and saddled horse to the mounting block and climbed onto his back. He pranced a bit at first, but Morgan held him with a firm hand. She stared out into the darkness; God knew what sort of brigands might be on the road tonight. Saying a quick prayer to Saint Jude, she pulled the deep hood over her head. After tucking the cloak around her to hide the white of her dress, Morgan rode the stallion out of the stable into the rain. Across the back paddock was the path that led to the Limerick road, away from her prison.

THE COMMON ROOM OF the inn was becoming steadily darker, the result of the innkeeper slowly putting out the oil lamps that illuminated it. He wished his two remaining patrons would take the hint and either leave or take lodgings for the night, but they just sat at their table nursing their drinks as they had done for the past hour or so. Normally, the innkeeper would have thrown them out before now, but these men had paid for their drinks in gold; also, they didn’t look to be the kind of men anyone threw anywhere. Both were dressed like common seamen, in dark breeches and wide-topped boots, with oilcloth coats hung on their chairs, but one look was enough to tell the most casual observer these men were anything but common. The full-sleeved shirts they wore were finer cloth than any common seamen could afford. Both wore serviceable-looking swords on their hips, and the innkeeper would have bet the gold they paid with that they knew how to use them.

Both men were tall, and both were handsome in dissimilar ways. One was blond with a full beard, slightly shorter than his companion, but still taller than most men, with broad shoulders that tapered down to lean hips and long, muscular legs. He had piercing green eyes surrounded by thick, dark lashes set in an aristocratic face, with high cheekbones, and full, sensuous lips, all perfectly proportioned. He was broader through the shoulders than the other man, who was leaner and more slender, with black hair and dark blue eyes. His face was slim, more patrician looking, with a carefully trimmed goatee and mustache. Looking at them, one would never have guessed they were cousins.

The innkeeper almost groaned aloud when the door opened to admit a blast of cold wind and rain, as well as a lone woman, hooded and cloaked. The men looked up when she entered, then went back to their conversation; she was not the person they were expecting. However, she made no move toward the innkeeper; instead she walked boldly up to their table. Both men rose politely when she approached, curious about this woman who obviously sought them.

She made no move to remove her hood, and the scarf over her face muffled her voice when she spoke. "Your pardon, gentlemen. I’m seeking a Captain van Gelder of the ship Vengeance and the harbor master told me I might find him here."  Her eyes darted from one to the other, as if trying to decide which one was the captain.

I’m Tristan van Gelder, the blond man answered, then indicated the man next to him. This is my first mate, Henri Du Bois. How may I be of service to you?

Her glance darted to the innkeeper. Is there some place where we may speak privately?

Tristan glanced around the room, exchanging a puzzled glance with Henri. Besides the innkeeper, they were the only people there. How much more private did she want? Nonetheless, he yielded to her wishes, and his own growing curiosity, and turned to the innkeeper. Have you a room you can spare for a little while?  As he spoke, he took a gold coin out of his pocket and tossed it to the man.

Of course, guv’nor, up the stairs and third door on yer left.  It was nothing to him if these two wanted to roll some doxy, and would pay gold to do it, so long as they didn’t disturb his other guests. The coin would more than cover the cost of the room for the night.

With a sweep of his hand, Tristan gestured for the woman to precede him up the stairs, which she did without hesitation. Henri spoke briefly with the innkeeper, telling him to call them if anyone else came looking for them, and thus keeping him from his bed a while longer. The woman opened the third door on the left and entered ahead of the men as well. Again, the two exchanged glances. Who was she, or what kind of trouble was she in, that she felt safe enough to go to a room at an inn with two strange men? These two had seen enough men on the run to recognize the signs, even in a woman, and both wondered just what they were about to be asked to get mixed up in.

Once the door was closed behind them, she pushed back her hood to reveal the damp, disheveled remnants of a fashionable coiffure. Her copper hair shimmered and rippled with golden highlights in the light of the small fire burning in the fireplace. After allowing Tristan to take her sodden cloak from her shoulders with a murmur of thanks, she pulled the scarf from her face but kept it to cover the low, revealing neckline of what the men saw was obviously a ball gown.

Both men stared at her. Henri, although his heart was given elsewhere, could appreciate a beautiful woman in the same way he could appreciate a fine work of art. This one, he decided, had no idea just how lovely she was, for she moved with an unconscious grace and none of the conceit he had come to expect in women who looked like she did. Tristan, he noted with cynical amusement, looked as if he had taken a hard blow between the eyes.

