A Pirate's Heart (St. John Series) (19 page)

“Yes, you do.” He walked over to Kristina, placed his hands on the arms of her chair and leaned over just inches from her face. “He doesn’t recognize you, but I do. You are the black-haired angel that he speaks about when he’s foxed. I know what you did for him five years ago. And for that, I am forever in your debt.” A shocked look crossed Kristina’s face. “Make him forget the demons that woman has instilled in him,” Alex told her and left the room.

Chapter Eighteen

Demons? She had never thought of what Max had experienced at his mother’s hands as demons. But in truth, that was exactly what Max had experienced. His mother had been the devil in the flesh. What she did was to torment and abuse him his entire life. Her hatred and emotional scarring was still affecting him today, even years after her death. The image of him as a frightened little boy entered her mind, him begging for his mother’s approval only to have it slapped away by her vicious words and actions. She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t hear Max approach.

He stood in the doorway and watched her for several minutes. God, she was so beautiful. She was Aphrodite in the flesh. How did he ever manage to get a goddess like this in his life? She tolerated him at his worst and had yet to see him at his best. Somehow he must rectify that. Her expression became sorrowful and Max wandered what this beautiful creature was thinking about to have upset her so.

“Did Mrs. Potts interrogate you?”

Kristina was drawn out of her daydream by Max’s question. “Pardon?”

“Mrs. Potts? Did she drag your life story out of you?” The confused look she gave made him continue. “She has a tendency to find out things. I swear she could be part of British intelligence. She could make a priest confess.” She looked up at her husband and noticed his teasing look.

“Yes. I imagine she would be quite useful at gathering information. Did you finish unloading the cargo without injuring your arm further?”

Max nodded his head. “The stitches are still intact.” He picked up the last pastry and took a bite. “Not like yours.”

“That’s what Alex said.”

“Come on. I’ll show you where we’ll be staying.”

Kristina stood and followed her husband up the grand staircase. She placed her hand on the smooth wood and noticed that it seemed to be one solid piece of highly polished wood. An impish smile crossed her face. When they reached the top, she quickly straddled the banister and slid down. As she accelerated down the banister, her laughter filled the foyer.

Max watched as his wife slid down the railing in a childlike fashion. “Better not let Mrs. Potts see you do that. She’ll have your hide.”

She didn’t stop, but kept up her current downward descent. When she reached the bottom of the banister, she could not stop. A panic-stricken look crossed her face as she went sailing off the end of the banister and landed with a small thud at the bottom. She lay down on her back on the floor and did not move. Max called her name, but she did not answer. His heart rose to his throat as he raced down the staircase in a panic, nearly falling in his haste to reach her. When he reached the bottom of the staircase he could see her chest moving and then he heard it . . . her laughter.

She looked up at him, her eyes twinkling as her laughter continued. “You’ve got to try that.”

Her laughter was contagious and he joined her, his deep laughter echoing throughout the foyer. “No. I think I’ll pass.” He reached down and grabbed Kristina’s hand and helped her up.

“You should laugh more often. I like the sound,” she informed her husband as she dusted off her backside.

“My life has given me little to laugh about.”

Her heart sank. She blinked rapidly several times to keep her tears in check at the meaning of his words. She changed the subject by asking, “Umm . . . where were we going?”

“This way, Mrs. Hart.”

She followed him back up the staircase, resisting the urge to slide down the banister again. At the top of the staircase he took her hand and led her down the long corridor to the last room on the right.

He opened the door and she followed him in. Her eyes scanned the room. There was a large four-poster cherry bed covered in an ivory quilt. A maroon ribbon was around the mosquito netting keeping it tied back to the large posts. There was a matching large mirrored dresser, wardrobe, and breakfast table. She walked slowly around the room, allowing her hand to travel over the fawn couch that faced the window. She pulled back the ivory gossamer curtains that were blowing in the warm March breeze and noticed the set of French doors that opened onto one of the verandas, facing the ocean.

