Pirate's Golden Promise Page 8

  She heard the two men’s voices, then the hearty laughter of the rest of the pirate crew.

  “Dirk, my friend,” the pirate spoke in English. “The woman will just have to come along or spend the night waiting for this ship to sink so she can be ready meat for the sharks in the morning. Your problem is you have a kind heart. I’ll handle this troublesome wench.”

  “Ja, ja,” Dirk agreed.

  From where Wynter stood she noticed lights in the dark night aboard the pirate ship, and though the captain had said the Mary Jack was sinking, she couldn’t imagine actually boarding such a vessel.

  Her attention was brought again to the shadowy outline of the captain when she heard him say, “I’ll see to the woman.”

  A dying lantern which hung from a wall peg illumined the captain as he walked forward. Wynter caught her breath. It couldn’t be! But it was, and when his tawny gaze widened in mute surprise, she felt faint.

  “Take these people to the ship,” Van Linden ordered Dirk and two others. “Leave the lady here. I’ll see she gets aboard safely.”

  Fletcher was about to protest, but he noticed that something had passed between his wife and the captain. Silently he was led away.

  Van Linden advanced towards Wynter. His long legs, clad in dark brown pants and boots, appeared longer as his shadow hovered over her. The dying lantern light emphasized the hard angles of his face, the golden hair that blew in the strengthening breeze.

  He stared long and hard at her, almost as if he couldn’t believe it was her. But Wynter rose to her full height and placed her hands on her hips.

  “Merchant ship, indeed! You’re nothing but a bloody pirate.”

  “Such vile language from such a lovely mouth is offensive,” he complained, but amusement lit his features.

  “I’ll have quite a bit more to say when I report you to the authorities,” Wynter retorted.

  Van Linden shook his head. “Well, you can wait here until you’re found, but that may be a long while; or you can be sensible and board the Sea Bride with me. Believe me, I shall make certain your every wish is met.”

  She didn’t care for the sound of that and said haughtily, “I want nothing from you, sir, but to be taken to shore.”

  He laughed, a long hard laugh that aggravated her more. “My dear, there’s not a thing around but water. We’re some days from land. Anyway, don’t worry your beautiful head about something that is my job anyway.”

  “I see how well you do your job!” Wynter snapped.

  “Someone must do it.” He sounded detached, almost philosophical. “Now tell me what are you doing here and with such a low-born bunch.”

  She didn’t want to tell him the truth, expecting him to laugh at her, but she knew there was no way around it. He’d find out sooner or later.

  “I’m on my way to Virginia with my husband. We’re indenturers.”

  “You’re jesting,” he said.

  Wynter shook her head. “You know Father made no provisions for me in his will. I have no money, nothing. Just the love of my husband. And if I must work my fingers to the bone to get the money to buy my father’s estate, I shall.”

  Cort’s eyes took in her plain appearance, and he realized she was telling the truth. “Your husband is a lucky man,” he said.

  This wasn’t what she expected him to say, and it disarmed her. The deck tilted suddenly, and she felt herself skidding into his arms. She began to fight when he picked her up, feet dangling in the air.

  “Keep your hands off me! How dare you!”

  “I dare because this ship will soon sink, and I have much too much life left in me to become food for the sharks. And I think you do, too.”

  Cort positioned her over his shoulder, her head hanging down. She had no idea what he was going to do, or how he would be able to board his own ship, carrying her like so much baggage.

  “You can put me down, sir. I won’t run away,” she said.

  She felt him lift his leg, then with a start she saw they were on the railing.

  Heights had always frightened her, and she pleaded with him again to put her down.

  “Look beneath you,” he ordered.

  She did so, and saw a black mass of churning sea and heard the pounding sound of the waves against the hull of the ship.

  “It’s the ocean,” she said, terrified.

  “Can you swim?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Then hold on to my neck. We’re going to jump to the Sea Bride.”

  Wynter lifted her head and saw that the Sea Bride was alongside the Mary Jack, held in place by grappling hooks. Stout Hilda was being swung across the distance by a swarthy pirate who held onto a rope from the mast head.

