The Pirate's Willing Captive (18 page)

‘I shall be content to be with you wherever we live.’

‘Yet I know that I can never be worthy of you. I wish…’ He shook his head and smiled oddly. ‘The past is gone. We may both regret things that were, but we shall have no regrets. We shall look to the future and it will be good for us.’

‘Yes…it will be good for us.’

Something in his eyes caused a shiver to run down her spine. He was so urgent, so grim. What wasn’t he telling her?

J
ustin went straight to his cabin to find a fresh shirt. He did not wish what had just happened to be whispered of by the crew. They might suspect it, but there was no need to confirm their suspicions. His conscience had begun to bother him from the moment he learned of Maribel’s virginity. He could scarcely believe that she had been married for almost a year and remained a virgin. What kind of a man had her husband been? Perhaps the kind that preferred to lie with his own sex.

Justin knew that something had changed in him once he learned the truth. Until that moment he had fought the little voice in his head that told him she was special to him. He had tried to convince himself that she was just a beautiful woman and that all he felt for her was desire. Having had her in his arms, known her absolute surrender, he felt humbled and guilty for having destroyed her innocence. She was a lovely, loving woman and she deserved so much more than he could give her.
He must and would find a better life for them both. When he became a pirate he had had no choice, but now he must take his fate into his own hands.

How could he ask her to share the kind of life that might well be his in the future? Justin knew that his life would be forfeit if Queen Mary still lived. She would not listen to anything he had to say excusing the mutiny—in the eyes of her council he was already guilty of treason.

Only if Elizabeth had succeeded her sister would Justin have a chance of returning to his home. He believed that his mother would forgive anything, but his father might not wish to receive him. His great-grand-father’s legacy was lodged with the goldsmiths in London. Justin could collect the gold and take Maribel to France or Italy; there they could mix with people of her own class, but would it be enough for her? Neither of them would have family about them. Would she come to resent him for taking her away from her family?

It might have been better if he had resisted her invitation, but the appeal in her eyes had broken his will, an overwhelming desire to make love to her sweeping all else from his mind. He knew that he would never have enough of her. Just the thought of her, of her scent and the softness of her body as she yielded to him was enough to make him hard again.

He couldn’t give her up! He might not be worthy of her, but she was imprinted into his mind and his body and to lose her now would tear him apart.

Justin decided that he would take Maribel to her relatives and then visit his father. If the situation were favourable, he would journey to court to plead for his freedom and forgiveness. He thought of the chest of Spanish silver in his cabin. Perhaps if he presented that to Elizabeth as a gift—pray God she was now Queen!—she would find it in her heart to forgive him.

* * *

Later that evening Maribel glanced at Justin as he stood on the bridge. He was at the wheel as the order to bring down the sails and anchor was given. They had chosen to anchor just off the white cliffs of Dover, the plan being to use the rowing boats to take her and Justin and some of the crew ashore the next morning. Most of the men had voted to stay on board, because they feared they might hang if they set foot in England. She knew that Justin had promised he would secure pardons for them all if he could.

‘I shall take you to your mother’s family, Maribel,’ he had told her the previous night when he came to her cabin. ‘Once I know you are safe with them I shall journey to my home and then, if Elizabeth is Queen, to London. I shall ask her to pardon us all for the mutiny.’

‘Will she grant you a pardon?’ Maribel’s eyes widened in fear. ‘Supposing she refuses?’

‘I shall hang and my men will sail away without me.’

‘What of me?’

‘You will be safe with your family.’

Maribel felt sick with fear. ‘Why must you risk your life after everything we have found together? Turn the
ship about. Let us sail for Italy or France. I beg you not to do this, Justin.’

‘I have to do it.’ His mouth set into a hard line. ‘I have money with the goldsmiths and I must claim it if we are to live as a gentleman and his wife should. I owe it to my family to explain what happened when I disappeared—and I owe it to myself to at least try to clear my name, Maribel. Please try to understand how I feel.’

She looked into his eyes, then shook her head. ‘Our love is more important than all the rest. You have your ship. You could earn enough money for us to live on without this foolishness.’

Justin reached out, taking her chin in his hand, tipping it so that he forced her to look at him. ‘Will you scold me, lady? Have I found myself a nagging wife?’

