Silently she flayed herself. Oh, she was not to be trusted. Indeed the world would be far better off if she were dead - and who would really care? Who would mourn if she were to walk out into the sea and swim towards America?
So depressed was she that she almost did it. She had risen to her feet and was standing on the sand outside the lean-to when she saw far out a grey ship glide around the point. She looked at it with little interest, for that would be Robin’s ship come to pick them up.
A moment later a grey longboat headed their way.
‘Wake up,’ she said wearily, stirring Robin’s prostrate figure with her foot. ‘They’re coming to get us.’
She went back behind the lean-to sail to dress.
Robin was stretching when she left the shelter of the lean-to and stepped out on to the sand, shaking out her long hair to rid it of sand. He had pulled on his trousers before he came out and now he sat down, shaking sand from his boots before he dragged them on. His back was to the surf and the oncoming longboat, which was beached very neatly by several men who sprang out at just the right moment.
His boots on, Robin was still leaning back staring up at her, enjoying the sight of the blazing sunlight on her hair, watching her blink into the sunlight.
Suddenly her expression changed, grew incredulous.
‘Robin,’ she said hurriedly. ‘Stand up.’
For now the brilliant sun no longer blinded her vision. Now she could see that those grinning men who had leapt over the side of the longboat had familiar faces.
And Rye himself was running the longboat up the beach!
Robin Tyrell had swung around and now he scrambled to his feet. He gave her a wild look. ‘Is this Kells?’ he demanded hoarsely.
‘None other!’ Rye’s voice rang out and at the same time his sword left its scabbard and described a wicked arc as he bounded forward. ‘Stand away from him, Carolina. Has he hurt you?’
‘No, he has not,’ gasped Carolina. But she did not step back. Instead she pressed forward. ‘Oh, Rye, do not kill him,’ she pleaded.
She had never heard his voice so cold as when he next spoke.
‘And why should I not? He has like as not put my head in a noose and all of these gentlemen with me as well!’ He moved to brush her aside.
In panic she clung to his left arm. ‘Because it was not his plan. He was dragged into it because he needed money!’
Rye shook her off. ‘I care not whose plan it was! Defend yourself, whoever you are!’
‘But you will care!’ cried Carolina. ‘Because it was the Duchess of Lorca who lured him into this with the promise of rich rewards - he told me so!’
Robin Tyrell was hastily backing away towards the sword he had yesterday left lying on the sand.
But her words stopped Rye in his tracks. ‘Rosalia?’ he said blankly. And then he turned a hot face towards Robin. ‘You lie!’ he said through clenched teeth. ‘She would not do such a thing!’
‘She could and she did!’ panted Carolina, this time flinging herself upon Rye in earnest and refusing to be shaken off. He paused to extricate himself without hurting her, while keeping a wary eye on the marquess, who had by now gained his sword and was looking desperately around him at the circle of steel that surrounded him - for not a man there but had his hand on his cutlass and yearned to chop down this insolent fellow who, just when they thought they had left the buccaneering life behind them, had brought them back into the shadow of the gibbet. ‘Tell him, Robin, tell him!' she screamed. ‘Tell him why!'
‘I was the Duchess of Lorca’s lover,’ the marquess told Kells bluntly. ‘So it was natural enough she’d turn to me when she wanted to rid herself of her elderly husband. I am in this only for the ransom, but Rosalia - ’
‘Rosalia intends to kill the Duke,’ interrupted Carolina, afraid there would be murder done here on the black sands of Pico. ‘And blame it on you. She recruited Robin because he fit your description. All the information he has about the men of the Sea Wolf he got from her.’
This last bit of information did indeed cause a change in the countenance of the tall buccaneer.
‘Is this true, Carolina?’ he asked softly.
‘Yes,’ was her desperate answer. ‘Robin has told me all about it.’
‘He has told you - ?’ Rye stopped short, considering her narrowly.
‘I have the Duke on my ship,’ explained Robin.
