Pirate's Golden Promise (17 page)

“Vrouw Van Linden!” Hilda sniffed. “We did all the work while she—”

“Hilda!” the old man named Davey said with a warning sound in his voice which the woman apparently caught because she grew quiet.

“How did they get on this ship?” Wynter persisted in her questioning, ignoring Hilda's remark. “Tell me, Dirk.”

“Wynter!”

Startled by Cort's voice from the rigging, Wynter stopped speaking. She glanced up and shielded her hand over her eyes to block out the hot afternoon sun. Cort scampered down to the deck like an agile monkey and was instantly beside her.

“Dirk, you're late. Monsieur Dubois is waiting.”

“Ja, ja. Off we go.” Dirk pushed the two people past Wynter. She couldn't help but notice the look of pity Davey threw her.

“Explain this to me!” Wynter demanded when they had gone. “Why are two English people being set ashore on a Dutch island as indenturers?”

“Because I possess their original papers and now have resold their services to an islander.”

“But how did they get on the
Sea Bride
in the first place? Were they taken from the
Mary Jack,
and if so, why?”

Cort noticed the strange looks from his crew and refused to look the fool in front of them. He grabbed her by the wrist. “Let's go into town. There's a seamstress there who does wonderful things. We can discuss this later in bed.”

“No!”

Wynter yanked her hand away and stood steadfastly on the deck. Cort Van Linden wasn't going to haul her into town in an attempt to make her forget her questions. Did he think she was some sort of a child who could be bought with new clothes and kisses, no matter how stirring?

“I'm not a child to be cajoled with pretty words and kisses.”

“If I remember, such things worked well for Somerset.”

Wynter raised her hand, and her fingers flew against his cheek, leaving their imprint.

“You're not Adam!”

“Thank the Lord for that!” he muttered. If this had been months earlier and the fiery woman before him not Wynter, he'd have dragged the wench down the gangplank and deposited her on shore, not to give her another thought. But the woman before him was Wynter, and since she had given him her love, he had changed. The hard part of him had softened and thawed. For the first time in years, he actually felt stirrings of love. Yet the truth of the matter was that he had deceived her … like Somerset.

“Somerset was your puppet and danced to your tune,” he said harshly. “Something I don't intend to do, and I won't stand here and be slapped by you or any woman!”

Cort stormed past her and was off the ship before the first tears of anger and hurt had spilled onto her cheeks.

When he returned, hours later, loaded down with boxes, she still hadn't resolved her feelings. He deposited the boxes on the bunk and eagerly opened them for her to assess the contents. A blue watered silk gown, with tiny diamonds on the full sleeves and low neckline, sparkled before her. Another gown of ruby red satin and a gown of green-and-gold brocade fell from their respective boxes. There were matching slippers and a black shawl of sheer lace to tempt her. But Wynter only glanced at the clothes in disinterest.

“You must think I'm a very shallow creature, Cort. I don't want the gowns or anything else. You can't buy affection.”

“These are French designs,” he said, ignoring her comment.

“From whom did you pilfer these?” she asked.

Cort laughed shortly. “I'd forgotten that sharp tongue of yours.”

“I'm serious,” she told him and remembered the trunk filled with Spanish gowns, and the fact that indenturers bound for Virginia had been on a Dutch ship. She looked at him from where she stood by the window as the truth exploded with sudden clarity in her brain. “You're a pirate. A renegade.”

Cort sighed so heavily that he thought his chest had split in half. She had discerned the truth. Perhaps he should tell her all of it. The proof was in the drawer of his desk where he had hidden her indenture papers, and Fletcher Larkin's. But he resisted. Not now. Later. Much later when he was assured of her love, certain that her body, her heart, her soul belonged to him. Then his indiscretions wouldn't tarnish him as much in her eyes. Or so he thought.

He sat on the chair near her. His long legs spread out in front of him blocked her passage if she wished to run. “I prefer to think of myself as a privateer, Wynter. I'm in the employ of Governor Stuyvesant of New Netherland, my home.”

A sob of resignation shook her. “You should have told me before now. Did I know this when we eloped?”

