Pirate's Golden Promise Page 12

  Dashing to a small mirror which Cort used for shaving, she quickly appraised her appearance and found every strand of hair in place. But she knew before looking that her appearance would please him. Mary had taken great pains to roll the thick strands of hair into fashionable fat curls which rested over the ivory flesh of her right shoulder. And though the gown Mary had pulled from the depths of the trunk earlier in the evening was Spanish, Wynter enjoyed the opportunity to wear something other than her drab blue gown. Since Wynter had never worn a farthingale, she found the orange-colored taffeta, embroidered in silver and gold on the bodice and skirt, to be utterly charming. With a gold-trimmed ebony fan in her hand to match the black lace falling off her shoulders, Wynter rivaled any señorita in old Spain or the new world.

  Whirling around at the sound of the cabin door as it opened, she flashed him a sparkling smile. Coyly, she drew the fan level with her lower lashes, allowing Cort to see the glittering gray eyes that captivated him so much.

  “Ah, señor,” Wynter said and waved the fan a bit. “I’ve been awaiting you.”

  Cort stood in the doorway, and she saw him take a deep breath before saying, “You’re incredibly beautiful … Señora Van Linden.”

  A laugh like the sound of the finest crystal bubbled past her lips. “And you’re the most handsome sea captain I know. Come and eat.” She swished to the table, and Cort was instantly beside her, holding out her chair for her. “And the most polite,” she told him and dimpled prettily.

  He sat across from her, and he appeared lost in her loveliness, the warmth emanating from her. She picked up a silver plate and began to serve his food. “Mary can do that,” he said.

  “I’d like to serve you, Cort. I am your wife, and it gives me pleasure.”

  Gently grabbing hold of her wrist, he stopped her. “You are my wife, Wynter. In my heart, you shall always be.”

  Wynter found this comment vaguely disturbing, but as to why his words bothered her, she didn’t know. When they both had eaten, they sipped their wine and gazed into the flickering candles on the table.

  After moments of quiet between them, Wynter asked a question which had been uppermost in her mind the last day. “Cort, where is our home to be?”

  “Santa Margarita.”

  “I heard Dirk tell Mary we’d soon be at an island named Saint Martin. I had thought that was our home.”

  “No, no. I have cargo to drop there. We’ll be in Santa Margarita within the next few days.”

  “I see.” Wynter ran her fingernail over the rim of her wine goblet, and gave him such a penetrating look that she noticed Cort shuddered. “I feel you’re keeping secrets from me sometimes. Is there anything I should know, Cort? Anything at all?”

  He grabbed her hand and planted a warm kiss on her palm. “Know that my heart is yours.”

  “Oh, Cort.” She breathed his name like a gentle spring breeze blowing through a meadow and caused him to rise. He extended a hand to her, and then he locked her in the circle of his arms and kissed her face with small kisses. She felt suddenly transported to a soft and fragile cloud, so consumed by his growing ardor which entwined around her heart that she clung to him.

  “I don’t remember how it was between us,” she said, “but I know I love you.”

  “Are you certain of how you feel, Wynter?”

  Nodding, she pushed herself against him and curled her arms around his neck. “I want to love you, Cort, to have you love me.”

  A groaning sound escaped him and he scooped her into his arms. He carried her near the bunk and set her gently to her feet. The hunger in his tawny gaze was so intense that Wynter shivered, not from fear but anticipation of the act to follow. In the past she had treated Cort badly, hurled nasty remarks at him. But she loved him, and how that love had grown, she didn’t know. Yet she had married him, and from this moment on, she vowed to be a good wife to him. Somehow she knew he had suffered in his life, but she’d bring him only happiness … and perhaps a child.

  At the thought of a baby, a small smile curved her lips. “What are you thinking about?” he asked, almost jealous that her attention would be turned away from him even for a moment.

  “Happy thoughts, my love. Thoughts of you.”

  Cort reached out for her again, and with nimble fingers he undid the laces at the back of her gown. Before she realized it, the beautiful taffeta gown lay sprawled at her feet, and they were on the bunk together.

