Windsong

by Valerie Sherwood

  Her Englishman gave an expressive shrug. ‘Ah, but then he would have known too much and I might have had no choice but to kill him - or risk discovery.’

  The expression she turned on him was one of dismay.

  ‘Ah, dear lady, I was but joking! I never killed anyone in my life,’ he told her engagingly. ‘This is all a glorious game to me - and one which may make me rich again!’

  But the sheen of the grey eyes watching her seemed to have tarnished now. He was not quite the charming adventurer he had so briefly seemed.

  She gave him a shadowed look. ‘But I will know too much,’ she pointed out.

  ‘Ah, but that is different, dear lady.’ He flashed her his sunniest smile and leaned lazily against the ship’s rail. Captain Dawlish would have been my captive, forced to play his part, and none would doubt that. You on the other hand will stand radiant and smiling upon the deck observed by all with your hair shining silver in the sun - a perfect Silver Wench. You will be a part of this mad scheme - and as such likely to hang with the rest of us should things go wrong. You will not betray me.’

  ‘The law is fiercer to women,’ she murmured. ‘I would doubtless be burned at the stake. We will never hang together, my captain.’

  ‘Tis death all the same,’ he said airily. ‘And I’ve no desire to land in hell for some time yet.’

  Hell is here and now, she thought gloomily. We find our own hell, each of us. I found mine by falling in love with Rye only to lose him. She did not voice that thought. Men preferred a laughing lass to one who moped.

  ‘Where are we?’ she asked. ‘For I can see land over there.’

  ‘We are negotiating the Fayal Channel,’ he told her. And that little village off to starboard is Horta.’

  ‘Where you have your laundry done?’ she guessed.

  He laughed and stood with his arm lightly about her waist while she clung to the rail. ‘You have guessed my secret!’

  Carolina suffered him to hold her thus while she contemplated the distant village. Crowned by lacy white clouds, the island seemed banked with bursts of colourful flowers that wandered down the slopes. Terraced patterns of cultivation lay checkerboard fashion among occasional windmills - the rich green testimony to a damp mild climate. Looking tiny in the distance but growing ever larger as the wind whipped their sails, the low white houses were set among banks of blue hydrangeas. Now as they came closer Carolina could see, wending its way down a steep narrow lane between blue hydrangea hedges, an ox cart jolting along.

  There was a beach below the village and along that beach were boats which had been hauled up on to the sand. And two of them - !

  ‘Quick,’ she cried. ‘Give me your glass!’

  He obliged her and she stared through the glass eagerly at the volcanic sand and the beached boats. Yes - they were! There were the boats from the Mary Constant, unharmed, and looking quite at home below the low white houses. Which meant - although she could not see them for they were undoubtedly resting or dining in those houses she could see through her glass - that the passengers and crew of the Mary Constant were all right; they had made shore safely. Reba and Mistress Wadlow had lost their luggage - but not their lives.

  Buoyed by this good news she returned his glass with a brilliant smile. ‘It’s a lovely island,’ she told him.

  His dark brows lifted. ‘Lovely indeed,’ he murmured, putting aside the glass. His gaze was not on the island, though, but on the pair of white shoulders before him. Lightly he took those shoulders in two caressing hands. ‘But alas, dear lady, Horta is not our destination.’ He sighed. ‘Our destination is somewhat more bleak, as you will observe.’

  With his hands on her shoulders he propelled her about so that she might look off to the port side of the vessel. There rising out of the mist was a sight Carolina would always remember - the great bleak cone of a volcanic mountain. Dark and menacing, it came up out of the sea to tower some seven thousand feet - a sleeping giant, seemingly at rest.

  ‘Pico,’ he said, waving an arm whimsically across the Fayal Channel at the great sea mountain that rose like a black wall before her astonished gaze. ‘Our destination lies around the point yonder - no, perhaps you cannot see it from here. It is Espartel Point and beyond we will find a black sand beach. It is where we are to rendezvous.’

  ‘A strange choice,’ murmured Carolina, thinking that Rye would surely have chosen Horta or some other pleasant place to await the ransom ship!

