My Bonny Heart (Pirate's Progeny Book 1)

by Synclair Stafford

  Addison had no idea to what he spoke, but it was becoming quite infuriating. “Done what, Henry?”

  Turning on his heel and heading for the door, his friend swiveled, then gave him a wide smile, his hand on the knob. “You’ve gone and fallen in love with her, haven’t you?”

  The door closed with a thud, the bell above it twinkling merrily.

  While he’d spent the night and morning envisioning his bride in various stages of happiness, desire, passion, and determining how on earth he would possess her, he was now convincing himself Henry was the crazy one. He’d only known the woman for a few days. Exasperating, vexing, witty, delicious, intelligent, determined . . . those were only a few of the ways he would describe her.

  But, was he in love with her?

  He sailed back to Cranford Hall in a daze. Spying young Holt jerked him from his musings. The boy played with a stick on the front lawn near the pond.

  He’d promised to show the boy his horse. Eliza stood nearby diligently keeping her eye on her young charge. Smiling, he thanked the stars above for sending him the woman who gave so much and asked for nothing in return. Teaching numerous slave children the English language, had been a lifesaver, not only to him and his plantation, but to the people he had grown to love in his own way.

  Addison fetched Apollo, riding him to where Eliza and the boy stood. When Holt noticed the large steed trot near him, his emerald eyes widened and he squealed with delight. Addison smiled, waving. “Hello, Holt.” He patted the horse’s sleek neck. “This is Apollo.”

  He slid down from the saddle and lifted the boy to sit atop the horse. The excitement in the boy’s face, his dimples clearly pitted in his tiny, pale cheeks, teeth flashing, and the wide-eyed wonder in his green eyes, made Addison’s heart swell.

  Pleasing Holt, just in that moment, gave him a particular sense of delight he’d not yet had the opportunity to experience.

  Holt kicked his chubby legs as if knowing the steed should react. “Ride!”

  “Ho, there, Holt. You’re not quite ready to go on your own, lad.” He held Apollo’s reins with a firm grip to keep the stallion from answering the movement of Holt’s vigorous actions. While many stallions would buck off the nuisance, Apollo behaved himself in Addison’s presence through rigorous training.

  “He’s a bit impatient, Lord Blackhurst. He soaks up everything I show him like a sponge.” He turned to see Eliza’s indulgent smile, and puffed out, pride-filled chest.

  Smiling, he turned back to the boy as he fumbled with the reins.

  “Sounds like his mother,” he uttered under his breath.

  Holt took that moment to smack him under the chin with one of the legs he kicked around, and Addison found it difficult not to chuckle. That was precisely the reaction his mother would give as well. “Whoa, there, lad.” Holt smiled down at him, all dimples and wild, auburn curls.

  “Shall he be safe up there on your stallion?” Eliza’s normally stern tone resonated with concern.

  “Eliza, Apollo was trained by the best and has a demeanor unlike any stallion I’ve raised. I’ll bring Master Holt up to the nursery in a while. We’re going to ride along the river.”

  “Aye, he’ll be over-the-moon then. I’ll go see if the twins are up.”

  Calling them by that name would take some getting used to as they looked nothing alike. Freddie and Garrett were so close in age, they must have been born on nearly the same day.

  “Bye, ‘Liza!” Holt shrieked, his thrill at being atop the horse making his voice raise an octave higher.

  Holt squealed in displeasure when he scooped him from Apollo.

  The boy pouted, his full lip sticking out. “Ride.”

  “We’re going to ride together, son.”

  He led Apollo over to the mounting post beneath one of the large oaks next to the pond. With the boy in the crook of his arm, he mounted Apollo one-handed using the post.

  “Wheeee!”

  Addison grinned, giving the boy the reins, while holding him around his middle to steady him. He nudged Apollo with his heels and the horse trotted slowly toward the house. Addison placed his hands lightly over Holt’s where he gripped the reins, and assisted him in steering them around the house, and down toward the river.

