Pirate's Golden Promise (11 page)

From where she and the others sat on the upper deck, the canvas sails caught the breeze and billowed around them like freshly laundered sheets. On each side of the deck stood seven stalwart cannons, and on the quarterdeck above, Wynter discerned four more. Truly a fighting ship, she thought, and for some reason this excited her. She'd had very little adventure in her life at home, but now, here she was on a pirate ship. And all because of Cort Van Linden.

In reluctance her eyes found his broad back. He stood on the quarterdeck, one foot perched on a barrel and the other firmly planted on the planked flooring. His hands rested easily on his hips as his golden head surveyed the sweeping expanse of ocean. Wynter felt her heart speed up for a second when he turned and his tawny-filled gaze caught hers. He smiled at her, a smile that caused her pulse to race more than ever, and she would have willingly drowned in that gaze had not Fletch grabbed her hand.

“I don't trust that captain,” he whispered. “Doesn't he know I'm your husband?”

“I told him that, Fletch,” Wynter said. “Captain Van Linden was a guest in my father's house once. I had no idea he was a pirate.”

“Hmph,” Fletch sniffed. “Then it's a good thing I took you away from McChesney Manor if you were associating with the likes of him.”

Wynter's eyes misted to think of home and all she had lost. “Let's not talk about home,” she said.

There was little chance to talk about anything then, for Dirk and two other roughly dressed men appeared and ordered all of them to their feet. They followed behind them down a long flight of stairs and on to a landing which led to one more flight and stopped at the bottom. There was no door here like on the
Mary Jack
which could be closed and locked at night—only an open room with a porthole.

“The sky! I can see the sky,” Mary exclaimed and stood on tiptoe to get a better view.

“And it's clean and not damp feeling down here,” Hilda praised.

“Just hope there ain't no rats,” Davey said and grabbed a blanket one of the pirates handed him.

Wynter watched as Fletcher huddled in a corner. He began to cough, a wracking sound from deep within his chest. She took a blanket that Dirk handed her and went to Fletcher. Wrapping the rough but warm material around her husband, she enfolded him in her arms.

“I'll take care of you, Fletch. I promise I will. I'll make you well again.”

Fletch laid his head on her shoulder.

Shortly after biscuits were served them, a tasty luxury they'd never gotten aboard the
Mary
Jack,
and they'd rested a bit, Dirk made a motion to Wynter. Getting up, she left the sleeping Fletcher and followed the brawny man out of the doorway. She could feel the others' speculative glances as she left the cabin.

“Where are we going?” she asked him when he pointed up the row of stairs.

“Captain Van Linden wants to see you.”

He said this in such a halting way that it seemed he expected her to balk, but Wynter walked after him, curious to know why Cort Van Linden wished her presence. Arriving in the passageway, Dirk tapped on a massive door and, at the sound of Cort's voice, opened it. Dirk nearly pushed her into the cabin and hurriedly closed it, apparently pleased that his duty was at an end.

Wynter hadn't known what she'd find in Cort's cabin, but what she saw surprised and impressed her. The large room spread out before her held a myriad of shiny objects. Gleaming swords in many thicknesses and sizes hung on one wall and caught the afternoon sunlight from a large window that jutted out from the room by a few feet. A black oak table and two red velvet chairs sat by the window, and on the table were an array of meats, breads, cheeses, and wine. Just looking at such a feast started Wynter's mouth to watering. But she turned her attention to the western light as its rays hazed the huge compass on the wall farthest from her and gilded the many vellumed volumes on the shelves below it. On the opposite side of the cabin, scarlet and gold drapes were parted to reveal a wall-enclosed bunk which was swathed in a gold counterpane with red tassels at the hem. But what impressed her most was the sight of Cort Van Linden, seated at the largest desk she'd ever seen, his blond head bent over a book in which he penned an entry.

His powerful hand scribbled something, and for a second she wondered if he knew she was there. He did. “I hope you're well, Lady McChesney,” he said in his deep baritone voice, tinged with the Dutch accent.

“Larkin,” she said.

Cort glanced up. “What?”

“My name is Larkin now.”

