Captive Embraces

by Fern Michaels

  “And if they had known,” Theo said, slipping back into her Duchess role, “do you think they would have respected me? Oh, no, they would have torn my hair out!”

  After the final kisses good-bye and good wishes and promises to stay in touch with Tyler, who could keep them in contact with one another, Theo climbed from the coach. “You’ve given me a new start on life, Regan, and I won’t forget it. If there’s ever anything I can do for you, let me know.”

  When they were alone, Sirena looked at Regan. “That was a wonderful thing you did for Theo, Regan. I know how careful you’ve had to be with your money and realize how generous you were.”

  “It was only money, Sirena. You can’t put a price on life.” His voice was somber and serious as though he were remembering something painful. Then he brightened. “The two hundred pounds was a lot easier to give than that kiss to Myrtle whan we reached the gate. God! What a hag!”

  Regan and Sirena laughed. The first laugh they’d shared together since before Mikel had died. It felt good and natural, as though all the awful events since that time had never happened. When Regan reached out and touched Sirena’s hand, she clasped it as they thought again of the smitten, black-toothed Myrtle.

  Tyler Payne Sinclair stepped lightly out of the carriage that brought him to Camilla’s house on Drury Lane. He smoothed the hair at his temples and frowned when he saw how pale his hand was in the bright sunlight. Prison pallor. Even with paying easement for better food and larger portions, Tyler’s clothes were too large by several sizes. He was self-conscious of the way his frock coat sagged over his chest.

  Earlier that day, Regan had come to Newgate to see him. He had explained in detail the restitution necessary to resolve the upset with the King and captain of the galleon the Sea Spirit had damaged. He had also told him of Camilla’s confession to him and that he held no malice toward either of them. Regan was greatly relieved to be free of a loveless marriage and wished them both well. Tyler expected to hear him say that Camilla and Tyler deserved each other, but he hadn’t. Before leaving, Regan explained that he hadn’t told Camilla of Stephan’s death, he was leaving that chore to Tyler. Wordlessly, there was a communication between the two men that Sirena would not be implicated in Stephan’s death.

  Tyler stepped up the wide tiled stairs to the front door and lifted the brass knocker. He was prepared to announce himself to the servant answering the door when the solid mahogany panel flew open and there stood Camilla. For what seemed an eternity they stared at each other, each drinking in the sight of the other. Tyler could see faint purple smudges beneath her blue eyes and her long dark lashes were moist and spiked as though she had been crying.

  Camilla noticed immediately the weight Tyler had lost and his pallor, and her heart went out to him “Tyler!” she breathed, hardly more than a whisper. Her knees felt shaky and she nearly tumbled into his waiting arms.

  He was overcome with the sight of her, the feel of her in his arms, the sweet clean fragrance emanating from her silky yellow curls. And when his mouth touched hers he savored the taste of her, reveling in the fact that her mouth sought his just as eagerly.

  Camilla pulled Tyler into the house, closing the door behind her and leaning against it for support. “I thought you were dead,” she whispered tonelessly, her distress showing in her eyes. “I thought I would never have the chance to tell you how much you meant to me; how much I love you.”

  Suddenly she was in his arms again and he soothed her tears and quieted her, holding her fast, swearing he would never leave her again, never let her go.

  When at last their torrent of emotions was under control, Tyler led Camilla into the drawing room, seating her gently on the settee and sitting down beside her. “Camilla, sweetheart, there’s something I must tell you.”

  She looked at him, her huge eyes holding puzzlement and fear. “You’ve come to tell me about father, haven’t you?” she said softly. “Then tell me, Tyler, quickly, before I lose my courage.”

  “Stephan is dead, sweetheart. I . . . I saw him go over the side during a storm.” His voice was gentle, consoling.

  “You saw him go over the side? Side of what?” Camilla persisted.

