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  The owner of the foot that had tripped her stood up. “John Risk,” the one-eyed pirate introduced himself with a devilish grin. “Where are ye running to, darlin’? Outside is no place for a lady. Ye’d be caught and ravished in a minute by the rovers on the beach.”

  “Help me,” she said urgently, while Legare’s men swarmed around them. For once her English was flawless. “I-I am a Vallerand. Take me to New Orleans. Maximilien Vallerand will reward you well for my safe return.”

  Risk’s expression of insolent amusement vanished, and he looked up at the man behind her with a questioning frown.

  Celia quivered as the man who held her bent to murmur in her ear. “By what claim are you a Vallerand?” His voice was deep and husky, and it sent chills down her spine. She tried to twist around to see him, but he would not let her.

  “I am the w-wife of Dr. Philippe Vallerand,” she stammered. “Our ship…the Golden Star…They killed my husband. It was yesterday, I think…perhaps the day before.”

  The fingers on her shoulders tightened, then tightened again, until she let out a cry of pain. The crushing hands relaxed their cruel grip.

  “My God,” Celia heard him say softly.

  “You…you have heard of the Vallerands?” she asked.

  Abruptly Dominic Legare was before her, shoving Risk aside. He looked well over her head at the man behind her, who must have been exceedingly tall.

  “My thanks, Captain Griffin,” Legare said “Now you will allow me to take André’s gift back to him.”

  Celia was shocked to feel the man’s arm slide around her, clasping her body just underneath her breasts. It was a gesture of ownership. The warmth of his hand burned through her dress. She looked down and saw a muscled forearm covered with black hair, revealed by a rolled-up shirtsleeve. The soft voice spoke again.

  “Captain Legare, there is something we will discuss first.”

  Dominic lifted his thin brows.

  The room became quiet, all eyes turning toward them. It was well known that Griffin was the only man on Isle au Corneille who did not fear Dominic Legare. Until this moment the two men had avoided all semblance of confrontation. They had spoken to each other only once before, concerning a minor dispute between two men from their respective crews. Although Legare’s organization was larger and more powerful, Griffin’s enmity was not something to be taken lightly.

  “I have an interest in the wench,” Griffin continued casually. “Are you open to an offer?”

  Legare shook his head. “Now that André has seen her, I’m afraid that is impossible. I never disappoint my brother.”

  “Fifty thousand—in silver.”

  Risk’s mouth dropped open as he stared at Griffin. Slowly he sat down as if his legs would no longer support him.

  “No such paltry sum would interest me,” Legare sneered. “I suppose you haven’t heard of the successful run the Vulture has just made.”

  “A hundred thousand,” Griffin said calmly.

  Ripples of astonishment went through the room, punctuated by whistles and exclamations.

  Celia quivered with fear. Why did this mysterious Captain Griffin want her enough to pay a fortune? And if Legare agreed, what did Griffin intend to do with her? The horrifying thought crossed her mind that she might be even worse off in this man’s custody than in André’s.

  Legare was silent with surprise. His eyes narrowed. “What is it about the girl that interests you so?”

  “One hundred fifty.”

  Legare sucked in his breath, then let it out slowly. His sharp eyes glittered with satisfaction at the prospect of refusing Griffin something he obviously wanted. He gave a jagged smile. “No.”

  André waddled forward through the crowd, his stomach jiggling. His round face was beet-red with excitement. “Yes, yes! Let ’im fight for her, Dominic! For years we’ve heard all the draff his men spout, boasting about their mighty captain…well, let’s see him fight, now! Put ’im up against our best man.”

  Risk fumbled for the bottle of rum and downed a large swallow. “Sweet Jesus,” he mumbled.

  Dominic stared at Griffin consideringly. He addressed a question to André, while still looking at Griffin’s expressionless face. “Would that really please you, mon frère? Enough to risk losing the woman I brought you?”

  “Aye,” came the ready answer. “We’ll have ’im show us what he’s made of, Dom!”

  “Very well. This is the proposal, Griffin: you fight the man I choose. To the death, naturellement. If you succeed, you may have the girl for one hundred and fifty thousand, all in hard money. If my man wins, your ship and all the property you have stored in the relay warehouses belong to me.”

