Wild Willful Love

by Valerie Sherwood

  “No.” He sat up restlessly. “Esthonie is right about one thing. Like hawks, there are sharp eyes about watching to see when I will go—and where. Ships will follow me, Imogene— even the Spanish fleet, or what’s left of it now, may be alerted. For all I know there may be Spanish men-of-war lying off Tortuga right now, waiting.” He rose decisively, ran a hand through his dark hair. “I would not have you with me on such a voyage.”

  “But surely you cannot leave me here!” she protested. “Remember, you will have sold the house over my head!”

  “No, there is a merchant ship—the Goodspeed. She sails for Plymouth next week. You will be set aboard her under cover of darkness with but one trunk—the rest will be conspicuously hauled aboard the Sea Rover by daylight. And since none could expect that a woman of wealth and fashion would travel without her trunks, none will expect that you precede me aboard another ship.”

  Imogene sat up and gave him a rebellious look. “Let the trunks travel aboard the Goodspeed—I want to be with you aboard the Sea Rover!”

  He shook his head. “No, it is too dangerous. There may be fighting—I would not have some cannon pick you out and blow you to bits before my very eyes!”

  Imogene jumped up. “You mean I must travel all the way across the ocean without you?” she demanded.

  “I will be close at hand,” he promised, “pacing your ship to guard you from harm. None will notice—they will be too intent upon the Sea Rover, believing it to be gunwales deep in treasure.”

  “And won’t it be?”

  “To some extent,” he admitted sheepishly. “But if the Sea Rover is attacked, the Goodspeed will sail fast away.”

  “And leave you?” she demanded bitterly.

  “Certainly, leave me,” he said, astonished. “What would you have the captain of a lone merchantman do? Take arms to defend a ship of forty guns like the Sea Rover?”

  “Yes!” Her voice was argumentative. “In time of trouble, every cannon helps.”

  “I see you should have been my gunnery officer instead of my bride,” he said lightly. “No, the four little cannons of the Goodspeed would serve more to incense an enemy than to smite him. If battle is joined, I will thank my foresight that you are not in range.”

  “And of nights, will you thank your foresight?” she asked pertly, standing with her hands on her naked hips.

  “Of nights...” He sighed and, leaning over, traced with his fingers the hollow between her round breasts, pressed a kiss on one trembling pink nipple. “Of nights I will regret my decision, of course. But with every sail that heaves in sight, I will be glad again that I have made it.”

  “And, anyway, why the Goodspeed? she demanded, thinking to postpone this parting. "There are many ships that touch here at Tortuga.”

  “The Goodspeed is an honest merchantman,” he said slowly. “She put in here at Tortuga only to make needed repairs. I would trust you to her.”

  His meaning was clear: Her captain is not the kind to make a deal with those who would seize you and hold you for ransom, Imogene.

  She tried a new tack, telling him she was not ready for the voyage. But there was no changing him, no swerving him from his purpose. She would be off to Plymouth on this merchantman, whether or no, there to be picked up by the Sea Rover, then on to Amsterdam.

  Not even the protest that she had been involved in what had been accounted a murder in the Scillies could move him.

  “You will not be going to the Scilly Isles, nor indeed to any part of Cornwall,” he told her. “Indeed, ’tis my intention to take you off the Goodspeed at sea off Plymouth and journey with you thence to Amsterdam. I have already arranged this with her captain; he will wait for me off Plymouth.”

  “You said I have a memorable face,” she reminded him. “Word of my near brush with England may reach Cornwall via the passengers arriving on the Goodspeed."

  “No, for you will be traveling under an assumed name. You will be Mistress Tremayne for the voyage.”

  Apparently he had thought of everything.

  “But will you sail the Sea Rover boldly through the English Channel?” she wondered. “Is that not tempting fate?”

  “By then she will have another name painted on her hull,” he said carelessly. “Should we call her the Imogene, do you think?”

  He was teasing her!

  “It might be an appropriate name for her,” she told him in a quenching tone. “For, like me, she has seen many a battle!”