  ‘Yes, well’ - the Englishman sighed - ‘the Duchess of Lorca has no great regard for my navigational skills, nor does she trust my navigator. She said - and said it with some asperity’ - his wry tone suggested with just how much asperity - ‘that it was the one place I was likely to be able to find in the vastness of the Atlantic since its peak sticks up taller than the mountains of the rest of the Azores.’

  ‘A good choice for her,’ Carolina muttered caustically, looking up resentfully at the inhospitable landfall the Duchess had chosen for them. ‘Black - like her heart.’

  ‘And her mantilla,’ he laughed. ‘But we must not think of her too badly, for it is the Duchess who brings the treasure to us.’

  Carolina watched the sea scud by and contemplated the great hulk of Pico, looming ever larger to port. She could not know that what she gazed on was - like the tip of an iceberg - the only visible part of a mighty undersea mountain, one of a chain of undersea mountains that rose from cold dark unimaginable depths to break the shining surface of the sea. These were the peaks of the mid-Atlantic Ridge, sea girt islands of fire and brimstone, their shrouded peaks concealing crater lakes, jewellike blue and green calderas where once fire and ash had burst forth to heaven - and would again. From the sides of these sulphurous unforested mountains rising from the sea, hot springs gushed and ran down - on the older islands - through banks of flowers to steep scree-lined shores and black sand beaches, sooty dark against the white surf.

  Fascinated, Carolina stared at the black mountain, endlessly tall, rising above her.

  Pico - their destination.

  A bleak place and drear - chosen by the Duchess for its inaccessibility, no doubt. And because it was a place to hold secrets.

  Carolina’s lovely face hardened.

  She would use it for the same purpose - as a place to guard secrets!

  And perhaps to give one secret away.

  THE ISLAND OF PICO, THE AZORES

  1689

  28

  Staring up at that black mountain, Carolina made up her mind. Here on Pico she would throw out the dice - win or lose. With that in mind, as they sailed round Espartel Point, she turned to the tall man at her side.

  ‘I should like a swim,’ she said regretfully. ‘It is too bad we cannot have one.’

  He looked over the ship’s side at the blue-green water, clear and tempting. ‘I do not see why not,’ he said calmly. Once we have cast anchor.’

  ‘Oh, no, I couldn’t!’ She looked shocked. ‘Swim without my clothes here by the ship! Your crew would be watching!’

  The thought of her lithe body slicing through the clear blue-green water heated his blood. She would be a mermaid, he thought, miraculous, with her long fair hair trailing, a sight for a man’s eyes to feast upon.

  ‘I would order them all to the other side of the ship while we swam!’

  She gave him a whimsical look. ‘And do you think they would obey you? They would all be finding something desperately urgent to do, some rigging come loose, a ratline fraying - anything that would bring them over to peer over at us!’

  He frowned at that. He was eager for the display of her white body but he wanted that display to be his alone. ‘There is a beach yonder. It is of black sand and rubble but the ship’s longboat could take us there - and pick us up later.’

  It was by now mid-afternoon.

  ‘We could take along food and have a picnic there on the sand,’ she cried. ‘Alone together without all this rattle and bang of sails around us. But - no, it would be too hot, I suppo
se. We would burn our skin.’

  ‘I will have my men erect a lean-to on the beach,’ her captor offered gallantly. ‘With a sail for a canopy.’ .

  ‘But even then,’ she objected, ‘they will be watching us from the ship - they will observe our every movement through a glass as we run splashing through the surf!’

  The very thought of this elegant silver wench splashing naked through the surf, her slim beautiful legs sending up a crystal shower of spray to sparkle against her smooth white thighs was too much for the lean adventurer.

  ‘I will have the ship withdraw just around the point,’ he said. ‘After the longboat has delivered us and the lean-to has been constructed. We will take along food and we can spent the night there, if you like.’

  ‘I would like that,’ she murmured, gazing up at him. ‘For I have something to tell you - something that I would prefer no one else to hear.’

  The Englishman had often heard words like that from feminine lips - and always the ‘something’ meant for no other ears had been words of love, urging him never to leave them. His heart expanded.

  ‘But would that not upset your rendezvous with the Duchess?’ she asked provocatively.