She heard the door close behind her and turned, thinking she would be alone, but Max was still in the room. “I’m sorry. Is this where you’re staying?”

“No,” he answered. “This is where
we’re
staying.” She arched her dark brow at him. “You’re my wife and you will stay with me.”

“I see,” she responded. She resisted the desire to fight, remembering the outcome of their last argument. She began exploring their quarters again. She opened another door and noticed that it led into a large open room with a porcelain tub. She could see the steam rising from the tub, remembering Mrs. Potts was having the tubs filled for the guests. “Do all the bedrooms have adjacent bathing rooms?”

“Yes,” Max answered. “The previous owner was hoping for a large family. So when he constructed the home, he had numerous bedchambers built. He died shortly after the home was completed. When Alex took proprietorship of the property, he knew he would never have use for all of the bedrooms and commissioned the adjacent rooms to be joined, turning them into bathing chambers. “

“So how many bedrooms are there now?”

“Ten.”

“Ah,” she answered in astonishment. She hadn’t realized the house was so grand. She turned to face Max. “The water is hot in the tub. Why don’t you take a bath? You’ve been busy today. I had mine last night and don’t like to bathe during the day.”

“You sure you don’t want to join me?”

“Positive!” she answered quickly, knowing what would happen if she joined him in the tub. He chuckled at her outburst, but said nothing.

She watched as Max walked to the wardrobe and pulled out a change of clothing before walking into the bathing room and closing the door. She took a deep breath and sat down on the bed, not sure of what was to happen next. Sure, Max and she were married, but they planned on divorcing if a child was not conceived. Her eyes grew wide with the realization that if she kept letting her guard down around him, a child would be made. Then a thought entered her mind. Wasn’t that part of her plan? To marry him? To stay married to him? Yes, but no. Yes, she did want to marry him and still wanted to be, but she didn’t want him to stay with her out of duty but out of love. And she knew it would be almost impossible to get this man to love her, especially after the way he was treated by his mother. Her dream from last night entered her mind. Her mother had told her how Max did not know how to express anything but hatred. Any feelings he projected were out of defense. Sophia reminded Kristina that he never knew love and it would be up to Kristina to show him what love was . . . what it was like . . . that she would have to show him that not all women were like Sybil. Kristina pressed her lips together. Her mother had an excellent idea, but how? She stood up, walked over to the window and gazed out at the turquoise waters allowing her mind to wander.

When Max finished his bath, he quietly exited the bathing chamber and spotted his wife standing by the large French doors. The warm breeze caught a lock of her ebony hair causing it to dance around her face. Her mind was far from here. He silently walked up behind her and placed his strong arms around her waist. “Where are your thoughts?”

She could feel his damp skin on her clothing and could tell he was shirtless. She pressed her back to him, enjoying the feel of his body pressed to hers. She closed her eyes and took in the feel of him, his scent, his presence. She loved the feel of his body.

She took a deep breath and said, “I’ve met you before.”

“Well, of course you have,” he teased, resting his chin on the top of her head.

She pulled away from him and turned to face him. “No. I mean years ago, I met you.”

“I think I would have remembered meeting you.”

“No,” she said with melancholy, shaking her head. “Your fever was so high. Although you did kiss me, which was nice, even though you didn’t know what you were doing. But it was no wonder, you had such a large wound. “

He furrowed his brow as he looked at her. “What in the hell are you talking about?”

She walked over to the sofa, sat down, and motioned for him to join her. He did so with curiosity, wondering what she was about to say.

She took a long, slow breath. “The scar on your back. I really hadn’t paid much attention to it before now. Our cabin was poorly lit which was why, but I did today after our argument.”

“Which one?”

“The big one on the lower portion of your back that runs from right to left.”

“What about it?”

“I was there when you got it.”

