Pirate of My Heart

by Jamie Carie

  “Oh, dear.” Victoria sat down across from him. “I haven’t seen or heard from her. I don’t know . . .”

  Dorian was stunned. Never in all his wildest imaginations did he think that Kendra would leave him. Why? What had happened? What had he done?

  “We’ll find her,” Victoria said in a low, calming voice. “She must have left some clues. Have you searched your rooms?”

  Dorian shook his head. “I came straight here.”

  “We must go back. She may have left a note or something.”

  “Yes.” Dorian stood up. “Go back.” He gave a little bow murmuring, “Thank you, Victoria,” and rushed from the room.

  “Wait. I’ll come with you!”

  But it was too late. Before she had time to get to the door she heard horse hooves pounding away.

  Victoria had been right.

  Back in his room, Dorian found a note on the dressing table. He tore it open with shaking hands.

  Dear Dorian,

  I know you are probably shocked to be reading this letter. I’m sure by now Victoria has told you that I did not come to visit her. I have decided that it is time for me to go home to England. I would like to thank you for the security you gave me by giving me your name. After I was taken by Martin, I was terrified for my life. When you offered marriage to protect me, I grasped at the chance because I love you. I realize now what a great sacrifice that was for you and I thank you, but now it’s time for me to make a life for myself. I’m ready to begin again and am returning to my true home to do just that. Please, if it is in your mind to follow me—don’t. You won’t change my mind and if you think about it, I’m sure you really wouldn’t want to anyway. Please know that I will always cherish our brief time that we spent together, but I am doing the only thing I can, the right thing to do. I am setting you free. You will always hold a special place in my heart.

  Forever in your debt,

  Kendra

  Dorian blinked several times and reread it. And then read it again, more confused than ever. “In your debt?” What did she mean? She didn’t want to be his wife? What could she possibly be thinking by “setting him free”? The only freedom he had ever felt had been when he held her in his arms. He turned to pace but couldn’t seem to move. Another thought occurred to him. She had only married him for the protection of his name. God, had it all been a lie? Like the time before? Had it happened again?

  With sudden energy he searched the room and her belongings. She had taken most of her things and clothing and something else, something that made the puzzle snap into place.

  The letter from Andrew Townsend.

  The deed. The banknotes. Her inheritance.

  Was that what she’d wanted all along?

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Standing on the deck of the ship Liberty, Kendra looked out toward the London harbor in the distance. Low-lying fog shrouded the city against gray, water-laden clouds. The wind chilled her to her core, causing her nose to ache and shoulders quiver. It was a sharp contrast to the day she’d left, so bright and sunny. Now, it was January, winter had come and, with it, the London drear.

  The voyage had been depressing as well with bad weather dogging them, rough waves and storms, so much rain. Then she’d experienced the occurrence of morning sickness which lasted well into each day. She had hardly left her cabin for the entire ten weeks at sea. Thank heavens that was fading. She was feeling better now, physically at least. The rest of her felt strangely numb, as if she couldn’t muster the strength to care about anything. Kendra placed her hand on her slightly rounded stomach. Please God, let everything be alright. She’d never felt so alone. Aboard another cargo ship, she didn’t even have fellow passengers to talk to. But she was almost home.

  Home. Seeing the English shoreline brought bittersweet tears to her eyes. It was good to be home, but at the same time the aching hole in her heart throbbed with longing for her husband. I’ll never find another man like Dorian, will I? Why couldn’t it have been for real?

  I only have You, Lord. I’m sorry for even thinking that You are not enough. But I miss him. Another person to miss.

  Interrupting her thoughts, the captain walked over and stood beside her at the rail. He was a wiry, red-headed man with freckles covering every exposed inch of his weathered face, who spoke with an Irish accent. He’d been too busy to do more than send an occasional sailor down to check on her and another to bring her meals each day, meals she had mostly not been able to eat. But now his blue eyes twinkled at her, seeming glad to be at their journey’s end. “We’ll be docking in a few hours, Mrs. Colburn. If you’ve not already packed, you might wish to do so.”