“You discovered it later, after you were aboard the
Sea Bride.”
A half-truth. “I won't beg for your forgiveness, Wynter. I am what I am.”

Wynter could think of nothing else to say. Her anger had dissolved and been replaced by an ache so strong she felt weak-kneed. She loved Cort, loved him with a love that was fresh and eager, a love that threatened to devour her with its intensity. And if she wasn't careful, she'd lose herself within him. But Cort was right, she reasoned. He was what he was, and nothing could change that or the love she felt for him.

“I don't want you to think you can purchase my affections for a few gowns. I'm not like your other women. Don't forget that I remember Estelle Montgomery.”

He stood up and tilted her face up to his. “The gowns aren't meant to buy your love, Wynter. I didn't pilfer them from anyone. I purchased them from Madame LaRue. I wished only to please you. Even if you hate me, or what you think I am, the gowns and everything I possess are yours. If you choose to leave me, then I shall let you go.”

“You wouldn't stop me?” she asked him.

“No. I would hope you loved me enough to stay. Do you love me, Wynter? Tell me you do!”

His mouth found hers, and Wynter was beyond words, beyond the desire to struggle against the man she loved who admitted to being a pirate. His hands traced the contours of her body, finding the points of pleasure only he knew. Her passion roused, he scattered the dresses to the floor to clear the bunk. Quickly they both undressed, and as the previous night, they loved into the early hours of the morning.

When the sun spilled into the cabin, Cort said, “You never told me you loved me, Wynter. Tell me, my love. Please.”

“I've told you that many times,” she said.

“Not since you realized the truth. Tell me you love me. I want to hear you say it.”

Her heart, which was already warm and tender for him, melted. Cort appeared like a little boy who had been abandoned and craved any crumb of affection. Was that why he became a pirate? Had someone hurt him so badly that he'd buried his conscience over the years?

As she gazed into his tawny eyes, she knew she loved him and always would. How could she not?

“I love you, Cort. I'll love you as long as I live.”

“My love, my love,” he whispered over and over as, once again, he entered her and took her to the heights of ecstasy.

Soft, large clouds hung suspended above the jagged volcanic peak of Santa Margarita. The brown-green slopes of the shoreline dipped into the indigo sea which now carried the
Sea Bride
closer to its destination of volcanic beach, the color of black pearls.

Because landing was hazardous in the swirling surf that pounded the rocky shoreline, the
Sea Bride
anchored offshore and a small boat was lowered alongside the ship. Cort and Dirk assisted Wynter and Mary down the rope ladder and into the boat.

The two men manipulated the long oars through the breakers as a fine mist sprayed the occupants. When the boat's nose touched the rocky shoreline, the men leapt out and dragged the boat to shore before the next breaker wet the passengers.

Wynter hadn't expected such a semi-barren terrain. She'd thought Santa Margarita would be lush like Saint Martin, and she couldn't suppress a sigh of disappointment. Cort smiled, seemingly able to read her thoughts as her eyes wandered around the few native huts which lined the only flat spot of land on the island.

“Don't despair, Wynter. My house isn't made of straw.”

She took his outstretched hand and followed him to a stairway of rough-hewn steps cut into the side of the rocky cliff. Cort explained that the natives had helped him cut the stones upon his arrival at the island years ago.

On the slope's left was the volcano, and on the right the broad ocean vista. At first, Wynter found the climb upward to be easy while Mary puffed and groaned behind her. But suddenly the climb became rugged and very steep. The sheer drop, hundreds of feet to the ocean, caused her a moment of dizziness, but Cort helped her with a hand on her elbow.

As they went higher, the trail thickened and led through a lush tropical jungle of giant ferns and exotic plants. Finally they stopped at the top where banana trees grew in profusion. In the midst of hundreds of deep green trees sat a house, moderately sized, of white stone. Wynter noted there was no porch to offer shade, but with the many trees, the house was colored and cooled by deep shadows.

As Cort led her into the house, Wynter sensed his excitement and pleasure at being home again. When he looked at her, his face was awash with eagerness. “Anything you desire is yours, my love,” he told her and led her into a drawing room furnished with a mixture of French and Spanish pieces. Wynter wondered momentarily if these furnishings were part of the booty he'd taken from ships, but at the moment she didn't want to know. “My housekeeper, Saba, will see to your needs.”

