Within a Captain's Treasure (21 page)

Gavin paced the decks. For the last twenty-four hours he’d done little but look over his shoulder. He’d evaded half the British fleet to get away from the eastern shores of Virginia. It was fortunate for him, he knew where they’d look, it meant they’d never find him.

He’d sailed the
Scarlet Night
through the Needle’s Eye. Water washed from the sea through a narrow, hidden channel protected by rocky shoals into an unknown cave known as the Needle’s Eye. Inside, the space opened into a skylit cavern large enough for a dozen ships their size. A fool’s gamble at low tide, it was just wide enough for the
Night
. Navy warships were far too wide in the berth to follow them even if they had known of its location, and only one way in made it easy to defend should anyone be lucky enough to stumble upon them. The only other captain who knew about this particular hiding place was busy living his new life as a lord in Weatherington, England with his wife, Annalise.

Slipping in two steps ahead of the British, the
Scarlet Night
spent the night tucked into the high-walled cave. A few days there would have guaranteed the British dogs chased their tails, but food was in short supply, and without the proper materials to fix the damn front mast, they were riding heavy and slow. They had to slip past unawares and make their way to a protected port before they were forced to start roasting bilge rats.

Leaving on the first tide, luck had been on their side. The winds were strong coming from the west. They set course due south and headed toward the Caribbean.

Unease crawled over the ship as they left Virginia. The crew was uglier than usual, and the ship was limping. Gavin’s own temper was quick to ignite. He relieved the helmsman and took the wheel. Gripping the thick wooden pegs, he gathered a small measure of command when everything else seemed out of his control.

They’d lost Bump for a time. Gavin hadn’t seen the boy for hours. He feared he’d fallen overboard without anyone’s notice. He’d called a ship-wide search. No one could locate the boy.

Gavin had finally found him curled up tight under Tupper’s cot. It was the third time he’d looked for him in her spit of a room. He’d found her book the first time. The second time, he’d been blindsided by the memory of kissing her there. He was at his wit’s end when he searched for the third time, but there Bump was. Had he been there the entire time?

The boy was miserable, and Gavin didn’t know what to do to comfort the lad. How do you explain with no words? Frustration raged. Why the hell did he take on the role of nursemaid anyway? He missed her as much as anyone, dammit. The child needed to learn the cold, hard facts of this life. This was a pirate ship, not a lady’s parlor. Life was hard and brutal, and the sooner Bump learned that the better.

The ship groaned against the tight hold Gavin had upon the wheel. He had to ease off. The ship and the boy. “Bloody hell,” he whispered.

Gavin took a deep breath and watched the moonrise spill its silvery shimmer over the water. It was the night after the full, its perfect circle missing one edge. Memories flooded his senses. The same moon was watching Alice as she slept.

Would the light fall across her bed? Across her hair fanning the pillow? With the moon so bright, he could see it all in his mind. The rise and fall of her breathing. Her body naked beneath the thin sheet. One perfect breast exposed. One long leg. She’d wake when he came into the room, hold back the bedding in invitation, and he’d slip into her arms, pulling her body against his, drowning in the smell of her skin and the sweet taste of her mouth.

“Bloody damn, blasted hell.” Why couldn’t he get her out of his mind? His body still pulsed with want. Having her only made him want her more. He was thankful for the length of his coat. Gavin slipped a hand into a wide slashed pocket and wrapped his fingers around the heavy parcel. His gift to her. The necklace she refused.

He’d carried it since Simons returned it to him with her message. Gavin hadn’t shown any reaction, but simply dropped it in his pocket. And there it would remain. A weighty reminder of her time with him. His thumb traced the edges of the large stones as green eyes flashed in his memory.

Gavin handed over the wheel at the next bell after he barked at the helmsman for being late to his post. Storming off the quarterdeck, he made his final rounds before heading below. His body was taut with heated frustration. Entering his quarter, he snatched a fresh bottle of brandy and a glass before he caught sight of Bump. The child was asleep in his chair hidden away beneath a gray hat with a white feather. “Dammit…she’s ruined the lot of us.”

Settling the boy, Gavin returned to his desk. Another endless night stretched out before him. The brandy stood waiting. He pulled Beth’s letters from their hiding place and untied their leather lace. Lifting the first envelope, he traced his name with a fingertip.

