Carolina pulled away. ‘No, thank you. I’ll wear what I have on to face these sea rovers. No - no, I won’t. I’ll put on my pale green satin.’ She turned about to find it.
‘Oh, Carolina, don’t do it,’ begged Reba. ‘I realize you look ravishing in it, and when you smile you could melt a stone, but these pirates may rape you and then cut your throat - don’t inflame them!’
But Carolina had already peeled down to her chemise and was slipping the silver-frosted petticoat over her head. ‘I doubt I will inflame Kells,’ she added sardonically. ‘But one can always hope for the best.’
‘Mistress Wadlow, help me with her - she’s mad!’ Reba turned to appeal to the older woman who already looked like a stout bereaved widow in thick black silks with a long black trailing veil that shielded her face and grey hair.
‘Perhaps she is right,’ sighed Mistress Wadlow. ‘As lovely as she is, nothing may happen to her. But I can’t think she’d care to take the chance.’
‘Nor can I!’ Reba was almost dressed in stiff taffeta mourning garb by now. ‘I must say, Carol, that I consider you a perfect fool,’ she told her friend in a huffy voice. ‘Mistress Wadlow is right, we might escape notice as mourners. After all, even pirates must have some respect for death since they have constant brushes with it!’
‘Oh, ’tis true death is always with them,’ agreed Carolina, feeling her confidence return as she patted the bodice of her low-cut ice-green gown with its enormous gauzy skirt down around her perfectly formed bust, easing out any wrinkles of the bodice from around her narrow satin waist. She flicked out the great spill of silver lace from her elbows and it glimmered around her pale arms. ‘But I do not think you need to worry,’ she added calmly.
She was about to tell them why when there was a sudden jolting jar as the two hulls crashed together, and they almost lost their footing as the shock sent them all staggering across the room, clutching at each other to stay upright. There was a clamour on deck as grappling irons bit into wood and armed men swung over on to the deck of the helpless merchantman. They heard shouts, and the sound of feet pounding. Then the door to their cabin burst open and several raffish looking fellows, naked to the waist and armed with pistols and cutlasses, surged through.
Mistress Wadlow screamed.
Reba shrank back a step and involuntarily clutched the older woman. The two of them looked like witches, standing there swathed in black, thought Carolina dispassionately.
She frowned at the strange faces of the men, then took a truculent step forward. Her swirling ice-green gown drifted around her ankles, her delicate chin was lifted, and the face she turned to these rough-looking interlopers was quite haughty.
‘You will take me to Captain Kells,’ she said in a ringing voice. ‘At once, if you please!’ And she heard Mistress Wadlow give a little bleat of protest.
All the men were momentarily dazzled by her beauty. The tallest of them whistled in amazement as he peered down at this imperious vision, and the stout fellow beside him muttered, ‘Kells will certainly want to see her!'
Behind him the others nodded in agreement.
‘Ye’ll come along with me, ladies,’ the tall fellow told the pair of ebony-garbed mourners, gesturing curtly for them to precede him. ‘But this lass’ - he indicated Carolina with a jerk of his head - ‘will stay here.’
‘No, I will not!’ flashed Carolina. She tried to step forward but he pushed her resolutely back.
‘The cap’n’s busy just now,’ he explained, and the thought flashed through her mind: He must have seen me in Tortuga - he seems to know who I am!
She would have protested further but the cabin door was closed abruptly in her face and she heard a key turn in the lock. It would do no good to call after them, she knew. There was nothing to do but wait.
Alone now, gorgeously clad and facing the tumultuous thought that she would soon see Rye, her mind simmered. What would she say to him? Dear God, what would she not say to him? Would she upbraid him for sailing away with the Spanish lady? Or . . . would she falter when she was confronted once again with that loved face? Would she forget all the angry words that now came so readily to mind and fly disgracefully into his arms, ready to forgive?
Alone and desperate, Carolina fought a heavy battle with herself. Ever fibre of her being wanted to forget the past, to tell Rye she would forgive him . . .
