Pirate's Golden Promise (13 page)

A beguiling, wanton smile lit up her face. At that moment, Katrina looked more beautiful than he'd ever seen her, but suddenly he thought her ugly and cruel. The love he harbored for her withered in his soul. “You're a conniving witch, Katrina. Marry Rolfe, but I've had my fill of you!” Cort had stormed away, hearing her pleading voice behind him, feeling her hands clutching at his jacket as he walked past. But he never turned around, never saw her again. That night he left Lindenwyck and headed for New Amsterdam, where he signed on the first ship he came to. In the ten intervening years, he seldom looked back, though he did make an occasional run to New Amsterdam to speak with Governor Stuyvesant on business matters. In fact, after confiscating an English ship, he turned it into a seaworthy fighting vessel. Then Cort became a privateer in the employ of the Dutch government to aid New Amsterdam's failing economy. The town was in dire need of improvements and the Dutch West India Company no longer provided adequate funds. So the
Sea Bride
took to the seas to aid his homeland.

The
Sea Bride
had done well by him. His ship and the sea were his life, and when he felt the need to feel land beneath his feet, he traveled to his private island, Santa Margarita in the Caribbean. Santa Margarita was his destination after he unloaded the indenturers on Saint Martin. He hoped Wynter liked his private island, because this was where she was going if he had anything to say about it.

“Vrouw Larkin is a devoted wife,” came Dirk's voice, breaking into Cort's thoughts.

Such praise from Dirk concerning a woman caused Cort to wonder if Dirk's embellishments had to do with Wynter's virtues or the fact that she was the most beautiful woman he and his crew had ever seen. Even now Cort felt a bit jealous because of the comments made about Wynter from his men. Some openly adored her, while others lusted after her. Well, he'd have to take matters into his own hands if Larkin died. He couldn't have her moving unprotected around his ship.

“Sir,” Dirk said, “you have company.”

Dirk silently withdrew when Cort turned around and stared into Wynter's pearl-like eyes. She came hesitantly forward, but there was purpose in her stride, and she stopped before him. Her hair blew around her face, veiling the ruby lips, the tilted nose. But she straightened her stance though a hard rush of wind bent her forward.

“Captain Van Linden,” she began, and he strained to hear as her voice carried on the wind. “I've decided to accept your offer.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “What offer?”

“To become your mistress.”

Cort was startled, never expecting this turn of events … not when her husband lay dying. But then he realized that all women were the same, and he felt some disappointment to discover that Wynter McChesney was no different from Katrina and women like her.

“I'm indeed honored,” he spoke harshly.

“Don't you wish to know my price? After all, you said all women have one.”

He inclined his head, expecting her to say she'd like the money to buy her estate from her aunt, but he wasn't prepared when she said, “The use of your cabin, sir. I need your bed for my husband. Fletch doesn't have much time left, and above all else, I want him to spend his last hours in quiet, in some semblance of comfort. You see, Fletch has never had very much, and if not for him, my childhood would have passed quite unhappily. He gave me his time, his companionship, his love. I owe him a great many things, and if I can bring him peace in his remaining hours by agreeing to become your mistress, I shall.” Wynter's voice broke. “Fletch has been my truest, my dearest friend, and never deserted me.”

Wiping away tears that threatened to spill onto her cheeks, she said, “Have we struck a bargain, Captain?”

She held out her hand to him, and Cort numbly took it.

“I'll have two of my men move your husband to my quarters immediately,” he told her.

Wynter mouthed her thanks and departed as suddenly as she appeared. Cort stood stunned, unable to think clearly. He'd gotten his dream, the woman of his desires. But at what price? he wondered.

Wynter stayed by Fletch's side through the remainder of that day and into the early morning hours of the next. She watched in dismay as he tossed upon the sheets of Cort's bunk, burning with fever and oblivious to everything and everyone. At times he muttered for his mother and even for Wynter, but when she drew near and held his hand, his eyes held no recognition.

Dr. Dietz put in an appearance, but there was very little he could do for Fletcher. Wynter still bathed her husband's face and body with cool water, but to no avail. Dietz only shook his head and patted her shoulder. “The end will come soon, Vrouw,” he told her before leaving.