Tristan was grateful for the task of spreading the cloak on a chair near the fire, for it kept him from staring at her. Women seldom interested him except in passing, but, God, she was beautiful!  It went through his mind that those full lips looked made for kissing, and those wide grey eyes, dark as a stormy sea—a man could drown in those eyes. He had felt a spark pass between them when he looked into her eyes and now he clamped down on the first stirrings of desire with a rock hard self-control.

He offered her a seat in the room’s one remaining chair that did not contain her cloak, and when she declined he remained standing as well. Henri leaned against the closed door, arms folded across his chest, looking bored with the whole affair, but Tristan knew him well enough to know that he was curious as well. What would force a woman—nay a mere girl, for he judged her to be about sixteen—out on a night such as this, wearing a ball gown, no less?

She had turned her back to them and was warming her hands at the small fire. Tristan studied the slim, straight back and narrow waist. Her body belied the easy manner with which she had come with them; she was far too tense to be as much at ease as she was pretending. When he spoke, she turned to face him.

Now what can I do for you, Mistress—

Lady Morganna O’Neill, Countess of Fallondere, she announced, rather haughtily, then added with a wry smile that belied her tone, by right of blood, if not in actuality.

Tristan gave a slight bow, a smile curving his lips in return. Very well, my lady, but why do you seek out a man you’ve never met on a night such as this?

The fifth Earl of Fallondere was my maternal grandfather. Upon his death, the title and estates were granted to an Englishman. My paternal grandfather, The O’Neill, arranged a marriage between this man and myself. I have decided not to go through with this marriage, so I left.  She drew a deep breath before plunging on. I’m told your ship sails with the tide for the Indies. I wish to secure passage on it.

Tristan’s eyebrows shot up. I’m sorry, lady, but I’ve no accommodations for passengers.  He glanced at Henri, who smiled slightly and shrugged as if to say ‘you’re on your own.’  When he looked back, Morgan had grasped the scarf at her throat.

I am well prepared to pay for my passage, she said, whipping the scarf free as she spoke. The diamonds blazed in the firelight, the large center diamond seeming to nestle in the cleft between her breasts, drawing both men’s gazes there. She had no way of knowing the diamonds held little interest for these men, that the flesh beneath the velvet and jewels was far more enticing. She stood quite still, awaiting his decision, her breasts rising and falling rapidly with her nervous breathing, as the captain stared, his gaze seeming to burn her very skin. She, too, had felt a spark when their eyes first met, but with all the other emotions racing around her brain, she had no time to stop and wonder what it meant.

After a few moments during which his eyes left her neckline only to stare hard into hers, Tristan nodded. We’ll take you.

Henri straightened up from the door then, opening his mouth to speak. He never got the chance, for just then the innkeeper tapped on the door. Morgan whirled to face the fire as Henri opened the door, and the man peered curiously into the room before the first mate moved to block his view. He saw the red-haired woman's back, and was vaguely disappointed to find she had all her clothes on, for his imagination had been running wild. Turning his attention back to the dark haired man at the door, he said, There’s a gent askin’ for yer captain in the common room. You said to tell ye.

Thank you, Henri said politely, and closed the door in his face.

Henri, can you take care of our business below, while I escort the lady back to the ship?  Tristan asked, not looking at his first mate but knowing by Henri’s terse reply of Yes, sir, that he was not happy with the situation. Well, Henri was rarely happy about anything, he thought, so why should this be any different?

When he had left, Morgan turned away from the hearth, aware of being alone in the room with a very handsome, very dangerous man. She didn’t know why she felt this, for he had been nothing but proper toward her, but something in his eyes told her he was no one to trifle with. Maybe it was the way he had looked at her, and was looking at her now, causing a heat and breathlessness inside her that she had never felt before. He walked toward her, and she backed up in spite of herself, until she felt the heat from the fire on her backside and could go no farther. She started violently when he reached for her, then his hands were at the back of her neck, under her hair, removing the necklace. She shuddered when his hands brushed her skin as he worked the clasp, and she knew he had felt it too.

It was not like the shudder of revulsion that had shaken her when Robert kissed her. This was pure excitement, and the feeling only intensified when the necklace came loose and he dragged it across her left breast and collarbone, to hold it behind her back. One hand rested lightly on her shoulder, the other on the back of her neck, and his eyes had not left hers the whole time. This close, she could see that his eyes were not the pure green they appeared to be, but were flecked with a hazel so light it was gold. When he spoke, it was a mere whisper.