  They spent a good half hour riding—Addison laughing, Holt squealing with delight—before returning to Cranford Hall. He dismounted first and turned back to lift the boy from the saddle. His chest swelled with pride watching the glow of euphoria spread across the lad’s face. He wished to see the growing smile more often.

  “Now, you be a good lad every day, and I shall see that you have a proper ride the following day. Can you do that, son?”

  “Aye. Please.” Holt squealed in delight again as Addison sent him on the ground.

  They walked hand-in-hand back to the nursery, to an awaiting Eliza, who maintained an indulgent smile for the boy no matter the occasion. He’d seen that look many times while she read to the slave children. She was the most spectacular find for him since John Knox and his family.

  “Bye, Ad.” Holt gave his hand a small squeeze.

  Addison bent down, chucked him under the chin, and ruffled his mop of hair. “Until tomorrow, lad.”

  “He’ll be expecting this treatment every day, milord.” She smiled, her brown eyes sparkling.

  “Aye, we’ve made a gentleman’s agreement with Apollo to see him every day.”

  “Good. Do you wish to speak with Mrs. Morgan?” Gray brows rose high above her eyes.

  Bloody Hell. He’d just been able to remove her from his mind for a short while during his occupation with Holt. He did wonder how she spent her idle time during the day.

  “Aye, can you tell me where she might be?”

  “She’s gone to town, early this morning, I believe.”

  Town? Early this morning? How long had she been gone? Frowning, he thanked Eliza and headed down the stairs to find Sarah. If anyone knew where Anne might have gone, it would be his housekeeper. He was sure Raphael would be with his mistress.

  Finding her in her usual spot at the servants’ table, going over the ledgers for the stores, she grunted upon spying him. Before he was able to utter his question, she grumbled. “She’s gone somewhere with Raphael and Artie down river, milord.”

  Nodding, he thanked her, walked out the back, grabbed up Apollo’s reins, and led him to his stall in the stable. John walked through the stable doors, probably upon hearing him speaking to his horse.

  Brushing Apollo with a steady hand, he talked while working. “John, did you happen to see Mrs. Morgan leave this morning? Or, perhaps know where’s she was travelling?”

  “Aye, sir. She’s gone to a Mrs. Browning’s home. She’s been gone for some time, though. Should I have gone with her?”

  Dread and concern for her safety assailed him. He had no idea at her past, and from what or whom she ran. Her father had not stated, but it was imperative she be known as Cormac’s niece, and not his daughter. Could she be in danger?

  “No, John, she’s got Raphael. He’s a bit intimidating if you had not noticed.”

  John chuckled, “Yes, sir. He’s sure easy to talk to though. Got kind eyes.”

  “Aye, he’d protect her if she were in trouble.” There was nothing for it. The urge to find her, to chase her down, was too great. “However, I’m going to go find out where she’s gone.”

  Chapter 14

  The long ride down the Ashley River and his quick, methodic bursts of power to the oars to move the boat along the water did nothing to help the mounting anxiety that she’d been kidnapped or harmed. He paid the local stable master for an adequate gelding to ride, a sturdy brown fellow who took his weight easily. He scanned the road and alleys of Charles Town on the way to Elizabeth Browning’s home for any sign of his br
ide-to-be or her hulking henchman.

  A man named Hobbs led him into a parlor to await the lady of the house. She breezed into the room with grace and authority, her eyes sparkling with humor and pleasure.

  “Why, Lord Blackhurst, how wonderful to see you.” She held out her hand as he did the proper bowing over it required of polite society.

  “Mrs. Browning, the pleasure is mine.”

  “Anne tells me you’re to be married. It’s just wonderful news. You don’t know how many ladies have been plotting your marriage since you arrived.”

  He smiled politely. “As a matter of fact, there have been several proud mothers who were not so discreet regarding their intentions to wed me to their daughters.”