  “You’re crazed,” Wynter said, realizing Van Linden had meant what he said.

  He laughed. “I’ve been called many things, but never that.” He changed her position, holding her within his strong left arm while he grabbed for the rope when it swung back to the sinking Mary Jack.

  “Now hold tightly!” he ordered, and she did so out of a terror that seemed to claw at her very soul. The moment her arms tightened around him, he bounced off the rail.

  They sailed through dark space, and Wynter held onto him, waiting for the inevitable splash into the sea. She closed her eyes and hoped that if she went under water she’d surface quickly enough to catch another breath.

  But suddenly she heard a thud and nearly flew from her protector’s arms. Still she wouldn’t open her eyes until she heard Cort’s gentle voice telling her to.

  Her lids fluttered open and she saw they were on the deck of the Sea Bride, surrounded by the pirate crew. She noticed Fletch and the others being led below deck.

  Despite the fact that she thought Cort Van Linden one of the most despicable men in the world, she couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief and leaned against the solid weight of his body.

  “It’s a miracle,” she said, glad to be alive and not at the bottom of the ocean.

  Cort set her down gently to her feet and turned her to face him, “No, my love, it’s destiny.”

  CHAPTER

  7

  The Sea Bride sliced through the calm waters of the Atlantic. The first rays of a golden sun kissed the deep blue of the ocean and warmed the indentures as they sat huddled on deck, sipping fresh tea offered them by a young cabin boy.

  The boy’s English was poor, and his eyes riveted on Wynter when he spoke. “Tea, is good?” he asked.

  Wynter nodded and sipped the warm brew. “Very good.”

  “Ja, ja. Me make good tea.” Then the boy disappeared with a contented look on his face.

  “Tsk, tsk,” Hilda said in disapproval. “That lad is no older than twelve. Such a pity he should be among pirates.”

  “Aye, it is,” Davey agreed, but Mary said nothing, looking as if she were about to cry.

  Fletcher coughed, and Wynter gently patted his back. “You’re still unwell,” she said.

  He lifted his head after wiping his nose on his shirt sleeve, and the look he gave her froze any further offers of sympathy from her. “A lot you care, Wynter. I saw the way the captain looked at you, how he held you in his arms. T’ain’t no bloke holds a wench that way except if he wants to lie with her.”

  “Fletch!” How dare he speak to her in such a derogatory way? She couldn’t help it if Cort Van Linden wasn’t a gentleman, but she most certainly hadn’t asked to be hauled from the Mary Jack onto a pirate ship, and she resented the accusing tone in his voice that she enjoyed being manhandled by Van Linden. What was worse were the speculative glances the others threw her. “I think you don’t realize to whom you’re speaking,” she said in her most frosty, mistress-of-the-manor voice.

  “I’m talking to my wife,” Fletcher reminded her harshly, putting Wynter in her place.

  He’s right, she thought bitterly and swallowed the last of her tea. She was Fletcher Larkin’s wife now … not her father’s pampered pet.

  “What do you think
they’ll do to us?” Mary’s voice was choked with tears.

  “Well, whatever it is,” Old Davey muttered philosophically, “I ain’t going to ponder over it. So far, we’re all fine, and I heard that Dirk fellow tell one of the crew to prepare us a place below. Can’t be any worse than aboard the Mary Jack. I just hope there ain’t no rats in the hole.”

  Wynter hoped that, too. Most of all she wanted a dry place to sleep, not the damp bowels of another ship. She surveyed her surroundings on the upper deck. The crew worked diligently, and she’d have never known they were pirates. They appeared to be hard-working men, much like the members of the Mary Jack, but one thing she knew about the Sea Bride—it was much larger and heavier, a perfect ship for a wayward sea captain.

