She hesitated, then asked the question. “How did you come to sea?”
Did she imagine a look of relief crossing his face? It was an answer of sorts. This was a safe topic.
“It was either be a chimney sweep or a cabin boy. I chose the fresh air.”
Another question flirted at the edge of her tongue when Kit pointed.
“We’re heading for that beach there for lunch.”
She followed where he directed and saw a sandy cove where the blue of the sea met stratum layers of yellow rock, remnants she supposed of volcanic activity of eons past. But nature was resilient. Tenacious coastal plants covered the tops of the exposed rocks with greenery, which became more plentiful the closer it reached to the top of the promontory.
“Would you like to sail us in?”
“What? I don’t know how to sail.”
He raised his chin. “Sit in front of me, I’ll teach you.”
She moved to his side of the boat and settled between his legs.
“Put your hand on the tiller.” Tingles cascaded down her neck as he spoke into her ear. She grasped the tiller arm, warm from his hand now resting on top of hers.
“Gently, that’s it,” he encouraged. “The important thing to remember is a boat can’t sail directly into the wind, it has to be about forty-five degrees to it.”
He wrapped the rope one more time around his wrist and pulled the boom towards them. She felt the tug of the tiller at her hand and the little boat responded. She was beginning to understand the sailor’s delight of mastering both sea and wind.
“Put your hand on mine.”
She put her much smaller hand over his, felt the rope under her palm and the strength of his fingers as he controlled the sail.
Sophia gained a feel for sailing, and joy found its expression in a delighted laugh. His warm chuckle in response added to her confidence.
Kit had given her a gift. He had warned her he was not good with words, so she learned his actions spoke more. Today, he was not just teaching her to sail, but revealing something about himself. Rather than telling her why he loved the sea, he showed her – giving her a glimpse into how much the Calliope meant to him.
She had never felt more alive than she did at this moment. Every sense seemed heightened. She didn’t need her glasses here. She could see further without them. The wind and sun warming and cooling her by turns, the rush of breeze past her ears, and the piercing sound of seabirds – and Kit’s presence, solid at her back – were arousing.
“Aim for the shore; we’ll beach her there and find some shade,” he said.
She felt sand scrape the bottom of the hull. Kit leapt over the side and dragged the boat further up onto the beach. He lifted her over the side while she cradled a blanket and a satchel Giorgio had given her.
Soon, their picnic was set up and sweet white wine poured. She shared childhood reminiscences from the convent. And as she spoke, she realized that despite her loneliness, there were more good memories than bad. Kit told stories about his crew, of how Elias and Jonathan came to join them, as well as some of their tamer and more humorous stories.
He made love to her there on the blanket. She reveled in his touch and the delight he allowed to show on his features as he removed her clothing, exposing her to his gaze and the sky above. She watched him and gloried in his body, and in his response as she freely touched him as he did her. Soon, they were spent and lay side by side on the blanket holding hands.
“This place is beautiful. How on earth did you know it was here?”
“One of the first people we liberated from the Barbary pirates came from the fishing village here.”
“I don’t recall seeing a village on the way here.”
Kit shook his head. “Leo had been a slave for five years when we rescued him. He stayed with us for several weeks until we returned to Sicily. We dropped anchor, and the village was gone. We literally stumbled across what remained of his cottage on the headland. It was nothing more than half-buried stones. The more we looked through the scrub, the more stones we found. They were all scorched.”
Sophia shivered. Suddenly this place seemed ominous, yet it was exactly the same place it had been only an hour before. As though echoing her mood, a cloud moved across the sun, bringing the cove into shadow.
“Is this what it’s like for you? Is there nowhere you can go where you don’t see these horrors?”
“I don’t see them when I look at you.” His words were barely above a whisper. “I can’t stop, Sophia. Not until this is over.”
He accepted her embrace.
Was she ready for this? Was she ready to battle demons right alongside him? She didn’t know if she was brave enough, but what choice did she have? She sent a prayer heavenwards for the strength to keep them both safe and made her decision.
“You won’t ever have to do this alone,” she said.
Chapter Thirty
“Release the lines!”
Sophia brushed the hair from her face and watched the hawse rope slacken and let go altogether. The Calliope’s crew adjusted the sails to pick enough breeze to set them in motion. Meanwhile, on the wharf, a half a dozen men used large poles to push the Calliope off her mooring. But there was only one figure which held her attention.
Beautifully attired in a violet day dress, Laura held her soft green and white trimmed parasol so her face was visible. The misery in it caused a pang of loss. Sophia raised her hand; Laura waved back. Despite the growing distance, the two women stayed within view of one another until the Calliope cleared the harbor.
It was better this way, Sophia reminded herself. The Cappleman siblings could return to their balls and their manor houses – a world to which they had such high aspirations. She had never belonged among those “diamonds of the first water”, and never understood the games they played. Most of the time, she suspected the women laughed at her behind their fans, and the men who approached did so because they were on the losing side of a bet.
Regret at the circumstance of their parting was acute and, yet, Sophia felt a strange kind of peace as she watched Palermo fall into the distance. Just like at the start of their journey from London, the Calliope sailed in company but after a couple of hours the vessel shifted direction, moving southeasterly.
