Pirate's Golden Promise (42 page)

“Vrouw Van Linden,” he said, almost fawning. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

The proprietor was a small Englishman named Barrows. His tiny eyes examined her critically, as if he wondered what the acting patroon's wife was doing in his establishment. From the taproom, Wynter heard raucous laughter and marveled how anyone could drink so early in the day.

“I should like to speak to Lieutenant Lord Somerset.”

“He's in the taproom. Follow me,” he said and motioned for her to follow him. Wynter shook her head.

“I'd like to speak privately to him.”

Barrows stroked his pointed chin and smiled knowingly. “Ah, I see. His room is up the stairs, third door on the left. I'll send him up to you.”

Wynter disliked the way the man eyed her, as if she were keeping an assignation, but she decided she'd rather wait upstairs for Adam than speak with him in the taproom. The situation with Lucy was much too delicate for others to overhear.

The door to Adam's room was unlocked, and she walked in. The only furnishings were a small cot covered with a worn blanket, a hard wooden chair, and a table on which a washbasin and cracked pitcher rested. Gloom shrouded the room, and the dark clouds swirled in the sky outside the curtainless window. What a fall from grace, she found herself thinking. Adam was no better than a pauper, it seemed. For a man who had prided himself on his possessions, he had nothing to be proud of now. Then, again, she couldn't feel sympathy for him. He'd lost everything because of his gambling and high living which he could ill afford.

She heard his footsteps on the wooden floor before she saw him. When he entered the room, she couldn't help but see an Adam who had been beaten by life. He no longer wore a periwig, and his own hair hung shabbily around his collar. His satin doublet had seen better days, and was at this early hour stained with fresh whiskey. His eyes gleamed with hope for an instant, but as soon as he focused his gaze upon her, his shoulders sagged in apparent disappointment.

“I couldn't believe Barrows when he told me Vrouw Van Linden was here. I hadn't expected you, Wynter,” he said.

“Who, then? I am Vrouw Van Linden.”

“Never mind.” He sighed tiredly. “What do you want? Have you come to gloat, to rub salt in my wounds? You see what I've become, and I admit it. I have sunk to the lowest depths. Do you know I can't even pay to stay here one more night after tomorrow? I don't have a guilder to my name.”

“I'm sorry for you, but you do deserve all that has happened to you.”

“Such a cold-hearted bitch you are, Wynter. Always were cold to me.” He sat down on the bed and looked distractedly at her. “State your purpose, Vrouw Van Linden.”

Her gown made a swishing sound when she turned to face him. “I want you to leave, to stay away from Lucy. Soon she'll be free of you and will start a new life. She doesn't need painful memories.”

Adam coughed, nearly choking. “Painful, is it?” he said upon recovering. “I'm the one with the most God-awful memories a man can have about his wife. Have you any idea how disgusting I found Lucy, how each time I kissed her or made love to her, I wished it were you? Things could have been so different for us, Wynter. If only you could come to admit you loved me, still love me, for I'll never believe you love that blackguard Van Linden.”

“Believe it!” she spat.

“He has some sort of hold on you, that's it.”

“The hold is love in its purest form, something you have never experienced. Now, when do you intend to leave here, never to show your face again?”

“I can't go anywhere,” he ground out and looked so pathetic that for a moment Wynter pitied him. “I have no money to leave, but if I did, I'd certainly never return.”

She realized he did want to leave, and now she knew she had one alternative. Lucy's happiness was far too important to quibble over money. Opening her reticule, she emptied it of 20 guilders.

“This should be enough to send you on your way,” she stated.

“I suppose 20 guilders is all I'm worth to you.”

“Yes, and probably far less, but I want you gone.”

Adam laughed shortly. “I accept your payment, Vrouw Van Linden.”

Inclining her head, Wynter made a move to leave, but Adam stood up and grabbed her by the arm. “If you're really so eager to have me gone, I will ask one last thing of you.”

“What?”

“A kiss, Wynter.”

“I'd never kiss you. I'd rather see you burn in Hades first.”

