A rotting pile of stones, I’ll daresay! she thought with annoyance. She had always been a little frightened of his holdings, and of his position. And yet once …
Once he had said that he would marry her if he could. But now he hadn’t asked her aboard the ship as his wife. He hadn’t asked her at all, but rather demanded that she pay her passage.
“George, I am Michael’s mother. He is not yet three and a half years old, and I do not believe he should be on deck with all the rope and gear and sails. He could get hurt.”
“Ah, nay, begging your pardon, ma’am!” George exclaimed. “Why, they’ve all been at the wheel since they were just little things, all the Treveryans, that is. Why Paddy said Sloan held a wheel beneath his father’s hand when he was but two.”
“I’d like my son, George.”
“Aye, I’ll—uh—go tell the captain.”
George left her, and Brianna looked around the small cabin. There was a window here too. A very small one, but she could look out and see the deep changing colors of the ocean. “Damn you, Treveryan!” she muttered. “If you aren’t always forcing me onto a ship!”
There was a tap at the door. She called out to enter, and George came back in, appearing very unhappy.
“I’m sorry, Brianna. The captain says that Michael is quite fine with him, and if you do not trust him, he is sorry. He says that he will send him back at suppertime so that you may dine together, and then put the lad to sleep.”
“Tell Captain Treveryan—” Brianna began explosively, but stopped to take a deep breath. She was not going to carry this fight on with George as a go-between.
“Bring him to me as soon as you can, George,” she said. George nodded, then left her. Brianna sank down on the small bunk and stared out the tiny window to the sea. How long ago had it been since she had sat for the first time, staring out? It had been Scotland she was leaving behind and she was in turmoil then too. She had just sold her soul to a devil then—the devil Treveryan!
And she was doing so again. How long had it been since she had lain in a bunk beside him, felt him touch her, tenderly, and with the most searing intimacy?
She smiled then, remembering those first days when she had seen him in Salem again. She admitted that she loved him, and Sloan swore that he had loved her always …
She started pacing the room, muttering to herself. In her mind, she saw him in all his guises; the man who had faced Matthews with a swagger and sword; the supreme aristocrat who had charged so furiously into the courtroom; and the crystal-cold stranger who had thrown her from him, determined that he was no cause of Robert’s death. She couldn’t remember what she said to him that night, the hurt and the shock had been so great to her. “I cannot give myself to you!” she whispered to herself. “It would not be right, and I swear that I am a curse to love! How many ‘witches’ have been persecuted from shore to shore?”
Where will this lead us now? She told herself that she did hate him a thousand times over and yet she had already begun to tremble for the night that lay ahead of her.
The day passed in this manner, then Michael was returned to her. He was so excited about sailing the ship that she could barely make out his garbled sentences. But when Paddy appeared with dinner plates of fresh smoked fish and New York harbor’s finest vegetables and summer apples, Michael began to calm down.
“I’m going to sail her alone one day, Mama. I will! Sloan has said that I will.”
“I’m your mother, Michael! I shall say what you do!”
He stared at her, his huge green eyes watering with confusion, and she relented. “I’m sorry, Michael. Someday—but a long time from now—you shall sail the ship.”
He was happy then, thrilled with his soldiers—if not impressed with his books. But after he had started to play with the soldiers, he turned one in his hand.
“They are not so nice as the ones Papa made,” he murmured, and then he turned to look at her. “Papa has gone to live with the angels, and I will not see him again.”
He started to cry, and Brianna picked him up to hold him to her. “Who told you that, Michael?” she asked him.
“Aunt Alyssa. She said I mustn’t mind, because God loved him dearly and would care for him for us.”
God loved him dearly … Surely, that was true.
“Come, Michael,” she said, “I will tuck you into bed and lie with you awhile.”
She put a nightshirt on him—a beautiful one, given to him lovingly by Alyssa. She stretched out beside him, and his whimpers became yawns, and he said at last, “Papa will watch over us from heaven. He loved us, Mama. And Sloan will watch out for us here.”