  Warm, arousing hands stroked creamy breasts and pink-tinged nipples which strained against the thin covering of her chemise. His lips traced the swanlike silhouette of her neck, then sought the entrancing valley between the soft mounds of her breasts.

  “You taste delicious, my love, as I knew you would,” he mumbled when his hand pushed aside the lace bodice of the chemise which hid the full impact of Wynter’s beauty from his eyes. Her breasts spilled forth to be instantly captured, each in turn, by his lips and tongue swirling over their contours and the enticing buds.

  Wynter moaned, abandoning herself to the passion he ignited within her. She wiggled against the pressure of his hands as they slid down her body, and it was this movement which caused him to pull the chemise from her and drop it in a heap on the floor.

  In the candlelit cabin, Wynter’s beauty was bathed in a golden light. She was more beautiful than he could ever have anticipated, so delicate and small … almost like a doll, fashioned from the finest ivory. And she was his, a trusting girl who was as eager for him as he was for her. If he had had more scruples than he did, he’d have stopped their lovemaking then and there and informed her they weren’t married and never would be. But at that moment, he was so enamored of her, so hungry for her, that not even a hurricane would have prevented him from loving her and making her his own in the most intimate way possible.

  When he got off the bunk, she looked at him and said, “Where are you going? Don’t leave me!”

  “I never will leave you, my love. Not for a second.”

  When she saw he was pulling off his boots and then his clothes, she smiled. Her arms clasped him to her when he joined her again on the bunk. The hard, naked flesh of his chest met the soft, warm breasts of hers. Cort’s lips lavished attention on hers, and he drank long from their honeyed sweetness before beginning a tantalizing exploration of her neck, again her breasts, rib cage, and downward until she felt his tongue against her inner thighs.

  Wynter writhed from the ecstasy of love, the complete need for fulfillment which Cort awakened within her. When she could no longer stand the throbbing pleasure which slowly intensified between her legs, she urged him up to her.

  “Love me, Cort. Love me now!”

  Her hands roamed his back in a frenzy when he positioned himself atop her. The first instant he slid into her, a tiny gasp escaped from her throat. Suddenly a mental picture of Fletch flashed through her mind, and on Fletch’s face was the same look of dark passion as on Cort’s. She pulled a bit away from Cort, somehow afraid of pain.

  “Wynter, what is it?” he asked.

  “Maybe we should stop,” she said in a shaky voice.

  “No, love. I can’t stop now. I’ve wanted you, ached for you. There’s no turning back, Wynter.”

  His hands stroked her hips, her thighs, then snaked around to the front of her body where they gently rubbed against her. Then his passion flared to such a degree that his hips ground into hers. He had hoped to gentle her more, and he had thought he had done so. But now she balked, and he wasn’t certain why; but Cort knew now that Fletch had claimed his husbandly rights. In a dark corner of his mind he had hoped she’d be a virgin, that he’d be the first. But from her sudden anxiety, he suspected that Fletch hadn’t been the most considerate of lovers. He was a boy, and most likely Wynter was the first girl he’d ever had. Well, Cort decided then and there that Cort Van Linden would be the last man she’d ever desire, and the first man to give her intense pleasure.

  With skill born from making love to many women, Cort slowly began to
arouse Wynter again. His kisses left her panting for breath, for more, and before she was aware of it, the wonderful pleasure of minutes ago began to burn and inundate her. Her flesh felt hotter than the sun on a piece of metal, and her blood had turned to a lava-like substance which flowed through her and threatened to singe her very soul.

  The candles had finally flickered out, but Wynter barely registered the fact. It seemed the whole cabin glowed in light, a light so hot and blinding that she shut her eyes. But even behind her lids, the heat grew and intensified. Her body writhed beneath Cort’s, fusing to his and melting into a sea of light until finally they were no longer separate individuals but one pulsing point of light in the universe.

  Their two shudders of completion echoed as one.

  Wynter snuggled against Cort’s chest and heard the beating of his heart. She lifted her face to his and smiled at him. “Was our lovemaking always like this?”

