Darkness huddled in corners, under stairways, behind masts and crates, hiding from the newly risen moon that shone its liquid light upon the ship, casting the sails above into shimmering silver.
Two pirates marched up on the foredeck, and another group clustered to her left by the port railing. Behind her, several more of the crew crowded around the whipstaff. A song drifted on the breeze along with laugher and the scent of rum. She focused her eyes on the band of men to her left, and the glitter of a gold button caught her eye. Sawkins, in his satin doublet, stood next to Smithy and Gibbons. Their whispers twirled around her, refusing to form recognizable words.
Ignoring them, Isabel turned, took the ladder up to the quarterdeck, and reached the aft of the ship. Leaning over the taffrail, she watched the pearly wake churning off the stern—the froth matched the bubbling anticipation within her. At last, they were on their way to rescue her son. She scanned the horizon but could not make the division betwixt sky and sea. It was as if some giant monster obscured it—not allowing itself to be seen on this dark night. No matter. She would not let the gloom dampen her hopes. As she bowed her head and began to pray, footsteps tapped over the wooden planks and halted beside her.
“What a pleasure to find you on deck this evening, Lady Ashton.”
Isabel looked over to see only a sliver of moonlight angle across Sawkins’s firm jaw and glisten in his loose blond hair, normally neatly combed, but tonight tousled by the wind.
“The pleasure is mine, milord.” Isabel returned his smile, disappointed that her privacy had been intruded upon.
Sawkins slid a finger over both sides of his thin mustache and gazed off the stern. “Quite a coincidence earlier when the wind returned.”
Isabel snapped her eyes to his. ’Twas no coincidence. God answered my prayer.”
“Forgive me, milady. I did not mean to distress you.” Sawkins bowed, then gave her a look of concern. “All that matters is that we are on our way to your son.”
Drawing a deep breath of the night air, Isabel studied the man beside her: tall, vigorous, dashing. Yes, he was handsome, indeed. He brushed an arm against hers and leaned on the railing. His warmth flowed over her, along with his scent of mustache oil and cedar that mingled with the fragrance of the sea. Yet she wondered at his concern for a child he’d never met. “What truly brings you along on this voyage, Lord Sawkins?”
“It would please me greatly if you would call me Richard.”
“I hardly know you, milord.”
“I’d like to remedy that,” he whispered in her ear.
Glancing back over the sea, Isabel raised a hand to her throat, flustered at his sudden boldness. Her breath quickened “You did not answer my question.”
His gaze turned thoughtful, and several moments passed. “As I have said, I live for adventure, milady, and I hate to see a mother and child separated. When I discovered I could be of some service, I offered myself to Captain Carlton, despite his ill feelings toward me.”
“I perceive there may be another reason as well, milord? ’Tis a rare thing to find a heart so chivalrous.”
Sawkins studied her for a moment. “Alas, you have caught me.” He gave a nervous chuckle. “Since I am without a ship at the moment, I need passage to the Spanish Main, where I have plans to procure a vessel and join the Brethren of the Coast.”
“But aren’t they common pirates, milord?”
“Nay, privateers, milady—commissioned by the Governor of Jamaica. I assure you, ’tis legal.”
“You must have more than enough fortune to purchase your own passage and buy another ship as well?”
“Yes, my inheritance is quite vast, I assure you.” He brushed dirt from the shoulder of his doublet. “But where would the fun be in that?”
“Ah.” Isabel smiled. “Where indeed?” From his mannerisms, his modish and costly attire, and his eloquence, Isabel had assumed what he now confirmed was true—he was wealthy. Her mother had said he was a baron. Wealth and title.
“Yet there is another reason for my presence here which I feel obligated to divulge, one that had not revealed itself until lately.” He clutched her hand and placed it gently between his. “By now you must have noticed my extreme regard for you.”
Isabel widened her eyes.
He leaned toward her, his warm breath showering her cheek. “Milady, I find myself quite taken with you.”
Isabel stepped back, plucking her hand from his grasp. “Alas, milord we have been acquainted for only a few days.”
