Pirate's Golden Promise (16 page)

When he got off the bunk, she looked at him and said, “Where are you going? Don't leave me!”

“I never will leave you, my love. Not for a second.”

When she saw he was pulling off his boots and then his clothes, she smiled. Her arms clasped him to her when he joined her again on the bunk. The hard, naked flesh of his chest met the soft, warm breasts of hers. Cort's lips lavished attention on hers, and he drank long from their honeyed sweetness before beginning a tantalizing exploration of her neck, again her breasts, rib cage, and downward until she felt his tongue against her inner thighs.

Wynter writhed from the ecstasy of love, the complete need for fulfillment which Cort awakened within her. When she could no longer stand the throbbing pleasure which slowly intensified between her legs, she urged him up to her.

“Love me, Cort. Love me now!”

Her hands roamed his back in a frenzy when he positioned himself atop her. The first instant he slid into her, a tiny gasp escaped from her throat. Suddenly a mental picture of Fletch flashed through her mind, and on Fletch's face was the same look of dark passion as on Cort's. She pulled a bit away from Cort, somehow afraid of pain.

“Wynter, what is it?” he asked.

“Maybe we should stop,” she said in a shaky voice.

“No, love. I can't stop now. I've wanted you, ached for you. There's no turning back, Wynter.”

His hands stroked her hips, her thighs, then snaked around to the front of her body where they gently rubbed against her. Then his passion flared to such a degree that his hips ground into hers. He had hoped to gentle her more, and he had thought he had done so. But now she balked, and he wasn't certain why; but Cort knew now that Fletch had claimed his husbandly rights. In a dark corner of his mind he had hoped she'd be a virgin, that he'd be the first. But from her sudden anxiety, he suspected that Fletch hadn't been the most considerate of lovers. He was a boy, and most likely Wynter was the first girl he'd ever had. Well, Cort decided then and there that Cort Van Linden would be the last man she'd ever desire, and the first man to give her intense pleasure.

With skill born from making love to many women, Cort slowly began to arouse Wynter again. His kisses left her panting for breath, for more, and before she was aware of it, the wonderful pleasure of minutes ago began to burn and inundate her. Her flesh felt hotter than the sun on a piece of metal, and her blood had turned to a lava-like substance which flowed through her and threatened to singe her very soul.

The candles had finally flickered out, but Wynter barely registered the fact. It seemed the whole cabin glowed in light, a light so hot and blinding that she shut her eyes. But even behind her lids, the heat grew and intensified. Her body writhed beneath Cort's, fusing to his and melting into a sea of light until finally they were no longer separate individuals but one pulsing point of light in the universe.

Their two shudders of completion echoed as one.

Wynter snuggled against Cort's chest and heard the beating of his heart. She lifted her face to his and smiled at him. “Was our lovemaking always like this?”

For a moment she thought he was going to evade the question, because he got a peculiar look on his face. But he said, “My love, believe me when I tell you that nothing we ever experienced together was like the last hour we've just spent.”

“I didn't think it was,” she said and kissed his jawline. Suddenly she sat up, her long hair covering the creamy fullness of her breasts. “Your bath, Cort! I forgot to tell you I had Dirk prepare your bath earlier. And now it shall go to waste.”

His gaze slid to the tub, and a mischievous grin turned up his mouth. “Ah, my sweet, water is scarce at times aboard a ship, and we must never waste it.”

Without realizing Cort's intentions, he quickly got out of bed and gathered her in his arms. The sheet fell away, and Wynter gasped. “Cort, what are you doing?”

Seconds later, she knew when he deposited her into the tub and joined her. Shivering a bit, she pushed playfully at him. “Cort Van Linden, this water has grown cold.”

“I hadn't noticed.” He pulled her against him, and the warmth of his body instantly drove the chill away. “Now tell me it's cold,” he teased.

Their lips touched, and the flame, which had only a short while ago been extinguished, rose high again and burned through them.

“It's boiling,” she said and rubbed her wet body against his. He picked up handfuls of water and then the soap, lathering her breasts and buttocks, sliding over her thighs and abdomen until she thought she'd go insane with desire for him. Then he gave her the soap and she realized he wanted her to wash him.

