She put a hand to the towel on her head. His words were like the peal of a bell reminding her of the few days they had left, casting a shadow over her happiness.
Chapter Fourteen
“Flower,” Malik said proudly, pointing to the wildflower Jack had tucked into Lydia’s hair. They were picnicking on a hill above the sea dotted with whitecaps. Gulls soared above them and skimmed the waves, diving for fish. A few came strutting over the grass in hope of a feed.
More than a week had passed, and he and Lydia continued to avoid speaking of the future. He would not speak of his plan until he was sure it was possible, part of which he knew she would be unhappy about. He loved her. She made sense of his life. And when she was gone, this incredible joy and peace would go with her. He could ask her to stay, and maybe she would agree. But it would be wrong. He could not return to his old ways and have Lydia, too. You couldn’t build a happy life on that.
“I’m going down to the village to check on the ship,” he said, tickling Malik on the neck with a blade of grass.
“Do you want us to come?” she asked.
“No. I won’t be long.”
He saw them back to the house and then set out again in the trap. In the village, he consulted with his carpenter who was busily working on the hull of the Golden Orion, replacing the damaged planks before scraping off the weed and barnacles and attending to the other necessary repairs to damage caused by Cordova’s guns. His sail master was down on the beach mending a sail. It would take the best part of a month before they could return to sea.
Jack left them and jumped into the trap. As he drove along the foreshore, Bastian hailed him from where he sat outside the tavern, a tankard in his hand talking to an old seadog. Jack drove the cart up the hill, the horse plodding around the headland. A cluster of small, whitewashed cottages came into view.
Jack pulled up the trap. Pete sat gazing out over the ocean as he smoked his pipe outside the front door of his cottage. Jack leapt down and joined him on the stoop, breathing in fragrant tobacco smoke. “They are getting on with the ship,” he said. “It should be seaworthy by the end of the month.”
Pete clamped down on the stem of his pipe. “Is Lydia to sail with us?”
“That’s what I came to talk to you about. I’m taking her back to England with the lad.”
Pete nodded. “I thought you might. So, I won’t waste my breath trying to persuade you against it. It’s dangerous, Jack. You’ll hang if they catch you.”
Jack shrugged. “Life is dangerous, is it not? The question is how we get there. Know anyone who can help?”
“Bruno, maybe. He won’t risk going to England, but he often sails his sloop to the Isles of Scilly to visit his cousin. I’m sure he’ll agree to take you there, if you offer to pay him well. It’s smuggling and fishing that sustains the people. French brandy and gin are shipped from there to Cornwall. They slip it past the custom boats at night. He has a cousin there who will take you to England for a goodly sum. Be careful Jack, every second man you meet in the streets of a Cornish seaside village is a preventive.”
Jack stood and rested a boot on the step. He knew Bruno was a good sailor. He kept a tidy boat, and he thought he could trust him. It seemed the best way open to them. “Tell Bruno to meet me in the tavern at noon tomorrow, will you Pete? We’ll make the arrangements.”
Pete tapped his pipe against the step, rose, and accompanied Jack to the trap. His gaze turned solemn. Jack felt it, too. Was it a parting of the ways? “Give my regards to Lydia,” Pete said. “I’ll be down to see you off.”
“If I’m not back when the ship is ready to sail, you will take my place, Pete. The men will elect a new captain. They are sure to choose you.”
“I would prefer it to be you, Jack.”
Jack shrugged. “God will decide.”
“We have had some very good times together, have we not?”
“We have indeed,” Jack said, not without a pang of sorrow.
“If it’s me at the helm, I’ll call in at the Scilly’s in a couple of months. Find your way back there and we’ll pick you up.”
Jack slapped him on the back. “Good fellow.” He untied the reins and leapt up onto the seat and released the brake.
The old horse was instructed to walk on. The reluctant animal pulled at a lush patch of grass, but after Jack’s urging, slowly moved off, chewing as it went. An image of Jack riding a thoroughbred across green meadows entered his mind. He loved horses. It was the one thing he always regretted about choosing a life on the sea. How good it would be to ride a thoroughbred.