“Ah, so it is.” He closed the thick book and laid down the quill. “I had forgotten.”

“One of your henchmen said you wanted to see me.

Cort grinned at her and stood up. His gaze swept over her, and Wynter wondered if she looked a sight in her well-worn brown calico dress and her hair which hadn't seen a brush in two days. But she stiffened her spine and refused to feel unattractive in Van Linden's presence. He was a pirate, a man who lived by unscrupulous and nefarious means. Why care how she looked to such a person?

“Dirk is a good fellow. He means no harm, and yes, I did want to see you … to offer an invitation.” He took her elbow and guided her towards the mouth-watering food. He gestured to one of the chairs. “I should like your company while I dine. I hope the food is to your taste.”

The delicious aromas wafting to Wynter caused her to actually salivate. She hadn't eaten such food since leaving England; and the broiled fish swimming in butter and topped with lemon slices, propelled her forward to the table. She wondered what Van Linden was up to, why he had summoned her, yet she had an inkling that she knew. With a strength of will, she pulled back when he offered her the chair.

“Aren't you hungry?” he asked in a tone of voice which taunted her.

“Of course I am!” Wynter snapped. “But I won't eat your food. You're up to something. I know you are.”

Cort clutched at his heart. “My dear madam, you're mistaken. I only wish your sweet company while I partake of my meal. If you'd join me, I'd be honored, otherwise you may return to your cabin.”

She knew he meant it. He would really send her on her way after tantalizing her with such delicious bounty and have a grand laugh at her expense.

“The others—” she started.

“Will be well fed also, my dear. Now if your conscience is eased, please sit.”

She sat and, to her surprise, Cort served her. Before he had poured the shimmering red wine he'd confiscated from a Spanish frigate the month before, Wynter began eating.

“I like a woman with a healthy appetite.” He laughed at the screwed-up face she gave him. Throughout the meal they said nothing, both content just to eat and drink the wine, which slipped down Wynter's throat like silk.

When they finished, Wynter gazed at the sunset in languid contentment.

“The ocean is quite beautiful,” she murmured.

His eyes flared a moment, taking in the dark mane of hair that surrounded her beautiful face. She noticed his look and expected him to say something personal but was surprised when he said, “You didn't think so last night. In fact, you were quite terrified.”

“Of course. How would you feel if someone boarded your ship and swung you over the ocean on a flimsy rope to another ship where you were taken prisoner? I doubt you'd like it very much.”

“Wynter, you're not my prisoner.”

His voice was velvety soft. Cort leaned back in his chair and looked devilishly handsome in an ebony-colored shirt and buff-colored breeches. His long, boot-encased legs were spread out before him, and though nothing outwardly in his appearance gave her the impression that he was toying with her, she felt her heart beat erratically in a heightened state of suspicion.

“What do you intend to do with us?” she asked, observing him from under long, black lashes.

“Sell your indentures.”

“But that's already been done,” she said perplexed.

“Well, we'll have to do it over again when we arrive at St. Martin. I'm certain such stalwart souls will fetch a good price.”

Cort poured another cup of wine. “But we're going to Virginia,” Wynter insisted.

“You were,” he corrected her. “We're now under sail for the Caribbean Sea where I will receive a hefty sum for the indentures from Dutch and French planters on the island. Believe me, good help is hard to come by.”

Outrage washed over Wynter. How dare he decide where they were going and to whom he would sell their lives for the next few years! “I insist we head for Virginia.”

“Wynter, you are amusing,” he said, cajoling her as if she were a small child. “If I make port in Jamestown I may as well kiss life good-bye. I'd be arrested the moment I leave my ship.”

“You deserve to be!” she proclaimed. “You're a plundering pirate, a murderer. You can't do this to me. I will not be sold a second time!”

“I'm afraid you have no say in the matter,” he said softly. “In fact, the person who now holds your indenture is quite pleased with his new possession.”

All traces of blood drained from Wynter's face as the import of his words struck her.

“Not you!” she blurted out, her eyes wide in alarm.

“Your outrage wounds me, little one. But, aye, I've decided that you shall belong to me.”