But how could she, when the beautiful Duchess of Lorca even now undoubtedly occupied the great cabin of the Sea Wolf? When she knew that Rye had come so recently from the embrace of those creamy arms?
Through the closed door she heard all the sounds of a ship being rifled for gain. Doors slammed, feet pattered about, there were shouts, protests, the sounds of heavy objects being dragged. She wondered absently whether the pirates would set fire to the Mary Constant - and hoped they would not, for she was a good ship and Captain Dawlish an able captain who was proud of his vessel. Barely a fortnight ago, finding her alone on deck, he had regaled her with tales of the wild storms his little vessel had weathered - and he had assured her in his gruff voice that they’d make landfall safely in Bermuda. How sad it would be for him if the last he saw of the Mary Constant was the sight of her in flames, burning to the water line, as he himself struck out, heartsick, in an open boat for some distant island in the Azores!
Time passed with maddening slowness.
And then there was a booted step outside. A crisp commanding step.
She guessed that Rye had come for her and in sudden panic she turned about, so that she would be standing defiantly with her back to the door when he entered. She would wait to hear his voice - surely that would tell her his temper - before she whirled to face him. Not only that, her heavy pale blonde curls and the sleek ice-green satin lines of her back would present an alluring picture. Besides showing her captor a certain disdain which he well deserved!
Behind her the door opened. She could feel her heart pounding as those booted feet entered the room.
‘My lady,’ said an amused masculine voice. ‘I beg you to turn about so that I may see your face.’
As in a dream, Carolina swung about.
Before her was a tall dark-haired man with grey eyes. Hunter’s eyes, she thought, seeking their prey. And curiously empty. He stood easily before her, clad in French grey satins heavily encrusted with silver embroidery. A swatch of frosty mechlin at his throat, a delicate spray of mechlin at his cuffs, dripping down over fine slender hands. It was a dissolute face that she was looking into, a face charged with recklessness - but it was a face no woman would soon forget.
As she turned about, he made her an elegant leg and bent in a formal bow so low that his dark hair almost swept the floor.
Permit me to introduce myself,’ he said coolly. ‘I am Captain Kells.’
Like a strange hot sighing wind, those words went through her. They were words she had heard long ago -from Rye Evistock on Tortuga. But this smiling adventurer who had straightened up to look down into her face, gone suddenly so pale, was a total stranger, a man she had never seen before.
‘Who - who did you say you were?’ she whispered, feeling her knees waver beneath her.
‘Kells, Captain Kells. But do not be frightened,’ he told her in a more soothing voice, seeing how stunned she looked. ‘I have no desire to harm you.’ He was scanning her features narrowly. ‘Might I know your name?’
From her spinning world, Carolina sought for an answer. It would not do to give her real name, she felt. And now she was sure that the pirate who had given her such a strange look before locking her in had not seen her on Tortuga - that were was some other reason for his singling her out. Best to stick to the name that would appear on the list of ship’s passengers.
‘My name is Smythe,’ she told him through stiff lips. ‘Carolina Smythe.’
‘Smythe . . .’He pondered. ‘In truth, Jonas did not lie. He told me you were a silver wench - and a witchingly beautiful silver wench you certainly are! Mistress Smythe, will you t
ake the arm of a sea rover and allow me to escort you to the Sea Wolf?'
Carolina could not trust herself to speak. In silence she took the grey satin-clad arm proffered her, in silence came out on to the deck to observe the activity that was still going on as stores were being transferred across the rails which had been lashed together.
‘Where - where are the passengers?’ she asked fearfully, looking about her, for they were nowhere in sight.
‘Have no fear for them, dear lady,’ said the tall man by her side. ‘They have all been put into boats, unharmed, and are at this moment rowing with all their might towards the Azores which lie in that direction.’ He waved a casual hand and the lace at his cuffs fluttered.
‘But the Azores stretch out interminably with leagues of empty sea between!’ protested Carolina, heartsick at the thought of Reba and the rest adrift on an endless ocean. ‘Indeed they could miss them altogether!’
‘There will be no difficulty,’ he assured her. ‘The distance to the nearest island is but short, and Captain Dawlish is in command of the boats. All have been provided with lanterns and he will guide them safe to shore.’
