Pirate's Golden Promise (14 page)

But when the cabin door was thrown open seconds later and Cort entered to order Mary gruffly out, she realized a sense of panic. Had he come to claim her? Had the beastly man lulled her into a false sense of security only to force her to live up to their bargain now that she was washed and fed? Were the bath and Mary's attendance only a way to make her presentable to a pirate?

“I resent your barging in here and ordering Mary away!” Wynter ranted. “I'll not have my privacy invaded. I told you that.”

Cort's voice was harsh, and his eyes snapped. He came and waited by the bunk, a rope in his hand. “I should like to stand here and take the time to apologize to you, Wynter, but I have little time for games. Come here to me.”

The life drained from her body, and she felt limp. “Why?”

“Do as I say or I'll haul you over here.”

She shook her head. “No, I won't.” Fear had seized hold of her as he handled the rope and let out its length. What did he intend to do with her? She wondered. From somewhere out of the past she remembered Fletch telling her that some men were perverted and did unspeakable things to women. Was Van Linden one of these men? What did he plan to do with the rope?

“You won't touch me!” she screamed when his hand snaked out to grab her wrist. “I don't know what your other women like to do with you, Captain, but I won't allow you to truss me up like a Christmas hen!”

Cort blinked and looked baffled. “What in the hell are you jabbering about? I've never tied a woman up against her will.”

“Then what do you intend to do with that rope?”

“Tie you up—willingly.”

“You're mad!” Wynter voiced her horror.

Cort emitted a long sigh. “Wynter, really I can't spare the time for your childishness. If you were aware of anything, you'd realize we're in a fierce storm and it shall get much worse before it gets better. I have to tie you to one of these hooks,” he pointed to the hooks which held the draperies back around the bunk, “to keep you from sliding around the cabin. The rope is meant to keep you safe—not to inflict harm upon you.”

“How do I know you won't tie me up and have your way with me?”

Cort laughed. “Because, sweet thing, when I have my way with you, I won't have to force you. You'll come as willingly as a cat to cream. Now please, behave yourself and come here. I have to get on deck.”

Wynter thought he was an arrogant man, so certain she'd respond to him eventually, but she realized he did intend to keep her safe. Reluctantly she moved forward, and Cort tied the rope around her waist, making sure it wasn't too tight but secure enough to keep her steady when the
Sea Bride
rode into the vicious storm.

“Now,” he said, and his words fanned her cheek and felt like a soft glove against her flesh. “You look quite fetching and provocative.” His hand brushed against her breasts, lingered a second too long, and moved away before she had a chance to protest. “I'll free you when the storm is past.”

To her surprise he kissed her gently on the lips before his broad back disappeared through the doorway.

The rope allowed her the ability to move ten feet in three directions, but because she felt fettered, Wynter almost unknotted it. She thought better of this and relied on Cort's judgment. After all, what did she know about ships … except that she couldn't wait to get off this one and away from the sea.

Lightning zigzagged across the sky and a deafening roll of thunder rent the air. Through the window she could see the bolts of lightning grow more dazzling and blinding, and the ship tossed helplessly atop the waves like a child's toy boat. The candle which had lit the room now dimmed and sputtered. Wynter was left alone in inky darkness and listened to the waves against the hull, the hard pounding of the rain, and the ear-splitting thunder. A new fear took hold of her. What if the ship sank? She couldn't swim and she knew she'd be swallowed up by the inundating water. Not even Cort's rope would help her then.

“Be brave, my pet,” she seemed to hear her father's voice in her ears. This gave her a tiny bit of confidence that the ship wouldn't sink. She had come too far to drown like a helpless kitten. She had to live and make her fortune. McChesney Manor depended on it.

But as the ship swayed and she was thrown off the bunk, she again doubted she'd live through the ferocity of such a storm. In fact, the rope might be her downfall if the ship sank. She was tied to the wall and unable to even float away. She decided to free herself of her bonds. With quick and agile fingers, Wynter unknotted the rope from her waist and took uneven steps towards the center of the room.