  ‘That rendezvous is not for another week,’ he said with a chuckle. ‘For she wanted to allow time for the ransom to arrive from Spain. And besides - she is always late.’

  A week to woo him then ... to make absolutely certain that he had been won away from the Duchess before he saw her again.

  It was done as the captain ordered. In the grey ship’s longboat they were rowed to shore - a bleak shoreline of black volcanic sand and rocky debris. Farther back, up the slopes of that frowning mountain that towered dark above them there were signs of life, low scrubby growth taking root here and there. In several places Carolina could see the glossy leaves of pomegranates rising from the thorny shrub. Life was finding a foothold here on the sides of the great volcano. Given time, this dark forbidding island would be as lovely as any of the others in the Azores . . .

  Swiftly the men set up a lean-to. It was merely a sail supported by poles to protect them from the full rays of the sun that beat down wickedly on the black sand of the beach, making it hot underfoot.

  Ned, the cabin boy, who had come ashore with them, kept stealing surreptitious wondering glances at Carolina as he spread out a tablecloth and set upon it a large bowl of fruit, tankards, bottles of wine, and, still wrapped in linen napkins, bread and cheese. His admiration of Carolina was so apparent that it was the subject of much gibing amongst the crew.

  At last the longboat was rowed away, leaving Carolina and her captain standing on the sand, shading their eyes with their hands and watching the longboat’s progress across the sparkling water.

  They strolled on the beach, they ventured a ways up the slope of the black cindery mountain. And then, when ship and longboat had disappeared around the point, they undressed - Carolina behind the lean-to sail - and ran into the water.

  In the foaming incoming surf they gambolled like children. A carefree spirit seemed to possess them. Like Adam and Eve, alone in a pristine world, they could cast off whatever they had been and suddenly be innocent again, fresh and uncaring of what life might bring.

  Carolina, who was a good swimmer, knifed through the blue-green water and her captor, an excellent swimmer himself, paced her as she swam. He would pull ahead with longer, stronger strokes and look back laughing at his mermaid, her long wet hair streaming behind her, her eyes sparkling like the bright droplets of water that flashed around her.

  Tired at last, they struggled out of the white frothing surf and threw themselves down upon the beach. They lay there on their backs, letting the waning sun dry their wet bodies. Carolina’s eyes were shut against the slanted rays of that sun, but the Englishman watched her through the slits of his half-closed eyelids. The picture she made, stretched out in gleaming beauty, lit by the last rays of sunlight against the black sand of the beach, was one he could scarce look away from.

  He felt desire rising in him as he studied the sweet lines of her young body, her easy feminine gestures as she moved slightly, the better to dry herself.

  But she had felt the pressure of that gaze and was watching him now from beneath lowered lashes. And before his rising desire could be expressed, she scrambled up, laughing - for it was no part of her design to let him take her too soon.

  ‘We should dine,’ she told him merrily, ‘while there is still some light - because I see the one thing that has been omitted is candles!’

  He saw that it was so and muttered a soft curse - for he had been planning both before - and after-dinner delights with this wonderful carefree wench.

  ‘But some clothes, first,’ she said, disappearing behind the shelter of the lean-to sail. She tossed him out his trousers and while he was donning them, put on her light chemise and joined him.

  When he gazed at her appreciatively she gave him a chiding look that said as plainly as words, Dinner first!

  They sat cross-legged on the sand in the gathering dusk and Carolina sliced the bread and cut off slabs of the golden cheese while he poured the wine. They were hungry and the food tasted wonderful. Afterwards they leaned back on their elbows and nibbled the fruit.

  Carolina paused in taking a bite of a golden orange. The stars were out now. ‘What do you plan to do with your share of this treasure?’ she asked casually. ‘When the necklace is sold?’

  His dark head swung around and he looked down on her with a whimsical smile that did not quite reach those strange empty eyes. ‘Why, I will save the Hall with it of course!’

  ‘The Hall?’

  He was in an expansive mood, out to impress her. ‘I inherited Basing Hall near Basingstoke along with half a dozen other great manors when my father died. And shortly found I had gambled them all away - all but the Hall. I married an heiress to save me, but her money was soon gone too.’