  “Your father was running away from a duel, Camilla. Frightened, he learned of a ship in the harbor which was sailing to Ireland. I had gone to the house on King Street just as he was preparing to leave. He begged me, pleaded with me, to accompany him so I could introduce him to family friends in Waterford. I did. That first day out a storm came up quite unexpectedly. Stephan . . . went over the rail. He’s dead, Camilla.” Tyler scrutinized her face for sign of emotion.

  “I’m glad he’s dead, Tyler,” Camilla said in a barely audible voice. “He can’t hurt anyone again. He was my father but I’d always suspected what connection he had in my mother’s death. When I learned the truth, I wanted nothing more to do with him. I suppose what I’m feeling right now is regret for the man I thought he was; not for the man he truly was. Camilla’s eyes cleared and the corners of her mouth lifted hesitantly in a smile. “All that matters to me, Tyler, is that we can be together.”

  His arms tightened about her, drawing her to him, pressing her close. Camilla offered herself to him, reveling in his embrace, feeling his love nourish her soul. There would never be another man for her. Only Tyler. Always Tyler.

  Sirena leaned against the quarterdeck rail, watching her crew lay in stores. Regan had calculated that the journey to the Caribbean would take roughly fifty days, providing they were lucky and caught the easterlies. Jacobus was directing Jan where to put the crates of live chickens they would need for their voyage and the pig for a change of diet. Salted meat and grains were hauled on board by the sackful, along with numerous casks of fresh water in which a limestone had been dropped to keep it sweet.

  As Sirena surveyed all the activity going on around her, she scowled. Regan, who was testing the rigging and had jumped the last few feet to the deck, observed her. “What’s troubling you, Sirena? Have you thought of something we’ve forgotten?”

  Sirena looked up distractedly. “I was just wondering when Blackheart found the time to lay in the stores needed to make a journey of this length. Even calculating the time from when he left, doesn’t it seem like a terribly long way to go just to avenge himself on me?”

  Regan’s eyes widened. “I should have thought of it myself. I see what you mean. Where are your charts?”

  “In the cabin,” Sirena said, starting for the sterncastle.

  Regan peered over the charts. “Pelee,” he murmured, drawing lines and calculating routes. “It’s just as you suspected, Sirena. The quickest way to Pelee is along this route; all the others go round about the Caribbean Isles. Blackheart knows we wouldn’t waste time weaving in and out of these islands, so he’s pretty certain of which course we would take. Even if he miscalculated us, he’d still catch up to us in Pelee.”

  Sirena was excited. “And knowing our course, he could come up behind us while we’re at sea! Blackheart never meant to sail all the way to the Caribbean to pay a debt owed.”

  “That’s right. Unless I miss my guess, he’ll be waiting for us right here,” the point of his quill stabbed the map just at the cliffs of Dover. “There’s plenty of places to take cover around the western side. We’d sail right out on top of him and never see him until it was too late. That bastard is only four days away, not sixty!”

  Suddenly Regan sobered. “Sirena, I don’t want you to come with us. Now that we’ve uncovered his most likely plan, I think the men and myself can handle it.”

  “I thought you wanted me to come. That’s what you said yesterday in Newgate.”

  “I know what I said, but that was because I wanted the best crew available, the best possible seamen, the most courageous fighters. You, Sirena are all those things. I wanted the best and I asked you.” His voice grew gruff, as though embarrassed by admitting these things.

  “And have I changed since then? Am I less an able-bodied seaman? Am I no
t a courageous fighter? Don’t say any more, Regan, I go with you.”

  “No! You will stay here in London. I’ve made up my mind and I’ll hear no more about it.”

  “You seem to forget, Mynheer van der Rhys. This is my ship and I give the orders. Either I go with you or you find another ship and another crew. That is final.” The heat of her temper blazed in her cheeks and lit her eyes from within. Regan stared down at her and she backed away.

  “You also seem to forget that you’re a married man!” Before he could say a word in protest, she turned and went out on deck.