In the ebony blackness she felt herself adrift. The floor seemed suddenly to pull away from her, and she realized she was falling towards the bunk again. Her arms reached out to grasp hold of anything, but empty, black space engulfed her. Then her backside hit the hard, planked flooring as her head smacked against the edge of the trunk in which the lace nightrail had been stored.

Lights flashed before Wynter's eyes, then darkness.

“Wynter, are you all right? Tell me you're all right.”

Tawny gold eyes were the first thing Wynter saw when she opened her own eyes two hours later. The ship had stopped its unmerciful swaying, and now a brilliant moon shone through the large window and lit the cabin in a silvery haze.

She attempted to lift her head off the pillow, but she fell back again, glad to feel the mattress of the bunk beneath her. An aching pain in the back of her head stilled any extra movement, and Cort's strong but gentle hands massaged her forehead.

Dirk put in an appearance with Dr. Dietz. “How is she?” the swarthy man asked as the doctor came forward and examined the bump on her head. Dietz smiled at Dirk and Cort.

“She seems fine, but it will take some time for the knot on her head to go down. Keep her still, because there could be complications.”

“Of course,” Cort agreed and turned to smile at Wynter.

Wynter glanced at him. The effort to move her eyes seemed to hurt a bit, and she said, “Where am I?”

“You're on the
Sea Bride,
my love.”

“
Sea Bride?
What, what is that?”

Cort and the other two men looked alarmed. “The
Sea Bride
is my ship,” Cort told her.

Dietz placed a calming hand on Wynter's arm and knelt beside her. “Do you know your name, my dear?”

“Yes,” she said, her gaze incredulous. “My name is Wynter.”

“Good. Good,” voiced Dr. Dietz. “She is fine,” he said to Cort and left the cabin.

Dirk followed behind the other man, and when Cort was alone with Wynter, he noticed her smiling at him. He was stunned not at the fact that she smiled, but because her smile showed genuine love and affection for him.

Sitting beside her on the bunk, he took her hand in his, aching to kiss the tender fingertips but resisting because he knew she'd grow upset. “You gave me quite a start to find you on the floor when I returned to the cabin. I thought you were lost to me. It took you so long to come round.”

“I fell, didn't I? I really don't remember, but from the size of the bump on my head, I must have hit quite hard.” She squeezed his hand. “I'm sorry you were so worried about me.”

“I was,” he admitted, and enjoyed the warmth emanating from her eyes for him, the feel of her hand in his. This was a different Wynter from the suspicious one he'd left in the cabin earlier that night.

“Cort.”

“Yes?” he said.

She smiled again. “I was saying your name, that's all. It seems strange for some reason to say it, though I imagine I must have said it quite often in the past.”

Something in her attitude caused the hairs to raise on the back of Cort's neck. Something with Wynter wasn't right. He bent nearer towards her, his eyes locking with hers.

“Wynter, do you know who I am?”

With silken fingers she stroked the hard line of his jaw, and her face shone with love.

“Certainly I know who you are, my heart. You're my husband.”

Cort's long silence unnerved her. She tilted her head in bafflement.

“Wynter,” his voice sounded strained, and she dropped her hand from his face.

“Is anything wrong? You look so odd,” Wynter told him.

Cort peered at her from lowered lids, seeming to want to say something else, almost at war with himself. Finally he flashed a dazzling smile at her and gently brushed her lips with his. “I think you should rest now. You've been through quite an ordeal.”

He stood up and pulled the covers around her. She reached for his hand.

“I am tired and quite worried that I won't remember everything. I can't really recall our wedding, though I do remember getting married … in Bristol, I think.” She laughed weakly. “My memory seems to have stopped at the moment I went to see you at the Fleece that day. Bits and pieces are jumbled in my head after the second I entered and found you talking to that buxom tavern wench.”

She shot him an impish smile. “But I'm not in the least jealous, my love. You married me.”