  ‘What does she think of your present scheme?’ Carolina asked curiously, surprised to learn that he was married.

  ‘She would have disapproved,’ he sighed. ‘For she loved me dearly. But - she died, alas . . . And now I am out to save the Hall again.’

  ‘I am surprised you did not promptly wed another heiress!’

  He shrugged. ‘I was about to but it seemed she had fallen from her parents’ favour - I could not be sure. You understand, a man in my position must be absolutely certain of a dowry - it would be fatal to make a mistake!’

  Beneath a thin white sliver of moon, Carolina gave him a jaded look. ‘And so the Duchess of Lorca happened along at exactly the right time with an attractive offer and you took it?’

  ‘Well, it was not exactly a sudden offer,’ he admitted. ‘I had been toying with it for some time. I am no seaman and did not really relish pirating as a way of life.’

  Carolina laughed and tossed away her orange peel. ‘I never imagined that you did!’ Nor do you do it well, she could have added. For you have left your ship and let the longboat go away and leave us here on a deserted shore. Kells would never have done that.

  ‘No,’ he said, and moved towards her with a gleam in his eye. ‘I was ever a lover . . .’

  ‘Kells,’ she began, using the only name he had given her a little unsteadily, pushing him away as he would have drawn her down upon the moonlit black sands beside him. ‘Oh, I do not want to call you Kells when we are alone. What is your real name?’

  ‘That’s right.’ He grinned. ‘You do not know it.’ He scrambled up and stood upon the sand, his lean body silvered by moonlight. ‘Permit me to introduce myself.’ He made her a courtly bow. ‘I am Robin Tyrell, Marquess of Saltenham.’

  Carolina found her eyes starting from her head.

  This was Reba’s marquess!

  This dissolute charming man bowing before her was the man who had married Reba in Fleet Street and deserted her in Hanging Sword Alley! Deserted Reba - even as Kells as deserted her - for the fascinating Duchess of Lorca!

  He peered into
her face, noting her expression with alarm. ‘Do not let my title frighten you, dear lady.’

  That snapped Carolina out of it. ‘Your title does not frighten me,’ she declared. ‘It is just - just that I think I have heard that name Robin Tyrell mentioned ... in London.’

  He laughed. ‘You will have heard of my excesses, I take it?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ she murmured. But she must summon her wits. Who he was must make no difference to her - he was still the Duchess of Lorca’s lover. The Duchess had taken him from Reba just as she had taken Kells from her. Reba, she told herself, would applaud having the Duchess lose out - by any means. Indeed, in a way, she was avenging Reba! She went back to the subject of the ransom. ‘The fifty thousand pieces of eight you can divide, but the necklace ... do you intend to break it apart, divide the links?’

  ‘It would be a pity, since the main pendant is a ruby of great weight, and the rest are all matched stones.’

  ‘So you do not think you will break it up?’

  He shook his head. ‘No.’

  ‘Then the Duchess,’ she pursued, ‘will endeavour to sell it?’ Only royalty could afford to buy such a piece, she was thinking.

  He shifted his feet on the sand. ‘She had suggested that.’

  Carolina shot him an oblique look. ‘She will cheat you,’ she said bluntly. ‘You know that, don’t you? A woman who would connive to have her own husband kidnapped is surely not to be trusted!’

  He sank down beside her on the sand. ‘What would you have me do?’ he asked whimsically. ‘Would you have me try to sell the necklace on Tortuga along with the Mary Constant?'

  He had thought to jest with her, but unknowingly he had given her the opening she wanted. He had brought up Tortuga.

  And now - now she would spring the trap that would bind him to her!

  ‘You would be well advised not to try to sell anything on Tortuga,’ she warned him. ‘For you have a man on your ship who has been impersonating Lars Lindstrom and Lars lives in Kells’s house on Tortuga. And if he did not kill you, Katje, who loves him, would! And if they only half killed you, I doubt me Dr Cotter would bind up your wounds once he discovered that you have such an unattractive fellow masquerading as him on your ship!’ She watched him. That should wipe the smile off his face!