The Pirate's Widow

by DuBay, Sandra

  Walter smiled. “That is wonderful news, my love,” he said. “Wonderful. And you are right, we have plans to make. But for now, I must insist you go back to the manor and to your bed. This night air is not good for you or our little one.”

  “But we will make our plans soon, will we not?”

  “Very soon,” he promised. He picked up the fallen lantern. “Come now, I will see you back to the manor.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Callie clutched at the ragged edges of her bodice as she stumbled along the road that would take her around St. Swithin without the necessity of passing through the village. When she was certain Sir Thomas would not come back to find her, she sank down onto a stone outcropping at the road’s edge. Now that she was alone and safe from Sir Thomas’ assault, a trembling overtook her. She stood but her knees felt week and she wondered how she would ever make it to Hyacinth Cottage on the far side of the village.

  There was an alternative, she realized. Could she? What would she say? It didn’t matter, she told herself. She was too tired and too upset to care.

  Making her way down to the beach, she followed the shoreline to the tiny hut that was Finn’s home. She had never been there but Jem had pointed it out one day when they were walking.

  “Finn?” She pounded with the heel of her hand on the door, weathered and worn smooth from years of salt spray and sunshine. She could hear Cyrus barking and then the reassuring sound of Finn’s deep voice telling him to be quiet.

  He opened the door. His eyes were heavy and his hair mussed; it was obvious she had awakened him. “Callie?” He stared at her, his gaze taking in her disheveled hair and torn gown. “Come in. What happened?”

  He sat her down at the little table near the front window and poured her a glass of wine. Haltingly, she told him of the night’s events and his face flushed with rage.

  “I’ll kill him!” he growled, reaching for the long pistol lying on a brass-bound trunk near the door. “By God, I’ll kill him now!”

  “No!” Callie rose and caught at his arm as he would have left the hut. “I won’t have you hang for my sake!”

  Finn stared at her for a long moment before laying the pistol aside. He ran his fingers through his thick dark hair. “I cannot bear that he laid his hands on you! What he tried to do . . .”

  “He did not succeed,” she assured him. “I am no blushing miss, Finn, had he not seen reason, I would have gelded him like a wayward stallion.”

  “Aye,” Finn agreed, some of the anger draining from his face, “I believe you would have.

  I’ll wager it was a shock to that strutting buffoon to find a knife against his prick.”

  “He did seem a bit startled,” she admitted.

  Finn chuckled. “My wild pirate lass. By God, you’re a feisty woman. But now, what should we do tonight? Do you want me to take you home?”

  “Could I stay here with you until morning?” she asked.

  “Aye, you’re welcome to stay here.”

  “Will you maid me? I cannot unlace this corset by myself.”

  She pulled off the tattered remnants of her bodice and let her skirt fall to the floor in a pink brocade puddle. Her petticoats followed and Finn’s big fingers made surprisingly short work of the knotted laces of her corset. When she turned toward him, the wide neck of her chemise slipped from her shoulder exposing one creamy breast.

  Finn’s eyes narrowed as he saw the bruises made by Sir Thomas’ teeth that ringed her rosebud nipple.

  “The bastard,” he breathed, as Callie pulled her chemise back into place.

  “Forget him, Finn,” Callie entreated, her hand cupping his face. “I’m tired, so tired, please, all I want is sleep.”

  They climbed into Finn’s bed, the ropes groaning beneath their weight.

  “I’ve longed to find you here, Callie Llewellyn,” Finn admitted, pulling her to him so her head rested on the rough cloth of his nightshirt, “but not like this. Not when you’re running from another man’s viciousness.”

  “And I’ve longed to be with you, Finn,” Callie admitted, “but for now just hold me and let me feel safe in your arms.”

  * * * *

  The sun was rising over the sea when Callie awoke. She felt the bed give as Finn climbed out.

  “Don’t go,” she said softly, turning over and holding out a hand to him as he stood beside the bed. “Come back.”

  “I’m not made of stone, Callie,” he said.