“Bewildering, isn’t it? Yet my feelings cannot be denied.”
“I know this is sudden,” he continued, “but I’m a man who takes risks, as you know, and I could not let another moment pass without informing you of my fervent ardor.”
Aware of Lord Sawkins’s attraction to her, Isabel had brushed it off as flighty male infatuation. She’d seen it many times before. But this declaration of his affections had taken her by surprise. She’d never expected any true nobleman to take a serious interest in her again. Surely she misread him—or had he some other motive? Joy fluttered through her as she considered the possibility of his sincerity. “Milord—”
“Richard,” he interjected.
“Richard, I am deeply flattered, but I wonder if you have thought…I’m sure you realize that I have a child, an illegitimate child whom I love dearly and intend to keep.”
“I am fully aware of that.”
“A match between us would certainly not meet the approval of your family.”
“It would meet my approval, milady. My family would come to accept you in time.” He ran a finger over the sleeve of her gown. “I pray you’ll take the time to get to know me better. Perhaps in time you may return my affections. It is all I hope for.”
“I don’t know what to say, milord…I mean, Richard.”
Leaning toward her, he grazed her cheek with his lips.
Isabel flinched, unsure of how to respond to his familiar actions. When she looked up at him, the moonlight lit a sneer curling on his lips, giving her pause.
“I shall leave you to your musings, milady.” He raised her hand and placed a moist kiss upon it. “Until tomorrow.” Then bowing, he swaggered away. Isabel watched him until his blond hair descended below the quarterdeck.
She swung her gaze back across the ebony seas. A nobleman wishing to marry her? Could it be so? It was a dream come true. She could have everything she’d ever hoped for. His name would wash away the stain of her violation and the illegitimacy of her son. Frederick would be raised the son of a baron, not the son of a pirate.
Indeed, there were things that troubled her about Sawkins, and she certainly didn’t know him very well, but what had she just said to Hann? Much could be tolerated for wealth and status—especially for the sake of her son and his future—one which she could never provide for him on her own. Besides, what harm could there be in acquainting herself further with Lord Richard Sawkins?
Sawkins bounded down onto the main deck and crept back into the dark shadows under the foredeck, where he’d met with Smithy and the others earlier. Grabbing a leftover bottle of rum from beneath the railing, he wiped the head with his sleeve and took a full swig. Things were going his way. With his declaration of love, the beautiful Lady Ashton had nearly melted into his arms. He’d seen the way she gazed at him—the way all the women gazed at him. His handsome looks, coupled with his innate charm, wealth, and status caused all the women he’d pursued to swoon at his feet. And he’d conquered them all, one by one. Of course, none had kept him satisfied for long. It wasn’t his fault their charms faded after time. But he had a feeling Lady Ashton would be different. Here was a woman with enough courage and tenacity to match his own.
He growled as he remembered how she’d retreated from his kiss. How dare she? She should feel privileged he chose her as the object of his affections. After all, dismissed as she was from her family and raising an illegitimate child, what decent gentleman would have her? It didn’t matter. He
would work his charms on her as he had his other conquests, and in time she would give herself willingly to him.
Soon he would possess not only this ship, but Captain Carlton’s vast treasure and his woman as well. Yes, things indeed were going his way.
Chapter Thirteen
Frogs and Princes
Kent spread the charts on his desk and noted the Restitution’s current position. They’d been at sea for five days. Having cleared the treacherous Windward Passage between Cuba and Santo Domingo, it would be smooth sailing to Cartagena. They would reach their destination in another ten to fifteen days, barring any unforeseen disaster.
Hann cleared his throat, reminding Kent the lad was still in his cabin, combing through the lists of supplies and navigation equipment. Kent had to give the boy credit. His skills as a quartermaster were superb, and his excellent managing of their provisions for the trip to Cartagena was to his credit. But when Kent glanced over his shoulder at the boy, his gaze quickly dropped to the papers in his hand. He was a good pirate, yet, there was something in Hann’s violet eyes that gave Kent pause.