  “Of course not. Once some of the English arrive here, they quickly lose their ability to be covert.” The small lines in the corners of her eyes crinkled when she smiled. She edged backward and then took a seat on the long sofa in the parlor.

  He remained standing, not intending to delay himself in finding his missing bride. The hour grew later the longer he stood there. It was nearly three in the afternoon.

  “I apologize for my intrusion, Mrs. Browning, but might I inquire if you’ve seen Mrs. Morgan this afternoon?”

  “Yes, dear. She was here this morning and had a cup of coffee in this very parlor.” Curiosity smoothed out the wrinkles on her forehead. “She has not returned to Cranford Hall?”

  “I’m afraid she has not.” He was sure his frown mirrored that of Elizabeth’s face, her dark brows drawn closely together. “You would not happen to know in which direction she headed?”

  Placing a finger against her cheek in concentration, Addison fairly burst with impatience to know her thoughts. But, he was able to remain polite and steady, although his palms were beginning to sweat, imagining all the things that could befall Anne while not in his sight.

  “She did not say exactly, that I recall. She did mention sightseeing.”

  “Did she spend some time here?”

  “Not at all. Perhaps half an hour. She came by to thank me for her wardrobe. She’s wearing my Lenore’s clothing, you know. And, she wears it well, I might add.” He nodded to keep her talking. Perhaps something would trigger her whereabouts.

  She stood and walked to the teacart before the open window, the breeze blowing the curtains. “We spoke of Charles Town, the pirate activity, and . . . oh, dear.”

  The vein in his neck felt as if it would burst with the pulsating going on there, his heart pounding with the anxiety of her discovery. “What is it?”

  “We’d discussed how fascinating the pirates were, and I’d even told her that some of the more seedy taverns down at the dockside area were known to be frequented by those pirates, even now. Oh dear. She was very interested. I was sure she would go shopping instead.” The worry in her blue eyes was real. “You do not think she’d venture into a tavern, do you? She was awfully curious.”

  Boiling, that’s how he’d describe the blood rushing through the veins in his neck and the side of his head. That was precisely what the wench had done. In the game of proving she wasn’t the bride for him, she’d gone in search of unladylike activities. Or, had she met with foul play? Was she in trouble?

  He wobbled between anger and fear.

  Hoping his features did not betray either of these emotions, he smiled at Elizabeth, reassuring her. “I’m sure she’s gone sightseeing as you’ve said, or shopping. We do have a wedding to prepare for.”

  She allowed her shoulders to drop in relief. “Thank goodness. You’re right, Lord Blackhurst. There is a wedding to shop for. I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “I do hope you’ll come to the wedding, Mrs. Browning. Anne would love to see you there after the gracious gift you’ve given her of your daughter’s clothing.”

  She smiled up at him as he bent over her hand. “I wouldn’t miss it, dear.”

  “Thank you again. Now, I must ride over to Market Street, where I’m sure I’ll find my bride, buying all manner of items.”

  “You’re welcome, dear. Say hello again to her for me.”

  He left her on the sofa, and strode from the house. Jumping onto a horse’s back was second nature to him when he was in a hurry. He’d wasted a good twenty minutes speaking with Mrs. Browning; it was well after three o’clock. Riding hard, he headed back toward his warehouse, making the turn to Bay Street, where he knew a few taverns to be.

  Out of all the businesses in Charles Town, the local tavern had to be the most common. Everyone needed a good meal and ale after a long day’s work, loading and unloading the vast amounts of ships making port here. There were a few Addison had been in quite often, a couple that he’d been warned were not for the faint of heart. He started with those first. If she were aiming for unladylike, Town’s End and The Three Cups would be the places she’d go first.

  The dark, moist alleyways he passed were empty as he scanned them, but seeing a vagrant or drunkard lying there, or stumbling about only increased his sense of urgency and fear.

  What would she do if a hand had reached out to accost her? What had she worn, and were those beautifully shaped breasts spilling out as in most of the gowns he’d seen her wear?