‘I wish I could be as certain,’ said Carolina bitterly. But she allowed him to lift her over the side and on to the Sea Wolf. He lifted her in a light gesture which proved his strength, and once set down upon the deck of his vessel she saw that it was not the Sea Wolf at all - indeed not even a very good imitation. The lines were slightly different, the decks not as clean-scrubbed, the brasswork not polished half so bright as the ship she remembered from her days in Tortuga. And - surprisingly - the crew that grinned at her as she was lifted aboard did not look half so dangerous as the buccaneers she was used to rubbing elbows with on Tortuga.
She was perplexed, looking around her. What manner of men were these? Surely not buccaneers!
In the distance she saw a young stripling striding along in a dress. In his hand was clutched a blonde wig. And she thought with a sudden start, He is imitating me! He is supposed to fool people into thinking he is the Silver Wench!
It was all part of the charade the tall debonair captain was playing, and somehow the realization made her less afraid of him although she knew she should be afraid because she was completely in his power.
‘Then I am the only passenger you - kept?’ she asked.
‘You are indeed the only one.’ His gaze, which at first had passed over her as sharply as a blade, had turned caressing. He was regarding her now with a leisurely, catlike look. ‘And I have come to invite you to share my humble repast.’
Invited to break bread in the great cabin of the masquerader! Carolina remembered vividly the last time she had boarded the real Sea Wolf, fresh from Tortuga, remembered the wild wedding ceremony, the cheering buccaneers, the flash of cutlasses, the church bells clanging discordantly from shore ... so long ago, so far away.
She took a deep breath. This was another Sea Wolf and this was another Kells. She must not confuse the two.
It was a shock to Carolina to realize how like the real Sea Wolf this ship must look from a distance. From up close there were many differences and she observed them without comment. She could not help but notice the openly curious stares of his men.
‘That’s Lars Lindstrom,’ he said affably, nodding towards a tall blond man as they passed. ‘And over there is my ship’s doctor - Dr Cotter.’ He indicated a dour fellow who gave them a lowering look as they went by.
Carolina’s breath caught in her throat. This game had been very well planned indeed. And with knowledge. Someone had known that Lars Lindstrom was an officer aboard the genuine Sea Wolf and Dr Cotter indeed her ship’s doctor. But the impersonation was not perfect. This ‘Lars Lindstrom’ in no way resembled the real Lars other than by being blond, and the real Dr Cotter was half a head shorter and a deal wider than the dour fellow who was passing himself off as Dr Cotter.
It occurred to her to wonder uneasily why she had been kept aboard when the other passengers of the Mary Constant had all been put into boats, but when she voiced her query as they walked along the deck she received a courtier’s bantering answer.
‘I heard of your beauty, dear lady - my men were stunned by it. And I thought to give myself the signal delight of sharing my repast with you this night. After all, I am a man long at sea, and living always in a hellhole such as Tortuga, I have need of fair companionship.’
She gave him a scathing look. In need of fair companionship he well might be, but living in the hellhole of Tortuga he certainly was not - for there the real Dr Cotter would have denounced him and the real Lars Lindstrom would have cut him down with his cutlass for this charade!
‘I am honoured, sir,’ she said drily, with the faintest curtsy.
He smiled. ‘Spoken like a lady. And yet you signed the passenger list as “Mistress Carolina Smythe, semptress”.’ He was regarding her keenly as he led the way to the great cabin.
So he had scanned the passenger list before he came for her . . .
‘I will have need of your skills this very evening, dear lady,’ her captor was saying. ‘For I have burst a seam in one of my coats while attempting to climb this cursed rigging, and ’twill need a skilled seamstress to set it right.’
Carolina, who could not so much as stick a needle into a piece of linsey-woolsey without pricking her finger, gave him a helpless look. ‘Perhaps after dinner,’ she suggested vaguely. ‘I could take the coat back with me to my cabin and work on it by candlelight.’ She hoped she would be able somehow to mend the break in his coat seams without spattering the material with her blood!
