She didn’t have to answer after all. Jemmy raced up the stairs, followed closely by Mad Dog.
“Pardon me, Miss. You’re in for a treat.” Mad Dog gestured first to the violin Jemmy handed Tristan then to the wheel. Caralyn relinquished her grip and took a step back.
Tristan grinned at her and tucked the violin beneath his chin. He took a breath then closed his eyes and drew the bow across the strings. The first notes were clear and so beautiful, tears misted her vision and a lump rose to her throat in an instant.
With no sheet music, he played from memory and from the heart. Caralyn recognized the tune as one she had played many times on the pianoforte, but never without music. Conversation on the deck stopped; the only sounds were the slapping of the waves against the hull, the sails snapping in the wind and the pure magic of the violin as Tristan played.
There were many things she’d learned about the captain in the short time she’d known him. He was stern yet fair, kind and compassionate, full of charm and good humor, a loving father and trusted companion; yet this was a whole new side to him, another piece of the puzzle that made Tristan who and what he was. Another reason to fall hopelessly, madly in love with him.
Caralyn stiffened, shocked by the thought. She wasn’t on this adventure to find love; she was on this adventure to find a legendary treasure and save herself from marrying a man she didn’t know. With a conscious effort, she pushed the niggling thought to the back of her brain, where she hoped it would stay, and concentrated on the heavenly music.
Graham bowed then straightened and held out his hand. “Madam, would you care to dance?”
“I would love to.” She tucked her hand in his and allowed him to lead her to the main deck. Most of the crew just listened with dreamy expressions on their faces as the music pierced the darkness of the night to soothe their souls. A few mouthed the words to the song.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Stitch offer his hand to Mrs. Beasley, and saw the woman nod and practically fall into his arms.
“They make a lovely couple, don’t they?”
Graham swiveled his head as the good doctor and Mrs. Beasley danced around them. “Yes, they do. I’m happy for Stitch. He’s been alone far too long and Mrs. Beasley seems like a nice woman.”
Caralyn grinned. “She can be when she isn’t berating me for one thing or another. Or complaining. Or reminding me Izzy’s Fortune may not exist.”
“Oh, but the treasure does exist. I believe in it as does Tristan. And the rest of the crew. We just have to have patience and perhaps a little bit of luck.” He swirled her around the main mast where a group of men watched them with something akin to longing in their eyes. “Are you enjoying your . . . ah . . . adventure?”
He grinned at her as if he had a secret, a tidbit he was dying to share, yet one that would remain locked away. Caralyn had a feeling the navigator and first mate retained many undisclosed confidences and could be trusted with many more.
“Oh, yes. Very much. You’ve all been wonderful hosts and the Adventurer is a beautiful ship. Sleek. Fast. She reminds me of the Lady Elizabeth, my father’s ship.” They continued to spin around the deck. “How long before we reach Puerto Rico?”
“If the wind remains true, I would think in another two or three days.”
Socrates stood behind Graham and tapped him on the shoulder. He winked at Caralyn. “Excuse me, Mr. Alcott, may I cut in?”
“Of course.” Graham stepped away. He tilted his head to the side. “Thank you, Miss McCreigh. Perhaps I shall have the pleasure of dancing with you once more.”
The music changed in tempo as Caralyn stepped into Socrates’s waiting arms. A concertina and mouth harp joined Tristan’s violin in a lively reel. The men clapped and stomped their feet to keep time. Her skirts lifted to reveal her bare feet as Socrates whirled her around.
Breathless yet exuberant, Caralyn danced with one crew member after another. She’d even taken a turn with Jemmy, who glided across the deck with remarkable grace. As with other parts of his education, the Adventurer’s mates must have taught him to dance, to make polite conversation, and to bow over her hand.
The beat changed one more time, slowing down to a beautiful waltz. The violin seemed to have a different sound but it didn’t matter. Caralyn grinned and reached out for the next man in line. Her heart hammered in her chest, as much from the lively dancing as from realizing who now held her hand.
“May I?” His voice filled her veins with warm honey, filled her head with delightfully delicious thoughts, filled her stomach with thousands of butterflies.
