Pirate's Golden Promise (9 page)

“Yes.”

“I'll kill him!”

Adam rushed from the table, his face resembling a red bowl as he reached for the saber at his side.

“Oh, you are tiresome,” she said and sighed. “You know good and well that Van Linden would run you through before you even unsheathed. Your bravado doesn't impress me at all.”

He turned back to her. “You cared for me once, and you can again, once you get over your pain at my marriage. Tell me I haven't lost you!” Kneeling down, he clasped her hand in his sweaty palm and rained kisses upon it.

“Do stop!” she cried in disgust and wrenched her hand away.

“I love you. Doesn't that mean anything to you? I can make you happy. I'll have your mother sign over the deed to the estate. You won't owe her a tuppence.”

“How will you do that?”

“I'll tell her I'll divorce Lucy.”

Wynter didn't suppress her giggles. “Adam, you're a liar or an idiot. I haven't decided which, but that's the last thing you'll do.”

He winced under her amused stare and roughly grabbed her by the shoulders. “If I can arrange it, will you be my lover?”

“No.”

“You're a heartless wench, but one day you'll come to my bed, even if I have to force you!”

His fingers dug into the material of her gown and hurt her flesh. Suddenly, though she had never realized it before, she knew that Adam would force her. A chill enveloped her. She had to leave McChesney Manor or endure Adam's lust upon her. Somehow, some way, he'd take her to his bed, whether she was willing or not. How could she have ever thought she loved this man?

“Take your hands off me,” she said coolly, pretending not to fear him.

Her ruse worked. His hands dropped away and he stood up. “I leave you to consider this discussion, Wynter. But no matter what you decide, in time you'll be my mistress.”

She trembled when he left the room, and not long afterwards, Wynter ran the distance on shaky legs to the stables.

Fletcher looked up from the hay he bailed, a frown furrowing his brow.

“What's the matter?” he asked, clearly able to see how upset she was.

She swallowed hard and caught her breath, acting on impulse but knowing there was no other alternative.

“Do you really believe you'll make a fortune in the new world?”

Fletch nodded. “Aye, I will.”

“Then I will go with you.”

He threw down the pitchfork, the reality of her words seeping into his brain. He slowly came towards her and stopped.

“Are you saying what I think you are?”

She took a deep breath, knowing it was the only alternative under the circumstances. She vowed she wouldn't marry a man like Banbridge or become Adam's mistress. And Fletch, well, at least he cared about her.

“Yes, Fletch. I agree to marry you.”

The
Mary Jack,
bobbing gently in the waters of the Severn River, loomed ahead of Wynter and Fletch. They'd arrived in Bristol only that morning and were in awe of the port town's bustle and seafaring atmosphere. Wynter's London trips had prepared her for the outside world a bit, but Fletcher hadn't been anywhere except the village. Wynter couldn't help noticing that he seemed like a little boy, eager to begin on the adventurous trek across the sea. But Fletch wasn't a little boy any longer and she wasn't the little girl who had dreamed dreams along with him atop the mountain. She was now his wife.

“Isn't all this grand?” he said, his eyes agog with the sights and smells. “Imagine what Virginia must be like! I can't wait to make my fortune. I know it will happen.”

Wynter hoped that, too. Shortly after marrying in the constable's office that afternoon, they'd gone a few streets away where she was indentured for the extravagant sum of ten pounds. She nearly choked to think that some nameless, faceless human being had paid her passage for such a paltry sum and that she had to work five years to achieve her freedom.

Five years seemed like a long time to Wynter, but Fletcher told her that seven was the norm. They'd been lucky, he told her. He had been worried that the captain of the
Mary Jack
wouldn't want to take an extra person aboard, but he had, seeing that Wynter was now Fletch's wife.

The easy life, the pampered existence her father had made for her, was behind her now. A part of her resented her father at that moment. How could he not have thought enough of her to make arrangements for her future? But she wondered if he had been too filled with guilt about her birth to accept the fact that he had to see to her future. She sighed. Oh, well, none of it mattered any longer. She no longer considered herself to be Lady Wynter McChesney but Wynter Larkin and she better get used to it.

