The Pirate Prince (21 page)

Willow hoped her father would not be too angry when he found her letter. In it she explained that he should follow
the
Revenge
to Lipsi, where she would board the
Fairwind
and return to England, as she had promised.

Just as her arms were about to give out, the boat bumped against the
Revenge’s
hull. A sailor looked over the side, gave a shout and lowered the ladder when Willow indicated she wished to board the ship. It was a difficult climb, but she was soon pulled over the rail and welcomed aboard by Mustafa.

Dariq awoke early on the last day of his life. He tried to dwell not on death but on life … Willow’s life. Though she was probably far from Istanbul by now, he would always remain with her in spirit if not in body. His wish for her was that she would find a good man to love, one who would love her in return.

Dariq was brought a meal that morning by a sullen guard. His last meal on this earth. His stomach rebelled, and he pushed the food aside. At mid-morning Ibrahim showed up with a woman.

“I thought you might like to know sexual gratification one last time before you are cast into hell,” the sultan said. “Aziza will pleasure you in any way you desire. I am not as coldhearted as you believe, brother.”

Dariq stared at the lovely woman but felt no desire. He refused to defile the memory of his love for Willow.

“Nay, thank you, brother. Take your houri and leave me in peace.”

“So be it,” Ibrahim said. “Rest in hell, Dariq. I will not be in attendance at your execution. You are not important enough to warrant my leaving the seraglio.”

“Coward!” Dariq accused. “You fear your people will rise up against you to protest my execution.” He sent Ibrahim a grim smile. “You are wise to remain behind walls, brother.”

“I fear no one!” Ibrahim snarled. Dragging Aziza with him, he stormed off.

Dariq sank down on his haunches, contemplating his short life and how he would live it if he were given another chance. Then the guards came to take him away. As the guards led him through the souk, he was vaguely aware of the unruly crowd following him and wondered why the masses had turned out for his execution. Then he saw it—the chopping block and the executioner awaiting him in the square.

Dariq’s pride would not allow him to show fear. His head held high, he maintained his dignity as he walked toward the executioner with firm steps. He gazed directly into the crowd, and what he saw cheered him. Many familiar faces looked back at him. He saw Hassan and friends from his former life in Istanbul. And then he spotted Mustafa and some of his crewmen. For a brief moment he knew hope, but just as quickly it died. They were too few to be of any help.

As Dariq was prodded toward the executioner, something strange occurred. English sailors seemed to be everywhere, mingling with the crowd that had come to watch his execution. Dariq watched in stunned silence as pandemonium erupted within the crowd. Angry voices became raised fists and quickly a small riot had begun. Dariq stared in utter astonishment as people began pushing through the ring of janizaries trying to hold them back.

Before he realized what was happening, the square became a solid mass of human bodies. Momentarily diverted from their prisoner, the janizaries fought to restore order. But it soon became clear that they were fighting a losing battle. The executioner staggered backward as people pushed and shoved him away from Dariq. Then
Mustafa was beside him, the men from the
Revenge
forming a protective circle around him.

“This way, Prince,” Mustafa urged, edging him through a breach that had miraculously parted for them.

English sailors provided a buffer as Dariq and his men slipped through the crowd. When a hue and cry arose, Dariq realized the janizaries had noticed his disappearance, and he feared that he and his men were all doomed.

Then another miracle occurred. The English sailors regrouped and formed a formidable blockade, allowing Dariq and his men to flee unhampered. Dariq had no idea who had organized this incredible uprising, but he was exceedingly grateful.

Dariq ran through the winding streets to the docks and leapt into one of the boats tied to the pier, while his crewmen scrambled into a second boat.

“The English sailors are shielding us from the janizaries,” Mustafa said.

“Where are Kamel and Ali Hara?” Dariq asked.

“There they are,” Mustafa said, pointing to the two men racing along the pier.

As soon as the eunuchs reached them and found a place in the boat, they shoved off. The remaining boats followed in quick succession.

“I hope the English sailors reach their ship without loss of life,” Dariq said worriedly.

“Look what is happening!” Mustafa shouted. “The crowd is forming a solid mass of bodies between the janizaries and the sailors. The janizaries cannot reach the sailors. The crowd is forming a human shield to aid our escape.”