  “I did not know you regarded yourself as so formidable,” he grinned, reaching out to pull her to him and toy with a lock of her golden hair that fell fetchingly down about her ears.

  “Van Ryker, be serious!” She pulled away from him.

  “Very well, I intend to paint the name Caribbee on her hull and sail her to Amsterdam. There, those I take with me will all assume new identities, and we will all away to England and Ryderwood and thence to my plantation of Longview in Carolina.”

  Imogene knew these men changed identities as other men changed suits of clothes. Van Ryker’s plans were always well laid. She sighed.

  “What of my jewels?” she demanded.

  “The bulk of them will travel with me for safekeeping. I suggest you take with you only the van Rappard diamonds, and in the bottom of your trunk—”

  “My one trunk,” she reminded him ironically.

  But her buccaneer was not to be nudged into argument. He ran an exploring hand across her naked shoulder that made her flesh crawl deliciously and gave her back a bland smile. “In the bottom of your one trunk, I will place a money chain of gold. It should be enough to get you through any emergency that might arise.

  It was more than enough. Even if the van Rappard diamonds had not been worth a king's ransom in themselves! Imogene knew that travelers often wore the these golden chains around their necks, knowing that a link might be removed as payment for lodgings or for other purposes.

  “I could wear a golden chain.”

  “You could but I would prefer you would not. And your dress should be simple, it should not cause comment.”

  “You mean I must make this voyage garbed as a serving maid?” Her annoyance showed in her voice.

  To her surprise, he caught at that eagerly. "Yes. it would be a great protection. Wear something sober. Remember, Imogene, that spyglasses from other ships may be focusing on the Goodspeed. You are known for your extravagant gowns. No one will expect you to be wearing homespun.”

  Nor certainly had she ever expected it! She frowned at van Ryker, shrugging his hand away. “I see you have thought of everything,” she said dry y. “Except one thing. How do you plan to get my consent to sail without you?”

  He moved toward her, threw a lazy arm about her, pulling her close to him so that her breasts brushed lightly against his chest. “You will do it for love of me,” he told her in a rich low voice that throbbed in her ears. “Because you know my only purpose is to keep you safe.”

  It was a hard argument to combat—especially with van Ryker holding her so breathlessly close. Against her will, her passion flared again, seeming to light the room with its fire. His warm mouth pressed down on hers, his lips moved over hers sensuously, his tongue probed deeply, ardently, past her lips—and her resolve, so strong a moment ago, weakened. His hair spilled over her shoulder to tangle with her own and his strong hands encircled and lifted her buttocks, moving her soft hips sinuously back and forth against his loins. A soft moan caught in her throat as her body waked anew to this magical lover who could always take her with him on voyages of delight—and discovery. The sultry air of the tropics seemed to press in upon them, laden with treasure. And the treasures of life they knew and plundered in the great square bed were accounted by them far dearer than gold, and their love was a molten river down which they plunged recklessly, to clasp and whisper and gasp at the very wonder of it.

  Imogene’s body melted against van Ryker’s lean hard frame, his words of love were an unheard murmur above the roaring in her o
wn ears. Uncaring now, she abandoned herself to the man and the moment, letting her hands and lips and body speak for her.

  She loved him—dear God, how she loved him!

  Van Ryker held her to him in triumph.

  He had won the argument.

  CHAPTER 6

  “ ’Tis a glorious day. Why so pensive?” van Ryker wondered as they sat at breakfast in the long dining room. They were seated at a makeshift table of boards laid atop carpenters’ horses, for the handsome dining room suite with its carved high-backed chairs and trestle table were gone, already packed into the Sea Rover's capacious hold. Gone too was the massive oaken table from the chart room and the precious charts over which van Ryker had so often pored. But the planking before which they sat had a white cover of finest linen and there were pink hibiscus blossoms in the silver bowl that served for a centerpiece.

  Imogene laughed. “I was thinking of all I have to do today. All the linens must be sorted through, for I have no mind to take anything threadbare across the ocean!”