  “Thank you, Captain. I will.”

  With a polite tip of his hat, he was gone.

  Kendra watched his retreating back. The numbness she fought settled back around her like the fog around the city. She turned and stared at the water, at the waves, and wondered what life would bring next.

  And if she could survive it.

  Dorian tore across the open field on his Palomino stallion, feeling the controlled muscle of the animal explode with power at the slightest signal of pressed thigh or a tug of the reins. Over the last two weeks since Kendra had left him, he spent every evening working the horse until they were both lathered with sweat. The results were showing. They were learning each other, an instinctive collaboration as to what the other wanted and was capable of. And they pushed, both of them, to the limits of flesh and bone—spirits soaring, bodies straining, souls listening.

  The sun faded into a molten red glow at the edge of the horizon but Dorian didn’t heed its warning. The relief these rides provided from the constant ache was too great to stop. It was almost like being aboard the Angelina when the wind whipped the sails flat and they clipped along at amazing speeds. It was like flying. Like running headlong into the elements and becoming one with them. It made him feel alive.

  His breath whooshed out as they turned in a tight circle at the edge of the clearing and raced back toward the barn. Kahn whinnied, lengthening his neck and stride. They were both breathing in even, ragged gasps. Up and over the swells of the field and then plunging down into gentle valleys, they soared together. The landscape blurred past, a frenzy of movement, a jolting of joy flowed from animal to man. The pounding sound of Kahn’s hooves matched Dorian’s beating heart.

  Kendra . . . Kendra . . . Kendra . . .

  Noooo! He turned the echoing name aside and clenched his eyes shut. Focusing on Kahn he reclaimed his calm and urged him on even faster. Faster than they’d ever gone. Reckless. Not caring if it killed them. Ravished. Torn apart except in this moment of total concentration.

  It was the only thing that worked. Dear God, it’s the only thing that works! His throat tightened with the thought, with the truth.

  A sudden dip in the ground made the proud beast stumble. It happened so fast Dorian couldn’t react. But Kahn did. With an almost supernatural grace he sidestepped with his powerful back legs, haunches gathered up and exploding with power. He reared up. Dorian clung to him with all the muscle he could muster. Kahn leapt forward, avoiding the hidden hole and springing back into a run. Dorian slowed him by degrees until they smoothed into a canter across the field. He didn’t seem injured but he wasn’t taking any chances. He felt a fool, heat stinging his cheeks when he thought of how hard he had pushed Kahn. And yet, the horse seemed to enjoy it as much as he.

  Thank God he wasn’t injured in my foolishness.

  They cantered at a gentle pace back to the barn where Dorian gave instructions to have Kahn brushed down, watered, and fed an extra measure of oats. He turned toward the house then. He dreaded going to his room, but it was growing dark and he would have to face it sooner or later.

  Walking through the entry he heard a noise coming from his father’s study. “Dorian? Is that you?”

  He ignored the question and hurried up the stairs. He’d avoided his parents and, especially Faith, since Kendra had left. Their questionin
g, sympathetic faces were more than he could bear. He needed to get away again. Like he had with Molly, only he needed escape much, much worse this time.

  Entering his suite of rooms, he headed toward the decanter and poured a drink. He slammed it back then took off his dust-smeared coat and slung it across a velvet chair. He was filthy. He should ring for a bath but he didn’t care. Let the room stink right along with him. He poured another drink and took a sip, sinking down on the Persian rug beside his bed. With one knee up, he braced his forearm and stared into the growing darkness, sipping the burning talons of fire from the glass until full dark had settled around the room. His body relaxed against the bedframe behind him.

  His mind slowed until even blinking made him tired. He was so tired. Tired of running. Tired of feeling the pain despite everything in his power he’d done not to feel it. Tired of not knowing . . . anything.

  He slung the empty glass away with a weak flick of his wrist and heard it roll, clunking across the polished wood floor. Why did she leave me? I don’t understand. I thought she wanted to be my wife. If she really loved me, she wouldn’t have left.

