by Patti Berg
’Twould be as difficult as leaving her behind.
He searched her eyes, seeing her hurt displayed by the mere hint of tears pooling at their corners.
His throat tightened, but he swallowed the torment that ripped through him. “I do not know what will happen. I only know that I must try to go home.”
One tear spilled from her eye. “Fine! Go!”
Her frustrated anger warmed his heart. It had been many a year since anyone had cared enough to be angry when he left.
“May I have my weapons?”
“Sure, why not?”
She pulled away from his touch, running from the room and up the stairs. He followed, much more slowly, and entered the office, where he’d felt strangely at home.
Shrugging into his coat, he’d fastened each button by the time she had unlocked the cabinets and withdrew his dagger, sword, and pistol.
He shoved the cutlass into its scabbard and the other weapons under his belt, and then he looked again at the sadness in Kate’s eyes.
“I will miss you,” he said.
“No, you won’t. You’ll be too preoccupied fighting off the police and getting your ship back out to sea. The second you leave this house you’ll forget all about me and Casey.”
“Nay, I will not forget.”
She shrugged, obviously not believing his words, which was for the best, and then she went to her husband’s desk and opened the drawer. Taking a box from the back, she opened the lid and dumped the contents into her hand.
His mother’s ring rested in the softness of her palm.
“Does this belong to you?” she asked.
“Aye. ’Twas my mother’s wedding band.”
“I found it on the island,” she said, her lips trembling as she smiled. “I wasn’t sure it belonged to you at first. Now I know.” She let the ring and chain slide into his outstretched hand.
His fingers closed around hers. They were cold, but the teary gleam in her eyes warmed his heart.
“I wish I could give you something in payment for all you’ve done for me.”
“You don’t owe me anything.”
“Ah, but I do, Katie. I owe you more than mere money. I would give you this ring if I could, but ’tis the only remembrance I have of my mother’s.”
“All I want is for you to be careful,” she said. “The next time I’m browsing through those history books, I hope to read that you were pardoned by the queen, and that you lived a long and happy life, instead of disappearing in seventeen-oh-two.”
“Thank you.” He managed a faint smile. “I will think of you often.”
“Me, too.”
He squeezed her hand, then let go of its warmth. “Farewell, Kate,” he whispered, and without another word, without the kiss he’d wanted to taste, without wiping away her tears that would haunt him forever, he walked down the stairs and out into the night.
Suddenly the world felt empty, void of life, and the loneliness he’d known for seven long years wrapped around him once again.
Chapter 10
By Heaven! It is a splendid sight to see…
LORD BYRON
CHILDE HAROLD’S PILGRIMAGE: CANTO I
For long hours Morgan stood in the dark, hidden amid the buildings lining the waterway, waiting for an opportunity to board Satan’s Revenge. He’d found her resting regally against wooden moorings, while men and women—some in uniform, some not—rushed about her chaotically, waving sticks with shining light beaming from them, and stringing yellow ribbon from one end of her hull to the other, as if that would keep out a man determined to get on board.
In the distance he could see moonlight shining on the castillo, the pointed spires of cathedrals, and the bridge he’d run across in his hurry to get to his ship. Further off, somewhere in the town that twinkled with a thousand lights, slept Kate. He drew in a deep breath, willing himself to forget her, and turned once more to look at his vessel.
Earlier, her decks had been littered with men, her holds searched and her hull inspected above and below water, but as the hours passed, most of the curious disappeared, as did those who had a reason to be there. Still, there were far too many around for him to easily slip on board.
So he waited, longing to stand at her helm, listening to her unfurled sails rustle in the wind as she effortlessly breezed over the water. Her mainmast had been destroyed, but her foremast and mizzen stood tall and firm. Once he got to her, once he drew in her anchor, he would take her out to the open sea, and if God would give him another chance, he’d find a way home—crew or no crew.
Night droned on, the moon sailing slowly across the sky, and when Morgan saw the first sign of pink and orange peeking over the horizon, he noticed the quiet, and the changing of the guard. One by one the vehicles left, until only two remained. He could not wait any longer, hoping for a better time.