‘No, I have the Duke of Lorca on my ship,’ Rye corrected him. ‘For we took your ship in the night. First the Mary Constant with her sleeping crew - not even a deck watch posted. Then, with my men manning the Mary Constant, we sailed up to your ship - collided with her actually and boarded her. The sleepy crew were cursing us for bad sailors before they realized they had been taken.’ His lip curled. ‘And you call yourself a buccaneer?’
‘He is calling himself a fool at this moment,’ Carolina said. ‘But you must not kill him, Rye. I do not want his blood on your hands.’
From behind Rye one of his men now spoke up. ‘It was nice o’ the Wench to cut their captain out o’ the pack for us,’ said a voice she recognized as belonging to one Bailes. ‘But now I think ye might let us have him, Captain.’ He edged forward, his voice persuasive.
The suggestion brought a faint smile to Rye’s lips but it sent a shiver down Carolina’s back.
‘Is that what you want?’ he asked abruptly, turning to her.
‘No, it is not!’ She stepped forward to confront Bailes. ‘We can have Robin write out and sign a full confession, Bailes - one that will exonerate all of you, one that will explain everything.’
Bailes laughed nastily. ‘When have kings ever listened? Or king’s governors read papers presented by buccaneers?’
‘I know that is true,’ Carolina agreed desperately. ‘But this man is Robin Tyrell, Marquess of Saltenham and - ’
‘Saltenham?’ exclaimed Rye, startled. He stared at Robin. ‘By heaven, it’s true! I remember seeing you once at a race in Surrey.’
‘My horse lost,’ said Robin with a wry smile. ‘I don’t have to ask which race it was because they always seemed to lose - ’tis one of the reasons I find myself in this predicament.’
‘Title or no,’ Bailes said heavily, ‘his blood will run just as red along the sand.’ He was advancing on the marquess with cutlass drawn as he spoke.
Robin retreated warily a step or two across the sand.
‘Oh, Rye, stop him,’ moaned Carolina. ‘Don’t you know that if you spill such noble blood as Robin’s there’ll be a furore that will keep you from ever being pardoned?’
‘Hold, Bailes.’ Rye threw out his arm and the length of his sword barred Bailes’s way. ‘This needs thinking on.’ He frowned down on Carolina. ‘What is your interest in this man that you plead so for his life?’
‘’Tis not his life I plead for but yours! All your lives! To kill him would be to throw your lives away - or condemn yourselves to live on Tortuga forever. You would never see home again - except at the end of a rope.’
If Rye considered this somewhat of an overstatement, he did not say so. Instead he considered Carolina. ‘I think there is something more,’ he murmured. ‘Something you have yet to tell me?’
‘There is,’ admitted Carolina. ‘This is Reba’s marquess - you remember I told you she had been seduced by a marquess in Hampshire while she was still in school? Well, she’d been living with him in London - until the Duchess of Lorca seduced him away from her!’
‘But I left Rosalia on Horta with the stranded passengers from the Mary Constant,’ objected Rye. ‘I did not speak to Reba but ’twas obvious they did not know each other.’
‘No, all Reba knew was that Robin had left her for another woman. Actually he had sailed away at Rosalia’s insistence.’
Rye turned on the marquess. ‘Is this true, Saltenham?’ he asked sternly.
Robin gave a wary nod. ‘It is true - basically.’
‘And I beg you to spare his life - oh, I do beg you all to spare hi
s life’ - Carolina was almost in tears - ‘so that he can marry my best friend and make of her a marchioness for that is what she has longed to be!’
Rye quirked an eyebrow at her. ‘You say he has already seduced and abandoned Reba? Faith, there’s no good reason to assume he’ll marry her now.’
‘Yes, there is!’ Carolina’s silver eyes flashed. ‘With all these cutlasses to prod him, he’ll be glad enough to marry her! And Captain Dawlish can perform the ceremony on board the Mary Constant!'
Rye’s gaze swept around him at his men.
‘And it would be a fitting punishment,’ Carolina insisted. ‘For death is quick but Robin here will have years in which to atone. For I promise you’ - her voice rose almost to a wail - ‘that he will have the world’s worst mother-in-law!’
Her words struck just the right note. Bailes, who had been glowering, hooted. There was a general roar of laughter and - Carolina saw with relief - a lessening of tension.
