Pirate's Golden Promise (39 page)

Her anger took him aback. He peered closely at her, and saw hurt in her face. He didn't believe she was jealous of the little flirt in the governor's parlor. There must be another reason, and he was determined to discover it.

Grabbing her wrist, he hauled her from the bench. “You're coming with me,” he commanded.

“Where? I don't want to go anywhere but to bed.”

“That's exactly where you're going, Wynter. To bed. With me.”

She expected him to lead her inside, past the curious faces of the governor's guests, to their bedroom. Instead he walked quickly out of the fort to the street and down to the harbor where the
Sea Bride
was docked. Unceremoniously he led her up the plank, nodding to a man who guarded the ship, and then, before she realized it, she stood in the center of Cort's cabin. He lit a candle and the room was bathed in a soft, incandescent glow.

It had been a very long time since she was aboard the ship, in Cort's cabin. Memories assailed her, some sweet, others bitter. But this was the room in which Cort had claimed her as his woman, and the room in which she had conceived their child. When Cort looked at her from the depths of his golden eyes, she knew why he had brought her here. He hoped to rekindle what they had had with one another. But Wynter thought that was impossible. She knew now that Mikel was his son, a son he hadn't thought to tell her about. This realization startled Wynter. If he hadn't told her about Mikel being his son, then didn't that mean that he still felt tied to Katrina?

She couldn't bear any more of this. Why pretend they had a marriage, when clearly he cared more about keeping Katrina's secret than informing his own wife?

Wynter made a move for the door, but Cort beat her to it and locked it. “Let me out, Cort.”

His broad chest blocked her. “Not until you tell me what's troubling you, why our marriage is falling apart. I know it is, Wynter, because you lie like a stone in my arms when I make love to you.” Touching a curl, he smiled. “You never used to dislike my touch. I remember when your body burned for it.”

“Cort, please. Nothing is wrong. I want to go back to the governor's. I am so very tired.”

“Tired of me? Or maybe there's a different reason for your disinterest. Are you in love with Rolfe, are you having an affair?”

“No!”

“Suppose I don't believe you, Wynter. Another man can be the only reason for our problem.”

Her anger came to the fore. For the first time in weeks, she gave vent to it. She pounded on his satin-clad chest with her fists, and hot sparks of fire lit her eyes from cold gray to diamond fire.

“Another
woman
is the reason for my lack of response, Cort. Namely Katrina Van Linden. I overheard her tell you that Mikel is your son, that she still loves you and always will. I never heard you tell her that you loved me. Ever since that time, Katrina has pushed Mikel onto you more than she did. She wants you, Cort. She bore you a child, a son. A child can bind two people as nothing else. If you want the hussy, then take her! But don't expect me to welcome you into my bed, my heart, because I can't.”

Cort held her at arm's length and looked at her, understanding flooding him. So, she'd overheard. Well, he couldn't do anything about that, but he realized how deeply she'd been hurt. In some way he must have unwittingly given Wynter the impression that Katrina still held his heart, and that the boy would make a difference.

“I don't love Katrina. I love you, Wynter.” His tone was gentle, cajoling. He knew her anger fell away when he felt her body go limp. “I admit I was stunned to learn that Mikel is my son, but that changes nothing between us. You're my wife, the woman I love. Lyntje is our child, and she is a bond, too. Never forget that.”

“But Katrina gave you a son,” she whispered. “Rolfe said all the Van Lindens expect their sons to be the first born.”

“I never did, Wynter. I'm proud to have such a beautiful daughter, to love her mother. I should have told you about the boy after Katrina told me, but I couldn't. She asked me not to tell anyone, fearing that if Rolfe learned she'd told me, Mikel's future might be in jeopardy.”

“You mean her own future as the mistress of Lindenwyck,” Wynter said tersely.

Cort nodded. “Be that as it may, nothing changes between us. I love you. How can I prove to you that I shall always love you? The thought that you might have been involved with Rolfe, or any man, is more than I can bear. I love you, only you.”