  Risk shot up angrily. “What the hell—”

  “Aye,” Griffin said in a businesslike manner.

  The tavern burst into an uproar. Money began to change hands, while loud wagers flew thick and fast. As the news was shouted to passersby, men began crowding inside frantically. Griffin scowled as he saw some of his crew squabbling with Legare’s men. “Jack,” he said to Risk, “spread the word among ours to keep their heads. We don’t need—”

  “Bloody hell, ye think they’ll pay any heed?” Risk demanded incredulously. “Cap’n, ye know what ye’ve started! Things’ll never be the same on the island. Ye’ve always told us to steer clear of any rivalry with Legare’s men—”

  “Yes, I know,” Griffin interrupted, his expression grim.

  “She’s just a woman! She can’t be worth this! Besides, the spoils in the warehouses weren’t all yers t’ gamble with. A share of the stake was mine!”

  “Unfortunately,” Griffin said, “I had no choice in the matter.”

  “Ye’d better win,” Risk muttered.

  Celia stood with downbent head, dazed and helpless. Some part of her mind understood what was happening, but her thoughts were strangely disoriented.

  Suddenly André Legare approached her, tangling his fingers in her hair. She looked into his dark eyes, almost completely concealed by his heavy eyelids and puffy cheeks. His full-lipped mouth was stained at the corners. “I’ll take her until the contest is through,” André said to Griffin, pulling impatiently at the shining strands of golden hair.

  Celia turned away from him and found herself pressed against Griffin’s hard chest. There was an eerily familiar feeling about the way his arm felt around her, the heat of his skin through his shirt. Although she was of more than average height for a woman, the top of her head barely reached his shoulder.

  “Nay,” she heard Griffin’s voice over her head. “I won’t have damaged goods foisted on me after going to the trouble of fighting for her.”

  Petulantly André looked for his older brother, but Dominic was busy selecting a man to put up against Griffin. “I won’t damage her,” he whined, letting go of Celia’s hair. “How do I know you won’t?”

  John Risk stepped forward. “I ’spect Cap’n Griffin’s ideas of how to entertain a woman are a wee bit different than yers, Legare. But if it satisfies ye, I’ll look after the sweet cailin. God knows I’m not fool enough to try anything with her.”

  André stormed away, spewing loud complaints.

  Bracing his foot on the seat of a chair, Griffin drew a knife from his boot to cut the bonds around Celia’s wrists. As she stood between his thighs, she finally had the opportunity to look up at his face. She couldn’t hide her involuntary shiver.

  Chapter 2

  The sight of Griffin threatened Celia in every way a woman could feel threatened. He was like a savage beast, with a wild mane of sable hair that fell past his shoulders. The line of his jaw was hidden by a thick beard. An open black shirt revealed sun-bronzed skin and a muscular hair-matted chest. He had a long straight nose, sharp cheekbones, and a bold look that proclaimed he would not recognize shame if he stood face to face with it. His eyes were such a fierce, stabbing blue that she flinched. She had never met anyone with eyes that color except for…

  Griffin slashed the rope th
at bound her wrists, and all thought was driven away by excruciating pain as blood began to pump through her arms. The strained muscles of her shoulders exacerbated her agony. Celia swayed unsteadily, her ears buzzing.

  Swearing at her, Griffin hooked an arm around her narrow waist. “Damn scrawny woman,” he muttered, sliding the knife back into his boot. “Would you save your swooning for a more convenient time?”

  “I-I’ll try to restrain myself, Captain,” she said. Although her tone was meek, there was a thread of sarcasm in it.

  Frowning, Griffin pushed her at Risk. “Take her, Jack. And don’t make free with your hands, or I’ll take your hide off in strips.”

  “Aye, sir,” Risk said obediently, pulling Celia to the chair beside him. Folding his hands and resting them on the table, he gave her an angelic smile.

  Griffin shrugged out of his sleeveless black jerkin and dropped it on the table. Fishing out a short length of rawhide from his pocket, he tied back his wild black hair. Celia watched him with wide eyes. She had never seen anyone like him before. His body was well-conditioned for battle, tall and rangy, but tough and muscled. His hands were huge and callused. Her father would call such a man “full of gristle”. There was a frightening alertness in those shocking blue eyes.