Almost as if his voice had summoned her, a small dark woman appeared. Her dress was that of the native women Wynter had seen on the beach when they landed. Saba grinned broadly when Cort introduced Wynter as his wife, but her eyes narrowed on Mary.

“Who dat one?” she asked in a singsong voice.

“That's Mary. Vrouw Van Linden's maid.”

“Hmph! She better not bother old Saba or her kitchen.”

Cort assured her that Mary's only duty was to tend to his wife, not clean the house.

“Good with Saba,” she said and left the room to prepare the evening meal in the outside kitchen.

“Well, Lordy!” Mary exclaimed. “Never did see such an uppity one as that!”

Cort laughed. “Please excuse Saba's possessiveness, Mary. She has been with me for many years and thinks of this as her home. She has no husband or children to occupy her time, so she dotes on me and the house.”

Mary didn't seem at all convinced that she'd have no problem with the woman when Cort showed her to a small room in the back of the house. He came to where Wynter still stood in the center of the drawing room and took her hand again. He kissed her fingers. “Now for our room.”

A flutter started in her stomach. This was different than the ship, somehow more intimate, and for the first time she realized that her life as Cort's wife was about to begin.

And begin it did when they entered the bedroom. The room was sparse of furnishings, consisting only of a bed with large posters, a huge wardrobe, and a washstand. French doors led outside to a startling view of the sea.

“Cort, it takes my breath away,” Wynter said.

“You take mine away.”

She snuggled against him when he came behind her and nestled her head on his chest. “I don't know if I'll get used to being up so high. At home, even the mountains weren't this height.”

“That's the main reason I chose this island as my home. I can see ships for miles away, and once they're actually near, there's little chance of a ship landing. The waves and rocks are treacherous, and only by my permission will any other ship be allowed to anchor.”

“In other words, a perfect pirate's lair.”

Cort nibbled her ear. “Exactly. Do you mind?”

Heaven help her, she didn't. When he touched her, she melted; she knew that from now until the day she died, she'd love Cort Van Linden. Her response pleased him, and within seconds they were tumbling on the bed, lost in passion.

Wynter had started to doze afterwards. Cort held her in his arms, and she was contented to stay like that forever when a furious knock sounded on the door. Dirk's voice came from the other side.

“Ship has been spotted, Captain. The
Fortune
approaches.”

Instantly Cort was up and at the window. “What does he want?” he muttered and began dressing.

Wynter looked at him, wide awake now. “Who, Cort? Is there any trouble?”

“Henry Morgan. I haven't seen him in a few years, not since I took the
Sea Bride
from him in a battle. He hasn't forgiven me for that.” He sat beside her on the bed and pulled on his boots.

“Do you think he means to make trouble?” she asked.

Cort realized anew how much a child she looked with her hair all atumble and the fear in her eyes. A surge of protectiveness and love washed over him. “Don't worry about Harry. I can handle him. Now get dressed and let's welcome my old enemy.”

But when Henry Morgan sat in the drawing room and Wynter entered, dressed in the ruby satin gown he'd purchased in Saint Martin, and showing much décolletage, Cort wished he'd insisted she stay in the bedroom. Morgan's blue eyes glittered with undisguised desire, and the kiss he planted on her palm was much too long. At least, Cort thought so.

“So, Cort, you've plucked a fair English rose as your bride,” Morgan said.

Cort caught Wynter about the waist and walked her to the settee, where she took a seat beside him.

“Aye, but if I recall, your Elizabeth's beauty is not to be scoffed at.”

Wynter didn't miss Morgan's knowing smirk. “Indeed she is the finest-looking woman in the islands … until tonight. She can outride any man and is invaluable in running Morgan's Valley when I while away my time playing pirate.” However, there was a “but” to the statement which needed no clarification when the dark-haired pirate, famed for his sea exploits, gazed at Wynter. It was clear to her, as it had been to Cort, that the man was quite smitten with her.