His lips descended upon hers, and a sigh of pleasure unwillingly escaped her. Just the touch of his mouth on hers, the feel of his arms around her waist, drawing her close against him, caused her body to melt like butter. The lethargy which had seized her these past weeks lifted. Wrapping her arms around his neck, he picked her up and effortlessly carried her to the bunk.

Because she believed him, trusted him again, she felt her blood boil with desire, a longing she hadn't experienced in some time. The moment his hands touched her naked flesh, his lips suckling and swirling across the dusky nipples of her breasts, she urged him along with love words. But soon she begged him to end her exquisite torture. Before he claimed her lips in a burning kiss which promised untold ecstasy, he said, “Easy, my love. This night we shall remember for the rest of our lives.”

When the first golden glow of the morning sun touched the interior of the cabin, Wynter's eyes flickered open. She heard the sound of ship's bells, and she felt the slight rush of air of Cort's breath near her ear. As she stretched in catlike contentment, her movements wakened Cort.

“Sleep well, my tigress?”

She blushed, though she knew she needn't have. Last night, she'd shown Cort exactly how much she loved him to touch her and how she greatly enjoyed touching him. There was no doubt in Wynter's mind that he loved her.

Snuggling next to him, she kissed the tip of his nose. “Very well indeed, sir. Now that I'm rested I should like to sample more of last night's offerings.”

“You insatiable wench!” He laughed.

“Ja, I am,” she said and mimicked his slight accent. “But you love what you've made of me.”

Their bodies joined in wanton abandon, and moments after the sparks had died and their breaths steadied again, a knock sounded on the cabin door.

“Who is it?” Cort called out in a gruff voice.

“I beg your pardon, sir, but it's the watchman. Governor Stuyvesant has been looking for you. He says to return to the fort, that an English ship has been spotted off Long Island.”

Cort catapulted from the bed and began dressing.

“What's wrong? What does this mean?” Wynter asked.

“It means that you better get dressed, love. By this time tomorrow, there may not be a New Amsterdam.”

A note waited on the top of Katrina's dressing table. It said, “
Meet me by the dock on the backside of Lindenwyck. A rowboat awaits us. I shall meet you at dusk. Love, Cort.
”

Katrina's hands trembled. Had Cort arrived from New Amsterdam already? She hadn't seen him, but perhaps he didn't want anyone to know he wished to see her, so he'd secretly returned. Triumph shone on her face as she brushed her hair. Instead of pulling it atop her head and covering its silkiness with a lace cap, she fluffed it about her shoulders, allowing it to fall gracefully to her waist. Because it had rained that morning, she threw on a rain dress, or outer garment, to prevent her skirts from becoming soaked. When she was ready, she made certain that no one watched her leave and headed for the woods that separated the house from the dock.

As she trod silently through the woods, a damp chill enveloped her. She wondered why Cort would wish to meet her in such an out-of-the-way place, but she ached so to see him that she'd have walked the distance to New Amsterdam without complaint. True, he hadn't said much to her since the day she told him about Mikel. But then, he had fancied himself in love with that Englishwoman he married. Now he must have had a change of heart and realized he loved her, Katrina. Her spirits soared.

She came to the dock and saw the rowboat, already in the water, tied to a post. Never having learned to swim more than a few strokes, she gingerly got into the boat. It swayed slightly, and Katrina sat down and clutched the sides. The sun had long since set, and she grew fearful of being out on the river in the dark. But she comforted herself with the knowledge that Cort would soon be with her.

The night had already crept upon her, lit only by a few stars, when she heard a noise on the dock. Glancing up expectantly, her heart sank to see Rolfe.

“Well, well, Katrina. I see you're ready for your nocturnal boat ride. I hope you aren't too disappointed that I shall be your companion and not Cort.” To her amazement, he untied the rope and jumped into the boat, causing it to sway and shake. Her throat seemed to close up. She could scarcely speak when she realized that Rolfe had been the one who had sent the note and signed it with Cort's name.

“Why have you done this?” she asked when she could speak again.

“Because I wish some time alone with my wife.”

“I don't want to go for a ride with you,” Katrina said, but she realized it was a waste of words. Rolfe had already rowed far from shore. “Take me back.”