  From where she and the others sat on the upper deck, the canvas sails caught the breeze and billowed around them like freshly laundered sheets. On each side of the deck stood seven stalwart cannons, and on the quarterdeck above, Wynter discerned four more. Truly a fighting ship, she thought, and for some reason this excited her. She’d had very little adventure in her life at home, but now, here she was on a pirate ship. And all because of Cort Van Linden.

  In reluctance her eyes found his broad back. He stood on the quarterdeck, one foot perched on a barrel and the other firmly planted on the planked flooring. His hands rested easily on his hips as his golden head surveyed the sweeping expanse of ocean. Wynter felt her heart speed up for a second when he turned and his tawny-filled gaze caught hers. He smiled at her, a smile that caused her pulse to race more than ever, and she would have willingly drowned in that gaze had not Fletch grabbed her hand.

  “I don’t trust that captain,” he whispered. “Doesn’t he know I’m your husband?”

  “I told him that, Fletch,” Wynter said. “Captain Van Linden was a guest in my father’s house once. I had no idea he was a pirate.”

  “Hmph,” Fletch sniffed. “Then it’s a good thing I took you away from McChesney Manor if you were associating with the likes of him.”

  Wynter’s eyes misted to think of home and all she had lost. “Let’s not talk about home,” she said.

  There was little chance to talk about anything then, for Dirk and two other roughly dressed men appeared and ordered all of them to their feet. They followed behind them down a long flight of stairs and on to a landing which led to one more flight and stopped at the bottom. There was no door here like on the Mary Jack which could be closed and locked at night—only an open room with a porthole.

  “The sky! I can see the sky,” Mary exclaimed and stood on tiptoe to get a better view.

  “And it’s clean and not damp feeling down here,” Hilda praised.

  “Just hope there ain’t no rats,” Davey said and grabbed a blanket one of the pirates handed him.

  Wynter watched as Fletcher huddled in a corner. He began to cough, a wracking sound from deep within his chest. She took a blanket that Dirk handed her and went to Fletcher. Wrapping the rough but warm material around her husband, she enfolded him in her arms.

  “I’ll take care of you, Fletch. I promise I will. I’ll make you well again.”

  Fletch laid his head on her shoulder.

  Shortly after biscuits were served them, a tasty luxury they’d never gotten aboard the Mary Jack, and they’d rested a bit, Dirk made a motion to Wynter. Getting up, she left the sleeping Fletcher and followed the brawny man out of the doorway. She could feel the others’ speculative glances as she left the cabin.

  “Where are we going?” she asked him when he pointed up the row of stairs.

  “Captain Van Linden wants to see you.”

  He said this in such a halting way that it seemed he expected her to balk, but Wynter walked after him, curious to know why Cort Van Linden wished her presence. Arriving in the passageway, Dirk tapped on a massive door and, at the sound of Cort’s voice, opened it. Dirk nearly pushed her into the cabin and hurriedly closed it, apparently pleased that his duty was at an end.

  Wynter hadn’t known what she’d find in Cort’s cabin, but what she saw surprised and impressed her. The large room spread out before her held a myriad of shiny objects. Gleaming swords in many thicknesses and sizes hung on one wall and caught the afternoon sunlight from a large window that jutted out from the room by a few feet. A black oak table and two red velvet chairs sat by the window, and on the table were an array of meats, breads, cheeses, and wine. Just looking at such a feast started Wynter’s mouth to watering. But she turned her attention to the western light as its rays hazed the huge compass on the wall farthest from her and gilded the many vellumed volumes on the shelves below it. On the opposite side of the cabin, scarlet and gold drapes were parted to reveal a wall-enclosed bunk which was swathed in a gold counterpane with red tassels at the hem. But what impressed her most was the sight of Cort Van Linden, seated at the largest desk she’d ever seen, his blond head bent over a book in which he penned an entry.

  His powerful hand scribbled something, and for a second she wondered if he knew she was there. He did. “I hope you’re well, Lady McChesney,” he said in his deep baritone voice, tinged with the Dutch accent.

  “Larkin,” she said.

  Cort glanced up. “What?”

  “My name is Larkin now.”