It didn’t require much effort on his part to drive the trap for the horse knew its way home, so he focused his attention on the next stage of their journey. It would take them two weeks with good weather, longer if they encountered bad, before they reached the Scilly’s. They would need provisions and water. He must now broach this with Lydia. While she would be pleased, for they now had the means to reach England, she would not be happy about his role in it. He expected her to rail against it, but he would have his way. And he intended to take her right to her cousin’s door, although he might withhold that piece of information.
When he reached the house, he jumped down and tossed the reins to Joncalo. He would leave his talk with Lydia until after dinner. But he’d rather brave a galleon full of Spaniards than try to persuade her that she could not go without him.
They were sitting together by the fire drinking wine after dinner, Malik and the cat at their feet, when he outlined his plan and some of his part in it.
“No!” Lydia cried so loudly that Malik jumped. “I won’t let you.” She lowered her voice. “A trading ship…”
“It’s no use, Lydia,” Jack said patiently. “There are no such ships in these waters.”
“Then I shall have to go farther afield. Maybe Pete…”
“Pete has put me onto someone who will take us to the Scilly Isles. We’ll travel to England from there.”
“I will go alone…,” she began.
“You won’t. These are smugglers. Unsavory people.”
“Unsavory people? More so than pirates?”
He scowled. “The pirates on the Golden Orion did not accost you, mainly because of the code they live by, but mostly because I made sure you were safe. And I shall be on that smuggler’s boat to see you safely to Cornwall.”
“And then you will leave again,” she stated flatly. “Straight away.”
He found it difficult to lie to her. “I have a mind to look around a bit first. It’s my country, and I don’t remember anything about it.”
She released a breath. “Tell me what happened, Jack.”
He leaned back on the couch. “I don’t remember much. I was thirteen. For some reason I was near the docks in Plymouth. I was tall for my age, and I suppose that was why a press-gang snatched me up with a group of men they’d rounded up coming out of a tavern. Must have hit me with a trudgen.” He put a finger on the scar at his temple. “I came to on board a frigate. An officer was determined to return me to the docks because I wore good clothes and spoke like the gentry, but they’d set sail and that was the end of it. I was told my case would be reviewed when we returned to England.”
He drank some wine, the mellow taste washing away the acrid bitterness he felt at the unfairness of it. “We were at sea for a year, sailing to the other side of the world, calling in to ports along the way. On our way back to England, we were attacked by pirates. Many were killed, the rest of the seamen taken prisoner. We were advised that we could join them or suffer a worse fate. I joined them.” He shrugged. “After a year with them, I realized I couldn’t go home. I was now a pirate. And where was home? I hadn’t regained my memory.”
Lydia laid her head on his shoulder. Her body shook.
“You’re not crying?” Jack raised her chin and kissed the tears on her cheek. “Am I such a pitiful creature?”
“You are not! But the injustice of it!” She dashed away her tears with h
er hands. “I am crying with anger!”
He shook his head and smiled down at her. “What a passionate woman you are,” he said softly. Such passion was not often seen outside the bedchamber. She was changing before his eyes. He wondered quite what her family would make of her.
Lydia watched Jack sleep beside her in the bed. She wanted to wake him, have him make love to her again. As if that would change anything. He was determined to escort her all the way to the English coast. She had as much chance of holding back the tide as to prevent him. She realized she had no alternative. He had not asked her to stay. Nor had he said he loved her. Was she just an interlude? She knew he cared for her and obviously enjoyed being with her. But once he’d deposited her on English shores, would he return to this life and forget her? The thought squeezed her heart. But she would prefer to think of him as happy at the helm of the Golden Orion once more, as he was when she first met him.
He opened his eyes. “Can’t sleep?”
