Pirate's Golden Promise (22 page)

Everything was so confusing, but she decided she must get her wits about her. By the time they reached Kingshouse, the governor's residence where Morgan was staying, she had ceased her crying, and presented a happy, glowing face to Governor Thomas Modyford.

When Wynter and Mary were situated in their suite of rooms a short time later, Wynter fell onto the large brass bed in exhaustion.

“I didn't think lying could have such a draining effect,” she told Mary. “If I have to paste one more smile upon my face, I shall be ill.”

“You're doing this for the captain,” Mary reminded her.

“Yes, yes I am.” Wynter sat up, a frown crinkling her forehead. “Do you think he'll care when it's over with? Perhaps he won't wish to speak to me again. We parted on such unfavorable terms that he might not give a damn about me at all, even if I do save his blasted life.”

“Miss, such language!”

Wynter sighed while Mary arranged her clothes in the wardrobe. “I've been too long among pirates, Mary, but I do worry we'll fail in our mission. What will happen if Dirk and the others can't arrange Cort's escape?”

Mary turned away from her duties and came to sit beside Wynter. She took her mistress's hand and smiled encouragingly. “I have faith that all will go well. You convinced Captain Morgan, I'm sure of that. The man is quite smitten with you and does believe that you don't care for Captain Cort. You were really quite good, you know. If I hadn't known better, I'd have thought your tears were real.”

“They were real, Mary. That's the problem. I still love Cort and always will. Our plan to free him must work.”

It had to work. Through Mary, Wynter would relay messages to Dirk aboard the
Sea Bride.
She had had no idea when Cort's escape was to be executed, but the governor had unwittingly played into her hands when he informed her that a ball was to be held at Kingshouse in three days' time. The diversion of the ball, coupled with the fact that a pretty serving girl, namely Mary, would bring pints of whiskey to the jailers, would allow Dirk and some of the crew to free Cort. Until then, Wynter had to play a waiting game and cast sly smiles, which promised much, in Morgan's direction.

“I wish we were all back on Santa Margarita,” Wynter voiced.

“We will be soon. Be patient.”

But patience was something Wynter had always had very little of, and because she blamed herself for Cort's imprisonment, guilt also welled within her. If not for her rejection of him that day, he'd still be on the island and wouldn't have gone off to attack Morgan's ship. Was Cort a fool to have been so reckless? she wondered. Or did he love her so much that his own life and his crew's meant so little?

She went to the window that looked out upon the azure harbor, filled with ships and men, hurrying hither and yon. She saw the
Sea Bride
and the flag which branded it a pirate ship flying in the breeze. Then her eyes lifted heavenward, to the glaring sun amid the white, billowing clouds. Soon, very soon, she prayed, let Cort be safe with me and our child.

Wynter wished to plead a headache that evening when Henry Morgan tapped on her door to escort her to supper, but instead she greeted him with a dazzling, white smile and took his outstretched arm.

The meal consisted of beef stew and turtle soup, which Wynter had little appetite for, but swallowed dutifully under the smiling gaze of Governor Modyford and the searing eyes of his wife. Lady Modyford made pleasant conversation with her, but Wynter knew the woman disliked her, and wondered why until she said, “Henry, you must bring Elizabeth to visit more often. She can't stay secluded on that estate all of her life.”

“I shall speak to her about this, my lady, but alas, Elizabeth much prefers the solitude to life on Port Royal.”

Lady Modyford's face pinched. “If she knew what was good for her, she'd be here at this moment.”

Wynter couldn't help but note the sarcasm in the woman's voice or miss the wary way she eyed her. And she noticed that Morgan didn't miss it either. He smiled benevolently at the woman. “That's why she wishes to stay at home, my lady.”

It was apparent to Wynter that Lady Modyford regarded herself as guardian to Morgan, that he must be protected from predatory females. She wondered what the woman would say if she knew how distasteful Wynter truly found Morgan to be. All through the meal she shot him warm smiles, and even when his hand touched hers, she drew upon her strength of will and didn't pull away.