  “Wh-what do you want with me?” she whispered. Soft as the question was, he heard it clearly.

  “Call it a debt I have to honor.” He stood over her, settling his hands on the back of her chair. “And I always take care of my debts,” he murmured, staring down at her. She shrank away, feeling she would shatter into pieces if he leaned one inch closer.

  “I-if you take me to New Orleans,” she said shakily, “the Vallerands will reward you for returning me un-unmolested—”

  His eyes glinted with amusement. “If I do take you there, you’ll be received the same whether you’re molested or not.”

  “But the Vallerands would not want—”

  “And you think I give a damn what the Vallerands want,” he interrupted, his gaze traveling over her body. She froze as she felt his fingertip touch the tip of her ear and slide around the delicate curve. He tickled gently behind her earlobe, as if she were a prickly-tempered cat. “Well, you have nothing to fear from me, my little bag of bones. When I lay with a woman, I like some cushion to her.”

  Risk snickered, while Celia jerked her head back to avoid that teasing fingertip. Although she feared Griffin as much as she did the others, there was something about him that provoked a far deeper sense of outrage. Not even Dominic Legare seemed as casual in his cruelty as he did.

  Griffin stared at the woman with new interest. She had the translucent skin of a child, softly rounded cheeks, a little snip of a nose. Her mouth was formed with the fashionable rosebud prettiness he usually had no taste for. Long, silky lashes framed her luminous brown eyes. What caught his notice, however, was something oddly inappropriate for such a conventionally pretty face, a mixture of intelligence and dignity that gave her distinction.

  Griffin looked over at his second-in-command. “Has Legare chosen his man or not, Jack?”

  Risk squinted at the other side of the room with his one eye. “’Tis hard to tell, with the pack we have in here, all gathered ’round—ah, wait, looks like Pounce. Big bear of a man—just might have some reach on ye.”

  Griffin responded with a noncommittal grunt, pulling his knife from his boot. The well-sharpened blade gleamed brightly. Tossing it up in the air, he caught it expertly by the hilt. “Pity there’s not room for the cutlass,” he said. “So much quicker that way.”

  “Show them a bit of fancy work,” Risk urged, excitement on his face. “Let Legare’s men see why we’ve followed ye to hell an’ back, Cap’n.”

  “Nay, I’ll do it without a show.”

  Without another word, Griffin turned and walked to the center of the room, where the crowd had cleared away a tight circle. The one Risk had called Pounce, a tall, solidly built man with a hideously slashed cheek, stepped forward.

  The din of encouragements, threats, and excited cheers exploded into a frenzy. Terrified by the noise and animosity that thickened the air, Celia leaped to her feet, knocking over her chair. Driven by instinct, she backed away from the ferocious crowd, and felt an obstruction behind her heels. Unceremoniously she fell into Risk’s lap. He had tripped her again.

  “Big feet,” he said, answering her glare with an innocent smile. “Always in the way.”

  She tried to push herself off his knee, but he kept his arm around her waist. Although he was slim, there was a resilient steeliness in his limbs. “’Tis me duty to keep ye here,” he remarked pleasantly. “Don’t fear I’ll maul ye with these scaly paws, darlin’. Ye’re a sweet temptation, sure…but I know too well that Griffin would start in on me after finishing with Pounce.”

  And truthfully, his hold on her was far more impersonal than any other man’s so far. Celia forced her muscles to unclench. “Poor mite,” Risk said, noticing the cracked surface of her lips. “How long since ye last had water to drink?”

  “I-I do not remember,” she said in her uncertain English.

  “We’ll fix ye after the broil’s over. Vagabond’s got a first-rate cook, serves up grub that won’t sour in yer belly.”

  She did not even try to decipher what he had just said. “Your captain…will he lose maybe?”

  “Oh, Griffin nivver loses. He’s kin to the divvil an’ fights twice as mean.”

  She looked at Risk curiously. His appearance was almost civilized compared to the others in the room. His hair was cropped short, completely unlike Griffin’s wild locks. In spite of the ruined eye and the black patch, his clean-boned face was far from ugly. He was a young man, perhaps even her age. “Why does he do this?” she asked. “What does he want with me?”