She loved the warmth of the Mediterranean sun, the sounds and smells of the markets, and the opportunity to explore the ancient lands where civilizations rose and fell. Here, she could make the earth yield her secrets and give voice to the past. Others might think she was odd; but not Kit and the crew of the Calliope.
Sophia lost interest in the book on her lap. So, from under the shade of the canvas awning, she spent a moment watching the men at work. Her eyes fell on Kit climbing halfway down the mainmast.
Kit risked much to love her. His physical scars had healed – he had not drawn attention to the ones crisscrossing his back – but the mental scars were still raw, that she knew. Their relationship was a dance between two novices – willing, but tentative and uncertain.
The Calliope caught a gust of wind and lurched forward, its sails billowing full like the white clouds above them. Marco moved agilely in the shroud, mostly recovered from his broken leg. Other crewmembers adjusted rigging as the breeze demanded. Uncle Jonas sat slumped in a sling chair, asleep. He had said nothing about her sudden marriage, and only asked if she had completed cataloguing all the finds from their dig at Syracuse.
She didn’t think it had yet occurred to Jonas she would not be returning to England with him at the end of the month. But once he was back in Cambridge and started his classes in late September, she suspected she, too, would become merely a footnote in his work. Perhaps that would change if they could find something of note on Catallus. She smiled to herself and made her way across the deck. Regardless, she would savor this time with him. She picked up the bound journal he had been reading and placed it in the satchel beside him.
Kit was now at the helm. He caught her eye and held it. She s
miled at him, wordlessly telling him she was fine.
By mid-afternoon, the Calliope ran parallel to an island. Black basalt boulders dominated the southern shore, before rising up to the headland. Close-cropped green grass crowned it. Thrusting from its surface was a large Corinthian column canted on an angle, which made it look like the gnomon of a giant sundial.
A glimpse was all she got before the ship tacked away from the shore to avoid the rocks but it was enough to intrigue her.
“Trim the sails!” Elias called.
The ship changed its approach once more and headed towards a gap between the rocks. The vessel came about, and Sophia could see the opening that protected a sheltered lagoon. A ship bigger than the Calliope would not make it through the narrow opening; but the schooner was built for it. All available hands rushed to the widest parts of the ship with sturdy poles at the ready to push away from the rocks as they were buffeted by the wind and waves.
Kit had told her a little about Catallus, but she was not prepared for the charming vista. Whitewashed stone and timber cottages dotted the gentle slope up to the headland. Behind them were laid out vegetable gardens and, set in terraced rows all the way to the summit, lines and lines of grapevines.
Inside the natural harbor, the water was pale blue, right to the bottom where seagrasses grew and schools of silver fish darted in and out. Closer to shore, the seagrass gave way to yellow sand. Up on the shore were a half a dozen fishing boats, and a group of young boys, aged about ten, sat under the shade of a tree, mending nets.
They stopped what they were doing when they saw the Calliope. Sophia watched a lad run to one of the larger buildings part way up. It was a plain, rectangular structure with no discernible indication of its use. A meeting hall? Perhaps a storehouse?
From the shore, a bell rang out loud and clear. A flash of light came from that spot. She shielded her eyes with a hand and saw a man with a brass telescope. The bell-ringing stopped, and a dozen men, some armed, approached the jetty. Sophia noticed the cannon mounted at the end of the structure for the first time.
The anchor dropped from the Calliope’s bow. The deck vibrated under her feet. Two men worked the davits and lowered one dinghy, then another, into the water, while others furled the sails. The activity woke Uncle Jonas, and she helped him stand.
It was beautiful, like an Eden. But there was tension here.
*
Kit led the way, with Sophia and Professor Fenton a few steps behind. They climbed the path cut into the rock by industrious Romans centuries earlier. It was just wide enough for a cart and donkey to pass, but they didn’t need much more – especially when they didn’t have a donkey – just a few goats and chickens.
Many of the cottages had been finished since he was last here, and that heartened him. They weren’t much, just two rooms with walls shared with their neighbors, leaning one against the other as though huddled for protection against the elements. There may be no gracious gardens, but herbs growing in tubs lent a lush, savory scent to the air.
Kit led his two new arrivals higher up the steps cut into the rock until they reached a plateau.
Perched on a rock shelf was a building, which would have once been part of a wealthy Roman’s villa. Much of the complex had been lost to the ravages of time, but one section on its left flank had been made habitable.
He looked back and saw Sophia aid the professor to sink onto a stone bench, the man’s face florid. His wife didn’t look at him – and why should he be surprised? For the first time since he had bought Catallus, he felt ashamed of it. This place was hardly a fine English manor; it wasn’t even as grand as the Calliope.
What must she think of him bringing her here?
After Jonas caught his breath, Kit led them under the stone arch, taking them into a walled garden.
“Alfonso! Lyda!” he called.
There were no ornamental plantings here. The courtyard garden was largely given over to culinary and medicinal herbs. The only thing cultivated – and that was due to Alfonso’s work – was the lemon tree in the center planting.