  “I don’t ask you to be. Come back, Finn.”

  He pulled the nightshirt over his head and slid back into the bed. Callie pulled her own chemise over her head and dropped it over the side of the bed.

  “Are you certain?” he asked.

  “Very certain,” she replied, her hand caressing his chest where the muscles were covered with a light coating of dark hair.

  Finn’s big, calloused hands slid over her skin, savoring the softness of her. Her black hair, the pins Gemma had so carefully placed there long lost, spilled over the pillows and gleamed in the dawn’s light peeking through the windows.

  Callie abandoned herself to him, to his touches, his kisses, and the soft caress of his hands, his lips, and his tongue. His tenderness, his tenderness, banished the ugliness of Sir Thomas’ assault and filled her with nothing but pleasure and desire for this man who had brought love back into her life.

  At Sedgewyck Manor, it soon became apparent that Sir Thomas was in a foul humor. Word passed through the servants’ hall to tread lightly when they had to come in contact with him.

  “Can it be?” Venetia wondered aloud when she and Flora had excused themselves from his taciturn presence over the breakfast table and retired to the boudoir. “Can it really be that she’s refused him?”

  “Why would she? Surely she’d like to be a great lady, mistress of a beautiful estate, wife of a rich, titled man.”

  “Perhaps not,” Venetia countered. “After all, you are willing to throw it away for the love of a hermit.”

  Flora said nothing. She would not reveal to her mother that she had visited Walter the night before and that they were going to be together no matter her mother’s wishes. She excused herself and left the boudoir, determined to formulate the plans for her departure with Walter as soon as possible.

  Eager to plan her future, Flora let herself out into the garden. Lifting her skirts, she ran along the graveled paths, ignoring the gardeners who paused in their labors and bowed to her, tugging their forelocks.

  She retraced her steps of the night before remembering how gallantly Walter had escorted her through the night-dark woods to the very edge of the moonlit garden. He had taken her in his arms and kissed her so sweetly; it was a promise, that kiss, she told herself as she plunged into the woods and ran along the path toward the cave. It was a promise of a future together when the two of them would raise the child they had created together out of their love.

  “Walter?” she cried as she pushed open the door. “Walter, we have to make our plans. I think Caroline Jenkins has rejected Sir Thomas’ proposal and if she has, my mother will redouble her efforts to marry me to him. We must go as soon as we can or she will try to trap me into . . .”

  She stopped and looked around. The already sparsely furnished cave was empty save for a few sticks of furniture. There was nothing of Walter left; his clothes, his carvings, nothing. The remnants of a meager breakfast lay on the table where he had apparently eaten before leaving.

  “Walter,” Flora breathed. “Oh no, Walter, you would not do this to me . . .”

  Chapter Twelve

  Finn and Callie were sharing a breakfast of bread, cheese, and cider when a pounding at the door startled them both. Finn rose from the table, took up his pistol, and held up a hand to silence Cyrus’s barking.

  “Finn?” Jem’s voice sounded from the other side of the thick door panel. “Finn? It’s Jem. Callie’s missing! She never came home last night! You have to help me find her.”

  He laid aside the pistol and open
ed the door. “Come in, Jem, Callie’s fine.”

  Callie rose from the table. Finn had given her one of his shirts to replace her ruined bodice and she wore it over her chemise tucked into her skirt.

  “I’m here, Jem,” she told him. “I had a disagreement with Sir Thomas last night and it was nearer to come to Finn’s than to walk all the way to Hyacinth Cottage.”

  Jem breathed a sigh of relief. “I was worried that that poxy bastard was holding you prisoner.”

  “No, I’m here and I’m quite all right. I’m sorry you were worried, though.”

  Jem looked from one to the other and his eyes moved to the rumpled bedclothes on the bed in the corner of the single-room hut. A roguish grin broke out across his freckled face and Finn and Callie laughed at his delight.

  * * * *

  “Flora?” Venetia let herself into her daughter’s bedchamber. “Where the devil are you? Have you gone back to bed?”