She shook her head and snuggled against him, wanting him. Jack pulled her atop him. He was already erect. Eager for more, she settled her legs over his hips. She moaned as he entered her, moving at her own pace, and orchestrated her own release. He quickly followed. The swift, exciting coupling struck at her very soul. Stunned by how confident she’d become and the power it gave her, she collapsed, her tears dampening his chest.
“My love,” he said softly, his hands slipping into her hair to raise her face to his. His eyes searched hers. “Was it good?”
“Mmm.” Her arm around his neck, she hugged him, surprised at her boldness.
He called her his love. Something more to cherish. Her limbs pleasurably heavy, she smiled and settled down beside him and fell asleep.
Chapter Fifteen
Bruno had agreed to take them. Jack met him in the tavern and came away satisfied. He knew Bruno to be an excellent sailor who had sailed and fished these seas since he’d been a boy.
On the morning of their departure, Jack rose at first light. He resisted the urge to wake Lydia and left the room. Before a mirror in the next chamber, he shaved off his beard and trimmed his hair, tying it back with a black velvet ribbon. Then he donned clothes he’d never had cause to wear.
He returned to find Lydia sitting up in bed. She stared at him as he scrubbed a hand over his clean jaw. “I didn’t think you meant it when you said you wished to see something of England,” she said, her voice tight.
“Would you deny me that?” He strode over to her, the folds of his elegant coat swinging.
“You look very handsome. But I want you to be safe,” she murmured, taking a hold of his brown, velvet coat to pull him to her.
He drew her from the bed and into his arms, nudging her neck and nibbling on an ear until she wriggled. “When have I ever been safe?”
“But that wasn’t due to me,” she said with a frown. “This will be.”
“Ye of little faith.” He chuckled and slapped her on the bottom.
She ran a hand over his smooth jaw. “You smell nice. What is that, pomade?”
“It is. Now get dressed, woman. Malik is awake and isn’t happy. He knows something’s afoot. He’s hopping about looking anxious.”
“Oh, the poor lad. How can I explain?”
“You can’t, Lydia. You might leave him here. Joncalo and Adelina are fond of him. He’ll be left in good hands.”
“He wouldn’t stay without me. And you won’t often be here. He’d be lonely.” She turned to sort through her clothes. “It wouldn’t be fair.”
“No, perhaps not.” He sighed. “I smell cooking. Breakfast will be served soon. That will distract the lad for a while.”
Jack left her to dress. He had to speak to Joncalo, settle matters as he always did on departure. Make sure the couple would be left comfortable in case he didn’t return.
It was still only a little past dawn, a rosy sun rising over the horizon. They’d be on their way within two hours.
Malik stood looking miserable while two trunks were loaded onto the trap. “He doesn’t understand,” Lydia said to Jack, her heart heavy.
“Give him time, he’s a strong child. He has dealt with a lot in his short life,” Jack said.
She nodded and went to bid farewell to Adelina. She found it difficult. Despite not speaking their language, she’d got to know them and become fond of both of them.
“Oskar,” Malik murmured, bowing his head as Joncalo drove the trap down to the harbor.
Lydia nodded sorrowfully. They could not bring the bird. She squeezed his hand.
In the harbor, Bruno, a muscular, sunburned fellow hailed them as he worked with Pete storing casks and provisions in the sloop, a far smaller craft than the Golden Orion.
Pete stepped off onto the quayside. “It was good to know you, Lydia,” he said, his blue eyes smiling. “I wish you a favorable wind and a safe journey.”
“Thank you, Pete. Do you have any messages for your family in Manchester? I’m happy to write to them.”
He shook his head. “They have forgotten me, it’s better that way.” He patted Malik’s head, had a few quiet words with Jack, and then with a wave of his hand, walked back along the road.
“Come aboard,” Jack said, taking her arm. “Ready for another adventure, Malik?”
Malik came and took his hand.
An hour later, they left the harbor waters, and with a fair wind behind them, set sail for the island which would be their last port of call before they reached England.