After the meal, instead of retiring with Modyford to the study for a brandy, Morgan excused himself and took Wynter by the hand. He led her outside and stopped on the far side of the hedge that separated the house from the view of crashing surf against the beach. A sliver of a moon shone above, and now and then a fluffy cloud flitted across its silver face.

A stone bench nearby was where he led her, and when she sat, he plopped down next to her. She could feel the heat of his thigh pressed against hers. A shiver passed over her as she thought that he might attempt to kiss her.

“Are you chilled?” he asked her.

Goose bumps had indeed broken out on her flesh, but she shook her head. Why hadn't she brought her black shawl to throw over the ruby gown which showed off a great portion of her shoulders and bosom? She wanted to entice Morgan but not arouse him, and that was what she feared would happen before this night was over.

Her hand was still firmly in his, and she didn't think he'd release it willingly. In fact, at that moment, he brought it to his mouth and kissed each fingertip.

“How sweet you taste, my dear. I've never sampled flesh that tasted like fine cream before.”

“Please, sir, you cause me to blush,” she said and attempted to still her trembling by pulling her hand away, but his grip refused to loosen.

“Ah, Wynter, you inflame my senses. Never have I seen a more beautiful and sensuous woman.”

“I'm certain you jest, Henry. In all your travels there must have been many beauties to vie for your attentions.”

“Granted, there were. But all of them knew they were lovely and would eventually grace my bed. You, however, present a challenge because of your inherent innocence.”

“I'm far from innocent, as you know.”

Henry didn't miss the red blush that rushed across her face, then onto her neck and breasts and, he knew, downward to that part of her body which his loins tightened to savor. Her delicate beauty had been tasted by, and he thought wasted on, Cort Van Linden. He wanted her as he had never wanted any other woman, even his cousin Elizabeth. He'd only married Elizabeth because her father had at one time been governor of Port Royal. And though Henry was a pirate, he had political aspirations in that direction also. Elizabeth was the front, the stepping stone, to his political ambitions. Wynter, he vowed, would be the woman to preside over his table and grace his bed every night. Of course, a great deal of satisfaction came from the fact that he would very soon take her away from Van Linden. Henry had never forgiven that insolent pup for confiscating his ship and making him look the fool in front of his men. What better way to make the man suffer than to steal the woman he loved?

“Innocence is a state of mind, my dear. Tell me,” he said after a few seconds of kissing her wrist, “why is it that you haven't asked about your husband?”

“He isn't my husband,” she reminded him in a breathy voice.

“Of course, I hadn't forgotten what you told me. The man duped you into thinking you were his wife. Quite unforgivable of him. But aren't you curious as to how he is?”

“I don't even know where he is,” she said.

Henry stood up and pulled her with him. He pointed in the direction of the stable. “There's a small building beyond the stable which is used as a prison. Cort is quartered there.”

Wynter's heart thumped rapidly in her chest. So close and yet so far!

“Is he being treated well?” she asked.

“I'll show you if you wish.”

Was it her imagination or had Morgan's voice hardened with suspicion? She mustn't allow the man to see that she wanted to run past the stables and into the prison, that if given the chance, she'd throw open the cell door and fall into Cort's arms. She must convince Henry that she didn't care for Cort Van Linden any longer.

“I'd prefer never to lay eyes again on him, Henry, except at his hanging. I can't tell you how glad I shall be when I'm rid of the bounder forever. He's heartless and nothing at all like you. You'd never treat me so shabbily.”

He spun her around to face him. “Don't play games with an old sea dog, Wynter. Is this how you truly feel about him? About me?”

“Yes.”

His eyes flickered over her in undisguised desire. He pulled her into his arms and nearly knocked the wind from her. “I won't ask you to warm my bed now, Wynter, not until Cort Van Linden is dead. But I do want proof of your feelings for me. Prove to me that what you say is true. Show me that you don't love Van Linden.”

Morgan had ensnared her in a trap of her own making, and she knew she had no other recourse but to allay his suspicions. Cort's life depended upon her. Taking a deep breath, she threw her arms around Morgan's neck and pulled his head down to hers. Then her lips lifted to his.