Maribel shook her head. ‘You make fun of me! I do not find this amusing, sir. If they hang you it will break my heart. I shall have nothing to live for.’ Tears hung on her lashes and then slipped down her cheeks. ‘Please, I beg you, let us go now while we may.’

‘But I cannot claim you as my wife unless I have made some effort to throw off the shadow that hangs over me. I am a pirate, Maribel, and as such I am not worthy. I must see my family and receive my father’s blessing if he will give it—and hope for mercy from my Queen.’

Maribel was torn between anger and disappointment. How could he imagine that honour was more important than the way they felt about each other? She turned away from him, holding back the torrent of
anger and despair that welled inside her. If he were willing to throw everything they had away on a whim, he could not feel as she did; he could not truly love her.

Never had she felt such unease. Her love for Pablo and the grief when he died were a pale shadow of her present emotions. She did not know how she would bear it if she lost Justin after what had happened between them. It had been hard enough when she had thought he did not love her; it would be unbearable after their lovemaking.

‘Do not be angry, my love,’ Justin put his arms about her, nestling his face into the softness of her hair and holding her back pressed against him. ‘I do this for you so that you can hold your head high and be proud of the man you call husband.’

She turned in his arms, looking up at him, intense passion in her face. ‘Swear to me that you will come for me? Swear that you will not just sail away and leave me with my family!’

‘You must know I would not?’ His fingers trailed her cheek and her throat. He bent his head to kiss the hollow at the base of her throat. ‘If I live, I shall come back to claim you—you have my word.’

Maribel had accepted his promise—what else could she do?

Yet as she watched the boats being lowered, nerves started to jangle. Until this moment she had not truly thought of what it would be like to meet her family—or of what she would tell them.

If she told the whole truth, they would condemn
Justin as a pirate and forbid her to see him again. She must think of some way to explain how and why she had come to them on the ship of a man who was not related to her.

Her cheeks became hot as she thought about how it would seem to her mother’s family if they knew she had been a pirate’s willing captive. How could she explain that she had lived on his ship and in his house on the island? It was impossible!

She knew that she must speak to Justin, ask him what she ought to say before they arrived at her family’s home.

* * *

Maribel turned in Justin’s arms. Before they made love he had told her that they would be rowing for shore the next morning. The knowledge that they must part so soon had made her cling to him desperately, as his loving took her to new heights. She moaned with pleasure, enjoying the moment of surrender as she gave herself completely to him.

‘What shall I say to my uncle?’ she asked, her face pressed against his chest, tasting the salt of his sweat and inhaling his scent. ‘He will want to know how we met—and what my father had to say.’

‘You must leave this to me.’ Justin’s hand moved down the arch of her back, stroking the soft skin so that she moaned and pressed herself against him. ‘I have thought of how it should be handled a great deal and all I ask is that you follow my lead and agree with what I say.’

Maribel raised up to look down at him, her eyes on
his face, trying to read his mind without success. He looked serious, but gave her no hint of what he intended. Instead, he reached up and drew her down to him, rolling her beneath him in the bed and kissing her with such passion that she forgot everything but the need to feel him inside her.

‘I shall take care of you,’ he promised huskily. ‘You belong to me now and nothing shall ever part us. I promise you that everything will be well, my love.’

‘Yes…’ She smiled up at him, her thighs parting as he moved between them, her hips arching to meet the thrust of his passion. ‘I love you. I shall always belong to you.’

* * *

They had been riding south along the coast road for some hours and with each mile they covered Maribel’s feeling of apprehension had grown.

‘What will you say to my aunt and uncle?’ she asked when they stopped to rest the horses. ‘I fear they will be angry if they know I was your captive.’ He had told her to trust him and she did, yet she could not help feeling nervous as the time to meet her family drew closer.

‘We shall rest at an inn I know of not far from here. One of my men will take a letter from me to your relatives, telling them that you are coming to visit them. They will be prepared for good news, Maribel—for you are visiting them with your betrothed husband: Justin Devere, son of Lady and Sir John Devere of Devereham House—and great-grandson of Lord Robert Melford, also grandson of the Earl of Rundle.’

‘Your name is Devere?’ Maribel’s eyes widened. ‘You are the grandson of an earl? Why have you never told me this?’

