“Faulkner comes here?”
Annemie nodded. “Her cousin sent word to Falconer. This cousin wished to marry the wealthy widow himself. He has, offered Falconer one half of the lady’s vast wealth if he will kill Osprey and return the girl to his loving care.”
“Where is the girl? Is she with him? I’ll spread-eagle Osprey and make him watch while I—”
“You will not.”
“I’ll have vengeance on Osprey if I have to kill you to do it, Mama. You’ll not deny me on this.”
“When have I ever denied you anything?” She had no intention of letting him have Garrett Faulkner until she could examine him and find out exactly who and what he was. But Matthew was like a child. She could not tell him everything at once.
She had mused on Faulkner’s name since she’d first seen it. Faulkner was so similar to Falconer. A coincidence? She had lived long and seen few true coincidences.
Matthew leaped up and began to pace back and forth. “I’ll rip his eyes out with fishhooks, I’ll cut his—”
“Yes, yes, I’m sure you will.” She sighed and fanned herself. Matthew’s pleasures were so disgusting. “You may have Osprey to do with as you will,” she promised. “But the girl—”
“Did the letter say what she looks like? If she is an heiress, she will have the face of a sea cook. But her face doesn’t matter. I will—”
“You will dispose of the husband and wed the wench yourself.”
“Are you mad, old woman?”
“Mad.” She laughed. “I am the only sane one in this room. You have no son. Caroline Talbot—whatever she may call herself—is the granddaughter of Kincaid and Bess Bennett and the great-great-granddaughter of Lacy and James Bennett. They are old enemies of Falconer. In your grandfather’s time Lacy and James robbed a fortune in Spanish treasure from—”
“Why do you cling to the past? What has this to do with the wench?”
Memories of her dead grandson swept over her, the grandson that Osprey had sent to the bottom of the sea. “Debts must be paid, my son. Friends rewarded, enemies destroyed.”
Simon, she thought sadly. My Simon . . . You were my hope for the future. Not slow of wit like Matthew. You were smart, a willing pupil. You would have been a fit candidate to wear the Falconer’s mantle.
“This James is long dead. Why should we—”
Annemie raked him with a fierce gaze. “Fool! The land of Fortune’s Gift was purchased with gold that should have been Falconer’s. By your marriage to Caroline Talbot, you will bring that which was lost back into the fold.”
“She is Osprey’s wife?”
“Apparently. But marriage is a simple matter to undo. She was a widow when he found her; she will be a widow again when you have dealt with him as he deserves.”
“She will hold Osprey’s death against me. Why should I be saddled with an ugly, weeping wife?”
“Get a child on her, and you may do as you like. You are no longer young. By marrying Caroline Talbot, you will secure a wealthy wife of high birth and cancel all debts. Will it not be a final blow to Osprey, to take his bride before he is cold?”
Matthew’s shaggy black brows drew together. His forehead wrinkled in thought. It was a complicated scheme she had proposed, and Matthew never liked doing more than one thing at a time.
“I can use the woman?”
“Once she is your wife, you may take a husband’s right with her.” Her ancient voice rang with authority. “But you may not kill her until she has delivered a living child of your loins.”
“What if she quickens with a jill instead of a jack?”
“A son would be best. But boy or girl, I care not, I must have a grandchild.” I must have a bloodline to continue on, she thought. I am weary of life and long to join my Peregrine in paradise. But I cannot die without ensuring the family—
“You have me,” Matthew reminded her sullenly.
“I have you, my lamb,” she agreed. “But you take too many chances with your life. I must have a grandchild. And this woman must be his dam.”
“Why do they come here, this Captain Osprey and the wench?”
“It matters not why, only that they come,” she answered him. But her mind was whirling with possibilities. Peregrine had always believed that there was more treasure on Arawak. “Our informant says their destination is Arawak Island.”
“Arawak? No one goes to Arawak. Even the Indians will not live there—they say it is haunted by the ghosts of dead Caribs.”