“Do you have any idea how many times I’ve read your words, Beth? I can recite them by memory. I treasure them. I hate them.” He pulled the cork from the bottle. “Eleven years. I’ve held them and poured over every page trying to understand. How could you have loved me like you professed and done what you did? I know, the babe.” He gave a heavy sigh. “I know I can’t understand the pain, but you never gave me a chance to carry some of that grief. He was my son, too. I loved you with everything I had. I would have walked into hell with you and found a way out. I never got the chance. You stole that from me. When you took your life, you took mine too.”

Gavin recorked the bottle and pushed it away. He ran a weary hand over his eyes. “Eleven years, Beth. I’ve honored the love I shared with you for all that time. I’ve mourned and grieved and been eaten alive by guilt until the only things left for me were empty, hollow memories and a stack of yellowed letters.”

Gavin pulled the necklace out of his pocket and unwrapped it. The gems caught the light. “I love her, Beth. I love her, and I pushed her away because of my loyalty to you. I had to keep her safe. Not only from this brutal life, but from a life with me. I failed you, but I wasn’t going to fail her too.” He crushed the necklace tight, the edge of the gold cutting into his hand. “So why doesn’t it feel like I’ve done the right thing?”

His arm swept the surface of his desk. Letters scattered. The glass shattered when it hit the floor, but the thick bottle of brandy stayed intact and rolled back to rest against his boot.

Gavin shut his eyes. The strong drink taunted him. Called to him like a siren of the sea. The sweet call of oblivion where nothing mattered. Nothing hurt. It could help him to forget, if only for the night. Brandy had seen him through the first few years after Beth’s death, but soon became out of control. He was rarely sober during those times. It was Jaxon Steele who pulled him out of that hellish whirlpooled pit. Beat some sense into him. Dried him out. Gave him back his dignity. Steele had trusted him. Not only with his life but also his ship.

Reaching down, Gavin grasped the bottle as he rose to his feet. He crossed to the bank of windows and threw the thing out to toss in the waves of the ship’s wake. The moon’s glow washed the sea. And as he had for a thousand times already today, he thought about Alice.

MacTavish was right. He was a horse’s arse.

After the tension of meeting with Carlton Whitmore and Emerson Blake, Alice spent an exhausting morning being tugged about by Brighton and Rebecca. Brighton acted as tour guide, showing Alice all his favorite parts of the estate—the tree he climbed, where he lost his first tooth, and the place where a large black snake had left its skin.

Touring the stables, she was introduced to Champ and Molly, the children’s ponies. Brighton warned her about King’s Knight, a towering black stallion. He had a nasty temper and was a terrible biter. She wasn’t about to get too close. But Starr, a gentle roan mare with a white blaze upon her forehead, was the best horse Brighton knew, second to his beloved Champ.

Their visit to the stable had been quick. Rebecca was indeed terrified of the large nickering beasts. She wouldn’t venture any farther than the shade of the wide doorway. As the day progressed, Alice was please to see Rebecca relaxing in her company. Her thumb, while always at the ready, found its way to her mouth less often. The reason, Alice soon discovered, was that Rebecca outrivaled her mother’s gift of constant chatter.

Walking past the neat fields of tobacco Alice noted the rows of small shacks to house the field hands. Brighton pointed out the larger house near the head of the fields, which belonged to the overseer, Mister Bishop.

“I don’t like him,” announced Rebecca. “He likes to yell and…and cusses a blue streak.”

Alice cocked an eyebrow. “Where did you hear such an expression?”

“Nurse Susanna. We were walking, and her big straw hat blew off into the fields and we chased it because it was new and nurse said it cost a pretty penny and Mister Bishop chased after us and started hollering and Nurse covered my ears and hollered back at him then she told Mama he cusses a blue streak.” One long sentence, all in one breathe. Alice had to smile.

As both children ran off toward the main house, Alice paused to look over the slave quarters again. From what she’d observed, the Whitmore’s were good to their help, but the fact still remained these men, women, and children were property. If he and Emerson Blake had witnessed those men from the
Delmar
, she wondered if they would have a different view.

Alice returned the children to the nursery after their noon meal. She would have loved to join them for a rest, but Isabelle revised the day’s schedule, and Alice was hurried off to town.