If there was any such thing as magic, Caralyn found it the moment she stepped into Tristan’s arms and they began to dance. So many things conspired to cast a spell over her: the twinkle in his eyes, the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth, the feel of his muscular arms around her, the brilliance of the stars against the velvety black night.
An errant lock of thick black hair fell over his forehead. Her fingers itched to smooth it away and find out if his hair really was as soft as it looked. She hesitated, torn between wanting to touch him and needing to maintain her bearing. With a toss of his head, the errant lock disappeared and she lost her chance.
They didn’t speak as they swirled and dipped and stepped to the music. Caralyn didn’t think she could form a coherent thought if she tried, and for a moment she forgot to breathe, especially when his eyes began to smolder with warmth. A shiver raced up her spine, despite the heat of the evening and the robust activity.
This wasn’t what she bargained for when she proposed this voyage. The possibility she would fall for the captain had never entered her mind, although she did admit, if only to herself, she’d found him attractive the moment she met him.
More stars sparkled in the sky than Caralyn had ever seen and each one reflected in Tristan’s eyes. The constant breeze cooled her warm skin but did nothing to cool the rush of heated blood through her veins. She stared at his mouth—those beautiful lips curved in a smile—and wanted more than anything, to taste them again. And would have.
“Well, I do believe that is quite enough for this evening.” Mrs. Beasley, ever vigilant, ever proper, actually had the audacity to interrupt their dance. Spots of color highlighted her pale skin, and her breath came a little faster from her own exertions. “Come, Miss McCreigh, it’s time for us to turn in.”
Caralyn stayed in the warm circle of Tristan’s arms. “I’ll just stay on deck for a while longer.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” Mrs. Beasley insisted. “It wouldn’t be proper to leave you here, alone, with all these men.”
Without a word, Tristan relinquished his hold on her. Caralyn almost lost her step without the warmth and strength of his embrace but recovered quickly. “Good night, Cara.” He bowed slightly, but the gleam never left his eyes.
Oh, she didn’t want to leave him, didn’t want the magic of the evening to end, didn’t want—
Dear God, what do I want?
She knew exactly what she wanted. To find Izzy’s Fortune. To be swept off her feet by a knight in shining armor in a fairy tale romance. Or, perhaps, a sea captain.
She had a feeling Captain Trey could fulfill one or both of those dreams, but not until she was free of the promises that bound her. “Good night, Captain. Thank you for a lovely evening.”
Once in the privacy of their cabin, Caralyn opened her mouth, ready to give Mrs. Beasley a scathing set-down but she never had the chance to speak. The woman was humming, actually humming, and if Caralyn wasn’t mistaken, a smile pulled at the corners of Mrs. Beasley’s mouth as she prepared for bed.
Mrs. Beasley crawled beneath the light sheet, adjusted her pillow so she could sit up, and waited. The heat of her intense gaze bore into Caralyn’s back, but if she gave the woman enough time, perhaps she’d fall asleep. The lure of the star-studded night, the gleam in the captain’s eyes, the warmth of his smile all held a promise she wanted to experience more.
“Qui
t procrastinating, Miss McCreigh. I know what you’re thinking, but you won’t be sneaking back on deck after I’m asleep. You’ll have to crawl over me to do it.” Mrs. Beasley harrumphed. “As you know, I’m a light sleeper.”
Caralyn almost choked. Good God, the woman could read her mind. With no choice, she undressed, slipped into her nightclothes, and slid into bed.
Though determined to stay awake until the drone of Mrs. Beasley’s snoring filled the cabin, the sweet sound of the violin made it impossible to keep her eyes open. In moments, the soft magic of Tristan’s eyes accompanied her to dreamland.
Chapter 8
“Tristan,” Caralyn purred in his ear as she nibbled on his earlobe. Her breath sent shivers down his spine. Warm fingers left a trail of fire as they stroked the hair on his chest and quested lower. He inhaled and smelled fresh sea breezes coupled with the delightful scent of her own unique perfume. His body responded without effort or conscious thought. The steel-hard arousal she caused throbbed with every beat of his heart.