  “Leave them,” suggested van Ryker tersely. Now that breakfast was on the table, he got up and closed the door. “Remember where you are going, Imogene,” he said quietly— and that closing of the heavy door reminded her that even the servants were not to know their true destination; he was telling everyone they were sailing for Barbados, that they would head north first for a feint to confuse any who might lie in wait for their treasure-laden ship. “In Amsterdam the goods of the world come to market. You can buy the finest linens, Flemish lace, whatever your heart desires.”

  “I will not throw away good linens, van Ryker.” Imogene helped herself to more of the delicious fricassee. Van Ryker had found for her the best cook on the island—Esthonie was always trying to win him away from her.

  “Then sell them in the market on the quay,” he suggested.

  “Where they would bring buccaneer prices!” she scoffed. “For you know as well as I do that Cayona’s prices are the cheapest anywhere—witness the ships from everywhere that flock in here to fill their holds and make their fortunes elsewhere! Besides, one must have linens and I would only be replacing them at a higher price in Amsterdam.”

  “I had thought you might want to order matched and monogrammed linens,” he said quietly. “For you may find yourself entertaining frequently.”

  “In Carolina?” she laughed. “Where would I find the guests in that savage wilderness?”

  “In Ryderwood, then. All the county will be mad to meet the bride I have brought home; you will need ball gowns by the score!”

  He was smiling at her. He was looking very handsome this morning, she thought idly. And dressed somewhat more elegantly than was his custom for a morning spent provisioning the Sea Rover. His black trousers and wide rakish boots were in dramatic contrast to his short-sleeved scarlet doublet. And the white flowing sleeves of his shirt and the snowy froth of lace at his throat and ruffled cuffs—white as the strong white teeth that flashed at her in that smile—combined to give him a dashing look. As if he were out to impress a lady, she thought whimsically. A sinister look would be added when, before leaving the house, he stuck a big pistol into his wide leathern belt and buckled on the sword for which he was feared throughout the Caribbean.

  “Or Gale Force,” he said softly. He was speaking of his Jamaica plantation, where so much had happened to her during her short stay there. “Who knows, we may yet be entertaining the governor of Jamaica?” Ironically, for it was not lost on van Ryker that the governor of Jamaica was still in love with Imogene and had in the past proved a dangerous rival.

  Imogene’s color rose a little higher, for had things gone slightly differently she might have been in the arms of that same governor of Jamaica right now!

  “I doubt we shall see much of Gale Force,” she said vaguely.

  “Who knows, we may buy a house in London? You will have more than one home, Imogene.”

  “Yes, and if I wish to be worthy of it, I will not throw away everything we own and start anew. I will take the best of the linens with us, van Ryker, and have them monogrammed in Amsterdam.” She was glad to divert him from the dangerous subject of Jamaica’s rakish governor. Indeed, she told herself, van Ryker had no cause to be jealous of him. Her heart and her loyalty had never swerved from the lean buccaneer lounging before her. “As to buying new—yes, I will doubtless buy many new things in Holland, where so much is offered.” She was silent for a moment, remembering the lighthearted shopping expeditions she had gone on there with Verhulst in that first blush of his love for her, there in Amsterdam where they had met. The young Dutchman had bought everything she admired—thick-piled Chinese rugs in blue and gold and lavender, subtle as paintings; delicate teak wood screens from the Orient; desk items of carved jade; brass paper knives with dragon handles; French wallpaper lavished with hunting scenes; lengths of rich brocades and velvets; silver salts—silver salts'. She frowned, for that reminded her that she had not yet packed the silver and it must all be carefully crated for the voyage.

  “Do you care which of the servants I take with me?” she wondered. “Of course I realize we will not need them all—nor would they all wish to go, but I thought perhaps to ask the cook and—”

  “We are not taking any of the servants with us, Imogene,” he told her evenly. “Arne has refused to go, for he is too used to the life here in Tortuga to change, he says.”