She tensed, hating how already Sloan had managed to ingrain himself upon his tiny heart, and yet wondering in a far corner of her mind if Michael did not have a better grip on the truth than she did herself.
In time he was asleep. Brianna thought about curling in with him for the night, and totally defying Sloan’s orders. If he came, he would find her asleep with the child and …
Possibly drag her out of the bed, she thought ruefully. By being here she had made her commitment—although he certainly wouldn’t be pleased, she fumed. Oh, she would be there! But if he thought he could force her into anything other than fury and loathing, he was wrong!
She left the small cabin and moved down the hall to enter the larger captain’s cabin. Near the bunk was a rough-hewn tub, filled with water, spouting a thin mist of heat. And on the bunk she found a note that sent her into a fury again.
It wasn’t signed, nor was it addressed. It said merely, Clean and fresh, smelling like roses—and eager!
She threw the note down, stamped on it, and thought she should let him come in—and douse him in the hot water. It was a pity, she decided then, that she could not manage such a feat.
And as the seconds slipped by, so did her nerve. She did not know him anymore. Was it possible, if she pushed him too far, that he could really see to it that she lost Michael?
She wasn’t very familiar with rum, but she decided she needed a good dose of it now. She uncorked the bottle and swallowed such a vast sip that she choked and coughed and wheezed—and burned from her head to her toes.
But it was an impetus that she needed. She decided that she could get her clothes off, and herself into the tub. And that she could pick up the rose-scented slab of soap left her.
Footsteps in the hallway warned her that someone was coming. She jumped from the tub and hurriedly swathed herself in one of the linen sheets from the bunk. The footsteps were coming too slowly, making every fiber of her body dance in curious alarm—and fascination. She raced to the rum bottle for another long swallow—and was caught in the act when the door opened and Sloan stood there. He eyed her coldly for a minute, then turned his face from her as he closed the door and bolted it.
When he faced her again, she was clutching the rum bottle close to her, and a sardonic grin touched his lips.
“Sustenance, Brianna?”
She shrugged defiantly, her fingers twining close about the bottle. He moved into the cabin, unbuckling the sword he seldom seemed to be without, and casting it down on his desk. He sat to remove his boots, and then, without taking his eyes from hers, began calmly to disrobe, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing that, too, carelessly onto the desk.
He grasped the rum bottle and shook it slightly to remove it from her grasp. “May I?” he inquired politely.
She released the bottle and backed away from him. He took a long sip of the rum, then ordered, “Come here!”
“Come here! Just like that!” she shrilled defiantly. “You’ve nothing to say, no apology, no shame—”
“Nay, I haven’t a word to say. Come here.”
She did not; but he didn’t seem to notice. As she backed away he followed her until she could go no farther. And then his hands caught hers, pinning her to the wall, and her hold on the sheet was lost. It drifted to the floor. She saw his eyes, the richest jade, and then his mouth touched hers with nei
ther fury nor fever, but gently, heated and moist and seductively, until she gave in. She tasted the rum again, and she tasted him, warm and male, and she began to tremble inside with an uncontrollable yearning. His chest pressed to hers and hard muscle crushed against the softness of her breasts, taunting and wonderful. She felt the hardness of his hip against hers, the strength of his thighs. And his tongue, playing deeply in the recesses of her mouth, seeking hers, filling her with a burst of sweetness that she could not fight.
He moved quickly, drawing his lips from hers, lifting her his arms and staring into her eyes as he carried her to the bed. She felt as if she could barely move, so entranced was she. He shed his breeches, watching her all the while. Nervously, she waited for him and for her life she could not have said if it was with dread—or with anticipation.
He covered her body with his own, his hard-muscled legs wedging hers apart. And he took her hands again, holding them as he looked at her. She moistened her lips, already wet from his kiss.