“Tristan,” she breathed. Gooseflesh pebbled on his arms and legs. Sweat beaded on his brow as her lips left his ear. She licked the side of his neck, her tongue hot on his skin before she straddled his hips and slowly lowered herself over him. Tristan groaned, his hands at her hips, driving himself deeper into her.
He awoke with a start only to find his pillow over the nether regions of his body. “Damn,” he breathed on a sigh. He threw his pillow on the floor and scratched his fingers through his unruly hair as he sat up in the bunk. Relief rippled through him. At least he was alone in the cabin he shared with Graham. “Just a dream.”
But his body had responded. He remained ready and able to satisfy the lustiest maiden and though he no longer slept, Caralyn’s dream voice persisted. He heard it clearly. “Tristan.” Excitement made the pitch a little higher.
Despite the raging erection that threatened his sanity, Tristan thrust his legs into a pair of trousers, slipped into a shirt, and raced from the cabin. Still trying to present a dignified picture, he tucked his shirt into his trousers, which did nothing to hide the fact his body remained fully aroused. “Ah, hell,” he muttered as he pulled the shirt free of his trousers and let it hang loose. He climbed the few stairs to the deck and stopped.
Caralyn stood at the bow of the Adventurer, face to the rising sun, a vision so lovely, so beautiful, Tristan exhaled with a sigh. She hadn’t changed from her nightclothes and though the cotton of her nightgown and robe were thick enough that no light shined through, the wind pushed the material against her and rippled her hair behind her like a golden brown flag. For the first time, he saw her naturally nipped in waist, slightly flaring hips, and long legs—all of which did nothing to quell the raging erection pushing painfully against his trousers.
Her laughter, that sweet, contagious sound, broke the silence of the morning. She glanced in his direction, her face wreathed in smiles. “I know what it means,” she yelled across the deck and pointed to a group of small islands in the near distance.
Tristan strode to her side and immediately removed his shirt to place it over her shoulders, hiding most of what he’d already seen in hopes his crew wouldn’t see the eyeful he had. Propriety cast all concern for his own state aside in order to protect her modesty.
“What the hell are you doing, Cara?” He nodded to several of the crew who must have been awakened by Caralyn’s voice. Or her laughter. They shuffled and stumbled to the deck in various stages of dress. Mr. Quincy rubbed sleep from his eyes. Mr. Jacoby stifled a yawn as he tucked his shirt into his trousers. Mr. Milliron tried to slick back the cowlick standing up at the back of his head. Not one of them spoke, no doubt in awe of the sight before them as a ray of sunlight exploded from the middle of the largest island and bathed Caralyn in gold.
“I couldn’t sleep. Something called to me, Tristan. Wanted me to see the sun rise this morning.” She pushed her hair out of her eyes and grinned. “I know what it means.”
Tristan rested his hands on the rail and took a deep breath. He studied her—the wide grin, the flush spreading across her face, the twinkle of excitement in her sea-blue eyes—and again, the sight did nothing to ease his physical attraction to her. He took another breath in an effort to still the rapid beating of his heart, to stop the blood from pumping through his veins with such ferocity.
It didn’t help that sunlight and spindrift created a shimmering radiance around her. His dream Caralyn paled in comparison to the real life Caralyn beside him.
To make the impossible harder, she grasped his arm, long slim fingers hot on his flesh. What was it about this woman that made his stability falter? Made him want to slowly caress her silken skin and explore every inch of her body? Made him want to hold her close and never let go?
Tristan closed his eyes and tried to regain his balance.
“I know what it means,” she repeated a third time.
He opened his eyes without gaining the steadiness he so desperately craved. “I beg your pardon, but I have no clue what you’re talking about.”
“Pembrook’s journal. Pembrook repeated the sentence, ‘Let the light of my heart guide you’ three times.” She drew in her breath and her grin widened. “He was telling us there are three islands.” She squinted into the rising sun and drew his attention to the largest island in the small grouping. “See how the biggest island is shaped like a man sleeping on his side, knees bent, hands folded under his cheek? See where the sun shines through? Isn’t that where his heart would be?”