  Flora lay face down on the satin counterpane of her four-poster bed, her eyes swollen nearly shut and her face blotched with red from crying.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Venetia demanded.

  “He’s gone! He left me! How could he?”

  “Who’s gone?” Venetia’s eyes widened. “Not your gallant lover, by any chance? Can it be he’s not the noble prince you believed him to be?”

  “How could he leave me?” Flora asked again. “And after I told him that we . . . that we are going to have . . .”

  Venetia thought her senses would leave her. Surely the fool could not mean—

  She went to the fireplace and tugged at the embroidered bell pull beside it. When a maid answered, she sent for her lady’s maid and her smelling salts. Something told her she was going to need both.

  “How far gone are you?” Venetia demanded of her daughter after Sawyer, her maid, had revived her with the smelling salts and then taken her leave. “Answer me, girl, how far?”

  “A month, a little more,” Flora replied. “I have missed one monthly course.”

  “All right, then, there is no time to be lost. But I will need help to put my plan into motion.”

  “Mama, surely you cannot still mean for me to marry Sir Thomas. I am carrying another man’s child.”

  “Who is to say whose child it is?” Venetia said. “First children often come early. And you could suffer some accident; a fall perhaps that will bring on your labor early.”

  “Mama, to perpetrate such a deception . . .”

  “Listen to me, you little fool,” Venetia hissed. “Unless you agree to this I will expose you and toss you into the street. How will you provide for yourself and your bastard then? You have one chance, one, to salvage a decent life out of this calamity and I am willing to help you. Make up your mind now; will you do as I say or will you leave this house at once and be dead to me forever.”

  Flora bit her lip to still its trembling. She had never felt so alone, so unloved, in all her life. Walter had betrayed her, had betrayed the innocent child she carried inside her. Life was not kind to young women cast out to fend for themselves and their bastard children. Infant mortality was appallingly high even among the nobility; for a woman on her own not knowing where her own next meal was coming from, it was almost a certainty that her child would die before its first birthday. If she fell in with her mother’s plans, she could at least have a comfortable life and a decent chance at providing a life for her child. And she could get her revenge on the man to whom she had given her love—the man who had shattered her heart and her dreams. Sir Thomas would help her, oh yes, if she was his wife, his pride would not allow him to tolerate slights on his honor or that of his wife.

  “I will do as you say, mama,” she answered meekly.

  “Finally you’ve come to your senses. Wash your face and make yourself presentable. And for heaven’s sake, if you should see Sir Thomas, make an effort. As for me, I must go out. I need to put my plan into motion.”

  An hour later, Venetia Louvain sat in the parsonage parlor sipping tea with Olivia Dougless. And is there news from the manor, Mrs. Louvain?” Olivia asked, offering her guest a plate of biscuits freshly made in her kitchen that morning.

  “Indeed there is, Mrs. Dougless,” Venetia replied. “I believe Sir Thomas did make an offer for Mrs. Jenkins’ hand in marriage last night.”

  “Never say so!” The parson’s wife’s hand shook so that she had to put down her cup. “Oh, Mrs. Louvain, it cannot be so! It would be a disaster for St. Swithin if that horrible woman ever became Lady Sedgewyck.”

  “I agree,” Venetia assured her. “That is why, I am happy to tell you, she has apparently refused him.”

  “Refused him! Is she out of her senses? A poor missionary’s widow refusing Sir Thomas Sedgewyck? She must be mad.”

  “Or she is trying to whet his appetite even more. A man like Sir Thomas is not used to being refused whatever he sets his heart upon. It may be that she thinks to whip his affection into a frenzy and thus gain some advantage over him in the marriage settlement.”

  “The cunning trollop!”

  “In any event, her refusal affords us a little time; I still have hopes that he will see that his happiness lies not in marriage with that proud harridan but with my own dear Flora.”

  Mrs. Dougless beamed. “So much more suitable; why, Mr. Dougless was saying only last Sunday that Miss Louvain would make a lovely Lady Sedgewyck.”

