And on those rather wistful occasions they toasted other times and other faces that they might never see again.
But on the whole life for them was joyous on Tortuga. Wealthy enough that Rye had no need to go a’roving as he waited for a pardon which seemed slow in coming, the dazzling young couple flashed on horseback up into the hills - she in her brilliant red silk riding habit, he in carelessly open white shirt and leathern trousers for, as he said with a shrug, he had no need to impress the people of this island with his sobriety. Here, for better or worse, they knew him as he was.
Carolina would have told you they scarcely knew him at all. Only she really knew him, only she really understood the sinister but chivalrous ‘Petticoat Buccaneer’ whose heart she held in keeping. It was a red petticoat he would fly now, should the need arise - one of hers which she had presented to him with great ceremony one night, at a dinner for two in the inner courtyard. He had accepted her proffered ‘flag’ with an elegant bow, thrown a long leg across one of the stone benches and lifted his wineglass to toast her eyebrows.
Half a life, some might call it, the way they lived on tropical Tortuga, but for them it was whole. And wonderful. And beautiful. And lasting.
The buccaneer and his lady had found each other again. All was right with their world.
And looking deep into each other’s eyes, they knew it always would be.
The lady and her buccaneer, a driven pair, you say?
Who fought their way across a world not meant for such as they?
Ah, yes, perhaps, but also note, nights when the wind is fair,
Twinkling in starlight, see that sail?
They’re making love out there!
And wafted on the gentlest winds that e’er caressed a maid,
Repeating vows upon the wind never to be gainsaid!
Windsong Page 45