“I do believe you’re right. That is where his heart would be, but Cara, this island looks nothing like the sketch Pembrook drew. There was no waterfall in Pembrook’s rendition and the sleeping man lay flat on his back.”
She bowed her head, but only for a moment. “I know, Tristan, but I also know, in my heart, in my bones, this is the Island of the Sleeping Man. This is the island we are meant to find. I think Pembrook intentionally drew the picture he did to keep anyone from finding this island. Please, Tristan. We have nothing to lose and everything to gain by exploring.”
Her hand tightened on his arm and her eyes glowed with such hope, Tristan didn’t have the heart to deny her request. He waved to Socrates at the wheel. “Steady the course, Mr. Callahan.”
Hector de la Vega finished tucking his shirt into his trousers as he stepped forward. “Beggin’ yer pardon, miss.” He bowed his head toward Caralyn then turned his attention to Tristan. “Might I have a word, Capitan?”
“Of course.”
“In private, sir.”
Tristan stepped away from Caralyn, but he didn’t think she noticed as her face was turned into the wind and her eyes were focused on the islands in the distance.
“Capitan,” de la Vega said softly, “I must confess. This is not Isla Caja de Muertos, not the island I remember from my youth. We have barely passed Hispaniola and still have many miles to reach Puerto Rico.”
“I understand, Hector, and thank you for telling me, but Miss McCreigh believes this is the Island of the Sleeping Man.” He turned so he could see Caralyn at the rail. She hadn’t moved except to raise her face toward the sun. “She believes this is the island we are meant to find and it does resemble a man sleeping on his side. Perhaps it is so, but we’ll never know unless we take a moment to explore.”
The crewman nodded slightly before taking a step back and almost colliding with Graham. He nodded to the navigator then excused himself.
Tristan took in Graham’s appearance, the bright shining eyes, the freshness that only comes with an excellent night’s rest. He himself had listened to Graham’s snoring for quite some time until the steady noise eventually lulled him to sleep.
“You studied the charts as much as I, Tris. What’s more, we’ve sailed the Caribbean for almost ten years and we’ve never seen these islands before.”
Again, Tristan couldn’t deny the obvious, but it didn’t matter. If there was a chance to find Izzy’s Fortune, he’d take it. He shrugged his s
houlders. “If nothing else, they’re worth exploring, don’t you think?”
“Of course. However, I believe we should proceed with caution. Although these islands are uncharted, it doesn’t mean they are uninhabited.”
“I agree.” Tristan excused himself and gave orders to Socrates at the wheel.
They circled the islands twice, concentrating on the largest one, the one that resembled a sleeping giant, but found nothing of interest except sandy white beaches, an abundance of tropical plants and trees, and a mountain that must have risen two hundred feet above sea level. They did see a sunken ship east of the island, its weathered masts rising above the water, but it seemed to have been there for quite some time. A decade, at least.
The islands appeared deserted as nothing stirred except the palm fronds and the three waterfalls that thundered down into the ocean. No telltale smoke from someone’s fire marred the perfection of the blue sky, no sound other than the chirping and cawing of the colorful birds peppering the trees and the multitude of chickens on the ground.
By the time they dropped anchor west of the sleeping giant’s knees, Tristan realized Caralyn could barely contain her anticipation. He understood, as her enthusiasm mirrored his own. He heard the excitement in his own voice as he shouted orders to the crew, exhilaration rippling through his body, causing his stomach to tighten and a smile to hover around his mouth.
While his men filled two longboats with supplies and provisions, he watched Caralyn pace the deck from bow to stern. She had plaited her hair into one long braid that bounced against her back as she moved and plopped a hat on her head—not a straw bonnet as he would have expected, but a tricorn, which gave her an air of impudence. She had changed clothes as well, giving up the nightclothes in favor of a loose white shirt and a pair of well-mended trousers tucked into serviceable leather boots. She looked like a pirate—a charming, curvaceous pirate—and he couldn’t help the immediate reaction of his body.
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