‘Then, by heaven, we shall have us a wedding!’ cried Rye. ‘Drop your sword on the ground, Saltenham, unless you want to be chopped to pieces.’
Robin hastily dropped his sword and for a moment Carolina caught his eye. A look flashed over that dissolute jaded face that told her he knew why she had saved his life - and that the reason had nothing whatever to do with Reba.
Carolina flushed.
‘You say you left Rosalia in Horta?’ she puzzled.
Her tall buccaneer nodded. ‘Aye, there was likely to be bloodshed and I won’t have a woman aboard my ship when there’s fighting. You should remember that.’
She smiled on him sadly. He had told her bluntly on Tortuga that he would never take her out with him on a venture - and he had kept his word.
‘Come,’ he said. ‘I will take you to Horta.’
He had not embraced her, he had shown her nothing but a stern face. Nor did his features lighten when they were aboard ship and a sulking Robin stood watching them from far down the ship’s rail.
Perhaps, it was the shock of finding her alone with Robin, she mused. For all she knew she had been observed through a spyglass when she had come out of the lean-to before she dressed! What was he thinking? she asked herself, stealing a look at him. He had just learned that the lady of his heart - Rosalia - was untrue, had been untrue all along. Was that the reason for his silence?
He stood beside her, lost in thought, watching the coast fly by from the railing of the Sea Waif. There was nobody near.
‘Carolina,’ he said - and there was a sigh in his voice. ‘ Why did you do it?'
Carolina did not insult him by saying, ‘Do what?' They both knew what he meant. She took a deep breath.
‘I did it,’ she said in a level tone, ‘because the morning you left London I followed you in a hackney coach, meaning to persuade you to take me along at the last moment. And I saw you leave with another woman!' Her voice caught. ‘A woman whose perfume I had smelled on your shirt the morning after we went to Drury Lane to the play - and I remembered it because it was the perfume worn by the woman whose mask I knocked off. You broke faith with me, Rye. And’ - her chin lifted defiantly - ‘if I had it to do over again I would do the same thing.'
He studied her, his grey eyes impenetrable. ‘I still could kill him, you know,’ he flung at her. ‘All on board save yourself would applaud.’
‘Yes, and it would be of a piece with your character!’ she flashed. ‘I wonder that you did not kill him on the beach!’
‘I thought to . . .’ he said softly, and there was death in the dark glance that strayed down towards Robin, still lounging sulkily by the rail. ‘Do you love him?’ he demanded.
‘What does that have to do with it?’ she cried, exasperated. ‘Robin was the Duchess of Lorca’s lover and since she had taken you away from me, I meant to take Robin from her!' And I have done so! she almost shouted at him.
He shook his head as if to clear it, turned away from her and went back to his musing. His silence infuriated Carolina.
‘And when we reach Horta, you can hand me over to Captain Dawlish and I will continue my journey - you will never have to see me again!’
His head did not even turn.
It was a very dissatisfying confrontation and Carolina flounced away from him and - in a perverse spirit of discontent - wandered down to where the marquess was standing.
‘You had best away from me,’ he warned her. ‘Yon scowling fellow may throw us both over the side!’
‘Then we’ll swim to shore, Robin,’ she said sweetly.
A bleak look was his only comment on that. But it was a wistful look too. Because - rake that he was - he had found himself wishing, even in this extremity, that this woman of light could love him.
And now he had found that her love too was owned by the tall buccaneer whose menacing figure seemed to Robin Tyrell’s gaze to fill the prow of the ship.
‘Do you think Evistock really intends to force me into this marriage?’ he wondered.
‘Oh, yes,’ she said, nodding vigorously. ‘Reba will be a marchioness before this day is over - if she desires to be one.’
He looked startled. ‘But how? Your buccaneer spoke as if she was among the passengers on the Mary Constant, but surely I would have seen her if that had been the case!’
‘If you had looked beneath the widow’s weeds of one of your captives,’ she told him tersely, ‘you would have found Reba. I suppose she missed you too, scurrying into a boat, head down in the dark! She is on Horta now, waiting for us. Robin, you will not - spoil this for her, will you? Reba loves you dearly, you must know that!’