‘On board the
Defiance
I was a pirate and a mutineer. Here in England I am a gentleman. I did what I thought best to protect my family from the shame of hearing from others what I had become.’

‘But why did you…?’ She searched his face for the truth. ‘Why were you ever a part of that crew, Justin? You have told me that you were shanghaied and something of the mutiny, but not why you were about to board a ship in the first place?’

‘I was leaving England under a cloud of suspicion. Queen Mary had sent to arrest me for treason, though I was not guilty. My father thought I should spend time with my cousin in France, but on the waterfront I was knocked on the head from behind as I fought other ruffians. When I regained my senses we were at sea and I was forced to serve behind the mast—but not until I had been given more than fifty lashes to bring me into line. Had it not been for Higgins I should probably have died after the beating. I survived and the crew came to respect me. When a young lad was beaten near to death the crew would not go on with Captain Smythe. I was asked to join the mutiny. Had I refused, they would probably have marooned the officers on a deserted island or simply hanged us. I decided that I would lead them and in that way I saved the lives of Captain Smythe and his officers.’

‘So you never wished for a life at sea?’ Maribel
arched her fine brows. ‘I am glad you have told me this, Justin—but you make a bold pirate.’

‘I did what I had to do.’

‘If you had not, we should not have met. I should now be wed to Lord Roberts, or, worse, I could have been his cousin’s whore.’ Maribel shuddered. ‘I should prefer to lie in my grave than submit to either man.’ She reached out to touch his hand. ‘I love you, Justin. Please remember that I would rather wed a pirate than live without you as a fine lady.’

Justin gazed down at her, his eyes seeming to search her face. ‘You must not be anxious for my sake. When we landed in England I asked questions of men on the waterfront and I learned that Elizabeth is now England’s queen. I shall speak to my father and then ride to London to beg an audience with her Majesty.’

‘Will she grant it?’

‘I have every hope that she will.’ He reached out to touch her face. ‘Do not fear for me, my love. I shall return to you and all will be well.’

‘I shall pray that it is so.’ Tears misted her eyes as he helped her to remount. He had reassured her on many counts, but her apprehension grew as they neared their journey’s end.

* * *

The house of Sir Henry Fildene sat just above the cliffs some thirty-odd miles on the coast road from Dover. It was a large old house, built of stone in the last century with an undercroft, small-paned windows and a sloping thatched roof. The approach was across an
expanse of grass and rock, for it faced square to the ocean and a sandy cove set at the foot of steep cliffs. The house looked slightly forbidding and Maribel guessed that it had once been a fortress or look-out station in case of attack from the sea. In the event of a force of ships sent to invade England, a beacon would be lit on these cliffs, where it could clearly be seen for miles around. Other beacons would then be lit so that the news could swiftly be passed to London.

A stout wall surrounded the house, but at the approach from the land side there was a large iron gate, a moat and a wooden drawbridge, which was down, as if the occupants were expecting visitors. The small party of Justin, Higgins, Anna and Maribel rode over the bridge, their horses’ hooves clattering on the thick boards.

‘I believe we are expected,’ Justin said as he saw a group of men and women gathered in the courtyard. He smiled at her. ‘Have courage, Madonna.’

Maribel felt as if her face were frozen though the day was mild enough. She attempted a smile as he dismounted and came to lift her down, but found that she was trembling with nerves.

‘Remember you are a lady and my betrothed.’

Maribel’s head went up at the reminder. A tall man with greying hair and a lined face moved towards them. He stared at her for a moment and then inclined his head.

‘You are Marguerite’s daughter. I can see her in you. Indeed, you are very like your mother, my child.’

‘Thank you. Forgive me, I do not know you.’

‘How should you?’ He held out his hand to her. ‘I am your Uncle Henry. My sister and I were close when we were young, but my father made a match for her with Don Miguel Sabatini and I lost contact with her. I wrote to her often, but she replied only a few times before she died—and your father wrote only twice to tell me of your birth and her death. I was grieved that she died so young. I would have come to visit, but duty kept me here. My father died and I was forced to repair our fortunes before thinking of my own wishes—but I thought of you often and I am so pleased that you have chosen to come to us until you marry.’ His steady gaze went to Justin’s face. ‘Captain Devere. I believe I once met your father, sir. It was years ago, but he spoke then of his son as being a fine young man.’