She held onto Fletch's hand which felt like a hot piece of coal in hers and spoke soothingly to him.

“Do you remember our favorite place on the mountain?” she asked, though not expecting an answer. “I remember the day you plucked a wild daisy and put it in my hair. I should have known then that you loved me, but, Fletch, I didn't. But I love you now, dear Fletch, and if God gives us another chance, I'll never nag at you again. After we make our fortune and the estate is ours, we'll go sit on the mountain again, and you can pick more wildflowers for me and—”

His hand grew slack in hers, and his head toppled to the side. But she held on, unable to let go of him, the only person tied to her childhood, the happy times of her life.

“I love you, Fletch,” she said, her voice cracking on the words.

Warm, comforting hands clasped her shoulders, and without looking up, she knew they belonged to Cort.

“He's gone, Wynter,” he said in a soothing tone. “You did all you could.”

Shaking her head, she glanced up at him through a watery haze. “I wasn't a good wife to him. I criticized him sometimes.”

“Don't worry about that now I'm sure your husband is happy and knows how much you cared for him.”

“I did care. I did.” She let Cort help her up from the bunk and set her on the chair by the table while he summoned Dirk and another man to remove Fletch's body. She turned her face to the panoramic ocean view, unable to watch as Fletcher's lifeless form was taken away. With each cresting wave, she felt her life changing again, moving onward like the endless tide which carried the
Sea Bride
towards its destination. But the thought struck her that now she was truly alone. Her one link with the past was gone.

Later that morning, Fletch's body was consigned to the sea. Mary, Davey, and Hilda were there to mourn him and offer their sympathies, but when Cort led Wynter in the direction of his cabin, she didn't miss their probing and condemning looks.

“They think I'm a whore,” she said flatly when they were in his cabin.

“Does it matter so much to you what people think?”

Emitting a sigh, Wynter walked to the book shelves, gently touching the leather bindings. “Nothing matters any longer.”

Cort winced. “Then you don't intend to honor our agreement?”

She didn't suppress a hard laugh. “Captain, I told you once that I'm a woman of her word. I'll live up to our bargain in all ways.”

“Good. I've brought your valise down here and taken the liberty of going through it for you. God, Wynter, you've nothing much in the way of clothes.” The open valise lay on the bunk, and a white nightrail and plain blue gown rested alongside it.

She turned from the books, her eyes wide and coated with fury. “You had no right to go through my things! I may have agreed to share your bed, Captain Van Linden, but not to have my privacy invaded.”

Cort realized he'd made a mistake and attempted to rectify it. “I apologize,” he said coolly. “I shouldn't have gone through your things.” Walking to a large trunk, he opened it and pulled a creamy, lace-trimmed gown from its depths. Holding it out to her, he said, “I took this from a Spanish vessel once. It was part of a Spanish maiden's trousseau.”

Wynter's fingers reached out for the exquisite nightgown, so delicate and gossamer in her hands that it was almost nonexistent. This was the sort of gown she had always dreamed of wearing the first time she made love to her husband. With Fletch, she'd worn a thin, cotton one; with Van Linden she would wear this piece of beautiful fluff. The gown would be worn for a man who wasn't her husband.

Tears of anger and shame mingled in her eyes. Fletch, for all his youth and inexperience, had at least loved her, while Van Linden wished only to use her for his own pleasure. And what was worse, he didn't even care that Fletch was only a few hours dead.

She flung the gown in his face. “I doubt very much that this was part of a bride's trousseau but belonged to one of your women. Well, I don't want to wear one of your whore's leavings!”

Cort cursed and threw the gown on the bed. “Let's settle this now, Mistress Larkin. You came to me and struck a bargain. I admit I wanted you, and, like a fool, would have done almost anything to entice you into my bed. But you won't use your little-girl tantrums to get out of our deal. When I return to this room tonight, you better be waiting, and I don't give a damn what you're wearing, because whatever it is, the gown will be ripped from your body if you resist me. Do you understand?”