  “I shall miss him,” laughed Imogene. “For surely he would add color to any place with that red rag tied around his hacked-oft gray hair and that one gold earring—not to mention his wooden leg into which he has pounded all those pieces of eight he wins at cards. I marvel he can still lift it!”

  “I too will miss Arne,” sighed van Ryker. “For I have felt that even in a place as wild as Cayona I could entrust you to his care. As for cook, Esthonie has asked cook to stay.”

  To gossip about us, no doubt! thought Imogene, knowing Esthonie. ‘‘But I am sure I could persuade cook to go,” she said.

  “You could, but you will not.”

  She gave him a puzzled look. “And the others?”

  “Have all found good positions elsewhere, Imogene. I have already seen to it. We are starting a new life. We must begin it fresh and unfettered.”

  He was right, of course. She could see that. And these servants on Tortuga, while willing enough, were a slatternly lot. It was hard to imagine them in livery. No, they were not what the mistress of Ryderwood would need to serve her. Still, she was fond of them. She sighed. Esthonie would be taking over the servants, the house. The way of life to which she had become accustomed since van Ryker had brought her to this buccaneer stronghold was slipping fast away.

  “You are thinking of covering up our past completely, then?”

  “Burying it deep,” he said. “To the world these last few years of our lives will never have been. We will fabricate a new past for ourselves.”

  It was tempting, this world he held out.

  “And those men who have decided to join you, those who—like you—wish to become planters in Carolina? What of their pasts?”

  “They have as much to gain by concealment as I,” said van Ryker frankly. “For if we were to sue for pardon from the king for buccaneering, then we must render up one-tenth part of all treasure taken to the king and another tenth to his brother the duke.”

  ‘‘Would it not be worth it?” she wondered wistfully. ‘‘We have so much gold now.”

  “I see you do not understand. The tenth part exacted from us would needs be a tenth part of all the ship took—and another tenth for his brother. We would have to make good for what others received—it would beggar us.”

  ‘‘I did not know that.”

  “I realize you didn’t, else you would not have spoken.”

  She was silenced—and sobered too by what he had told her, for always it had lurked in the back of her mind that he would sue for—and receive—a king’s pardon for buccaneering and his past would become as other men�
��s, something that could be discussed around the hearth on rainy nights, or over tinkling glasses at some ball or other. Not forever cloaked and hidden, guarded watchfully. But now it seemed that it was not to be. They were to walk free only if they were careful. There was a ditference.

  “Will de Rochemont sail with you?”

  “Yes, but he has longed to quit the sea. We will lose him to France, I fear, for he plans to pay off his old gaming debts and return in style to the home of his father. I expect this time next year will find him with a bride and an heir on the way!” She was glad for the friendly ship’s doctor, but she would miss him.

  “And Barnaby?” she asked, wondering about their yellowhaired young ship’s master.

  “He may desert us too, but he has not yet decided. England calls to him, but Barnaby’s heart will always be under sail. He has an eye for far places and has been muttering about Madagascar and the Spice Islands.” Barnaby, the poet... she would miss him too.

  Suddenly it came to her, what she had not really realized before—that it was all breaking up, this easy camaraderie she had known with dangerous men. She was going back into a world of fashion and manners where prestige and deportment mattered. She wondered if she would be lost in it.

  “Come, not so sad, Imogene. You will make new friends. You might take these plates along.” Van Ryker indicated the fashionable blue and white ware on which their breakfast reposed.

  “They are breakable, so I had thought to sell them—and replace them in Amsterdam.”

  Did she mistake it or did a shadow pass across his dark face? “As you like,” he shrugged.

  “Are they a symbol to you of some victory?”

  He gave a wry laugh. “More a symbol of defeat, I should say. For I bought them on the day I met you in Amsterdam—as a tribute to your blue eyes. Even then I knew I meant to have you.”

  “You bought them then?” she marveled.

  “Less than an hour after we met. I was strolling through the Kalverstraat and I went into a bookstore that dealt in maps. The owner had just received a shipment of delftware, which he intended for his wife. The box was open on the floor and I saw these plates. I remember thinking, She would like these—they would match her eyes.