“I’ll hate you for this,” she told him, but her wavering voice betrayed her words. His lips found hers again with an explosive hunger that brought a moan from her. Pleasure raged to a soaring desire with the sure and eager touch of his hands on her, caressing her breasts, cradling and arousing them. His body moved against hers, teasing it, and his mouth left hers to trail erotic patterns over her flesh, kisses that burned and made her quake.
But still he did not take her.
She closed her eyes determined that she endure—not enjoy. But his assault upon her senses continued; his tongue teased along her feet and her ankles and she shuddered from the effort to quell the churning rise of passion that lit a hot fire within her.
His touch moved along her thigh, and he stroked her, watching her face. She felt his eyes and, so compelled, opened her own, wishing she might wrench herself from him and hide her ragged breathing, her writhing body.
He came to her, leaning beside her, holding her breast again, moving his hand to her hip. “Do you really hate me?”
“Aye!” she cried out. It was not, then, the skillful play of his hands on her but the demand in his eyes that made her cry again. “Nay—nay, I do not hate you!”
“Then love me,” he commanded her fiercely. “As, so help me, I love you.”
She threw her arms around him, meeting his lips with her own, starving for the beauty of his tenderness—and passion.
Her hands threaded through his dark hair, her fingers traced the fine lines of his cheeks, and she drew away from him, searching out his face and his eyes.
“I love you,” she whispered fervently again. “I love you and I want you. Please, Sloan, now!”
“I thought that you would never ask,” he told her hoarsely, and with a thrust of silk and steel, they were one.
How long did love last? For it seemed an eternity of sweet reaching. Yet that which she sought came too soon, though she could not have borne another minute. It seemed that the ship left the sea, sailing amidst the stars, and at the end they touched the depths of the endless sky.
But even as she lay beside him, tears suddenly filled her eyes. And he, stroking her cheek, quickly sat up, harsh, again as he spoke to her.
“By God, I never meant to hurt you again! I just wanted you to live! Have sense, Brianna. I did not take your Robert’s life, nor did you. He was dying, Brianna, even before they took him! You never harmed him; he loved you and he loved the time he had with you. I know what you feel—whether you can believe me or not! I have loved, though it’s not the same, and it hurts, by God, it hurts! But life goes on for us, and I will not let you strip us of a future!”
She shook her head, reaching up to touch his cheek. “I—I’m crying because I’m—I’m so sorry, Sloan! I don’t know why I could never see it! I railed against you even when you had saved my life a third time! I know that you did all you could for Robert. I could not see it before because I did not wish to. I just felt so horrible … Sloan, I did love you all the time. That was what hurt so badly.”
He caught her fingers, and kissed them gently. “You never hurt him, Brianna.”
“I’m not so sure,” she murmured.
“You did not. You gave him what joy he had in life. Brianna, he wanted us to go on. He begged me to promise I would make you happy.”
The tears stung her eyes. “He did?”
“He did. Ah, Brianna, he was a fine human being, and though I cannot deny I love you now, it’s truth, I would have done nothing to take you from him.”
“Oh, Sloan!” she murmured to him, and she curled to him easily, loving and needing his arms about her. “Do you think we can truly find happiness?”
“Aye, we can. It is only elusive to those who do not seek it!”
She nestled against him for a long time, glad of the heat of his chest, of the slight rasp of his chin against her forehead. And she held him fiercely, for she might well have lost him through her own foolishness. But he did love her, tremendously. What other man would do so much—even help her fight her own demons?
“Sloan,” she said at last.
“My love?” His fingers moved idly among the rich tendrils of her hair.
“Am I always to be the one to ask?”
“To ask—” He broke off his own worried query with a chuckle and moved quickly on top of her, pinning her beneath him “Oh. Nay, I suppose I’ll not make you go so far. Madam, what say you? Shall we have God bless this union at last?”
“Sloan!”
“Nay, my love, I shall do better.” He slid to his knees at the side of the bunk. “Brianna, will you be my wife? The chatelaine of my castle, mother of my present and future children—and first mate of my heart around the seas, forever?”
