"Wild Geese" - читать интересную книгу автора (Morgen Shelby)
She stopped to stand beside him, now, her gaze followed the line of the waves out across the ocean's shifting face, almost where he had stood staring an hour earlier. "Why do ye do it, Captain?" Her voice was no more than a whisper in the dark, the soft sweetness a balm to his heart.
"Tis not safe for them here. 'Tis no life for a Highlander, scrapin1 a living out only to give all he works for to an English laird. A slave on his own lands, forbidden even his kilt. I'd have the children to know something better than we were born to. I'd have them know freedom."
"And what about ye? Will ye find freedom in France?"
"This is my last run. I'm bound for Virginia. They say there's land there not unlike the Highlands. Land that can be had for no more than the labor of a strong back and willing hands."
"Aye," she whispered to the night, her hair a fine mist obscuring her face. "I had ye wrong. 'Tis no the money, is it? Nor even the glory of the chase. 'Tis an idealist y'are."
"An idealist? Aye, if ye will. No Scotsman's a stranger to hard work. I've a mind to leave somethin' to my children the King in England canna' be takin' away. What about ye? Is one o' the wee bairns your own?"
Pain flickered across her face. "Me? No. I've no one at all any more."
He knew her now, and still he could not escape the magic of her voice. It lulled him to a safe, quiet place where he might spend eternity wrapped in her arms. "You'd best get on with it, then," he warned the back of her head as he stood drinking in the scent of her.
She turned to face him at that, almost moving into his arms, a half smile easing the lines of strain and worry along her jaw line. "Get on with it, Captain?"
"Aye. I know ye, Changeling. My grandmother brought me up in the old ways, so that I might ken the likes of ye. Are ye not here to seduce me, then, so that I might follow ye like a lamb to the slaughter?"
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She laughed at that—a throaty laugh that started deep in her diaphragm. "So it's a Changeling I am, is it? Nothing more than a wee bit o' Faerie Fluff? And was this my plan, I suppose you'd no deny me the seduction?"
She moved closer. Too close. All the warning bells in his mind went off as he reached out to cup her jaw in his palm, looking down into eyes both wary and yet vulnerable. "I am but a man. I would deny ye nothing, Lass."
Changeling laughter tinkled like tiny Christmas bells, quickly swept away by the ocean breeze. "You're a strange man, Captain, a strange man indeed. What makes ye think I'm here to do ye harm? If harm ye would call it."
He stared at her lips as she bantered with him, watching the curves undulate until he forgot what he knew of her. "Mayhap I was just prayin1 for the seduction after all."
The dancing lips formed into a steady smile as she leaned forward. Hands he had not consciously seen moving buried themselves in his hair, pulling his head down toward hers. Warm breath tickled his beard along his lower lip. As if time had slowed to let him catch every nuance of an exquisite torture, he felt his heartbeat pumping blood that surged through his veins now like liquid fire. Her lips met his, soft and yet demanding, tasting first in a light butterfly of a kiss, then attacking, hot and wild, as she sucked his bottom lip between hers.
His hands took on a life of their own, skimming down her back until they reached the curve of her hips, admiring the firm, round cheeks of her buttocks even as he pulled her against the length of his body. Desire swamped his senses, swelling until it became a hot, tangible scent in the air, nearly overwhelming him. He could feel the heat coiling in his groin, his body demanding things his mind knew he had no right to ask of her. He could feel the outline of her curves beneath the fine wool she'd wrapped herself in. She wore the soft gray-blue wrap in the traditional style of a plaid, belted around her waist with the excess draped over her shoulders like a cape to protect her from the chill of the evening air.
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Her body wasn't chilled now. She felt hot and alive under his touch. The hard intake of her breath pushed her breasts against his chest in bold relief with each pause for air. His body betrayed him, the heat of his own reaction to her threatening to consume him.
No. He closed his eyes, drawing in slow, steady breaths, his logical mind warring for dominance with his physical desires. He had to keep reminding himself that she was a chance he could not afford to take. She was dangerous. He was... She was...
"Do ye have a name, or shall I just call ye Captain?"
A name? He searched his mind, even such simple knowledge nearly out of his reach. "Ewan. Ewan MacKenzie."
"Slept?" He blinked slowly, trying to make sense of her words. What was she doing? Her arms pulled at him with a strength he'd not thought her capable of, steering him away from the ship's rail and the moonlight that reflected off the water.
"Aye, sleep, ye fool of a man. Can ye no' even remember? Ye stagger like a drunk, near passed out on your feet, and ye fancy yourself carryin' on conversations with Faeries. Ye walk these decks as if the world depends on ye for each moment of its turning. Do ye not crew your ship wi' men ye can trust? Must ye do everything yourself to see that it's done?"
Had he thought her soft and vulnerable? There was nothing soft about her as she towed him to his cabin, bullying him with a sharp hiss when he realized what she was about. Somehow they'd reached the half-deck, but he froze at his cabin door, afraid to go in. "'Tis a good crew, loyal men all, and I do rest," he argued, though even to him his voice sounded like that of a petulant two-year old.
She took no notice of his protest. "Rest is no' sleep."
He was so tired. Still, if he slept, the nightmares would come. "I canna'."
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Hands that were busy with his clothing paused on their mission. "Canna'? Nay, I think no'. Willna' is more like it. To bed with ye, Ewan MacKenzie."
The sound of her voice kept him off balance. His name sounded like music on her lips. She was right, and he knew it. He was swaying on his feet like a drunkard. But still, the promise of the bed was a tainted one. He knew how it would end. "Will ye stay with me, Changeling? Perhaps your magic can do what I canna'." He knew he sounded desperate, but he didn't care any more.
She opened her mouth, as if to speak, then snapped it shut again. She turned away, and he thought she would leave, but instead she bolted the door behind them, as if to keep him from escaping.
'Twas but a moment's work for her to strip down to her ankle length shift. She slid into the narrow bed, holding the bedcovers open in welcome to him.
A quick tug on the tie at his waist and he stepped out of his trews as they puddled about his feet, a smile twisted his lips as he slid in beside her, his body a sodden mass that defied his will. "Your virtue is safe with me this night, Changeling."
Her musical laughter reached his ears from far away as she tucked the covers around them. "You're welcome to do anything ye have the strength for, Ewan MacKenzie."
"Do what ye must, Changeling," he whispered, his voice but a sleepy mumble, even to his own ears. "I'll no' hold it against ye."
"I ken no' what ye mean, Ewan."
She was too far away for him to answer. Instead he smiled as the Changeling performed her greatest seduction of all. As sleep dimmed his eyes, he prayed her magic would last.
*****
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The clank and rattle of chains awakened him. Yet even as he opened his eyes he knew he was not awake, but dreaming once again. He feared the thing that haunted him, feared her and needed her both. He twisted, trying to find her in the darkness.
Ewan.
"Maili?" He began to shake as the ghostly voice called out to him.
"Ewan?" Another voice. Closer, but groggy with sleep.
Ewan! Release me, Ewan!
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