Cape Henry was a bustling seaport, with a variety of merchants ready to service the growing population. What interested Alice more, however, was the strong number of British soldiers and seamen in town. The same sick worry from this morning washed over her. Gavin had risked everything to bring her here. She couldn’t bear to think what would happen to him and the entire crew if they were caught.

By the time she and Isabelle returned to the estate, Alice was beyond exhausted. No training aboard a pirate ship prepared her for the ball of perpetual energy that was Isabelle Whitmore. They returned with armloads of packages with more to be delivered later. For each gown Isabelle picked for Alice, she chose two for herself. Lengths of cloth were debated, shoes dyed to match. She even insisted on buying Alice a tiny feathered hat, which perched upon her head like a bird’s nest simply because it suited Alice’s coloring.

The children were well rested by the time they returned, and after being spoiled with small treats and gifts from their mother, they were eager to spend more time with Alice before nurse would gather them for their baths.

“Why don’t I read to you? Brighton, could you fetch us a book? Do you have a favorite story you’d like to hear?” Alice settled them in the shade of the wide front porch.

“Couldn’t you tell us a story instead?” Brighton lay on his stomach lining up his new lead soldiers. He popped up. “A story about pirates.”

Alice shook her head. “Your mother wouldn’t approve.”

“Please?” both of them pleaded. Two sets of imploring blue eyes blinked up at her.

“What if I tell you about a little boy?” she countered.

“Are there pirates?” The lad had a one-track mind.

“Yes,” Alice promised. Brighton’s eyes lit up, and she continued. “He’s a few years younger than you, Brighton, and he lives on a pirate ship with bright red sails.”

“Was he with his mommy?” asked Rebecca.

Her brother shot her a look. “There aren’t pirate mommies.”

Alice continued, “He doesn’t have a mother or a father, but he has a whole ship full of people looking out for him. Captain, especially.”

Brighton had forgotten about his soldiers. “What’s his name?”

Alice smiled. “His name is William, but once you become a member of a pirate crew, sometimes they give you a nickname. Like when Brighton calls you Becca.

The girl scooted closer. “What was his made up name?”

Alice tucked Rebecca’s fine hair behind her ear. “They call him Bump.”

“Bump?” Brighton laughed. “That’s not a pirate name.”

Alice shrugged one shoulder. “It is. He wasn’t used to being on a ship. And when things fall or are swinging, if you aren’t watching, you can get a bumped on the head. He got a lot of bumps at first.

“He wasn’t careful.” Rebecca frowned and pushed her thumb into her mouth.

“He was as careful as he could be, and his friends would shout for him to look out, but he couldn’t hear them.”

“Was it too noisy?” asked Brighton.

Alice ruffled his hair as she’d done to Bump. “No, Bump can’t hear. His ears don’t work anymore.” The children looked at each other as Alice continued. “But Bump is a fine cabin boy. He’s brave and strong. I miss him. Makes me wonder what it would be like if I couldn’t hear like Bump.” Alice pointed up into the trees. “Can you hear the birds calling to each other? I love to hear the birds. Can you imagine what it would be like if you couldn’t hear your favorite sounds?”

“I don’t like this story,” pouted Rebecca. “It’s sad.”

Alice laid a gentle hand on her head. “Don’t be sad. I want you to remember to be grateful. You’re very lucky children, strong and healthy, with two wonderful parents and a beautiful place to live.”

“Will Bump get a mommy?” Rebecca asked around her thumb. Brighton reached over and gently removed it from her mouth.

“I don’t think so.” Alice gave a quick shake to her head.

“I bet he’ll get his own pistol,” chimed Brighton.

Alice smirked. She could almost picture MacTavish rummaging through the gun bin to find the perfect one as he’d done for her. “When he’s older.”

Rebecca looked at her brother in disgust. “Mommies are better than stinky old pistols.”

“To girls maybe, not boys,” he argued.

“Girls can have pistols, too.” Rebecca planted her hands on her hips.

“They cannot. Can they, Alice?”

Alice put a hand on each child’s shoulder and held them apart. “Only grownups get pistols. Now pick up your things and let’s find Susanna. Its time she scrubbed your dirty little necks.”