There is another small token I would have in payment, lady.  Not certain why, Tristan knew only that he was going to kiss her. He felt as if some madness had taken hold of him when he touched her, that he had to know if her lips would taste as good as the sight of them promised. His thumb caressed the back of her neck, delighting in the feel of the silky hair beneath it as he lowered his head and touched his lips to hers.

This was nothing like Robert’s kiss. Tristan didn’t try to force her mouth open, merely caressed her lips with his until they parted on their own, not touching her except with his lips and his hands on her neck. Even then, he didn’t try to ravish her mouth, only tasted deeply and thoroughly before drawing away, leaving Morgan staring at him with wide eyes, breathless. He smiled at her, and Morgan was almost stunned by how handsome he was. Stepping away from her, not wanting her to see how badly the kiss had shaken him, he took up her cloak and placed it around her shoulders, then offered his arm.

Shall we, lady?

After pulling the hood over her hair and face, Morgan took Tristan’s arm and together they descended to the common room. Henri was there with another man, a seedy looking character who quickly averted his face when they approached. Tristan nodded to them, and to the innkeeper’s vast relief, they all left the inn together. Once outside, Henri asked for a word with his captain. They stepped aside and spoke in low voices that Morgan could not hear.

"This is not a good idea, mon ami, Henri said, leaning close to Tristan. The men won't like having her aboard."

My crew does not run my ship, Tristan answered, tearing his eyes away from Morgan. Besides, he patted his pocket where the necklace lay, we've already been paid.

Look at her, Henri ordered, gesturing. She's a woman and red haired as well. Everything that goes wrong on this trip, the men will blame on her. You might as well hang a bloody albatross around her neck for good measure!

Tristan gave a snort of derision that brought Morgan's attention back to them for a moment, before she remembered her manners and turned away once more. I will not run my ship according to some insane superstition.  He leaned closer to his first mate and lowered his voice. Do you think she has any idea how fortunate she is that we were the first men she approached with this harebrained scheme? If we don't take her, she'll find someone who will. Odds are good that she'll choose the wrong ship, and will end up being passed around the crew before she clears the harbor!  At least with us she'll arrive in the Indies in the same shape she left here in.  Probably, a small, nasty voice said in the back of his mind, recalling how his blood had boiled when he kissed her. He stamped down hard on that voice, saying, She goes with us.  There was finality in his voice that plainly said the conversation was over.

With a resigned shrug, knowing his captain was right, Henri turned away. He and his new companion went in one direction, while Tristan turned to escort Morgan toward the waterfront.

She had stopped to stroke the nose of the huge lathered stallion that stood tethered in front of the inn while the two men spoke. Now, Tristan could hear her whispering to the beast, barely making out enough of her words to know she was apologizing for having ridden him so hard and for leaving him here in the rain. He turned back and pounded on the door until the innkeeper opened it again.

Handing the man another gold coin, he said, See to the horse.  He started to turn away, then stopped. Looking at the man, he added, in a voice that brooked no argument, It would be best if you not mention the lady when someone comes to claim him.  The man nodded, and shut the door firmly.

Taking Morgan’s arm, he guided her carefully through the street, around puddles and heaps of rubbish. After a few moments of silence, his curiosity got the better of him, and he asked, You really rode that monster here?

She looked up at him with a faint smile, carefully lifting her skirts to step over a puddle. Oh yes, she answered. He’s a fine animal.  Her voice took on a bitter tone. My lord of Fallondere will be much more distraught at the thought of losing him than losing me. He’s his prized breeding stock.

They walked the rest of the way in silence, with Tristan pondering this intriguing female who could ride a horse most men would fear to mount. When they reached the docks, he pointed out the ship she had just acquired passage on. It was a lean dark brig, and Morgan’s eyes widened at the sight of its rakish lines in the moonlight. This was no merchant ship she was bound for. This was a warship, made for running down merchants. She looked up at Tristan from under her hood, but he was looking at his ship and didn’t notice. Just what sort of man was he, she wondered, who captained what looked like a pirate ship?

A longboat and crew were waiting for him. He jumped into it easily, then reached up and gently handed her down. He sat her in the stern next to him, and gave orders to shove off. Soon the boat came alongside the ship, where a ladder was built down the hull. Tristan placed one booted foot on the bottom rung and held his hand out to her, and she looked from it to the ladder rather doubtfully. She knew she could climb it, but doubted it would be easy in the shoes she was wearing. Slipping and falling into this cold, dark water was not something she relished the thought of. She was considering sitting back down to remove her shoes when Tristan picked her up bodily and placed her feet on the first rung.