The marquess looked dazed and lapsed into a brooding silence.
To annoy Rye, Carolina stayed by Robin’s side all the way to Horta. Once she sighed. ‘I wonder what Rye sees in Rosalia,’ she said gloomily.
Robin snorted. ‘Rosalia? ’Tis you he loves - ’tis plain to see!’
‘Not to me,’ she sighed. ‘What makes you so sure?’
His dark head swung about to consider the lean buccaneer, out of earshot up the deck. ‘The way he began toying with his sword hilt the moment you began walking down the deck towards me, the way he has half turned around now so that he can observe us without appearing to, the sound of his voice when he called out to you when he came ashore - all signs of a man in love.’
But his face turned ashen when he saw Rosalia, Carolina remembered sadly. ‘Rye has complicated reasons for what he does,’ she scoffed. ‘He is not looking at us, he is studying the shoreline. And as for toying with his sword, I doubt he was even aware of doing so.’
The marquess sighed. ‘I wish I could agree.’ He continued to watch Rye warily. ‘Where did you meet him?’ he wondered.
‘In London - as a schoolgirl.’
‘And all this time he has been living a double life? An English gentleman and an Irish buccaneer?’ He shook his head in wonder.
‘Oh, more than a double life,’ she corrected him. ‘You have forgot his days as a Spanish caballero.' Those days when he knew Rosalia, loved Rosalia. The thought hurt.
‘A man of many climes,’ he murmured. ‘I had not thought I was taking on so much when I set out to impersonate him.’
‘No one can truly impersonate him.’ She sighed. ‘For there is no one like him.’
She reached up to push back some tendrils of fair hair which were flying wildly in the strong wind that swept down from the heights and made their passage rough - and through her fingers she studied Rye, still standing where he had been, down the deck.
Was he really watching them out of the corner of his eye? she wondered. She could not be sure. He might be studying the shoreline of Fayal coming up ahead. But just in case he was watching, she perversely turned all her charm upon the marquess, laughing aloud at his pleasantries, throwing back her head vivaciously and letting her laughter carry down the deck to Rye.
‘You will get me killed,’ muttered the marquess. ‘Your buccaneer would like nothing better than to run me through at this mom
ent!’
‘No, he will not kill you, Robin,’ said Carolina with a shrug. ‘We are past that stage. Indeed,’ she added thoughtfully, ‘from the look he just turned this way, he is far more likely to kill me!’
THE ISLAND OF FAYAL
THE AZORES
1689
30
The little village of Horta with its low white houses, set among flowers, gleamed fresh and immaculate in the morning sun. The Sea Waif had rounded Espartel Point, swept north into the Fayal Channel, and was now beating up the blue-green waters of the channel with the lovely island of Fayal to port and the looming black shape of Pico off to starboard. The houses became larger as they approached, the long streaks of blue became hydrangea hedges, the dots in the distance were oxen hauling carts. As they came nearer, the clouds that had obscured the peaks seemed to blow away, and above the pattern of terraces and stone walls and open fields they could see a black cinder cone.
‘Pico Gordo,’ the marquess told her, waving upward at the peak on Fayal which, though formidable, was still dwarfed by the black heights of Pico across the channel. ‘My navigator had been here before and he told me that it erupted seventeen years ago and covered the mountain with ash - there is a crater lake up there in the caldera. He described the lake as a vivid green - or blue, I cannot remember which. I suppose we will not find out,’ he added drily.
Carolina threw him a scathing look. Exploring calderas was not on her programme today; she had more important things to do. Her whole life seemed to have funnelled her here, led her down disastrous pathways to this great final disaster - this meeting with the woman Rye loved better than he loved her . . .
As if he could not help himself, Rye now walked down the deck towards her - and found her laughing. Deliberately. To bait him.
‘You seem very merry,’ he observed and gave the marquess so menacingly cold a look that that gentleman stepped nimbly back.
The marquess cleared his throat. ‘You are caught between two women, Evistock. Faith, I don’t envy you!’ He shook his head. ‘It would take the wisdom of a Solomon to know what to do in your position.’
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