  For a moment she thought he was going to evade the question, because he got a peculiar look on his face. But he said, “My love, believe me when I tell you that nothing we ever experienced together was like the last hour we’ve just spent.”

  “I didn’t think it was,” she said and kissed his jawline. Suddenly she sat up, her long hair covering the creamy fullness of her breasts. “Your bath, Cort! I forgot to tell you I had Dirk prepare your bath earlier. And now it shall go to waste.”

  His gaze slid to the tub, and a mischievous grin turned up his mouth. “Ah, my sweet, water is scarce at times aboard a ship, and we must never waste it.”

  Without realizing Cort’s intentions, he quickly got out of bed and gathered her in his arms. The sheet fell away, and Wynter gasped. “Cort, what are you doing?”

  Seconds later, she knew when he deposited her into the tub and joined her. Shivering a bit, she pushed playfully at him. “Cort Van Linden, this water has grown cold.”

  “I hadn’t noticed.” He pulled her against him, and the warmth of his body instantly drove the chill away. “Now tell me it’s cold,” he teased.

  Their lips touched, and the flame, which had only a short while ago been extinguished, rose high again and burned through them.

  “It’s boiling,” she said and rubbed her wet body against his. He picked up handfuls of water and then the soap, lathering her breasts and buttocks, sliding over her thighs and abdomen until she thought she’d go insane with desire for him. Then he gave her the soap and she realized he wanted her to wash him.

  As her hands slid sensuously along the pectoral muscles of his chest, down to his hard rib cage, and lower until she encircled his manhood, she leaned into him. “Cort, I love you more than anything or anybody.”

  His passion for her peaked then and he lifted her from her feet, positioning her legs around his waist, and effortlessly entered her willing body.

  She strained against him, aching to be more a part of him than she was already. Rapture shone on their faces when the moment of mutual climax shattered the quiet of the cabin.

  After he lifted her from the tub later, and they dried off, they lay together in the bunk and felt the gentle swaying of the ship. Wynter was nearly asleep when she felt the bed lighten. Opening her eyes, she glanced up to see Cort by his desk drawer. When he returned to her, he opened the palm of his hand. A large diamond ring glittered and shone in the candlelight.

  “For you, my love.”

  Wynter sat up. “It’s beautiful,” she breathed when he placed it on her finger.

  “This is the Van Linden betrothal ring. It was my grandmother’s and is now yours. It is also to be worn as your wedding ring until I can buy you a gold band.”

  Wynter gazed in love and awe at Cort. “This is the only ring I shall ever want, my love.”

  CHAPTER

  12

  A bright May morning met Wynter upon awakening the following day. Mary was in the cabin, hanging up the gowns which had come out of the trunk. Cort had been up for hours and was already on deck.

  Mary grinned broadly at her. “Morning to you,” she said and gave a tiny curtsy.

  Wynter sat up and clutched the sheet about her, suddenly aware of her nakedness beneath the covering as a wave of pink flushed her cheeks. “Has my husband been up long?’ she asked to hide her embarrassment.

  “Yes, he told me not to wake you.” Mary grew quiet a moment as she hung one of the gowns in a small wardrobe. “Don’t you remember anything yet?”

  “No, but I’m certain my memory will return in time.” Wynter couldn’t help but notice a worried frown pucker Mary’s brow. “Is something wrong?” she asked.

  Shaking her head, Mary went back to her work but said, “The captain told me we’ll be in Saint Martin this afternoon.”

  “How wonderful! I can’t wait to see something other than the sea. Trees, for instance, and to feel hard ground beneath my feet instead of the constant swaying of the ship.”

  “Well, yes, I suppose you will.”

  Wynter caught the tone of sadness that had crept into Mary’s voice. She placed a hand on the young woman’s arm. “Mary, tell me what’s wrong?”

  A sigh, almost a sob, escaped from Mary. “I will miss you, and believe it or not, Jan has begun to like me a little.”

  “Mary, what are you talking about? Why shall you miss me?”