Don’t worry, I won’t let you fall, lady, he murmured in her ear as he started up the ladder behind her and one rung down, holding her tightly. She was forced to hold her skirt with one hand to prevent her stepping on it, and as a result had to lean her weight against him with every step she took. She could feel the warmth of him against her back, and his breath on her neck where her hood had fallen back as they climbed. In this way they made their way to the deck, where hands were waiting to help her up. She stood at the rail amid ship, shivering in her wet cloak, listening with half an ear as Tristan talked to the man on watch, and watching the longboat make its way back to shore to wait for the first mate. Morgan felt bereft, realizing that her course was set and there would be no turning back now. Ireland would be behind her in a few hours, along with everything dear and comforting.

Lady?  She started when he spoke close to her, not having heard him approach. If you’ll come this way, I’ll show you to the cabin you’ll be using. 

He offered his arm again, and she allowed herself to be led astern, past the door she knew led to the captain’s cabin and behind the right hand stairs that led to the quarterdeck. A door there opened onto a short, narrow corridor that contained two doors on the right, a blank wall to the left. The doors would open onto two tiny cabins, usually housing the ships officers. Morgan knew ships well enough to know that the Captain's cabin lay on the other side of the wall, and ships bulkheads not being very thick, if she were housed in one of these cabins and so much as raised her voice, he would hear. It was not such an unusual arrangement when dealing with a woman passenger.  Tristan opened the farthest door, revealing the cramped cabin she expected. She hadn't expected the cabin to share the big stern windows, but it did. She would at least have sunlight on her voyage. Inside, the furnishings were sparse, but it was obvious someone used it.

I’m sorry, she said, contrite. I didn’t mean to take someone’s cabin.

Tristan smiled, a wicked, mischievous grin that made his handsome face look quite boyish. It’s quite alright, lady, he said, laughter in his deep voice as he remembered the look on his first mate’s face when he had agreed to this venture. It’s Henri’s cabin. Good night, Countess, and pleasant dreams.  So saying, he closed the door behind him.

Morgan shot the bolt home on the door and draped her damp cloak over a chair. Lifting her skirts, she removed the sheaths strapped above her frilly garters, sheaths that held twin dirks with six-inch blades, her constant companions. These she carefully tucked beneath the pillow.  After kicking off her shoes, she fell into the narrow bunk, fully clothed, and rolled up in the blanket. Her last thoughts before sleep overtook her was not of the journey she was about to undertake or the revelations about her parents this night had held, but of Tristan van Gelder and the way his lips had felt on hers.

Until tonight, Morgan had never been kissed. Like most girls her age, she had spent hours fantasizing about her first kiss, wondering what it would be like. Once, when she was fifteen, Alec Hennessey, a stable lad at her grandfather's castle, had tried to kiss her after he had saddled her horse. Morgan, scarcely able to breathe, heart pounding in her throat, had been more than willing to let him and have done with the mystery surrounding the act. Unfortunately, Alec's amorous intentions had quickly disappeared when her horse stepped on his foot, breaking it in two places, thus leaving Morgan no more enlightened than she had been. One thing was clear to her now, however:  Robert's kiss had not been what she had imagined. Tristan van Gelder's kiss, though, that was everything a maid's daydreams could ask for. Where Robert's lips had taken hers, Tristan's had asked and been given, and Morgan realized that she was lucky he had only asked for a kiss there in that empty room. She would never be certain that she would not have given him anything he asked for at that moment, so befuddled had been her mind. Now, reliving those moments of breathlessness in her mind, she drifted off to sleep, a slight smile curving her newly-kissed lips.

Chapter Two

When Morgan woke, the small window in her cabin showed it to still be dark outside, but sounds from the deck suggested that some cargo was being unloaded. Surprised and wondering if they were still in Limerick, she rose from her bed, donned the still damp cloak, and made her way to the deck. There she found herself even more surprised, for they were anchored in the middle of the Shannon with not a light in to be seen. All around her, men were offloading crates into waiting longboats, which then took their cargo toward the dark shore. Dear God, she thought, she had allied herself with smugglers!  Deciding that she did not want to be caught snooping around, she crept back to her cabin and her bed, and quickly fell back asleep.