Lydia, her hands on the rail, watched the land recede, her heart heavy. She had been happier there than at any other time in her life. Because of the man beside her. She looked up at him. He might have been thinking the same when his gaze met hers. How unlike a pirate he appeared at this moment. More like a member of the English gentry with his tricorn hat, his strong thighs encased in brown velvet, a cream, linen waistcoat beneath his coat, a white cravat knotted at his throat, stockings, and leather, buckled shoes. But then she looked deep into his blue eyes which sparkled with a lust for adventure and revealed him to be no ordinary man.
“You’re coming to England with me, aren’t you.” It wasn’t a question.
“Right to your cousin’s estate, sweetheart.”
“Oh, no, Jack!” She tamped down a shiver and turned her gaze to the rolling swell forged by the bow as his arm came around her. He meant to comfort and reassure her she supposed, but failed. She was consumed with fear. “We might go back,” she ventured, leaning into him. “I was happy there.”
“Shame on you, sweetheart,” Jack said with a faint smile. “Is this not a fine adventure?” He hugged her close, and they fell silent.
Chapter Sixteen
They had been almost two weeks at sea when Bruno’s sloop tacked around the small islands that formed the Scilly’s. Within the hour, they sailed into the rockbound harbor of St Mary’s, the early morning light falling on granite rocks where a pod of seals gathered, filling the air with their strange barking. The ruin of Star Castle stood on a hill above the cove, built by Queen Elizabeth in the sixteenth century after the Spanish armada attempted to invade England.
But what was of most interest to Jack, was that England now lay less than thirty miles away. They planned to arrive in the early evening as clear weather and a full moon were expected.
He was eager to bring this tedious and tiring journey to a close for Lydia’s sake. She had remained cheerful and uncomplaining, but she was clearly exhausted, the small boat had been restricting and uncomfortable. He was only too aware of the anxiety she suffered, which he suspected was more about him and Malik, than herself.
As they waited on the wharf, Bruno brought his cousin, Carlito, to meet them. After a hurried negotiation, Jack paid for the last part of their journey. They were to land at Mousehole, a Cornwall village popular with the smugglers.
“Excise men are always around,” Carlito said. “But the smuggling goes on in plain sight. The villagers support us. Should the excise men attempt
an arrest, they are given a hard time. One of them was stoned a few weeks ago.”
Excise men did not bother Jack. He was more interested in finding an inn where they might get some rest. In the morning, he would hire a carriage to take them to the baron’s home some miles from Plymouth.
Although filled with trepidation, Lydia still found beauty on their sea voyage to the Cornish coast. The way the moonlight shone a gleaming silver path over the black depths and how the stars hung brightly in the sky, made her long for home. But as the small boat ploughed through the swell, she realized her adventure was about to end. And the future that awaited her would be bleak without Jack.
They slipped quietly into Mount’s Bay and anchored in the harbor where candlelight flickered from the stone houses in the small village of Mousehole. Two fishermen mended their net on the quayside by lantern light, their Cornish language almost indecipherable. The strong smell of fish rising into the warm air made Lydia’s nervous stomach roil.
“Best you wait here. Keep out of sight,” Carlito said. “As you have no papers, and there is sure to be excise men sniffing around.” He held out a hand. “Give me some blunt and I’ll go see the landlord at the Ship Inn. He’s a mate of mine. He’ll see you right with a meal and a bed for the night.”
An hour later, Carlito returned. “It’s all set. But I saw one of them customs men lurking around, so be careful.”
As they left the wharf and hurried up the road, Malik’s hand in Lydia’s, a man in a greatcoat and tall hat approached them. Lydia’s breath caught in her throat.
“Keep walking,” Jack said.
The man eyed them carefully as he passed, then he strode on.
They hurried over the pavement, and within minutes, were inside the two-story inn and being shown to their bedchambers.
Her stomach still churning, Lydia made a poor effort of eating the fish soup and bread served in the small parlor.
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