The soft glow of love consumed Wynter's face, and in Cort's eyes he had never seen her more beautiful or vulnerable. Not able to resist her, he again kissed her. This time the kiss was long and laced with a melting desire he thought he'd never feel again for a woman.

“My bride,” he whispered, almost in awe, unable to believe that her love-filled eyes were for him.

The image of her abundant reddish-brown hair fanning the pillow and framing her beautiful face stayed with him after he left her. A contentment filled him, because no woman had ever gazed at him with such complete trust and love. It wasn't until Dirk sauntered over to him that the spell was broken.

“How is Vrouw Larkin?” Dirk asked.

Wynter's married name startled Cort. God, what was he doing? She thought they were married, and he hadn't told her otherwise. In fact, a part of him had wanted to believe it. But now the truth must be faced. Wynter might think she was his wife, but she wasn't, and he should tell her.

Hesitantly Cort answered. “The lady is fine. In a few days she'll recover.”

“Good,” Dirk said and shot Cort a peculiar look.

Cort halted him just as Dirk turned to leave the deck. “Spread the word among the men, among everyone, that when they address Wynter, they refer to her as Vrouw Van Linden.”

“Huh? Captain, have you gone mad? The lady isn't your wife—”

“Do as I say, man. And make sure that all know not to refer to her dead spouse or they will suffer the consequences.”

“Ja, Captain. I will.” Dirk walked away, taking backward glances at Cort.

The man must think I'm insane, Cort thought, and watched as the new-born sun cast shimmery golden fingers upon the waves. In fact, Cort did think he was insane. For the first time in years, he wanted something which the sea and his ship couldn't give him. He wanted love.

He wanted the love of Wynter McChesney.

Wynter stretched in languid contentment some hours later when the sun poured into the cabin. She hadn't meant to stay abed so long, but she admitted to herself that the sleep had done her good. She still didn't remember all of her past, but for some strange reason she didn't see the need. With Cort nearby, she felt secure.

Of course she would have liked to remember the moments she had spent as his wife, and a blush like a sunset consumed her just to dwell upon their intimate life together. Had she pleased him? she found herself wondering, and sat up. Hugging the pillow to her, she knew that most certainly he must have pleased her in that way. Didn't she love him with her whole heart? She might not remember very much of their early life except for the stormy beginning of their love, which she knew now was a poor way to mask her feelings, but her body, her soul, and her heart were his.

A tap sounded on the door and a young woman with dark hair entered the room. She carried a plate filled with biscuits oozing melted butter.

“I'm pleased to see you're awake, and if I do say so myself, you look fine,” the young woman said and smiled.

“Do I know you?” Wynter asked and returned her smile.

“Sure you do. I'm Mary Mertens. The captain made me your personal maid after your husband—”

Mary's hand flew to her mouth and she hurriedly set the plate on the table.

“After my husband what?” Wynter asked.

“Nothing, Vrouw Van Linden.” Wynter noticed that Mary said her name haltingly. “Here's your breakfast. Eat hearty, and I'll be in to see to your wants in a bit.” Mary curtsied and left the room as if the devil were behind her.

Wynter wondered what was wrong with Mary Mertens, but after eating the biscuits, she decided to dress. She glanced around the room and spied a plain calico blue gown which she remembered as her own, hanging on a wall hook. She reached out for the gown and, taking it down, muttered aloud, “Now, why would I have packed such a gown as this?”

She shook her head in bafflement, because the gown was so unadorned for a honeymoon voyage. She must ask Cort to fill in the gaps of her memory. Though Debra had cut her off without funds, and Wynter knew that Adam and Lucy would never have provided her with any money for elaborate wear, she couldn't think why she would have left home without her own things.

Then she saw the trunk against the wall. “I'll bet my clothes are in there,” she said and dashed towards the huge chest. For a moment she fiddled with the lock before it opened, and then looked with dismay at the contents. The elaborate satin, silk, and velvet, gowns that brushed against her hands as she rummaged through the mélange of clothes were not familiar to her, and the strange fashion of the clothes told her these gowns and capes were foreign. A small jab of panic rose within her.