  “And I believe it would have happened before now had that woman not come to the village flaunting her charms.”

  “I do not doubt it. But how do you propose to bring this happy event about, Mrs. Louvain?”

  Venetia set her cup down and leaned toward her hostess. “I have a plan; you may find it a bit shocking but desperate times call for desperate measures. And I would need your assistance and that of the parson.”

  “I think I may speak for Mr. Dougless when I say that his dislike for Mrs. Jenkins is such that he would gladly perform the ceremony today binding Sir Thomas and Miss Louvain as husband and wife.”

  “I knew I could depend upon you, dear Mrs. Dougless,” Venetia purred. “Now, here is what I believe we should do.”

  Flora looked up as the studded oak front doors of Sedgewyck Manor slammed shut with window rattling force. She saw Sir Thomas striding across the entrance hall looking like a thundercloud. Putting aside the book she’d been reading, she ran after him.

  “Sir Thomas? Sir Thomas, what can be the matter?”

  “That miserable wretch Walter!” he growled. “He’s abandoned his post. Stolen

  away like a thief in the night! By God, he’d been paid until the end of the year; I’ll have him before a magistrate!” He pulled off his hat and gloves and threw them at the butler who’d come running when he’d heard the doors slam. “And that’s not all! It seems he’s run off with Jenna Brown, the smithy’s daughter. Apparently she had a bastard by him and they’ve run off and taken the child with them.”

  Flora’s mind reeled. Not only had Walter run off leaving her alone and pregnant, he had chosen the common daughter of the village blacksmith and her child over Flora and their babe. Well, he’d pay for that insult!

  “It is not surprising, Sir Thomas,” she said tremulously, “considering what he was.”

  “What he was? What do you mean?”

  “He was a pirate, well, a former pirate. He sailed with Blackbeard.”

  “What! How do you know this?”

  “I went for a walk one day and I chanced to pass the hermit’s cave. Walter waylaid me. It was plain he was in his cups. He . . .” She shuddered delicately. “He made advances toward me. I was repulsed, of course, and it made him angry. That was when he told me who he really was. His name was Walter Bartlett and he was the first mate on the Queen Anne’s Revenge. He was ashore when Blackbeard’s ship was taken by the navy. He made his way back to England. I suppose he thought telling me who, and what, he really was would frighten me into succumbing to his advances. But I ran away and he, being as I
say the worse for drink, could not catch me.”

  “And it did not occur to you to tell this to me or to your mother?”

  Flora widened her eyes. “I could not, Sir Thomas! He said that if I told anyone, he would murder us all in our beds. And he would do the most terrible things to me before he killed me.” Covering her face with her hands, Flora flung herself into Sir Thomas’ arms.

  “Oh, Sir Thomas, I’ve been so frightened! I am glad he is gone! I am!”

  “What sort of terrible things?” Sir Thomas asked.

  “What?” Flora looked up at him.

  “Never mind. He will not be allowed to go free. I have no doubt there is a warrant for his execution. I will send to the Admiralty for it and I will set men to tracking down this villain and bringing him to justice!”

  He smiled down at Flora, her cheek resting against the soft, sage wool of his coat. “Do not fear, Flora, he will not carry out his threats.”

  “Thank you, Sir Thomas,” she murmured.

  They were still standing there, Flora languishing in Sir Thomas’ arms, when the door opened and Venetia appeared with the Reverend Mr. Dougless and his wife behind her.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Sir Thomas?” Venetia said as she and the Douglesses came into the entrance hall. Footmen appeared to take their outer garments.

  “Flora was telling me about Walter,” he told her.

  Venetia felt the world tilt around her. Her eyes frantically searched her daughter’s face. “Indeed? And what about him?”

  “Apparently he threatened her, and all of us, the wretch. He tried to have his way with your daughter. Did you know?”

  “I did not. Had I, I should certainly have come to you.”

  “Quite right. I am going to dispatch men to find him. Apparently he is a former pirate and must be made to pay for his crimes.”

  “A pirate!” Olivia Dougless squeaked.