  “That’s for the cap’n to say. But know this, ye’ll be better off with Griffin than Legare.”

  She stared at him bitterly. For a moment she could not think of the right words in English, and then she formed a reply. “You cannot know for certainly.”

  “For certainly I do,” Risk said, and laughed. He lifted her off his knee and stood up. “Come, darlin’, let’s have a look at the fight.”

  Celia didn’t know how he could see anything with the room in such an uproar. They were all animals bellowing coarsely, with threatening fists and bloodlust on their faces. Occasionally there was a break in the crowd and she caught sight of the flashing of knives in the shifting circle. Risk did not bother to restrain a few vigorous shouts of his own. She strained away from him, but his arm was firm around her waist, and his guard did not slacken.

  Pounce was a hulking giant, with a shaggy mane of dirty brown hair. Griffin ducked underneath the arc of a knife swing and aimed a kick at his midsection. As his opponent tumbled to the ground, Griffin launched himself forward. A booted foot caught him squarely in the chest, and he let out his breath as he hurtled over Pounce’s head. Rolling as soon as he hit the ground, Griffin scrambled to his feet. They faced each other once more, breathing heavily, their clothes soaked with sweat.

  “The great Captain Griffin,” Pounce muttered. “When I finish with you, you’ll be nothing but a smear on the floor.”

  Griffin did not reply, his blue eyes focused intently on the man’s scarred, mocking face.

  Pounce attacked with a series of knife thrusts, and Griffin leaped backward several times to avoid the bite of the blade. Shifting their weight with lightning speed, the opponents advanced and retreated in a fight that proved to be a game of balance. Griffin blocked one deep drive with his left arm, twisted in an unexpected move, and plunged his knife into Pounce’s back with chilling precision. The other man died instantly, his large body crumpling to the floor.

  There was a moment of astonished silence. Then the onlookers began to cheer and exclaim.

  Laughing exultantly, Risk gave Celia a friendly jostle. “Now, darlin’, ye know for certainly ye won’t be ridden by André Legare tonight!”

  Celi
a took a shuddering breath and looked away from him. Her face was stiff and drained of blood. She wrapped her arms around herself. From her point of view, Griffin’s victory was hardly cause for rejoicing. There was no difference between him and the men who had killed Philippe. He was a cold-blooded murderer who would destroy anyone or anything that stood in the way of what he wanted. Perhaps his tortures would be more refined than André Legare’s, but he was no less a monster.

  Across the room, André Legare burst into a tantrum, his skin purple against his orange beard, his veins standing out in his puffy face. “I will have her. Dominic, I will…I will!”

  Gently Dominic hushed his brother. “Of course, mon frère. You know I would not let him take away my gift to you.”

  André quieted. Dominic stepped over Pounce’s bleeding body to Griffin, who had just extracted his knife and wiped the blade clean. “You proved yourself quite handy with the blade,” Dominic remarked in a low voice, while the excited roar in the tavern refused to subside.

  Griffin looked at him sardonically. “It was not my intention to prove anything.”

  “You did, however. And as we agreed, the woman will be yours. But tomorrow morning, not tonight.”

  Griffin was very still. “The woman is mine now.”

  “Unfortunately André will be inconsolable if he does not have one night with her.”

  A sneer twisted Griffin’s lips. “She wouldn’t survive one night with him. Your brother’s practices with women are no secret, Legare. And she’s as weak as water.”

  “I’ll see to it that he is not overly rough with her.”

  “You misunderstand,” Griffin said softly. “I’m not open to bargaining.”

  Suddenly John Risk interrupted them, having hoisted Celia in his arms and carried her through the crowd. “Here, Cap’n—a prize well-won!” He dumped her frail body into Griffin’s arms.

  Griffin looked down at the exhausted woman. Her gossamer hair spilled over his shoulder and chest. Strain had caused her skin to take on a brittle whiteness. The brown eyes were blank, as if she had retreated to an inner world where no one could reach her. It was obvious that the delicate strength he had admired before was fading quickly. He tried to assess how much more she could take before the ordeal broke her.