“I doubt that. “

She shook her head. “Let me explain. I was helping one of the sisters. It was late at night when Sister Nina and I were coming back to the mission after tending to an ill fisherman. As we crested the hill to the mission, we heard a noise in the distance. At first we thought it was thunder, but there weren’t any clouds to be found. Sister Nina dismissed the noise and went inside, but I walked to the outskirts of the mission. The mission rested on a cliff facing the ocean. I listened and heard the noise again. That’s when I could see the faint flicker of lights and figured it was cannon fire. I assumed that the navy was battling pirates, since there had been several sightings of pirate ships in the waters off Matanzas.”

“Matanzas?” Max repeated as he thought.

She nodded her head. “Cuba. I grew up in a small fishing village about a day’s ride from there. Anyway, the next afternoon, I was walking along the beach looking for seashells.” She smiled fondly. “I loved collecting the shells. I would pretend they were jewels and imagine buying lovely gowns and having ladies’ maids to do my bidding because I was so rich. As I was rounding the bend to go to the section of the beach where conch shells usually washed ashore, I spotted a body face down in the sand. I raced over thinking it was one of the fisherman. I thought maybe one of their boats had capsized and they had washed to shore. The closer I got, I could see it wasn’t anyone I knew. The clothing was wrong. His trousers were tattered and his shirt was missing along with his shoes. As I got closer, I could make out the black hair and beard. All the fishermen were old, so their hair was either gray or missing.”

She closed her eyes as she gathered her thoughts. She licked her lips and continued. “As I came closer, I could tell that the person was gravely injured. I could see blood running down his side. I ran over and saw he was still alive. I left him there on the beach and ran back to the village to get help.

“By the time my father arrived at the beach, several more men had washed ashore. It took my father and several of the other fishermen to move the first man to our house and the remainder of the evening to move the others. My mother and I worked throughout the night, tending his wounds. It took several hours to sew up the wound on his back . . . it was so large. The only positive side was that the salty ocean water had cleaned the wound well, or so we thought. The next day a fever set in. I took turns with my mother in bathing the man in order to keep the fever at bay. The night before the fever broke, the man looked up at me, told me he loved me and kissed me. It was my first kiss.”

She sighed deeply and continued. “When the abbess came to help, she took one look at the man and refused to help him. She declared him a pirate and the seed of the devil because of his dark looks.” She looked over at Max and could see her words were sinking in. He opened his mouth to speak, but she interrupted. “Let me finish.”

He nodded his head and she continued. “The abbess sent a man to Matanzas to collect the authorities to turn the men over to. Before the authorities arrived, another man approached my father and informed him that you were one of his shipmates. He collected the man along with the others and left, taking them in a longboat to the ship anchored in the bay.”

Taking a deep breath she continued, “When I stitched his wound, I wanted to make sure I would recognize him again if I should ever see him.” She pressed her lips together and looked at Max. “So, on the last set of stitching I used thread that was dipped into ink, to make a mark.”

“Why?” Max asked as she answered the question that had plagued him for years—where had the mark come from? He knew where his first tattoo came from—he was fifteen and drunk enough to let one of the crewmembers of
The Judgment
try his hand at pin-poking. But the alcohol had not been enough to dull the excruciating pain that came with having his flesh pierced thousands of times by the bronze instrument. It took more than one night to get his tattoo completed, but he knew that if he refused to allow the man to finish, he would be labeled a coward. So he endured three nights of the man’s torture. The pain Max experienced from that one tattoo was enough to make him vow to have no more. So when he noticed the faint “X” resting at the top of his buttocks he could not fathom where it came from or who he had let touch his flesh again with ink.

Kristina shook her head. “I don’t know,” she looked away from Max and back out the window. “I guess I was hoping he would return and rescue me from my life. Don’t get me wrong, I loved my parents and the life I had there. But everyone has fantasies. I guess . . . I guess . . . I just don’t know,” she whispered. The corner of her mouth twitched as she inhaled deeply. “After my parents died, I kept hoping and praying he would return. The nuns were tolerant of me, but far from kind. I was a slave to them. They were cruel and mean—not nearly like your mother—but still very unpleasant. Every time a new fisherman came to the village, I would sneak a peek at his back, hoping to find my mark. Hoping for my rescue. Many had scars, but none had my mark.”