* * * * *
Once Ritcherd was beyond sight of the old man, he slipped into an alley and leaned against the wall. “You can fall apart later,” he mumbled against the cold bricks where he pressed his face. He was vaguely aware of a few passersby giving him an odd glance and hurrying on. But in a town like this, they would just assume he was drunk. He slid to his knees and wrapped his arms over his head as the reality kept pounding through his head. In trouble . . . Married . . . He couldn’t believe it. How could it be possible?
Ritcherd was shocked to the moment as a couple of seedy-looking sailors eyed him like two tomcats spying a mouse. This was no place to fall apart. He had to get back to the ship. But . . . Garret would be waiting for him. All right, he told himself, just get to the tavern. You can fall apart later. He consciously forced his emotions to a place where they wouldn’t be felt, and walked toward the Captain’s Wheel, as numb as if he’d been frozen from the inside out.
To the rhythm of his boots on the boardwalk, questions without answers drummed through his mind. Married? Why? And who? What kind of trouble? He’d bet it had something to do with Peter Westman. But married? He thought of Kyrah in another man’s arms and his heart caught in his throat, making his insides churn. How could he bear it? He couldn’t. He just couldn’t! The emotion threatened again, and he forced it back as he approached the tavern and pushed his way through the door. It was more crowded than usual, and several people pushed past him on their way out. He noticed a woman in a burgundy cloak and tried to see her face, but it was covered. He’d become accustomed to looking at every woman lately, always wondering if it might be her. But as he brushed past her he knew it wasn’t. This woman was too big around to be Kyrah.
He found Garret in the usual spot and sat across from him, noting that the seat was warm. He’d been talking to someone. Arrangements for supplies, no doubt.
Garret was still lost in thought over the woman he’d just met when Ritcherd sat down across from him. He was ready to tell him about her, but the look in Ritcherd’s eyes let him know something was horribly wrong.
“What’s happened?” he asked.
It took Ritcherd a minute to focus on Garret and form the words in his mind. “She’s not here anymore,” he said. “She’s married. She left here a long time ago . . .with her . . . husband.”
“Are you sure?” Garret asked in a raspy whisper.
Ritcherd nodded. His entire countenance was so filled with despair that Garret almost felt his own heart breaking.
“How do you know?” Garret asked, not willing to believe it. “Who did you talk to?”
“An old man at the pier,” Ritcherd said. “He described her perfectly. He knew her name. She told him she was in some kind of trouble and she was getting married. He hasn’t seen her since.”
“It’s unbelievable,” Garret said.
Ritcherd gave a grunt of agreement and resisted the urge to press his face to the table and cry like a baby.
“I’m sorry,” Garret whispered, and Ritcherd knew he meant it. “So, what now?”
“I don’t know. I suppose this is where it ends.”
“Don’t you think it’s worth at least finding out why?”
Ritcherd shook his head, unable to even think straight. “Time’s running out. We’ve got to leave soon.”
“I said we’d not leave for England without Kyrah,” Garret said.
“But if she’s married . . . well . . . maybe she doesn’t want me to find her.”
“And maybe she does.” Ritcherd looked at Garret and wondered how this man kept giving him hope when it seemed there was none left. “If you stop looking, you’ll never find her.”
“I don’t think I could ever stop looking,” Ritcherd admitted. “I’ll probably die of old age, still looking for her. It’s become a habit to look at every woman I see. And I’m always disappointed when it’s not her.”
Garret couldn’t resist asking, “Did you see that woman who just left here, wearing the burgundy cloak?”
Ritcherd nodded. “I didn’t get a good look at her face, but it wasn’t her.”
Garret blew out a long breath. He couldn’t help being disappointed—at least for Ritcherd’s sake. On the other hand, their lady passenger could prove to hold his interest. He wondered if such a woman would ever give someone like him a second glance. On a more positive note, he told Ritcherd, “That woman will be sailing with us.”
Ritcherd was roused from his own thoughts. “What?”
“You heard me, Captain Buckley.” Despite his adamance he spoke softly, as they always did when they weren’t speaking like sailors.
“Why? Isn’t it a bit odd to take a woman on board a privateer?”
“Would you say that if you’d found Kyrah?”
“You always get me.” Ritcherd sighed humbly.
“She needs passage back to England. That’s a difficult thing to come by these days. I did it as a favor to an old friend. She seemed desperate and I like her. Maybe she’ll like me too,” he grinned.
Ritcherd felt the emotion threatening to bubble to the surface. The only coherent thought he could put together was a mumbled, “I’ve got to get to the ship.”
Garret let him go, figuring he could use some time alone.
Once Ritcherd got into the cabin and closed the door, he sank to his knees and curled around his arms. He couldn’t believe that emotional pain could be so real, so intense. He cried so hard that every muscle in his body became rigid and tense. When he had finally exhausted every bit of strength, he curled up on his bed and stared at the wall.
The Captain of Her Heart Page 45