He crushed her mouth beneath his own, his tongue darted inside hers and tasted of her sweetness. His hands entwined within her hair and wouldn't allow her to turn her head in any other direction. She felt trapped like a butterfly in a net with no means of escape. If she didn't do something soon she feared that Morgan would break his promise and take her right there under the open skies.

One alternative was left to her, something she'd seen ladies do for years at balls when the room became too warm, but something she'd never experienced. She feigned a swoon.

“Wynter, my love,” Henry crooned and held her limply in his arms. He carried her to the bench and sat beside her, his chest supporting her body.

When her eyes flickered open, she had the insane desire to laugh because he looked so upset and foolish.

“Oh, goodness,” she said in a halting, somewhat shocked voice. “I fainted. Forgive me, Henry.”

“My sweet, I'd forgive you anything. Are you all right?”

“Yes, I seem to be.” She sat up and straightened her gown. Her gaze rested on his face. “Your ardor completely undid me. Do you always have such a devastating effect on the ladies, sir?”

“I like to think so,” he said, and she realized he was teasing by the twinkle in his eye. “You really are well now?” he asked in concern.

“Yes, but I must admit to being quite tired. I'm sorry, Henry, but today has been most trying for me. The last few weeks have been a nightmare, and now I believe I'm quite undone. You do understand.”

“Certainly. I'll escort you to your room and you can sleep. But in the morning, you're mine again.”

She gave him a tight smile, and at the door to her room, he kissed her hand. Then she went inside and beckoned to Mary to blow out the candles.

“What is it, miss?” Mary whispered.

“Get my blue calico gown,” Wynter told her and began tugging at the laces on the back of the ruby silk. “I'm going to see Cort.”

“A risky plan, miss.” Mary's warning didn't go unheeded by Wynter, but she had to see Cort, to know he was all right. Though Mary insisted she'd go with her, Wynter ordered her to stay in her room, that one person would be less noticeable than two.

“If I get into any trouble, send for Dirk,” were Wynter's last words to her before she crept out of the room and down the long, dark hallway.

Wynter carried her shoes in her hands, and she was grateful that no candles were lit anywhere on the upstairs landing. Scurrying past the room which she knew belonged to Henry Morgan, then past the governor's room where she heard a great deal of snoring, she gingerly made her way down the long staircase into the downstairs vestibule. On the bottom step she came to a standstill.

In the parlor, not 30 feet from her, sat Morgan in a large over-stuffed chair with his feet propped on an ottoman. He puffed on a large pipe, and in his lap was a book which he read by the light of two candles. God, what was she going to do? He'd be sure to see her. But as luck would have it, he rose at that moment and got up to empty the pipe into the cold ashes of the fireplace.

Without losing a second, but careful not to let him hear her, she stepped down and scooted past the open doorway to the back of the house. She'd expected to see servants, but apparently everyone except Morgan was in bed, for the house was extremely quiet. Easing open the back door, and hoping the hinges wouldn't squeak, which they didn't, she smuggled herself outside into the black night.

Stopping by a garden gate, she put on her shoes and pulled the shawl that rested around her shoulders over her head. Careful to hide behind hedges, she made her way towards the stables. She stopped in the shadow of a large tree as her gaze took in the wooden building used as the prison.

She noticed two guards with closed eyes, lounging against the exterior on either side of a door. One barred window faced the front, and she bet that there were other windows towards the back, probably barred. She knew she'd never get past the guards, but perhaps she'd be able to get to the back of the prison and find Cort.

Crouching down, she inched slowly forward. Luckily, some hedges would block her from the guards should they look up. She moved about three feet, then closer until she was able to see the corner of the building. Only ten feet more to go, but these ten feet were out in the open with no cover. She had to take the chance.

Taking a deep breath, she bolted across the dark expanse, lit only by the thin slice of moon. Just as she made it to the side of the building, her shoe struck a stone and kicked it in the direction of the guards, landing inches from them. She felt as if a huge hand had clamped down upon her chest. Standing stock-still, she waited for them to glance up, to lift their muskets in search of the person who'd kicked the stone. Instead they sat with heads against the wall of the prison, seemingly in blissful slumber.