As she and Fletcher walked back to the small room they had let for the night not far from the harbor, courtesy of the shilling Maddie had pressed into Fletch's palm upon their departure, she grew misty-eyed to recall the woman's parting words to her. “You be too good for Fletch, but I wish you both well. Life is hard, but look after one another. All you've got now is each other.”

The truth of that statement didn't hit Wynter with its full force until they climbed up the narrow flight of stairs to their room, past the knowing looks of passersby they met on the landing. After they were inside, Fletcher looked shyly at her and said, “Which side of the bed do you want?”

Wynter had never slept in the same bed with anyone, and now she was supposed to sleep with Fletch. Her husband. Chills ran up her spine and she broke out in a cold sweat. Of course he'd insist on his husbandly rights and she'd have to go along with his demands. She owed him that much.

“The right side,” she said.

Fletch nodded and turned back the quilt. “Which one of us gets undressed first?”

“I will. If you turn your back.”

“All right.” Fletch turned away and gazed out of the small window that looked onto the busy street.

Wynter fumbled with the hooks on the back of her plain brown dress. It fell to the floor and she left it there, walking over it to climb into the bed. She pulled the quilt over her chemise-clad body.

“I'm in bed,” she told him.

Fletcher turned and saw her there. He smiled nervously and when he stepped towards the bed, he nearly tripped over Wynter's discarded gown.

Picking up the dress, he said, “Wynter, you mustn't leave your clothes on the floor. My mother used to clean up after you, but no more. When you're working for a fine lady in Virginia, you'll be the one to look after her and put her pretty things away. That is, at least until we make our fortune.”

She felt like a child. She had so much to learn, to remember, about this new life she had made. “Yes, Fletch. I understand,” she said.

Cold fear gripped her anew when he blew out the candle and undressed. She felt his weight sag the feather bed when he situated himself beside her. In the darkness she heard his gulps of air. Was he frightened, too?

“Fletch?”

“What?”

“Am I the first?”

“Aye.”

She didn't know whether to be pleased or disappointed, but she knew that if Cort Van Linden was beside her, he'd have known what to do with her and wouldn't be the least afraid. Blocking the Dutchman's face from her mind, she said almost breezily, “We really don't have to do anything tonight but lie here and talk like we used to do. Remember all our wonderful conversations about far-off places?”

“I do,” he said, but he grew silent a moment. Then she felt his hand upon her arm. “But talking is the last thing on my mind, Wynter. I love you so, have always loved you. If we don't—” he seemed to search for the right words, “—fulfill our duties tonight, we'll probably have to wait until we arrive in Virginia. We may have to share a cabin on the ship with other indenturers. Virginia is more than four months' sailing time.”

She hadn't realized that. The journey had hardly begun and she regretted it. Sharing a room with Fletch was one thing, but others? How horrible to contemplate! But Fletch was the only person in the world who cared about her now when others had sought to use her. She owed him for wanting her, for loving her, and she realized he truly did love her though she wasn't in love with him. She patted his hand.

“I'm—ready to become your wife,” she said slowly, and there was real fear in her voice.

“I'll be gentle. I promise.”

And he was when he touched her lips with his and tenderly moved his hands across her body, then her breasts. But Fletcher was a young man, barely older than she was, and Wynter was the first girl he'd ever made love to. She was his wife, and he loved her fiercely and couldn't control himself when desire overtook him.

She heard him groan in her ear, felt him pull the chemise up around her waist, and before she realized what was happening, before she was ready for him, he pushed into her virginal softness. Wynter thought she would die. She tried to be quiet, but a cry of pain escaped from her lips, and what made things worse was that the walls were paper thin and a man in the next room guffawed and shouted, “Have at her, lad!”

Tears of pain, anger, humiliation, all gathered and spilled together onto her cheeks. Thankfully Fletcher finished quite soon and lay limply atop her.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered hoarsely. “I never meant to hurt you, but that's what happens when a girl becomes a woman.”