“You are not afraid of ghosts, are you, my son?”
He growled. “I fear only cold steel and hot lead.”
“And it is not far.”
“Not sixty leagues from Jamaica.”
She laughed. “Don’t you see? Like a spider I have waited patiently all these months since my precious Simon was killed. And now these two fly into my web as careless as mosquitoes. What do we do with mosquitoes, Matthew?”
“We swat them.”
“And destroy them utterly . . . leaving no trace that they ever existed.”
“Simon’s murderer will take a long time to die. His screams will sound sweet to my ears.”
“I’m sure.” She tapped his wrist with her fan again. “But you may not kill him until he has been brought before Falconer.”
“Why not?”
“Do not question me. I am firm on this. They must both be brought whole and alive. After they have been questioned, then you may have your fun.” Once Falconer was clear as to who Garrett Faulkner was, then she could reason with Matthew. After all, when her dear son lied to her so often, why should she bother to be completely honest with him? Matthew was a dangerous weapon that must be handled with extreme care.
“It is unfair that I should do the work of catching him and then have to wait,” he grumbled.
“Life is unfair,” she said. Sighing, she settled back on the cushion. “I knew when I felt the ocean breeze on my face this morning that it would be a fortuitous day.” Her face hardened. “I never guessed just how fortuitous.”
It was late at night. Aboard the Dutch merchant ship, Caroline and Garrett stood by the rail in the pale moonlight wrapped in each other’s arms. Satiated and utterly content, Caroline leaned against him, waiting for her body to stop trembling and her heartbeat to slow to normal.
Once again, they had been unable to hold back the tides of passion. Here, on the open deck, she had given him what they both wanted so desperately, without heed for propriety. They had made fast and furious love in the shelter of a stack of cargo, and her lips still tasted of Garrett’s.
He wrapped a stray lock of her hair around his finger and lifted it to rub against his face. “I think I have the imprint of a cask rim permanently creased in my knee,” he murmured.
She laughed softly. “It seems there is never a bed near when we need one.”
“If there was, I’d stay between the sheets day and night. You will be the death of me.”
She twisted around so that her back and buttocks rested against his chest and loins, and his arms were still locked around her. She didn’t want to think, and she didn’t want these overwhelming sensations of languid pleasure to stop. Words seemed inadequate for the emotion she was feeling, so she swallowed the lump in her throat and gazed out at the shimmering, velvet sea.
The ocean was as calm as the surface of the river that flowed past Fortune’s Gift. Only gentle waves rose and undulated in slow, sensual patterns. The soft salt breeze carried a promise of warm green islands and exotic flowers. The rhythmic sounds of rope and sail and water played a dreamy melody that blended with the Caribbean night until Caroline wanted to weep for the beauty of it all.
“I’ve never known a woman quite like you,” he said, “nor one so vibrant and full of life.”
“Save your compliments for the young girls,” she answered. She was confused enough without listening to such silken words from him.
She didn’t know if what she felt for Garrett was love or lust; she o
nly knew that the moments they were apart seemed desolate. And when she could see him . . . touch him . . . hear his voice—she was happier than she had ever been in her life.
“When we get to this island kingdom of yours,” he began, “I will regret the end of this voyage. I . . .”
She deliberately closed her mind to what he was saying. She would not listen—would not try to imagine him going away from her . . . or the lonely nights ahead of her.
I won’t let him go, she vowed. He feels something for me, I know he does. We can stay on Arawak after we find the treasure. Once Reed is freed from prison, there’s no reason for us to go back to the Chesapeake. I’ve given enough to the cause. I’ve lost one husband and I don’t intend to lose another.
This war with England could go on for years. Even if she was willing to take the risk and return to Fortune’s Gift, how could she justify leading Amanda and Jeremy back into danger?