An older couple emerged from the villa and the squat-bodied woman ran as fast as her girth allowed to throw her arms around Kit, kissing him on both cheeks. She spoke in rapid Italian even he struggled to keep up with.
He answered her quick-fire questions. Yes, he was fine; the crew of the Calliope was fine, although Marco had broken his leg in a storm. She clucked like a hen at his cabin boy’s misfortune.
“And who is the signorina?” she asked, her eyebrow raised. Lyda’s curiosity was as large as she was, but she was patient, too.
“She’s my wife.”
“Wife!” Lyda shrieked, and Kit wondered if the woman would fall into a faint, but she didn’t. Instead, she waddled over to Sophia and hugged her.
What on earth must Sophia make of all of this? He knew she wasn’t fluent in Italian although she had quickly picked up the rudiments. He watched her smile gamely and return the hug.
“You must have brought more than a wife with you.” Lyda called to him.
“The boys are unloading the ship now. They’ll bring everything up.”
The woman nodded her approval. Alfonso gestured to Uncle Jonas. The two old men disappeared into the cool shadows of the building with Lyda leading the way.
“This is yours?” Sophia asked him.
“Home away from home,” he joked, then sobered.
“Some of the people we’ve rescued have no home to go to. Their families have been killed, their livelihoods lost. Some…” He paused and brushed past a rosemary plant with his hand. He brought it to his nose and sniffed. “Some people have lost themselves and don’t want to go back. On Catallus, they’re safe. Some stay for a few months; others have made this place their home.”
“And you?”
Kit threaded his fingers through hers. He had never told her what had been done to him. He had grown so used to seeing love and desire in her eyes – yes, even a flash of temper. It would cut him to the quick if he were ever to see pity there instead. But he owed her an explanation. He took Sophia along one of the pebbled paths toward a set of stairs built into the side of a wall, and led her up to the flat roof of the villa.
He refused to look at her, instead keeping his focus on the harbor and sea beyond. “After I was taken, there was an Englishman called Wauhope. When they captured him, he was too old for the galiot but they did recognize his education. So they castrated him–” He heard Sophia gasp – “and turned him into a white eunuch.
“When I first met him, he had been a slave for years, but he was trusted and had become quite wealthy in his own right. He used to come to the tavern to watch me dance. I don’t know why, perhaps he recognized I was English.
“After a while, he would pay for me to dance for him alone, but instead of…” He let the sentence trail away and swallowed. “He would teach me.”
Kit guided her away from the roof’s edge. He stood with the wind at his back to shelter her. They looked out over the lagoon and the azure sea beyond the breakwater.
“Wauhope taught me to read. He would smuggle in books and warned me to keep my studies secret. He did that for six years until there was no mistaking I was a man – I was sixteen, maybe eighteen years. In truth, I don’t know exactly how old I am.
“At any rate, I was of no more interest to the men by then – they preferred much younger boys. Others my age had been sold to the slave galleys. Wauhope bought me to turn me into his apprentice. But I didn’t much fancy the idea of being knackered, so I ran off.
“As luck would have it, an American warship started a bombardment in the city where we lived. In the confusion, I managed to evacuate with an English trading ship. I stowed away and didn’t show myself until we were three days at sea.”
Kit glanced across to Sophia. She stood facing the ocean, and he braced himself to see pity on her face. He did not. Her eyes were closed. He swallowed and brushed away the long, dark strands of hair that escaped her
chignon. He touched her cheek gently before resting his hand on her shoulder.
The longer the silence continued, the further his heart sank.
“Captain!” a voice called.
He saw his men, accompanied by the boys from the village, with crates and barrels, start to congregate in the courtyard.
He squeezed Sophia’s shoulder and descended the steps two at a time.
“Well, boys!” he yelled, injecting levity into his voice. “Tell everyone there’s going to be a feast in two nights’ time. The feared pirate bandits of the Calliope are back, and they deserve to enjoy their haul. Let’s get these things open!”
*
Sophia heard the laugh of the men below and the good-natured banter that followed. She breathed out slowly.
It had been worse than she imagined, although she couldn’t be certain what she had imagined Kit’s ordeal had been at the hands of the Corsairs. But she had seen the scars on Kit’s back and read the accounts of the boys and men in his journals. She also read between the lines of their stories and could imagine how their souls were destroyed.
She picked her way down the stairs, listening to the laughter. Standing in the shadows, she watched Kit and his men opening the crates and barrels. Some were taken into the building, others were stored across the way in what once might have been stables.
He looked without a care in the world, exactly like the man he was when she first met him – charming, but arrogant, a swagger of self-assurance carried him everywhere.
What did he think of her? Did he think she was horrified by his past? Did he think she would look at him differently the more she knew about it? She didn’t know, but she did want to understand him – the whole man, not just the one he kept on show. So, where did she fit in his life? She wasn’t quite sure of that either.
Did she love him? She thought she did, but then, she also thought she was in love with Samuel, too, for so many years. And yet, when she looked at Kit now, she couldn’t imagine being with anyone else.
Regency Scandals and Scoundrels Collection Page 160