She rose so quickly from her seat that her hip struck the table and knocked the wine from the decanter, staining the cloth a cherry red. “You're a madman, a crazy pirate!” She swung away, heading for the door as fast as her feet could carry her, but with a wide swoop Cort grabbed her arm and yanked her to him.

“I'm many things, Wynter, but not mad in the way you mean. I've been mad over you since the moment I saw you in your father's drawing room, preening before me, teasing me with eyes the color of a rainy spring morning and hair so thick and soft I could lose my fingers within its depths. I've never wanted a woman as much as you, and I don't intend to wait forever until you tire of this game you're playing with me. You want me as much as I want you, and you won't admit it.”

His hands moved to her waist, spanning its width until his fingertips met. She could feel him drawing her closer to him, practically raising her from her feet until her lips were even with his. Fire glittered in his tawny-gold eyes, beckoning her closer until any resistance she felt faded, and she yielded the softness of her mouth to his. The kiss seared her to the very depths of her soul, branding her with the velvet warmth of his lips.

A groan escaped from Cort, a sound which only intensified Wynter's suppressed longing for him. She knew she shouldn't want this man, but a force beyond her control drove her past caring. She returned his kiss with all the pent-up passion she'd hidden from herself since the night they met. Never in her life had she experienced such a dizzying, melting sensation. And she knew that the night she became Fletcher's wife had been nothing in comparison to this kiss.

“Wynter, my love, my heart,” Cort moaned and lifted her into the shelter of his arms. He carried her to the bed and covered her body with his. His lips began a burning investigation of the base of her neck, raining scorching kisses along the pathway to the lush valley that separated her breasts. In the dying sunlight, Cort's hair was a golden red, almost amber, and when he looked at her from passion-drenched eyes, she knew that eventually she'd yield herself to him … that from the moment they met, she was destined to be his.

“I can give you so much, Wynter,” she heard him saying from the warm fog that enveloped her. “I'm a wealthy man and all my worldly goods will belong to you. I promise you you'll never regret loving me.”

Worldly goods? Had she heard him correctly? The haze evaporated and she saw him clearly. Did he believe she wanted him only for what he could give her? Was he asking that she become his mistress, not his wife? But she came to her senses to remember that she already had a husband, a very kind husband who loved her.

“Cort,” she began hesitantly, almost fearful of his answer, but she pressed forward in determination to ask it. “Do you want to marry me or make me your mistress? I have a husband already, you know.”

He scowled. “I remember, but your husband is of no concern to me. I can easily obtain a divorce for you.”

“Suppose I don't want a divorce?” she said.

Cort sat up, bringing her with him, and she felt the hard, unyielding hands still at her waist. “You'll belong to me in all ways, Wynter. No man shall have a claim on you but me.”

A shiver of apprehension ran through her to realize that this man truly desired her the way a man should and not in the boy-like way that Fletcher did. Yet a glimmer of hope rose within her that Cort truly loved her and would marry her.

“Are you asking to marry me?” she said, breathlessly.

Cort gently lifted her chin with his fingertips and smiled an almost pitying smile. “No, my sweet. I want you as my mistress. You knew that in England.”

“Then you don't love me?”

Wynter's voice broke despite her resolve not to allow him to know that her heart was breaking, that she had fallen in love with him the moment he kissed her in this room, that perhaps she had loved him from the first second she saw him at McChesney Manor. When he answered her, she almost felt that her heart had fallen from her body and splintered like glass at her feet.

“No, little one. I don't love you. I desire you, but I'll never love anyone—ever again.”

She had her answer. She pushed at him and jerked off of the bunk in a flurry of petticoats. Straightening her gown about her, she rearranged her stray curls. “I'm afraid the wine has undone me, Captain,” she said with more bravado than she felt. “Please excuse my behavior. I must return to my husband now.”

Wynter began to move away, but Cort was up and grabbed her hand. “You can't mean to go back to that sniveling boy you married, to a life of servitude. Why, you'll be old before your time. I can't imagine you cooking, cleaning, or pressing gowns for some sour employer. Wynter, you're not thinking. I offer you myself, my ship, my bed as your own. What more do you want?”