Garrett cupped her breast possessively with one warm hand and teased her nipple with his thumb until it hardened to an aching nub and her breathing quickened. “Stop,” she protested, halfheartedly. Her clothing was all awry; her thighs were still wet from his lovemaking. And already, she wanted him again. “If someone sees us—” she began.
“You weren’t worried about that a few minutes ago,” he reminded her. He rubbed against her so that she could feel his growing need.
“My hair . . .” She put a hand up and laughed. She had lost her cap somewhere and her hair was as wild as a gypsy’s. “Last night when I went back to my cabin, Mistress Paine—the long-nosed baker’s wife—rolled her eyes and called me a common trull.”
“Never common.”
She giggled. “That’s what I told her.” She, Amanda, and Jeremy, were packed into a narrow cabin with four other women, as tightly as leaves in a tobacco cask. There were no private cabins on the Kaatje. Even the captain shared his quarters with his first officer.
They were both quiet for a long time, and Garrett’s next statement surprised her. “Would you go to England if I asked you?”
“England?” she echoed. If he was an American sympathizer, why would he want her to go to England?
“I can think of no place safer. And I want you safe—you and Amanda and Jeremy.” He kissed the crown of her head. “I don’t want to leave you here alone in the islands, and I can’t think of taking you back to Fortune’s Gift and putting you within reach of your cousin again.”
“You have no responsibility for us,” she answered. “That was never part of our agreement.” Her mouth felt dry, and a dull ache began in her temple. “I am capable of taking care of myself.”
“So you say.” He kissed the crown of her head again.
“I won’t go to England.”
“Things have changed between us, Caroline.”
“Perhaps.”
He lifted the mass of hair at the back of her neck and lowered his head to kiss her there. Shivers ran down her spine and she made a small sound in her throat. “I wish we had met another time and place,” he said. “It was simpler when I didn’t care about you.”
She swallowed. “You married me for my money, Garrett. Don’t pretend that’s changed.”
His voice grew hoarse with emotion. “I don’t want to see you hurt.”
“We could both stay in the islands until the war is over. We wouldn’t have to return to the Chesapeake to pay Major Whitehead to arrange for Reed’s pardon.” The ache in her forehead was spreading. She closed her eyes and saw pinwheels of sparkling light.
“I don’t trust the major. How do you know he won’t take your money and—”
She opened her eyes and looked at the sea. The moon was only a thin sliver, and there were no stars visible. “What other choice do I have?” she protested, beginning to feel slightly dizzy. “Reed is . . . Reed . . .”
“There are other options,” Garrett said. “We can . . .”
Without warning, the boundaries of Caroline’s vision began to alter. Crisp, bright images swirled in her mind. One picture after another formed and settled into focus, to be replaced by another and another with the sudden, sharp intensity of a whip’s crack.
Reed . . . hardly more than a baby.
Reed’s red cheeks glowing, his chubby legs rising and falling as he ran down the furrows of the cornfield shouting for her to wait . . . A slightly older Reed falling from the hayloft and breaking an arm. An earnest young man dressing for his first adult gathering and asking her to tie his stock.
Caroline sighed and her head fell back against Garrett as the pull of the past grew stronger. For a space of time, she was caught between two worlds, and then she could no longer resist the power of her waking dream.
Reed’s laughing face . . .
Reed lifting Papa’s silver goblet and drinking a toast to Patrick Henry and his bold speech. Reed holding Amanda’s hands and boasting of Osprey’s victories at sea. Reed, as she had last seen him, the night before he and Wesley went to join Osprey . . .
From far off, Caroline was vaguely aware of Garrett’s voice and his touch, of the gentle roll of the Kaatje under her feet. But that was not as real as Reed and the events replaying in her mind’s eye.
Reed . . . Reed embracing Amanda as he made his farewells.
Caroline watched them with the detachment of a total stranger. Had they always held each other so tightly? Had Amanda’s eyes always shone with so much love when she looked at her brother? As Caroline puzzled over those questions, the image of the great hall at Fortune’s Gift faded, to be replaced by the terrifying scene of the deck of a burning ship.