She mumbled something about being all right, and when Fletcher was satisfied that she was, he turned on his side and his snores told Wynter a short time later that he was asleep.

But Wynter lay in the dark room, listening to the mournful clanging of a ship's bell nearby, of the panting of the man and woman in the next room, and she decided that if this was a woman's lot in life, if this was all there was, then marriage and mating weren't to her liking.

Four weeks out on the
Mary Jack
Wynter walked unsteadily on the deck of the swaying ship with Fletch beside her. She gazed out at the endless expanse of deep blue sea and watched the sun begin to sink in the western sky. This was her first foray outside the small area in the ship's prow reserved for the indentures in two weeks. She'd been sick and only now felt sufficiently well to walk through the tunnel-like maze below to the upper deck where the salty air filled her lungs.

She knew nothing about ships, but from what Fletch told her about the
Mary Jack,
information he'd learned from a cabin boy, the merchant ship was one of the sleekest flutes afloat. The flute made its debut early in the seventeenth century and was originally built by the Dutch until the English and French quickly adapted the design. Now many such ships roamed the seaways of the world because they were inexpensive to build and cheap to man. Only twelve men comprised the crew of the
Mary Jack.
But there was one problem that alarmed Wynter when she heard about it—pirates. The marauding devils preyed upon flutes because of the small crew involved.

However, that fear was not what bothered her that evening as her gray gaze swept across the rippling waves. She dreaded returning to the prow, knowing she would find a single hanging lantern to light the dark, damp place, the moth-eaten blankets used for bedding, and three other people who shared the tiny hole with her and Fletch. Two women and one old man slept and ate in the same compartment. And she thought she'd go mad if she had to worry about rodents nibbling on her toes, as a small rat had done nights before to the old man named Davey. Davey slept not two feet from her, and since his experience, she buried her own feet far beneath the blanket each night. Wynter vowed that, once she left this boat, she'd never board another one unless she could pay for first-class passage.

She hated ships, hated the sea, and more often than not was out of sorts with Fletcher.

Straightening the hem of her brown calico dress which blew around her legs in the brisk evening breeze, Wynter wrinkled her nose in distaste when Fletcher sneezed and wiped his nose on his shirt sleeve.

“Really, Fletch, I do wish you'd use a kerchief.”

“Huh?” he said, and then when he realized she was scolding him, he looked offended. “Sorry, Wynter, but not all of us was born to the gentry.”

She was instantly sorry for criticizing him. Fletcher was the one who had held the bucket while she threw up her insides the past two weeks. He'd been the one to hold the cup to her mouth so she could drink the water he offered her, and also the bowl of broth they were served once a day with a piece of bread. He was her lifeline, and she must be more grateful to him.

“I'll get one from my bag when we return to the prow,” she said to make amends.

Fletcher took her hand. “Things will be better when we get to Virginia. I know you're not happy now, and neither am I. But we've got grand things to look forward to. Imagine how it will be when we have a splendid house with servants to wait on us.”

“Oh, Fletch,” she said, sounding more disheartened than ever. “I hope you're right and we're not dreaming things which will never happen. We still must work off our indenture, and by the time we make ‘our fortune' Debra may have already sold the estate. Then all of this would have been for nothing.”

Fletcher's mouth dropped open a bit, and he let go of her hand. “I didn't realize you thought our marriage was for nothing. It means the world to me.”

She'd done it again! She hurt him and hadn't meant to. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean it the way it sounded,” she hastily apologized.

“Aye, you did,” he said sadly. “I guess I should know you're too fine a girl for me, but I thought you'd see things my way and look upon this as a grand adventure. My mother was right. I'm not good enough for you.”

Wynter put her arm through his. “Fletcher, I'm your wife. We have each other, and that's the way it will always be. I'm no better than you. In fact, I'm probably beneath you because I'm so unprepared for life. Papa took care of me, protected me, when he was alive, but didn't think to protect my interests. I have nothing, no one, but you.”