Cort muttered something in Dutch and turned on his heels. He was gone before Wynter had a chance to reply, but she knew that Cort Van Linden would hold her to their agreement … and would rip away her gown if she protested.

“He's a barbarian!” she choked out as bitter tears slid down her cheeks.

As nightfall descended across the sky, a strong wind blew from the south and buffeted the
Sea
Bride,
but Wynter was vaguely aware of the peals of thunder in the distance and the strokes of lightning touching the horizon. She moved restlessly around the cabin, still dressed in her brown calico gown. She had no intention of taking it off and didn't care what Cort Van Linden decided to do. Her husband was dead, and she felt she should have time to mourn him … and hang that arrogant Dutchman!

When the door opened, Wynter turned in a fury in expectation of Cort, but Mary stood uncertainly before her with a tray in hand. Mary gave her a nervous smile.

“I brought your supper, mistress. Hope you like fish, because the captain said to see you had the best food in the galley.”

Wynter was baffled as Mary placed the tray with the succulent, well-roasted fish surrounded by cooked rice on the table. Also on the tray was a decanter of sparkling sherry with one glass beside it.

“Captain Van Linden sent this?” Wynter asked.

“He did, mistress. He said I was to wait upon you, act as lady's maid to you.” Mary giggled behind her hand. “I ain't never been a lady's maid. Only helped serve sailors in my papa's tavern in Dover. But I'm real glad Captain Van Linden asked me to see to your wants and not Hilda. I hated that galley work and having my behind pinched fifty times a meal. A person can get awful sore.” Mary rubbed her rump to give credence to her words.

“I didn't realize—” Wynter began lamely, not quite sure what she wanted to say and not certain why Mary's presence caused her heart to soften a bit towards Van Linden.

“Well, those pirates had nobody but me to pinch,” Mary said, misunderstanding Wynter. “They sure didn't want to pinch old Hilda's rump, and the captain made it plain that no man was to touch you. I heard him the day he told the fellows—”

Mary went on a bit longer about what a kind and considerate man Cort was. But Wynter felt amazement when Mary cleared the bunk of the few garments Wynter owned and shook out the wrinkles in the crumpled lace nightgown. So Mary was really going to look after her. No one had done personal things for her since she left McChesney Manor and dear Maddie.

A knock sounded on the door and Mary opened it. Dirk and the young man whom Mary had her sights set on entered the room, carrying a large barrel brimming over with water.

“Where do you want this, vrouw?” Dirk asked Mary, who pointed to a spot in the middle of the cabin.

Mary giggled when the two men set it down. “My, but you're so strong,” she said to the younger man named Jan.

“Ja, ja,” he agreed, and his face grew red.

“Silly female,” Dirk muttered, and the two men left the room.

“Isn't Jan the handsomest man you've ever seen?” Mary asked Wynter.

Wynter agreed he was, but her attention was on the bath water. She couldn't believe she was actually going to bathe. She wondered if Van Linden knew this. Perhaps he wouldn't approve of her bathing in his cabin. But at the moment she didn't care what he thought. She pulled at the buttons on her gown and discarded it on the floor. As Wynter stepped into the tub and Mary bent to retrieve the gown, she said to Wynter, “Captain Van Linden wants you to have this.” Mary reached into her hip pocket and withdrew a piece of fragrant soap.

“He gave you this for me?” Wynter was disbelieving.

Mary nodded. “He's not as bad a bloke as you think, mistress.”

Wynter didn't have time to dwell on Van Linden's attributes. She was more concerned with washing away the collected dirt and grime of the past few weeks, and when Mary helped to lather her hair, she felt she had entered paradise.

Later, after slipping into the lace nightgown and allowing Mary to brush the tangles from her hair, she even swallowed a glass of wine and partook of the fish and rice. For the first time since arriving on the ship, she felt content. Not even the sharp jags of lightning that illuminated the dark sky or the unsteady swaying of the ship bothered her. For the last half-hour she hadn't thought about anything, not even Van Linden. Her whole person was given up to creature comforts, the simple things she had taken for granted at home … like a soothing bath and a head-washing.