The sunlight was pouring through the small window and someone was pounding on the door when next she awoke. She staggered from the bed and jerked the door open to find Tristan van Gelder smiling down at her. His smile widened as he took in her appearance, for she had slept in her gown and it showed. Her hair was a mass of silken tangles, and her eyes were bleary and not quite focused. He thought she looked lovely, but said only, A corpse would rouse easier than you, lady.  As she opened her mouth to give a scathing reply, he added, I thought you might like to see the last of Ireland behind us.

She muttered something that might have been, A moment, and shut the door in his face. Two of his crewmen were exiting the cabin next to hers just then and laughed, but he only grinned good-naturedly at them and propped against the bulkhead beside the door to wait.

When she opened it again a few minutes later, she had wiped the sleep from her eyes, combed her hair out with her fingers and tied it in a knot to keep it out of her face. There was nothing she could do about the wrinkled gown, and she guessed she looked, to borrow a phrase from her grandfather, like hammered hell.  Still, she moved with regal grace across the deck on Tristan’s arm when he offered it, climbed the stairs to the quarterdeck and stood silently beside him at the rail as Ireland slowly faded from view.

The enormity of what she was doing struck Morgan like a blow as she stood there, feeling the sea wind whip at her hair and skirts. Tears filled her eyes and spilled down her cheeks in spite of her best efforts to contain them and she surreptitiously raised her hand to wipe them away, not wanting him to see.

Tristan saw, but said nothing. Something about this girl brought out protective instincts he hadn’t known existed in him, and he longed to take her in his arms and comfort her. He knew instinctively the gesture would not be appreciated, so he murmured an excuse about having things to see to and left her, moving away then quietly leaving the quarterdeck.

Morgan neither heard his words nor noticed him leave. She stood there gripping the rail until her knuckles turned white, but could not stop the sobs that racked her slender body as she realized she was leaving behind everything and everybody who loved her, and whom she loved.  The father she was running to was a stranger to her. He would most likely feel honor-bound to take her in when she showed up on his doorstep, but in thirteen years he had never sent for her, so why would he want her now?

She wasn’t certain how long she stood there, but when Ireland was nothing more than a slight haze on the horizon, she looked around, somewhat surprised to find she was alone on the quarterdeck but for the helmsman. He kept giving her furtive looks from the corner of his eye, she noticed, seeming nervous about being alone with her. She decided to ease the man’s mind and left the deck, pulling her hair free and letting the wind whip it around her face as she went, to better hide the tell-tale streaks on her cheeks. It was in her eyes as she made her way down the stairs, and she didn’t see Tristan at the bottom until she had almost walked into him. He grasped her upper arms to steady her as she took a swift step back and staggered, but dropped his hands quickly. She wondered if he had felt the fire that had shot through her at his touch, and blushed slightly, grateful for the wind in her hair that partially hid her face.

Your cabin should be a bit more comfortable, lady, he said. Henri has moved his things out, and I’ve added a few things that will make your journey a bit easier. 

She murmured her thanks and moved past him, intending to retreat to her new quarters, but turned to face him when he spoke again. A question, lady. The Indies is a big place. Is there a specific destination you had in mind, or will just any island do?

Barbados, captain. My father is there. Is that a problem?  She hoped not; she had nothing to use to buy passage anywhere else if he dropped her on some other island. The diamond earrings would perhaps suffice, but she preferred not to part with them unless she had to. She had no idea what the future held, and would hoard what valuables she possessed against any untoward eventuality.

No, not a problem at all. As it happens, we're bound for Barbados as well. I just like to know where I’m going.  That said, he stepped aside and she retreated to the privacy of her cabin.

Once inside, she looked around, noticing the changes that had taken place while she was on deck. All of Henri’s things were gone, and in their place were commonplace items she would need on the voyage:  a pewter pitcher and ewer for washing, as well as fresh towels, a chamber pot, two extra blankets. Most surprising of all was a hairbrush and a man’s dark blue velvet dressing gown that lay on the bed. She picked up the hairbrush, intending to put it to good use, and noticed a single golden hair caught in it. She pulled the hair free and studied its length, realizing that it was his hair. Tristan had given her his own hairbrush. For some reason, this caused absurd warmth within her, and she quickly bent to the task at hand, brushing her hair until all the sleep and wind-blown tangles were gone and it lay about her shoulders like copper silk.

That done, she had nothing else to occupy her time. She rummaged around in the small writing desk, finding paper, quill, and ink, and set herself to writing a letter to her grandparents. She knew they would be distraught when they heard of her disappearance, and vowed to post the