“Where is Willow?” Dariq asked anxiously.

“Aboard her father’s ship,” Ali Hara replied. “Your lady’s father arrived with enough force behind him to
convince Ibrahim to release her. When Mustafa saw the English ships in the harbor, we assumed Lady Willow’s father had come for her and concocted a rescue plan. All we had to do was convince Lord Bramston to cooperate with us. While Mustafa left to fetch the
Revenge
, I approached the marquis.”

“I am surprised he agreed.”

“It wasn’t easy,” Ali Hara said, “but in the end, he agreed. I gave him directions to Lipsi so he can bring your lady to you.”

Dariq thought the marquis was as likely to take Willow to Lipsi as to Timbuktu.

They reached the
Revenge
in good time. Dariq scrambled up the ladder first, and his men followed. The mood aboard ship was jubilant as the men congratulated each other. By the grace of God and Allah, Dariq was alive and none of his men had been injured. And Ali Hara and Kamel had elected to join the Brotherhood.

Soon the men and boats were aboard. “Unfurl the sails!” Dariq shouted. “The tide is turning and the wind is with us. Set a course for Lipsi.”

Mustafa took over the wheel. Wind whipped the canvas, and the sails filled with air as the
Revenge
slowly picked up speed, leaving Istanbul behind. Legs braced, Dariq stood at the rail as they sailed through the Bosporus, his spyglass following the course of the
Fairwind
.

“Fear not, my lord, Lady Willow’s father will bring her to you,” Ali Hara said, answering Dariq’s unspoken question.

Dariq wasn’t so sure. Perhaps Willow wouldn’t be happy living on Lipsi and had decided to return to England. He knew Willow deserved better than a pirate for a husband; it wasn’t the life her family had envisioned for her. Could love breach the gap between their worlds?

Nor did living in England appeal to Dariq. He had
riches enough to keep him and Willow in luxury for the rest of their lives, in England or anywhere else she desired, but he knew intuitively that English society would not accept a reformed pirate. He was untitled and his features too foreign.

Dariq sighed deeply. The disparity in their backgrounds was one he and Willow would have to work out.

A sailor sidled up to Dariq. “Your bath awaits you in your cabin, my lord.”

Dariq’s dark brows shot upward. “It seems you have read my mind. Thank you, Akbad.”

Akbad smirked but said nothing more as Dariq started toward his cabin. Dariq wore a puzzled expression when he noted that Akbad wasn’t the only man grinning at him. Shrugging, he continued on to his cabin, deciding that his men were merely happy to see him alive.

Dariq opened the cabin door and stepped inside, eager for the promised bath. The stink of his body nauseated him. He spied the wooden tub and the steam rising above it and smiled. By the time he reached it, he had shed his clothes, flinging them hither and yon.

Then he saw her. He froze in mid-step as she stepped from the shadows at the far end of the cabin. He whispered her name and she flew into his arms, her cheeks wet with tears.

He kissed her and knew paradise again. She was here, in his arms, and he never intended to let her go.

“How—” he whispered against her lips.

“It does not matter. I wanted to be here when you arrived.”

She stepped back, her gaze sliding over every inch of his body. “Are you all right?”

“As you can see, I am fine, love. I will show you just
how well I am once the stench of the dungeon is off me. While I wash, you can tell me how you got here.”

Willow had no intention of ruining their reunion by telling Dariq she was leaving him, that their reunion was only temporary. She would save that for another day. Telling him now would hurt him too much, even though he would have to know before they reached Lipsi.

Dariq stepped into the tub and sank down into the water, groaning his pleasure. “I was stunned to see the English warships in the harbor,” he began. “When Selim Pasha said you were being sent home, I assumed it would be on a Turkish ship. I had no idea your father had arrived in Istanbul to fetch you until Mustafa told me. How did the marquis convince Ibrahim to let you go, and how did you persuade your father to send his sailors to aid my escape?”

“I do not know what Papa told Ibrahim, but warships carrying soldiers and big guns probably convinced him. As for getting Papa to help you, I told him I loved you and would never forgive him if he refused,” Willow said as she picked up the cloth and soap.