  “I’m an indenturer. You know that … I mean,” Mary said and carefully chose her words, not eager to incur Cort Van Linden’s wrath if she spoke about Wynter’s status as an indentured servant and her poor, dead husband. “The captain will probably put me off at Saint Martin.”

  “Well, isn’t that where you expected to go?” Wynter asked, growing confused.

  “Oh, no. Virginia was my destination, as it was of the others who were taken off the Mary Jack.”

  The Mary Jack. Why did that sound familiar to Wynter? And taken off the Mary Jack. What was Mary Mertens telling her?

  “I don’t understand,” Wynter said. “Who took you off the Mary Jack?”

  The color faded from Mary’s thin cheeks, and she realized she had gone too far. “No one, no one,” she told Wynter and turned to grab Wynter’s calico gown. “A lady like yourself wouldn’t be interested. Now, let’s pretty you up. I know Captain Van Linden will want to take you ashore.”

  “Then shouldn’t I choose one of the silk gowns?”

  “The captain gave orders not to wear the Spanish clothes. He said the islanders wouldn’t like it. Seems to be some sort of hatred for the Spanish there.”

  As Wynter dressed, she mulled over Mary’s words, sparse though they were and filled with meaning she didn’t understand. The business about the Mary Jack was one thing, and she couldn’t remember why the name sounded so familiar. And if Mary and the other indenturers, whom she didn’t recall seeing, had been bound for Virginia, then why were they on a Dutch ship, en route to an island in the Caribbean Sea? None of it made any sense to her. And if the islanders weren’t receptive to the Spanish, why did Cort have a trunk filled with trousseau-like clothes for a Spanish bride?

  If only she could remember more.

  Before she left the cabin, Wynter again noticed Mary’s long, worried face. “Don’t fret, Mary. I’ll tell my husband that I need your services. You can come with us to Santa Margarita.”

  “Thank you, thank you ever so much!” Mary gushed.

  Until the Sea Bride docked in the harbor of Saint Martin, Wynter stayed beside Cort on the quarterdeck. With his arm about her waist, they watched as a high, densely forested bluff and a fine, white sand beach appeared on the horizon. On the bluff lay Fort Amsterdam, seat of Dutch power in the West Indies and the place where Peter Stuyvesant had lost a leg in an attack against the Spanish in 1644.

  Wynter gave a small, excited laugh. “Land, Cort! I never thought to see it again.”

  “We’ll visit the town this evening, after I complete my business.”

  “Business concerning the indenturers?”

  Cort cocked an eyebrow. “Who told you about them?”

&
nbsp; “Mary did,” she said, but quickly added, “she worried you’d put her off on Saint Martin. I promised her that she could stay on with me. Mary’s been smitten by a member of your crew.”

  “I see. Of course, Mary may sail to Santa Margarita with us.”

  Wynter grew aware of the tight, unyielding pressure she suddenly felt around her waist. Her gaze didn’t waver from the hard, angled planes of Cort’s face or his eyes which had lost their golden warmth and now appeared guarded.

  “Cort, are you keeping secrets from me? Tell me if you are.”

  He turned to her, his face dead serious, and cold fear clutched her heart when he said, “I admit that I am.”

  “Tell me,” she said through pale lips.

  He bent low, his lips brushing her ear. “I’m hiding the fact that I harbor a lewd passion for my wife’s sweet lips and ache to have her in my bed again. However, I’ll settle for a kiss to sustain me. Duty awaits.”

  A sigh of relief escaped her when his mouth found hers and captured her lips in a searing kiss which caused her to cling to the railing after his departure. Cort’s kisses always shook her but left her aching for more of them. Their night together had completely assuaged her passion for him; or so she had thought until this moment. Love for him enslaved her. She wanted to recall their life together before her accident, but she still sensed that Cort kept something from her … something she needed to know.

  Mary came to her minutes later. “The captain said to tell you his cargo will soon be unloaded and that you’re to fresh up a bit for your stroll into town.” Mary’s eyes danced. “I think he plans to buy you some new clothes.”