Only With Your Love (Vallerands #2)(8)

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 that 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.