“Ali Hara and Mustafa hatched the plan to rescue you when they saw English ships in the harbor and assumed they had come for me. When Ali Hara outlined their plan to Papa, I urged him to help.”

“It seems too easy,” Dariq muttered. “Your father has no reason to like me. I am the man who kidnapped his daughter and took her virginity.”

“You are the man I love. Lean over so I can scrub your back.”

Willow didn’t want to get into particulars right now. She and Dariq were together, and that was all that mattered. She wanted him so desperately that her hands
shook as she ran the cloth over his back and shoulders.

When she moved around to his front, Dariq captured her hand, bringing it down between his thighs. The breath caught in her throat. His staff was hard as marble, jutting proudly upward against his stomach. Though it cost her dearly, Willow jerked her hand away.

“First your bath,” she teased, keeping her voice light. If he noticed that her heart was breaking, she would have to tell him she was leaving him, and it was too soon.

Taking the cloth from her, Dariq hurried through his bath, leaving his hair for the last. Willow picked up a jar and poured clean water over his head to rinse out the soap. Then, before she realized his intention, he surged up from the tub. Dripping water on the deck, he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed. He set her on her feet.

Catching his enthusiasm, Willow pulled her wet bodice away from her chest. “Look what you did.”

Laughing, Dariq shook his head, spraying her with water.

Willow grabbed a towel and dried his hair, but that was as far as she got. Dariq was as eager for her as she was for him. Reaching for her, he undressed her quickly, ignoring most of the tiny buttons marching down the front of her gown.

“Why must English women wear all these layers of clothing?” he muttered as he pulled the bodice down her shoulders, taking her chemise with it. Then he pushed the gown past her hips and lifted her from the pool of material at her feet. Unhampered by clothing, they tumbled into the bed.

Willow kissed his mouth, his damp throat, wanting him so badly she began to tremble, aware that each
passing minute diminished their time together.

“Come inside me,” Willow pleaded.

Though his eyes were narrowed with heat and raging lust, he took his sweet time arousing her. He nuzzled her breast, flicking his tongue over her nipple. “Not yet, beauty.”

Willow reached up to touch his chest. His skin felt damp and hot; his muscles contracted beneath her fingertips.

Dariq groaned and gathered her against him; the hard points of her nipples teased his chest as he positioned his rigid sex at the weeping entrance to her body. Taut anticipation screamed through Willow. She had been starved for him; needed to feel him inside her. She arched up against him, begging him without words.

“Not yet,” Dariq rasped raggedly. “I want to taste you first.” He moved over her body, laving her skin with his tongue as he traveled downward, until he reached that tender place between her thighs.

She shuddered when she felt his fingers pressing her swollen folds open, and then his tongue touched the delicate jewel between them. Her fingers dug into his shoulders as he licked her in long, sinuous laps that made her body throb with unrelenting delight.

Willow could not stop the motion of her hips rising upward in repeated surges. His hands slid beneath her, guiding her rhythm while his tongue strummed, bathed, teased. She whimpered incoherently as sensations tumbled one after another, drawing her toward an unendurable peak.

Willow moaned out a protest when Dariq lifted his head and levered his body upward. “Please,
please
…”

Flexing his hips, he entered her. Willow cried out, her
yielding flesh tightening around him. As his kisses scorched her throat, her mouth, his engorged shaft delved deep inside her liquid center. He withdrew almost to the head of his shaft, then drove deep again, moving slowly and steadily in long, pleasuring strokes.

She melted around him, began to move with him, her hips meeting his in frantic urgency. She felt as if her world began and ended with Dariq. She wanted him, wanted
this
, only with him, for the rest of her life.

His mouth covered hers, muffling her cries as she shattered in his arms. Her body shook with violent spasms, the walls of her passage gripping his sex hard, convulsing around him. Dariq let out a groan and seized her hips with both hands, spending his own passion.

He collapsed against her, his heart so filled with love, he was nearly bursting with it. Somehow, he vowed, he and Willow would have a future together. Somehow they would find a place in this vast world where they could be happy together.