  The silence in the room grew thick, like the dark. Dorian took a sudden breath, afraid. He glanced around, wishing he had thought to light the lantern but couldn’t seem to move, just waited.

  Go ahead. Give it to me. I deserve it.

  He didn’t know if he was still talking to God or the devil maybe. But something in him was rising up and he needed to finish this.

  I miss you, son.

  The thought came in an instant way that overwhelmed him. He began to shake—like those stories in the Bible when someone saw an angel and fell flat on their face. He began to feel like that in the thickness of the room. Something, Someone, was here with him.

  Lord God, is that You?

  Nothing. He thought through the words he’d heard so deep that it took his mind a second to sort out the meaning. Could God really miss him?

  His past flashed across his mind. As a boy he’d always been glad to go to church, stand up and sing, read his Bible, and ponder the stories of the people of God. So innocent. So believing and soft-hearted, yielding to any understanding that might come along and help him grow. He saw Molly’s face, a pretty girl with brown ringlets and a fierce desire to escape the poverty of her life. He’d been the ticket out. Her manipulation had turned that naïve boy into a hardened man. He hadn’t had much respect for any woman outside his family after that. Didn’t trust them. Woman after woman until Angelene. They’d all been the same. Grasping, greedy, wanting to take anything from him that they could. Why were they like that? Why had he always attracted that sort of woman?

  He thought back on the recent conversation he’d had with Angelene. He’d gone to see her after hearing from a stable hand that Kendra’s horse was returned from Angelene’s house. It was the last place she’d visited before boarding the ship to England. Angelene had tried to play her games with him again.

  “Dorian, you know she was never right for you, don’t you? An English aristocrat and all. You know I could make you happy. Not her. Never her.”

  Dorian had snapped, grasped her by the neck, and looked down into her dark brown eyes, waiting, hoping to finally see some fear there. “I will never be with you, Angelene. Do you understand? I will never love you. Never.”

  She nodded, fear and tears making her eyes glassy, but it was a look that said she finally understood. And he’d not heard from her since. He would never entertain that kind of woman again.

  They had made his heart hard. He’d turned from God’s voice, God’s presence, and thrown himself into escape. He saw his ship, arms above his head and throat raw with exalted shouts as they reveled in yet another storm. He saw himself on Kahn this afternoon, riding hellbent toward numbness. It was what he did. What he did without God.

  Dorian curled over his upraised knee and allowed the anguish to encompass him. His shoulders shook with silent spasms as the full truth came into his mind and seeped through his soul. He’d replaced God with adventure. He’d replaced trust with control. And he’d let the only woman he would ever truly love leave him. Forgive me, Father. Forgive me. I want her back. I want You back. I lay my life before You. Whatever You want. Whatever is Your will. Forgive me. Oh, God forgive me and take me back. I don’t want You to miss me anymore!

  He breathed hard, rasping into the quiet room. His breathing lengthened and slowly, by degrees, evened out. Finally, a deep peace settled into his very bones. He felt he could lie down and sleep for days. He breathed long and deep, lifting his head. Thank You, God. I praise You. Thank You for salvation and healing and revelation and truth. Thank You, Father. A joy he hadn’t felt in a very long time filled him. Peace and joy. His gaze roved the dark room and then there, peeking out from under the bed, something glowed white like a flag lit up by the moon. He stood and walked toward it. Bent down and picked it up.

  It was a paper-wrapped package tied in ribbon. He turned it over and over in his hands, able to feel it more than see it. Taking up a candle, he lit it and set it on the bedside table. He sat down on the bed and folded back the paper. A folded note fluttered to the floor. Bending, he picked it up and read the familiar scroll of Kendra’s handwriting. “Happy Birthday, darling! All my love, Kendra.” His heart began to pound as he laid the note on the bed. “All my love.” She’d said it, but had she meant it? Dorian turned back to the paper and reached for the white fabric. It unfolded as he lifted it out. A baby’s christening gown. He swallowed hard as the garment’s meaning slammed into him.