Shrugging it off, Kent leaned back in his chair and allowed the sun penetrating the stern window to warm his back. His thoughts floated to Isabel—as they always did. For a year, he’d thought of nothing else. Like a man dragging himself over a parched desert desperately seeking a cool drink, he’d searched for her all across the Caribbean. Now that he’d found her, he longed to drown himself in her presence. Yet he’d been forced to accept only the small sips she offered—her coy glances, the occasional smile, a glimmer of admiration in her eyes—wonderful, quenching sips.
Yet his thirst remained.
He sighed. Simply to have her near was enough for now. For he doubted he could ever live without her again. Life without Isabel was nothing but a farce, an empty desert with no oasis in sight.
Kent’s eyes shifted to his cot in the corner of the cabin. His heart dropped as memories of that night pounced upon him. As soon as he’d left the bed and turned his back to her sobs, regret had clamped his soul—a new and uncomfortable guilt which had taken him by surprise. He’d donned his breeches and did all he could to console her, but the damage had been done. As he remembered the terror and hatred flashing in her eyes, he cringed. What he wouldn’t do to erase that look and his foolish actions that had caused it.
Gently placing the papers down, Hann eased from the ledge and slid her knife from the sheath on her thigh. From the way the captain stared off into the cabin, she knew his mind was far away. He would not hear her slink behind him—would not hear the swish of the blade until it was too late and the cold steel severed his heart. A chance like this would not likely come again for quite some time.
She swallowed hard and moved into place. The floorboards creaked slightly, but he did not stir.
Hann raised the knife. Something held it in check. Kent had been naught but kind to her since she’d signed on with his crew. In fact, hadn’t he stood up for her, rescued her from the other pirates, and trusted her as his quartermaster? No matter. Despite her feelings, she must do what she came to do.
A knock on the door broke through Kent’s dismal thoughts. He turned at the shuffling sounds behind him. Hann’s back was to him.
Kent swung back around. “Enter”
In swaggered Lord Sawkins, wearing a foul grin that matched the stench of the cedar oil he doused himself with. Kent had forgotten he’d summoned the knave. Closing the door, Sawkins adjusted the lace bursting from his violet damask waistcoat and glanced across the room, taking a step inside. “You wanted to see me, Captain?”
Pushing out his chair, Kent circled his desk. Want was not exactly the word he would use. “Have a seat.” He gestured toward a wooden chair, but Sawkins shifted his boots and remained standing.
Hann skirted the desk. “I’ll just be takin’ these lists down to the hold, Cap’n, to double check what we have.”
“Thank you, Hann,” Kent said as the boy passed Sawkins with a sneer.
Sawkins watched him leave then faced Kent. “If this is in reference to Morris’s location, I have already told you I will not disclose that until we are nearly there.”
Leaning back against the top of his desk, Kent crossed his arms over his chest. “You have made that quite clear.”
Sawkins would not meet his gaze, but instead he slithered to the bookshelves lining the wall.
Kent cleared his throat. “What are you really doing on board my ship?” He watched for Sawkins’s reaction but the man held his back to him as he glanced over the books.
“Why, ’tis just as I have told you. I need passage and… of course I wish to help you find your son.”
Kent grunted. He doubted the veracity of either reason, just as he doubted Sawkins was capable of telling the truth. “Allow me to give you a fair warning, then. I will not tolerate your antics aboard my ship. Whatever mischief you are about, you had better call a halt to it immediately.”
Sawkins turned and raised a cultured eyebrow. “Whatever do you mean?”
“Come now.” Kent flung him a knowing glance. “You forget to whom you are speaking.”
Plucking a book from the shelf, Sawkins opened it and flipped through the pages. “Still trying to improve upon your meager education, I see?”
“I did not have the privilege of England’s finest schools as you did.”
Sawkins grinned. “You still hold that against me.”
Among other things—many other things. Kent’s insides bristled, but he maintained a look of indifference. “Truth be told, I rarely give you a moment’s thought.”
Sawkins grimaced and replaced the book. “Lady Ashton is quite lovely.”
Kent ground his teeth. “You will leave her be.”
“I assure you I wish only to help her find her son.”
“’Twould be a first for you to do anything that didn’t appease your selfish desires.”