‘Ah, yes, to your cabin . . .’he murmured thoughtfully.
‘I am to have a cabin? Or am I too to be set adrift?’
'Of course you are to have a cabin, dear lady,’ he soothed. ‘I shall clear out my ship’s doctor and give you his quarters.’
And I shall find a way to barricade my door, Carolina thought uneasily. In case your ship’s doctor finds in the middle of the night that he has forgotten something and returns to look for it!
‘My cabin, dear lady. Enter!’ He flung wide the door and Carolina looked around her curiously.
Here at least no effort had been made to copy the interior of the great cabin of the real Sea Wolf. Indeed the place was entirely different from that sumptuous interior that Carolina had grown to know - and love. Yet this great cabin had a careless splendour that took away her breath. The green hangings over the bank of stern windows looked new and were of rich brocade yet they had already been allowed to become water-stained. The furnishings had once been exceedingly handsome - chairs in gilt, an oaken table fit for banqueting - yet the oaken top was scarred as if many a tankard had banged down upon it, the gilt chairs were chipping and their gold velvet seats looked somewhat moth-eaten. A handsome Turkey carpet in rich bronzy red covered the floor (Carolina imagined slipping about on it during a storm!). The brasses were not highly polished and Carolina realized that this man did not run a tight ship. Indeed the deck had been a shambles compared to the real Sea Wolf, rigged always for swift and silent running and prepared at any moment to do battle with the best Spain had to offer. Through the hangings that obscured a curtained alcove she glimpsed a bunk on which a coverlet of some rich stuff - she thought it was embroidered with gold threads - had been carelessly thrown and now tumbled half off a bed of white linen. And below just a tiny bit showed of what just might be a silver chamber pot - she wondered suddenly if it was Aunt Pet’s! Handsome masculine clothing was flung carelessly about on chairs and she almost stumbled over a pair of fine polished boots.
Plainly this particular captain, while possessed of sumptuous tastes, cared little for order.
‘I am not by nature neat,’ he told her with a deprecating smile. As he spoke he reached out with a booted foot and casually kicked both boots under the table on which they were to dine, for Carolina could see that it had already been set with a pair of blue and white delftware plates, some handsome silver salts, a couple of black
jack leathern tankards, massive silver spoons, some wickedlooking knives and - surprisingly - forks.
Her winglike brows elevated at the sight of those forks. For forks were still quite new and fashionable and most of the population still made do with knives and spoons and their fingers, endlessly wiping them off - in the better houses at least - on a succession of linen napkins.
Her captor noted the direction of her gaze. ‘I simply could not put to sea without forks,’ he said wistfully, and she was again besieged by curiosity about him.
‘I am surprised your delftware plates have survived,’ she observed. ‘For they must crash to the floor during storms at sea!’
He sighed. ‘Indeed they have, dear lady. These two are all that remain of the dozen I sailed with. They were’ - his lips quirked in a wry smile - ‘the gift of a lady.’
‘And these furnishings?’ she asked, with a sweeping gesture. ‘Were they also the gift of a lady?’
‘Ah, no, these odds and ends came from my country house at - ’ He paused suddenly and gave her an odd smile. ‘You ask direct questions, dear lady.’
‘It is a bad habit of mine,’ she admitted.
‘But useful, I’ll be bound,’ he murmured, pulling back her chair with a flourish.
‘Sometimes,’ she admitted demurely and settled her skirts on to the chair’s gold velvet seat with more confidence for suddenly she had lost her fear of him. He had a rag-tag crew, his ship was improperly run, he had put to sea with delftware plates to slide off the table and break whenever the weather turned foul - yet his voice and manner proclaimed him a gentleman, he had furnished this cabin with fabulous ‘odds and ends’ from his country house, and he had set to sea with forks - oh, surely she had nothing to fear from such a one!
‘I am afraid we will have to make do with these blackjack tankards,’ he told her ruefully, pouring Canary wine into the black leathern tankard before her. ‘All the crystal goblets suffered the same fate as the delftware plates. Their fragments were long since thrown into the sea.’
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