“Which is where I most probably will be going one day, but I've thought about you, and burned for you since I saw you that day in New York. I've never stopped loving you, Wynter. Please, I beg of you. Just a kiss.”

He would have forced one from her, but Wynter doubled her fist and swung it hard against the side of his head. Adam released her and fell onto the bed, where he held his throbbing head with his hands.

“Be gone by morning,” Wynter said and left the room. In the hallway, she nearly bumped into an elderly serving woman, so intent she was on getting away from Adam. By the time she arrived home, moments before the rain, she felt calmer. Lucy's problem was over. She knew it was.

No one noticed the dark-cloaked woman mount the stairs to the
tavern
. Barrows was in the taproom, quaffing a pint of ale. Outside, the rain and wind whipped mercilessly across the countryside. But the weather was of little concern to Katrina Van Linden as she knocked gently on Adam's door.

“Come in,” he said.

Katrina nearly laughed when she saw Adam lying on the bed holding a wet rag to his temple.

“What happened to you?” she asked and quietly shut the door.

At her voice, he lifted his head. Disbelief showed on his face, hope and greed in his eyes. He found himself thinking that finally, finally, Katrina was going to pay him. Well, he knew now he'd never make Wynter fall in love with him or even cause others to think she loved him. But Katrina didn't need to know that. Once she handed over the money, he'd be soon gone from here. She'd kept him waiting in this hovel long enough until she decided to put in a belated appearance.

She'd be sorry she ever crossed him. He wondered briefly when another ship sailed for England, because he damn well didn't wish to stay in this uncivilized area of the world longer than necessary.

“I've been waiting a long time, Vrouw Van Linden.”

A laugh like a tiny chime escaped Katrina. “Now, now, Somerset, don't be petulant. It wasn't so easy to get away from New York. I've just settled into my new home, and furnishing it to my taste takes up a great deal of time.”

“Accept my apology. I had no idea of the tedium required of such a task.” His tone was scornful and he sat up. “I should like my payment now.”

“You shall be paid in due time.” She walked towards the cot and sat beside him. “What happened to your head?”

“Wynter paid me a visit a little while ago, and she trounced me soundly when I made advances.”

Her eyes turned a bright blue, “She was here? Did anyone see her?”

“Barrows.”

“Hmmm. Very interesting.”

“My money, please.”

“Not so fast, darling,” she said and practically purred. “I'm quite interested in something other than Wynter and money at the moment.”

Katrina's hands moved sensuously across Adam's doublet, then inched inside his shirt to the bareness of his chest. “I am a recent widow, my dear, and it has been quite a while since I've met a man who excites me as you do. Don't you want me?”

Adam's head reeled, and he wasn't certain if it was from the blow delivered earlier by Wynter or the intoxicating vixen who was doing delicious things to his flesh with long, thin fingers. He hadn't enjoyed a woman in some time. In fact, he hadn't had enough money to buy one lately. But now, here was a love-starved widow, and one who would soon pay him for a service he would never render. What could be better than this? he wondered in a daze as he allowed Katrina to remove his clothes.

Katrina undressed while he watched, and then she joined him on the small cot. They made fast and furious love to match the raging storm outside. When they finished, their arms and legs were entwined, and Adam fell asleep with a look of deep satisfaction on his face.

Katrina gazed at him in scorn. Of all the men she'd bedded, of all the sexual experiences she had endured to quench her lust for Cort, this was the most disgusting. Adam Somerset was rough and harsh in his lovemaking, and she'd found no pleasure at all with him. In fact, he seemed to think a woman shouldn't feel any pleasure but must appease the man. Well, she thought it was quite appropriate that the last woman he should bed would be the one who would take great satisfaction in his end.

Quietly, Katrina got up and began to dress. A slow smile came to her lips. As fate would have it, Wynter had visited Adam earlier in the day. Katrina prayed that no one had seen Wynter's departure. But then she realized that it didn't matter, because Adam hadn't left the room since Wynter struck him. She couldn't have planned the scenario better herself. Licking her lips in anticipation of the outcome, she finished dressing and threw on her cape.