Rolfe rowed as if he didn't hear her. In the starlight, she saw a cruel smile on his lips, a hardness in his eyes. He very much looked like a man with a purpose, and she grew fearful. Why had he maneuvered her here? For what reason? But Katrina feared she knew when he stopped rowing.

“I loved you once,” she heard him say lowly and with a great deal of calm which she didn't share. “I thought you loved me, and I would have done anything for you. Didn't I give you jewels, furs? I did. You can't deny I was an indulgent husband. That's probably why it was so easy for you to dupe me into believing Mikel was mine. But as fate would have it, the child, whom you claimed was so premature, was a healthy, fat infant. So your scheming was for naught.

“However, the die was cast long ago, my wife. The moment that all mortals fear has arrived for you. Don't despair, Katrina, for I hear that death can be a release, a beautiful experience. One mustn't fight it but flow with the sensation.”

Abject terror seized Katrina. She looked around for an escape, but there was none. She couldn't swim the distance to shore, would surely drown as Rolfe planned. When he lunged at her, she twisted to the side and her fingers furtively curled around Rolfe's discarded oar. With a firm grasp on the handle, she lifted it high and knocked Rolfe on the side of his head. She watched with terror-stricken eyes as he lost his balance. Rolfe made a gesture to grab at her, but he fell sideways into the water. She waited for him to surface. He didn't.

Sitting down, she clasped her hands together. Rolfe had tried to kill her, and only through an act of God had she survived. Lowering her head to her lap, she started to cry. She cried not from fear, but relief.

When she lifted her head, a brilliant smile on her face vied with the sparkling stars in the sky. Free! She was free of Rolfe Van Linden at last.

She picked up the oars and rowed back to the dock. When she stood on solid ground again, she pushed the boat off from shore. With sparkling eyes she watched as it drifted into the center of the river, then disappeared into the inky blackness of the night.

Cort sat in the governor's study. Periodically he glanced out of the window towards the north side of the wooden fence that surrounded the fort. Even at this distance, Cort could see the old and
well-worn
palisades, built to defend the town from Indians and now
being
hurried
ly
repair
ed
. Cort didn't believe this small
wooden
defense would keep out the English. Stuyvesant agreed.

“I've tried for so long to get funds to make repairs,” the old man said and shook his head in dismay. “Of course, your privateering has been invaluable to the colony, but the palisades aren't strong enough to defend us against the English. Still, I will defend New Amsterdam at all costs.” His eyes grew bright with challenge. “Messengers have been sent to Beverwyck for money and to Delaware for ammunition.”

Cort didn't tell the governor that he thought the money and extra ammunition would be of little help, however, Cort was of the same mind as Stuyvesant. The capital must be defended at all costs, even if the outcome was in the favor of the English.

The governor had already requested that New Amsterdam's citizens defend the capital. So far, no one had turned up. Cort knew, however, that the request was useless. There were 150 Dutch soldiers and 250 citizens who might consent to fight. “My own son thinks it's a mistake not to immediately surrender.” Stuyvesant looked sad and harassed. He held up his hands in a futile gesture. “But I can't let these English defeat us without a fight.”

Cort nodded his understanding and stood up. “I shall stand by you,” he said.

Stuyvesant extended a hand, “Thank you, Cort. You're a true patriot.”

Cort left the governor's study and went upstairs to find Wynter and Mary gazing out the window at the workers.

Wynter ran to his side. “What will we do?” she asked. “Should we return to Lindenwyck before the fighting begins?”

“I doubt there will be any fighting, Wynter. I've talked to the governor's son earlier this morning. He shall not stand by his father. None of the colonists want bloodshed. I believe that Stuyvesant shall be forced to surrender. Already, 400 English soldiers have disembarked at Breuklen, an Englishman named Nicholls has taken charge of Staten Island.”

“Then New Amsterdam belongs to the English.”

Cort nodded, a frown lining his forehead. He sat in a chair and leaned back tiredly. “All the pirating was for nothing. None of the booty helped my homeland. In the long run, I wasted my time, I think.”