  A baby. Oh Lord, a baby.

  Kendra was going to have his baby. His heart raced as the realization took hold. If she was going to have a baby why did she leave? Couldn’t she have stayed for the child’s sake, if for no other reason? He had to go after her. He had to find the answers to his questions. And whatever else happened, he was going to be a father. They were a family and it was time to get them back.

  Kendra looked out the window at the passing countryside. They had just crested Bury Hill and could see Arun Valley with its rolling farmland and dotted with cottages and sheep. It was cultivated, Kendra thought, pressing her chin into her hand. It seemed so civilized even though they were in the middle of the countryside. Why, you couldn’t have gotten a carriage through the American countryside, it was so wild and untamed and beautiful—like its people—like Dorian.

  It was night when they reached the outer gardens of Arundel Castle. She sat up straighter as they clattered over the cobblestones through the huge stone gate and then over the bridge where decades ago there used to be a moat. Her heart began hammering as the hired carriage swung around the drive and stopped at the entrance to the castle. What would Uncle Andrew do? Would he let her stay? She brushed the questions aside with determination. She’d come this far, she would just have to find out. Kendra took a deep breath and she stepped out onto the drive. She looked at the castle, up and up the massive walls to the coat of arms carved into the stone above the door. Their lion and unicorn stood ready to guard the castle from harm. The impact of the scale of the place hit her like never before. It couldn’t be more different than Aunt Amelia’s simple log home.

  And everything appeared so fine and well cared for, much better than when she left. She had expected to see more disrepair, but the windows sparkled in the evening twilight, every one of them glowing with warm light. The ivy covering some of the stone was well manicured. Perfect. That’s how it looked. Like a painting.

  Waving the driver on to the stables, she gathered up her skirts and lifted her chin. She grasped hold of a new, highly polished door knocker and banged. How surprised Hobbs, their dear old butler, would be when he saw her. She had an eerie feeling that this wasn’t her home any longer, but she pushed it aside and smiled as broadly as her nervous stomach would allow.

  Instead of Hobbs a reed-thin man with a long nose answered the door. He appeared affronted by the task. “Yes?” he drawled while looking down his nose.


  “Is Hobbs dead?” Kendra blurted out in her shock.

  “Hobbs?” The man blinked but remained so stoic he could have been a statue.

  “Forgive me. I’m Kendra Col, uh, Townsend, the earl’s niece, and I expected Hobbs, the butler who has been employed here for years, to answer the door. Has he passed on?” While she spoke she moved toward the dome-like foyer with the distinct impression that she would have to force her way in.

  “I was recently employed. I don’t know anything about Hobbs.”

  Drawing herself up and taking on her most intimidating posture, she stared daggers at the man and frowned. “You may call me Lady Townsend. Is my uncle at home? I would like to see him immediately.”

  “I suppose I can see if he will see you.”

  Kendra clamped her mouth down before she said something she regretted. “Thank you.” She forced out.

  After he left, Kendra was struck by her surroundings. New, thick rugs warmed the floors. Large, dark lacquered urns that looked to be from Japan held tall, potted plants overflowing the corners with leaves. She walked through the door to her right, into the front salon, and gasped in disbelief. The room was more beautiful than it had ever been. New drapes in a honey and cream-colored velvet hung over the windows, complementing upholstered chairs and sofas in a deep orange and gold. A purple chaise sat in one grouping with dark satinwood tables loaded down with painted porcelain statuettes and pretty vases and gilt-covered boxes. Across from those pieces against a wall was the loveliest desk she’d ever seen with delicate carved legs, and a gleaming turquoise inlaid top. Kendra turned round and round in a slow circle, taking it all in. New lamps and branches of candelabra lit the room, a rich painting graced one wall that must have been six feet tall. A glittering chandelier hung above her head. She felt numb. Unable to think why . . . how. The last time she’d seen this room there had been only a few worn pieces of furniture left from the sale of all their belongings. How could this be? Where had Uncle Andrew gotten the money for all of this? It was impossible that he could have earned it in the short time she had been away.