  The evening tide rose with the moon and the Sea Spirit’s moorings and broadsides groaned with pleasure at her release from the quay. Sirena stood on board, watching Regan take the wheel, guiding her ship down the Thames to its mouth. Regan’s hands were firm on the spokes and his eyes peered ahead watching for small craft and buoys marking the channel. The sight of him standing there nearly took her breath away. He handled the ship the way he handled a woman, the way he had handled her, with concentration and a gentle touch.

  The moonlight reflected off his hair in a silvery halo. The fine white lawn and billowing sleeves of his shirt fluttered in the breeze, his breeches hugged his firm muscular thighs and the pigskin boots he wore gave him an air of the military. He hasn’t changed. Sirena thought. He’s as handsome as when I first met him. The expanse of his chest which showed in the gap at the neck of his shirt had whitened from lack of exposure to the sun; but his strong capable hands and his face still held traces of a bronzed tan. He still exuded that healthy strength, that feeling of being at one with the elements.

  He had not tried to speak with her since she had stormed out of the cabin that afternoon and she wondered what he had been about to say when she turned her back on him. Perhaps it was time they stopped this game-playing and spoke what was on their minds. To hell with the fact he was married to Camilla. She loved him; she had always loved him; that would never change. She had allowed pride to come between them and she had sworn it would never happen again, but it had and there was no retreating. What mattered was the present, and Sirena didn’t want to face possible death without having told him that she loved him still. The past was past and it could only rear its ugly head if they allowed it. Now, with the prospect of meeting Blackheart again, she realized how precious life was and how much the prospect of confronting that scurve frightened her.

  She had been pushing it down since Regan had come to Newgate and told her about Caleb. She was frightened of Blackheart. Facing him would be another open confrontation and she didn’t think she could defend herself against him. Too much blood had flowed past the tip of her rapier. She didn’t know if she could kill again and, with Blackheart, it would come to kill or be killed.

  The Sea Spirit slid through the dark water and Sirena was looking at London’s rooftops against the night sky. She had admitted her worst fears to herself and was better for it.

  The hour was late, and when she looked toward the wheel, Willem mastered the ship. The thought of going back to her cabin did not appeal to her. She wanted to see the stars in the sky and feel the breeze on her cheeks. Her feet found their nimble way past the coils of rigging and marine equipment to the bow. The Sea Spirit’s bowsprit was painted white and reached out over the water as though it were pointing a path to the brightest star. She leaned over the rail and felt the salt tang wet her cheeks, or was it tears? The night was silent and clear as they glided free of London into the wider channel. Suddenly, she was aware of someone behind her. Sirena turned and looked up into his beloved face. His arms came around her, holding her tightly. She pressed her face against the place where his shirt came away and felt his hard chest beneath her lips. She answered his embrace and her love overflowed.

  In his embrace she was safe. She could hide behind his strength until her own courage was restored. His arms protected her, sheltered her from the world. His solid virility shielded her from the unknown and became a haven where she could revive her flagging will and brace herself against the terror of things to come.

  “Tell me,” he said, his voice warm and gentle.

  “I’m afraid,” were the only words she spoke, yet he understood.

  He lifted her off her feet and took her to the place where the bowsprit rose out of the scrubbed deck. He sat, leaning against the rail, cradling her as though she were a small child. He did not speak, yet offered her his protection. Long into the night he held her, loving her.

  She felt his caring in his touch, in the tender way his lips rested against her brow and in his silent comprehension. She had never loved him more than she did at this moment, when they watched the stars blink at them from the heavens, leading them onward, together.

  The Moon made its graceful arc across the sky and Sirena nestled against his chest, feeling as though she were an extension of him. His arms kept her warm, his fingers making tiny, soothing circles on the flesh of her arm. This is the way it feels to be reborn, regenerated; she thought silently. This is where I begin and end, here with Regan. Out there, somewhere, my fate awaits me, but for the moment I am here, with my love, sheltered by his love.

  If they slept, she did not know it, and if they moved, she was not aware of it. On through the night he held her, letting his love flow into her, asking for nothing, save her acceptance of him. Giving her all he had to offer. And when the sky began to light he pressed his lips against her ear and whispered, “And now, my love, let me tell you about my marriage to Camilla.”