Cannon and musket fire shattered the night. The crash of falling yards and the screams of wounded men made Caroline’s blood run cold. A fair-haired officer in Continental uniform of blue and white knelt beside a shadowy figure trapped in a morass of tangled rope and burning sails. The young man—her brother, Reed—strained at the shattered mast that held his comrade pinned to the deck until veins bulged out on his forehead.
“Caroline!” Garrett shook her.
She tossed her head, not wanting to look . . . trying desperately to block out the awful vision of pain and death.
But nothing could drown the shrieks of the flame-shrouded sailor who ran to the gunnel and threw himself into the churning sea. She watched him fall, heard his last cry of fear. And as the waves swallowed his body, the. name on the side of the black ship stood out starkly in gold lettering—Osprey.
“Osprey,” Caroline whispered.
Reed drew her back into the fiery deck.
The trapped man groaned. “Help me, Reed. For the love of God, don’t leave me to burn.” Wesley’s voice. She would have known it anywhere.
Again and again, Reed tried to budge the splintered bulk of fallen yards as the fire licked close enough to singe his hair.
“Shoot me,” Wesley cried.
“Caroline!” Garrett’s plea came from far away. Tears were running down Reed’s face. He cradled Wesley’s head in his lap and reached for the knife at his waist.
Caroline whimpered, “No.”
Then the deck of the Osprey tilted. The ship moaned, a terrible sound of cracking ribs and snapping planks followed by the roar of sucking water. Waves rolled over the gunnel. Reed made another frantic attempt to move the heavy mast off Wesley’s legs. The water rose as the ship began to slide sideways. With a last glance at Wesley, Reed rushed to the rail and dived overboard.
The ship rolled and went under. Down, down, down, into the dark water it tumbled, until with a grinding groan, it settled into the black mud of the Delaware Bay.
Caroline tossed her head. She was no longer staring at the death throes of a ship beneath the waves. The dark, cold water had been replaced by the tranquillity of the brick-walled family cemetery at Fortune’s Gift.
A freshly carved wooden grave marker stood near her father’s resting place. Caroline could easily read the epithet:
REED KINCAID TALBOT
1755-1778
�
�No!” Caroline cried. Pain surged through her breast and the pounding in her head became an agony. Blackness whirled around her, and then the pain was gone and she felt only peace.
Garrett caught her as she went limp. “Caroline!” Gathering her in his arms, he took several steps toward her cabin before she stirred.
“Please,” she murmured. “Let me . . .”
“Shh, you’re ill.”
“No.” She struggled against him, trying to right herself in this time and place. “Please. This has happened before. I’m all right. Put me down.”
Cautiously, he lowered her feet to the deck, steadying her with his arm. “You fainted,” he said.
“No.” She shook her head. “I never faint.” She could not rid her mind of the sight of Reed’s grave. Was he dead and buried already? She never knew whether her visions were past or future.
Past, present, future . . . were they so far from each other? And what was real? The Kaatje or the sinking of the Osprey? Or both?
“You must be fevered,” he said. “You must see a physician. I’ll call Captain—”
“No. You don’t understand,” she said. “It’s not an illness. It is the curse and blessing of the women of Fortune’s Gift.” She stared into his eyes. “I have the sight, Garrett,” she whispered. She felt a knife of pain twist in her chest again. “It is a matter I neglected to mention,” she said softly. “You are married to a witch.”
Chapter 14
Arawak Island
March 1778
“A witch. Well, I’ll believe that,” Garrett had replied wryly, “if you’ll believe that I’m the sheriff of Nottingham.”
Now, two weeks later, Caroline could still hear his laughter. He hadn’t believed a word she’d told him—not about the sinking of the Osprey, glimpsing Reed’s grave marker, or even her ability to see across time and space.
“You’ve a touch of fever,” he’d decided. “And the sooner we get you ashore with fresh food and water and a doctor, the better.”
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