“I’ve a naked lord at my feet!” she murmured. “How shall I take this?”
“As a naked lady; I see only one way. Answer me, aye! Swear that you will love me all my days, then take me back into your arms and let us begin anew.”
She brought his hand to her lips and fervently kissed the palm, then stretched out welcomingly to encompass all of him.
“Oh, aye, my Lord Treveryan!” she whispered heatedly. “Aye!”
Three days later they passed one of Their Majesties’ English ships at sea. Sloan sent out a beacon, and they grappled the ships together.
The Captain of the trader Queen’s Mercy was a jovial, rounded merchant, thoroughly enchanted and entertained by the idea of marrying another ship’s captain at sea.
On the twentieth of October 1692 Brianna became Lady Treveryan among the good-natured cheers of both crews. Michael was a little awed by the ceremony, but he learned that it meant he would never have to leave either Sloan Treveryan or his mother, and so he was quite content.
That night Sloan and Brianna, with their sleeping son between them, stared out at the stars that blanketed both the sea and sky.
“Are you truly happy, lass?” Sloan asked her.
“Aye, that I am.” And then she twisted to look at him over their son.
“I was just thinking of the first time I came aboard this ship! Locked in a cabin—and told to stay put! And now—well I’ve no intention to spend my life with you sailing away, so I shall be aboard constantly, you know. And if you think I shall remain in a cabin …”
“There will be no locks and chains upon you, love.”
“You do not need them, you know,” she told him. “Long ago, you chained my heart.”
“Well, your nature is such that every once in a while you must be taken a little into hand.”
She sniffed indignantly. Michael moved against her and she turned to Sloan. “I think we’d best put him to bed now. Sloan, when do you think we should tell him the truth?”
Sloan thought long before he answered. “Brianna, he is young. I say this not to hurt you, but when he is grown, he will not remember Robert. Yet, when the time is right, we will tell him everything. We owe it to Robert—and we owe it to Michael. Robert was, in his way, a very great man, and Michael
should always know that he was loved by such a man.”
Brianna nodded, and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “Thank you, Sloan,” she whispered.
He set his arm around her, and they moved across hemp and rigging to go belowdecks. They placed Michael in his small bunk and went into the captain’s cabin, smiling as they both started to douse the lanterns at once.
“Tell me about Loghaire, Sloan,” Brianna urged him later when they both lay awake beneath the moon.
And so he did. He told her about the rock-hewn castle, and about the sea, and about the gray mists and the flowers on the slopes when springtime came. But when he was done, he turned to her and said, “I shall never give it up, but I like New York. It’s young and fresh and exciting, and I’d have a home there.”
“Can we really?” Brianna asked excitedly.
“Aye, we can. We will.”
She was silent for a moment, and when he prodded her she said, “One day I wish to go back to Salem. To laugh in the magistrates’ faces, perhaps. And yet it’s more than that. Oh, there was terror there, but there are good people, too, and sometime I would like to see how they have fared.”
“We will go back—when you wish, and when the time is right. Such madness does not last forever.”
He pulled her into his arms.
“We’ve a world to sail, my little witch. My sorceress. I feel that we may fly as the clouds do, for the past is behind us, and perhaps through all we have suffered, we will have learned to cherish our lives, and to live richly.” He rose above her, kissing her, touching her, setting her aflame as only he could do.
She laughed suddenly, catching his eyes in the moonlight. “My Lord Treveryan—I do believe that I did, in truth, become the devil’s mistress. For you, my love, are a devil of the lustiest kind!”
Epilogue
In the fall of 1693 Sloan and Brianna returned to New York. Sloan purchased the house he had so wanted. It was an immense rambling mansion, surrounded by both fields and sea, and Brianna found the same enthusiasm for it as Sloan did. They had not given up the ancestral home in Wales; they had just both somehow become colonists, and felt a yearning for that western side of the ocean.
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