  She let him tell her, listening silently. And when he was through, a smile brighter than the new sun upon the glistening waters lit her face and she found her peace.

  The next two days were an idyll. The crew attended to their chores in quiet respect of Regan and Sirena’s newfound love. The days were bright and joyous, a balm to the soul. And the nights were long and silent and they passed them in each other’s arms, renewing their passions and feeding their desires. It was their last night wrapped in their snug little world. Tomorrow, dawn, would show them the chalk-white cliffs of Dover and the brutal power of Blackheart.

  Regan joined Sirena in their cabin where she was brushing her lustrous black hair. Her arms were lifted to her head, revealing the outline of her proud breasts beneath her nightshirt. The lamp cast its yellow light onto her face, polishing her skin with buff tones of ivory.

  He had never known her to be more beautiful. Her features were calm and serene; her eyes were aglow with her love for him. Wordlessly, he took the brush from her hand and smoothed her sable curls with his palm, feeling the silky strands between his fingers and thinking her hair was like the sea itself. Dark and curling and glowing with a light of its own.

  When she turned to him it was to offer her lips and body in tribute to their love. There was a hint of desperation in her kiss and the way her arms wound around his neck, as though she would never let him go. Her emotions found an answering response in Regan and his mouth took hers greedily. Unable to satisfy his need for her, Sirena’s fears for the future echoed in the core of him.

  They were both aware what the confrontation with Blackheart could mean. Death was eternal, a forever loss, and it was looming out there, beyond the world they had created for themselves. Both were aware of the havoc and destruction which threatened their bliss. But they still had tonight and their bodies could comfort and be comforted and their rapture could ease their hearts.

  She separated from him and Regan looked down adoringly at her. It was as though he were trying to memorize her features, her lips, her eyes, the classic tilt of her nose. Tenderly they silently agreed to commit this moment to memory, to have it, to cherish it whatever the fates might bring. Their hands reached out for one another, softly touching, sweetly caressing; hair, cheeks, lips. Rediscovering the wonders of each other, those intimate, beautiful differences which made them unique. The turn of a lip, the tilt of an eye, the soft, velvety feel of an earlobe. They were like children discovering a world of glorious wonder.

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nbsp; Tenderly, so tenderly, Regan removed her nightshirt, touching his lips to those soft, mysterious places near the back of her neck and the crease where her arm rested against her breast. His mouth lingered, giving and taking pleasure and love.

  Her hands sought the skin of his back beneath his shirt and luxuriated in his warmth. He shrugged out of his shirt, freeing himself for her touch. Her mouth covered the place where his neck joined with his shoulders and she was aware of the shudder of delight and anticipation which coursed through him. A tear fell from her eye and rained down her cheek. Seeing it, Regan kissed it away, tasting the saltiness of it, as though it had come from the sea. And he knew and understood though not a word passed between them that her fingers and lips were committing him to memory. That her lips and eyes were devouring him in tiny pieces, so that if the fates should be cruel and if she were the only one to survive, she would be able to close her eyes and see him again as he was now; remember the feel of him, the taste of him, and live again this last night of bittersweet love.

  Regan moved away from her and when they touched again he was naked just as she was. Magic spun a web and cloaked them from the world. They were two in love as none before and none after would ever be. And when his hands slid down her body, it was to adore her, worship her, take her with him to newfound heights, where passions of the flesh became a gift to the gods.

  She offered herself to him, her body a shrine on the altar of their love. Never had their love been so pure and untainted, untarnished by the misunderstandings that had always loomed between them. They were one in body and heart. As they lay in each other’s embrace, their desires sated, they knew they had the strength to face what must be confronted.

  Sirena’s eyes were bright and clear, unclouded by the apprehensions which had haunted her. She would face Blackheart with courage and valor. She had the world now, and the stars in the heavens. She had it all. Regan loved her.