Free Captive of Pleasure; the Space Pirate's Woman (The LodeStar Series) by Cathryn Cade

No one in this camp. He took another drink from his snifter of moonbrandy. He usually drank ale, but tonight called for something stronger. He’d had enough of the smooth liquor that the horrific events of the past few hours were hazed with a much-needed distance.  
    He jerked his chin toward a shadowed corner. “She’s there.”
    Nera held her robe back from her face with one hand and shook her head. “Where, my lord?”
    He grinned—a crooked effort, but it was good to feel something other than rage and self-disgust. With one large, bare toe he indicated the rugs that covered the floor. One of them, in the shadows of a pile of unused cushions, had a large hump underneath.  
    Nera gasped, her loose, embroidered robes swishing as she stepped forward. “My lord. Do you wish me to drag her out?”
    He shook his head, his clean, damp hair falling forward over his bare shoulders. “God, no.” The last thing he needed was a hysterical female in his tont. “You go, tend to your own home. Drop the door cloth on your way out. I don’t wanna be disturbed.”
    She nodded, but he heard her tsk of disapproval as she stepped out of the tont into the warm prairie night. Sounds of the camp were audible through the tont’s thin walls—crackling fires, the calls of tethered catamount ponies and the voices of the tribe as they settled down for an evening of leisure. He could drop the soundproofing, but tonight he didn’t care. Footsteps padded past, but a covered doorway meant none would bother their leader unless it was urgent—very urgent.
    He lay back on his comfortable divan, long legs clad in soft pants stretched out before him, and returned to staring blearily at the holovid flickering in the middle of the room. An old-fashioned actionvid, it featured a warrior battling his way through obstacles on a jungle planet to reach an imprisoned princess. No doubt he’d be punished along the way for his heroics, but since it was fiction, he’d win in the end. Probably get some good sex and be lauded as a hero, too.
    The sound was turned down to a murmur. Through it, he heard someone begin to strum a qitar by a nearby fire. If he cared to glance up under the high curve of the tont ceiling, he could view the musician and his campfire, along with a 360-degree holovid of the area surrounding his tont and the camp.  
    Manipulating the holovid with his comlink would take the hovering surveillance cams up and out farther too, but not only did Joran not quarking care right now, he had no reason to do so. There were always three or more of the crew on guard duty, patrolling on hovercycles and catamount ponies. They had links to the satcom and could scan the skies and land for any threats.
    Ashe Targhee had seen none of this capability, nor had he noticed that every cruiser parked around the outer rim of the camp was highly armed and placed so that when powered up, they would form a deadly barrier around the camp even before they took off.
    Tonight, all was quiet, in camp and out on the prairie. Mako was in the regen unit watched over by Riley. The others were resting—and no doubt drinking, like Joran. Tomorrow morning would be time enough for their new set of problems.
    The rug in the corner rustled, followed by a tiny grunt of discomfort.  
    Joran sighed. Right—he still had his little cling-on to deal with. She’d started whimpering again when he tried to send her to the medtont with Riley and Wega, so finally he’d brought her here.
    “You can come out if you like,” he said, his words morphing into a yawn. “No one will bother you.”
    When there was no answer except quiet breathing, he shrugged. She wanted to spend the night under that rug, that was fine with him, but she must have needs.  
    “You must be thirsty by now. And I don’t suppose those slimers fed you much, did they? Let’s see, we’ve got fruit, and meat and veg rolls. Call ‘em yamas .”
    The rug moved, and his keen hearing picked up the growl of an