  “Ah, so it is.” He closed the thick book and laid down the quill. “I had forgotten.”

  “One of your henchmen said you wanted to see me.

  Cort grinned at her and stood up. His gaze swept over her, and Wynter wondered if she looked a sight in her well-worn brown calico dress and her hair which hadn’t seen a brush in two days. But she stiffened her spine and refused to feel unattractive in Van Linden’s presence. He was a pirate, a man who lived by unscrupulous and nefarious means. Why care how she looked to such a person?

  “Dirk is a good fellow. He means no harm, and yes, I did want to see you … to offer an invitation.” He took her elbow and guided her towards the mouth-watering food. He gestured to one of the chairs. “I should like your company while I dine. I hope the food is to your taste.”

  The delicious aromas wafting to Wynter caused her to actually salivate. She hadn’t eaten such food since leaving England; and the broiled fish swimming in butter and topped with lemon slices, propelled her forward to the table. She wondered what Van Linden was up to, why he had summoned her, yet she had an inkling that she knew. With a strength of will, she pulled back when he offered her the chair.

  “Aren’t you hungry?” he asked in a tone of voice which taunted her.

  “Of course I am!” Wynter snapped. “But I won’t eat your food. You’re up to something. I know you are.”

  Cort clutched at his heart. “My dear madam, you’re mistaken. I only wish your sweet company while I partake of my meal. If you’d join me, I’d be honored, otherwise you may return to your cabin.”

  She knew he meant it. He would really send her on her way after tantalizing her with such delicious bounty and have a grand laugh at her expense.

  “The others—” she started.

  “Will be well fed also, my dear. Now if your conscience is eased, please sit.”

  She sat and, to her surprise, Cort served her. Before he had poured the shimmering red wine he’d confiscated from a Spanish frigate the month before, Wynter began eating.

  “I like a woman with a healthy appetite.” He laughed at the screwed-up face she gave him. Throughout the meal they said nothing, both content just to eat and drink the wine, which slipped down Wynter’s throat like silk.

  When they finished, Wynter gazed at the sunset in languid contentment.

  “The ocean is quite beautiful,” she murmured.

  His eyes flared a moment, taking in the dark mane of hair that surrounded her beautiful face. She noticed his look and expected him to say something personal but was surprised when he said, “You didn’t think so last night. In fact, you were quite terrified.”

  “Of course. How would you feel if someone boarded your ship and swung you over the ocean on
a flimsy rope to another ship where you were taken prisoner? I doubt you’d like it very much.”

  “Wynter, you’re not my prisoner.”

  His voice was velvety soft. Cort leaned back in his chair and looked devilishly handsome in an ebony-colored shirt and buff-colored breeches. His long, boot-encased legs were spread out before him, and though nothing outwardly in his appearance gave her the impression that he was toying with her, she felt her heart beat erratically in a heightened state of suspicion.

  “What do you intend to do with us?” she asked, observing him from under long, black lashes.

  “Sell your indentures.”

  “But that’s already been done,” she said perplexed.

  “Well, we’ll have to do it over again when we arrive at St. Martin. I’m certain such stalwart souls will fetch a good price.”

  Cort poured another cup of wine. “But we’re going to Virginia,” Wynter insisted.

  “You were,” he corrected her. “We’re now under sail for the Caribbean Sea where I will receive a hefty sum for the indentures from Dutch and French planters on the island. Believe me, good help is hard to come by.”

  Outrage washed over Wynter. How dare he decide where they were going and to whom he would sell their lives for the next few years! “I insist we head for Virginia.”

  “Wynter, you are amusing,” he said, cajoling her as if she were a small child. “If I make port in Jamestown I may as well kiss life good-bye. I’d be arrested the moment I leave my ship.”

  “You deserve to be!” she proclaimed. “You’re a plundering pirate, a murderer. You can’t do this to me. I will not be sold a second time!”

  “I’m afraid you have no say in the matter,” he said softly. “In fact, the person who now holds your indenture is quite pleased with his new possession.”