She picked up her reticule and bent over Adam. The poor man slept the peaceful sleep of the innocent, almost like a newborn babe. She pitied him, she truly did, but she'd planned Adam's demise for weeks now, and nothing would deter her.

Until Rolfe, she'd never murdered anyone. Rolfe's death had occurred to save her own life. But wasn't this the same thing? With Somerset dead, Cort would be hers, and she'd live again! Yes, she must be strong and kill Somerset so she might live once more.

Extracting a long, sharply pointed knife from the depths of her reticule, she held it aloft and then swiftly, before she lost her nerve, planted it in Adam's heart. For a moment, his eyes opened in terror, and she faltered as he made a slight movement. But she pulled the knife out and stabbed him in the chest again. Blood gushed and covered her hands with its stickiness. Adam lay limp, his eyes gazing at her, unseeing.

She'd done it! Adam was dead. Now for the one other thing, the thing that would lead the authorities to the murderer.

From her reticule she withdrew a black glove. On it were the embroidered initials WVL, framed by tiny roses. She applauded herself for sneaking into Wynter's room and stealing the glove before she left Lindenwyck. The plan was completed.

Glancing out the doorway, she made her way stealthily down the staircase and quickly past the taproom until she was outside. The rain had stopped and a rainbow appeared in the sky.

She walked to the hired sloop she'd taken from New York, and soon was delighting in the cool, clean afternoon breeze as the sloop made its way down the river.

Two days later, word reached Lindenwyck that Adam had been murdered. Lucy retired to her room in a state of shock, but an inner peace filled Wynter. News of his death distressed her, but she knew that now Lucy and Dirk would marry. Cort only said that Adam had always been destined for such an end.

The day after Adam's burial, Wynter found Lucy sitting in the library but not reading the book in her lap. Her eyes had a faraway look.

“We should begin preparations for your wedding,” Wynter told her. “Dirk is eager to marry you. You couldn't have chosen a better man for a husband.”

Lucy sniffed. “My first choice was so horrendous that I'm a bit frightened to marry again.”

Wynter flashed her an encouraging smile. “Don't feel that way. Dirk loves you, and you love him. Both of you shall be very happy together.”

Nodding, Lucy agreed and patted the slight roundness of her abdomen. “Well,” she said and rested the book on the table and stood up. “I believe it's time we prepare for a wedding.”

A minister was called to Lindenwyck three days later to unite Lucy and Dirk. The ceremony was private with Wynter, Cort, and Lena the only guests. But from the ecstatic and glowing looks on the faces of the bride and groom, they didn't seem to mind.

Wynter and Cort had finished toasting the newlyweds when a servant announced the burgomaster from the village. The portly man bowed and appeared uneasy when he requested to speak to Cort alone. The two retired to the study, and a few minutes later the man left and Cort called Wynter into the room.

Cort's tanned face had paled, and when Wynter entered the study, she rushed to him.

“Whatever is wrong?” she asked.

“Did you see Somerset last week?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“I thought you might be upset and would advise me not to interfere, but I was so worried about Lucy that I decided to take matters into my own hands. I paid him twenty guilders to leave the village and return to New York.” She lowered her head, but held her shoulders high in a defiant gesture.

A muscle twitched in Cort's cheek. He raised an eyebrow. “I wish you had told me this, Wynter.”

Raising her head to meet his stare, she said, “I'm telling you now, Cort.”

A long, pained sigh escaped his lips. “You're aware that he was stabbed to death. Someone murdered him. You were his only visitor that day. So Barrows, the proprietor, informed the authorities.”

She gave a tiny laugh of disbelief. “Barrows believes I killed him? That's ridiculous.”

“It is, but they found your glove in Somerset's bed, one of the initialed ones I purchased for you in New York. They found it on his bed, for God's sake!”

“I didn't sleep with him!”

“I'm not accusing you of infidelity, but what a mess this is!”

Sinking into a chair, he sat with his arms resting on his knees, his hands clenched. His forlorn attitude made her realize the seriousness of the charge that Barrows had leveled against her.