“Ah.” Sawkins laid a hand over his heart. “So harsh. But can’t a man change? In fact, haven’t your own cruel tendencies softened?”
Kent crinkled his brow. Had he become soft? Was it so evident? Perhaps that explained why Sawkins had come in for the kill—like a predator, he’d sensed wounded prey.
“May I?” Sawkins sauntered to the desk and grabbed a bottle of rum. Pouring a drink into a glass, he lifted it and tossed it down his throat with a flick of his neck. “I must say you’ve done better for yourself than I would have expected.”
“I would be doing even better if I hadn’t been forced to pay off your debts.” Kent glared at Sawkins.
“Oh Pish.” Sawkins waved a hand through the air. “That again. I never asked it of you.”
Hatred fumed within Kent. No, he hadn’t asked, nor had he appreciated it. “I saved you from the hangman’s noose on more than one occasion, and still you have frittered away your fortune on cards.”
“Tis my right to do so.”
“I will not bail you out again.”
“As you have told me.”
Kent eyed Sawkins with disdain. Once—many years ago—he had looked up to him, admired him even, but no more. “Stay away from Lady Ashton.”
“That would be quite impossible.” Sawkins’s eyes twinkled. “You see, I’m quite taken with her, and I believe she feels the same way toward me.”
Sawkins pressed his greased mustache. “I’ve asked her to marry me.”
Blood surged to Kent’s fists. He fought the urge to punch the man, then realized lying was his second nature. “She would never be that foolish.”
“Ah, yes.” Sawkins shook his head and feigned a look of disappointment. “I suppose that makes two women I’ve stolen from you. But wait, stolen is not the best term. It would appear that when faced with the choice between us, the ladies choose the better one.” He poured himself another drink. “I offer her everything you cannot. She’d be a fool to turn me down.”
Kent lunged at Sawkins, grabbed his neckerchief, and twisted it, choking him. Eyes
bulging, Sawkins stumbled backward. He clutched Kent’s hands and fought to dislodge them, but to no avail. With a grunt, Kent flung Sawkins backward, sending him tumbling over a chair. “You don’t love her.”
“Love?” Sawkins took a ragged breath, straightened his neckerchief, and backed away from Kent. “Overrated. As are most sentimental emotions. But that has always been your downfall.”
Visions of Elizabeth, sweet Elizabeth, with her strawberry curls and innocent smile flashed through Kent’s mind. He’d been so young. They’d both been so young. But, oh how he had loved her. She’d agreed to be his wife, until—until Sawkins came along and swept her away with his flatteries and empty promises. After he’d taken what he wanted from her, he’d left her, devastated and despoiled. Shortly thereafter, her family had moved her back to England.
“You destroyed her.”
“Elizabeth?” Sawkins waved his hand through the air, the lace at his sleeve fluttering. “You know how easily I become bored.”
Kent’s thoughts sped through the myriad of women he’d known. Hadn’t he done the same thing—lured them into his bed with his charm, only to abandon them in the morning? And Isabel, hadn’t he destroyed her as well? Kent bunched his fists and glanced out the window. No, he loved her. And he would not let this cruel libertine steal the woman he loved.
Not again.
He glared at Sawkins. “I’ll throw your scrawny carcass overboard before I allow you to lay a finger on Lady Ashton.”
“Tisk, tisk, Captain. Such jealous does not become you.” Sawkins glowered, rubbing his neck. “Why don’t we let the lady decide for herself?”
Fury tore through Kent, constricting his throat, forbidding him to speak or move lest he throttle the buffoon into a nondescript lump of flesh.
“Now if that will be all?” Shifting his boots on the wooden floor, Sawkins gave a nervous grin and scuttled from the room.
Leaning against the main head rail on the foredeck, Isabel drew her shawl tighter around her shoulders against the morning chill floating up off the fog-laden sea. A breath of pink light glazed the horizon, announcing the sun’s arrival on a new day—a day which would bring her closer to Frederick. Though bereft of milk, her breasts still ached for her baby. She knew they would until he was back in her arms again.
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