As her hands slid sensuously along the pectoral muscles of his chest, down to his hard rib cage, and lower until she encircled his manhood, she leaned into him. “Cort, I love you more than anything or anybody.”

His passion for her peaked then and he lifted her from her feet, positioning her legs around his waist, and effortlessly entered her willing body.

She strained against him, aching to be more a part of him than she was already. Rapture shone on their faces when the moment of mutual climax shattered the quiet of the cabin.

After he lifted her from the tub later, and they dried off, they lay together in the bunk and felt the gentle swaying of the ship. Wynter was nearly asleep when she felt the bed lighten. Opening her eyes, she glanced up to see Cort by his desk drawer. When he returned to her, he opened the palm of his hand. A large diamond ring glittered and shone in the candlelight.

“For you, my love.”

Wynter sat up. “It's beautiful,” she breathed when he placed it on her finger.

“This is the Van Linden betrothal ring. It was my grandmother's and is now yours. It is also to be worn as your wedding ring until I can buy you a gold band.”

Wynter gazed in love and awe at Cort. “This is the only ring I shall ever want, my love.”

A bright May morning met Wynter upon awakening the following day. Mary was in the cabin, hanging up the gowns which had come out of the trunk. Cort had been up for hours and was already on deck.

Mary grinned broadly at her. “Morning to you,” she said and gave a tiny curtsy.

Wynter sat up and clutched the sheet about her, suddenly aware of her nakedness beneath the covering as a wave of pink flushed her cheeks. “Has my husband been up long?' she asked to hide her embarrassment.

“Yes, he told me not to wake you.” Mary grew quiet a moment as she hung one of the gowns in a small wardrobe. “Don't you remember anything yet?”

“No, but I'm certain my memory will return in time.” Wynter couldn't help but notice a worried frown pucker Mary's brow. “Is something wrong?” she asked.

Shaking her head, Mary went back to her work but said, “The captain told me we'll be in Saint Martin this afternoon.”

“How wonderful! I can't wait to see something other than the sea. Trees, for instance, and to feel hard ground beneath my feet instead of the constant swaying of the ship.”

“Well, yes, I suppose you will.”

Wynter caught the tone of sadness that had crept into Mary's voice. She placed a hand on the young woman's arm. “Mary, tell me what's wrong?”

A sigh, almost a sob, escaped from Mary. “I will miss you, and believe it or not, Jan has begun to like me a little.”

“Mary, what are you talking about? Why shall you miss me?”

“I'm an indenturer. You know that … I mean,” Mary said and carefully chose her words, not eager to incur Cort Van Linden's wrath if she spoke about Wynter's status as an indentured servant and her poor, dead husband. “The captain will probably put me off at Saint Martin.”

“Well, isn't that where you expected to go?” Wynter asked, growing confused.

“Oh, no. Virginia was my destination, as it was of the others who were taken off the
Mary Jack.”

The
Mary Jack.
Why did that sound familiar to Wynter? And taken off the
Mary Jack.
What was Mary Mertens telling her?

“I don't understand,” Wynter said. “Who took you off the
Mary Jack?
”

The color faded from Mary's thin cheeks, and she realized she had gone too far. “No one, no one,” she told Wynter and turned to grab Wynter's calico gown. “A lady like yourself wouldn't be interested. Now, let's pretty you up. I know Captain Van Linden will want to take you ashore.”

“Then shouldn't I choose one of the silk gowns?”

“The captain gave orders not to wear the Spanish clothes. He said the islanders wouldn't like it. Seems to be some sort of hatred for the Spanish there.”

As Wynter dressed, she mulled over Mary's words, sparse though they were and filled with meaning she didn't understand. The business about the
Mary Jack
was one thing, and she couldn't remember why the name sounded so familiar. And if Mary and the other indenturers, whom she didn't recall seeing, had been bound for Virginia, then why were they on a Dutch ship, en route to an island in the Caribbean Sea? None of it made any sense to her. And if the islanders weren't receptive to the Spanish, why did Cort have a trunk filled with trousseau-like clothes for a Spanish bride?