  Nerves tingling, he galloped up to the door of The Three Cups, not wasting time and sliding off his rented mount right before the door. A patron took that moment to exit, and the man gave Addison a startled look and grabbed a knife from his pants pocket. Upon spying Addison’s attire or his size, the bloke backed away with his hands up.

  Addison nodded, and pushed his way through the door. It banged against the wall. The interior was loud and lively and dark. Scanning the area, he noticed two women, only, and they were not Anne Morgan. Dirty, scantily clad, and blond—neither woman carried themselves the way Anne would in such a place. Frowning, he turned to the small barkeep, who flinched as Addison approached.

  “You’ve not seen a red-haired lady today, have you, sir?”

  The man shook his head, vigorously. “N-n-no, milord.”

  Addison nodded, turned on his heel, scanned the area once more, and headed for the door. It swung wildly at his exit. Not bothering to mount his horse, he grabbed the reins and led him a few doors down to Town’s End. No name fit a tavern such as this one. It was the end of the dock area, and the end of any sane person who entered. The smell and filth of the place nearly made him gag, but he strode fully into the building anyway, scanning it with a cursory glance. Only two patrons sat inside. There were no women, and he had no doubt Anne would have turned right around and left the place, just as he was doing.

  Three taverns later, numerous rakes and pulls of his hair, fury and fear making him sweat, with a hulking, bald Raphael standing outside the last one, The Hound and the Hare, and he determined he’d finally found her.

  Raphael’s brows rose high, surprise widening his eyes at finding Addison striding angrily his direction. He didn’t flinch, however. The man was too scarred and dangerous for such a cowardly reaction. Addison needn’t ask the mute where to find his bride. The man had obviously been guarding his mistress, listening for any sign of distress.

  Bloody hell, he would spank her proper this time. Damn propriety or his conscience. The vixen deserved it for catapulting him through so many emotions in so few hours.

  He’d gone from trying to remove her sensual lips and body from his mind, to irritation at her antics, to anxiety of her disappearance, to fear of a kidnapping, to fury over finding her at a dockside tavern.

  Calm. He needed to breathe. He’d not allow her to know she’d gotten under his skin so quickly. That reaction would be playing into the hand she’d dealt him.

  Pushing open the tavern door, the darkness of the interior and smell of freshly baked bread greeted him. Once inside, several pair of eyes found their way to him, wondering why a man dressed in
his handsome attire would be in their tavern. Some stopped drinking. The tavern keeper ceased cleaning the table where he stood, and the serving girl squealed with delight upon seeing him.

  At least one female accepted his presence.

  But, only one woman commanded his attention.

  She was easy to spot and stuck out like a red stain on a white tablecloth. She wore a deep blue, cotton gown. Her pale skin glowed in the candlelight, in deep contrast with the gown. Her radiant, sunset-red braid hung to the side. Her back to him, she sat, not like a lady in a regal gown, but with her feet apart, one hand resting in the space between her thighs. He could see the dark boots she wore as her gown was hiked slightly by her resting hand.

  Addison gave everyone in the room a menacing glance, warning them with his eyes to stand back. The quiet in the room palpable, he strode in her direction.

  Seeing her sitting calmly in one of the most seedy and dangerous taverns in Charles Town, as if she were right at home in such an environment, perplexed him. Never mind the fact that he had been terrified at the thought she’d run away, or been kidnapped. But, knowing her, he figured she’d just rebelled.

  Never mind that a surge of desire hit him from stomach to loins, he was damned furious now.

  She sat with legs spread slightly apart, in a not-so-elegant manner, and began swirling her gravy with a dagger. “Another ale if you don’t mind, girl.” It was if she’d planned to stay for a long visit and was quite bored with the establishment.

  He’d had enough without even speaking to her.

  “I would mind, very much.” He knew when she recognized his voice for the dagger ceased its circular motion. However, she did not cower or flinch.