If only she could remember more.

Before she left the cabin, Wynter again noticed Mary's long, worried face. “Don't fret, Mary. I'll tell my husband that I need your services. You can come with us to Santa Margarita.”

“Thank you, thank you ever so much!” Mary gushed.

Until the
Sea Bride
docked in the harbor of Saint Martin, Wynter stayed beside Cort on the quarterdeck. With his arm about her waist, they watched as a high, densely forested bluff and a fine, white sand beach appeared on the horizon. On the bluff lay Fort Amsterdam,
seat
of Dutch power in the West Indies and the place where Peter Stuyvesant had lost a leg in an attack against the Spanish in 1644.

Wynter gave a small, excited laugh. “Land, Cort! I never thought to see it again.”

“We'll visit the town this evening, after I complete my business.”

“Business concerning the indenturers?”

Cort cocked an eyebrow. “Who told you about them?”

“Mary did,” she said, but quickly added, “she worried you'd put her off on Saint Martin. I promised her that she could stay on with me. Mary's been smitten by a member of your crew.”

“I see. Of course, Mary may sail to Santa Margarita with us.”

Wynter grew aware of the tight, unyielding pressure she suddenly felt around her waist. Her gaze didn't waver from the hard, angled planes of Cort's face or his eyes which had lost their golden warmth and now appeared guarded.

“Cort, are you keeping secrets from me? Tell me if you are.”

He turned to her, his face dead serious, and cold fear clutched her heart when he said, “I admit that I am.”

“Tell me,” she said through pale lips.

He bent low, his lips brushing her ear. “I'm hiding the fact that I harbor a lewd passion for my wife's sweet lips and ache to have her in my bed again. However, I'll settle for a kiss to sustain me. Duty awaits.”

A sigh of relief escaped her when his mouth found hers and captured her lips in a searing kiss which caused her to cling to the railing after his departure. Cort's kisses always shook her but left her aching for more of them. Their night together had completely assuaged her passion for him; or so she had thought until this moment. Love for him enslaved her. She wanted to recall their life together before her accident, but she still sensed that Cort kept something from her … something she needed to know.

Mary came to her minutes later. “The captain said to tell you his cargo will soon be unloaded and that you're to fresh up a bit for your stroll into town.” Mary's eyes danced. “I think he plans to buy you some new clothes.”

“That would be nice,” Wynter mumbled, but her mind wasn't on a new wardrobe.

“Thank you for speaking to the captain about me,” she heard Mary say. “I'm to sail to Santa Margarita with you.”

“Yes, you are.”

Wynter started to move away from the quarterdeck when her movements were stilled by the appearance of an old man and a plump middle-aged woman. Dirk led them onto the deck while the gangplank was lowered.

“Are those the indenturers?” Wynter asked Mary.

Mary looked uncomfortable. “That's old Davey and Hilda.”

“You said they were English and were headed for Virginia when they were taken off the
Mary Jack.
”

“Yes, ma'am … I mean Vrouw Van Linden.”

“But Saint Martin isn't an English island, and this is a Dutch ship. I don't understand why they, or you, are on this ship.”

“You better ask the captain,” Mary told her.

Why was it she didn't think Cort would tell her if she asked? But Cort wasn't on deck at the moment, and once the indenturers were off the ship, she wouldn't have the opportunity to clear these doubts. Questioning Mary wouldn't help. She was loyal to Cort, though she seemed slightly afraid of him. Well, Wynter wasn't.

Dashing down the steps of the quarterdeck, she yelled, “Wait!”

Dirk and the two people turned.

“What is it, vrouw?” Dirk asked impatiently. “I must get these people off the ship.”

“I'd … I'd like to speak to them, please.” She felt suddenly intimidated by Dirk, who appeared bigger than usual and whose constant frown never wavered.

“Captain has ordered them ashore.”

“But they're English,” Wynter protested. “Why are they on the
Sea Bride
and embarking on a Dutch island?”

“Saint Martin is half French, half Dutch, but it doesn't matter. Their indentures have been sold to an islander by the Captain. So, Vrouw Van Linden, they must go.”