Dashing through the shadows that morning light had not yet touched, he eased his way close to the ship. He neared her stern, touching the well-remembered wooden planking, finding at last the wooden slats that climbed her side. They were simple enough to scale. Reaching the top, he peered over the railings, then slipped quietly onto the deck and crept toward the hatch, down to his cabin.
Home at last. He sucked in the scents of cedar paneling, lamp oil, the faint traces of smoke, and the ever-present and longed-for brininess of the sea. He smoothed his fingers over the table where he kept his charts, over the bottle of ink set in its own carved-out niche in the mahogany that kept it from tipping with the roll of the ocean. For just one moment he tested the massive bed where he’d slept but an hour or two at a time, and remembered the comfort of another bed in another room, where an emerald-eyed woman with honeyed hair and the spirit of a fiery angel had cared for him.
That’s another life, he told himself. Your place is on the sea, in another time.
And Kate will never be with you.
Opening a floor-length cabinet recessed into the wall, he moved aside his sextant, telescope, and journal, and removed a flask of the finest rum he’d ever tasted. He filled a crystal goblet with the liquor and felt its burn as it slid down his throat. God, but it tasted good. Enough of this and he’d wipe away the memories of the past few days, and the nagging thoughts that he might prefer staying here to going back to his empty home.
Taking another swig of the potent rum, he drew out his dagger and pried loose the cedar panel at the back of the cabinet, pulled away the wool batting he’d shoved inside to keep the secret compartment from sounding hollow, and withdrew a small black velvet pouch. In it were opals, rubies, emeralds, and diamonds, a fortune in precious jewels he’d taken in just one raid on a Portuguese East Indiaman. He’d never seen such a prize, nor had his crew, and they’d divided it equally. Now, most of it rested at the bottom of the sea with his men.
Morgan retrieved another pouch from the cabinet, and tested the weight of gold doubloons and silver pieces of eight in the palm of his hand. The contents of that pouch alone would more than pay for a new mast, for a new crew of wanderers, cutthroats, and fugitives from Her Majesty’s ships, and for information that would help him recapture Low.
It would also pay for a bevy of women to help take his mind from the beautiful lady he was leaving behind.
Above him he heard the lift of a hatch, unfamiliar voices, and footsteps on the stairs leading to his cabin. There was no time to stow away his treasure, no time to rid the room of evidence that someone had been there. He had to hide.
He tossed down the remaining drops of rum, shoved a pouch into each boot, and shook them down to his ankles.
Voices grew louder. Footsteps neared.
The only means of escape that he could readily see was the window, a tight fit for a smaller man than he. Still, he saw no other way to leave. Loosening the latch, he pressed against the wood frame. Again he pushed, harder this time, until at last it gave, and swung open on rusted hinges.
He hoisted himself up and thrust both boots through the narrow passage, pus
hing hard to squeeze all the way through. Expelling his breath so his chest cavity would shrink, he wiggled the rest of his body out the window and sucked in a quick gasp of air before turning, one hand gripping the ledge, the other closing the window until it rested on his knuckles, his fingertips barely over the sill.
He hung on the side of the boat, knowing he could drop down to the water and escape, but his plan was to stay on board Satan’s Revenge and eventually sail away. Nay, he’d hold on tight—and wait.
Voices filled his cabin. A man’s laughter. A woman’s giggle.
Lovers?
Suddenly all was quiet, and Morgan could sense the first kiss, then heard the faint sound of the woman’s moan, low, deep, and full of passion.
He’d had a devil of a time getting on board, yet two people with nothing more on their minds than a romantic liaison had managed to find their way down to his cabin. Why couldn’t they have gone somewhere else?
The woman laughed. “Stop it, Jack. I knew I shouldn’t have brought you with me, not when I’m on duty.”
“You wouldn’t be on duty if you hadn’t been paged. You’d still be in bed, and we’d be making love right about now.”
“Two more weeks and there won’t be any pages in the middle of the night.”
“You mean you’re actually going to go off duty while we’re on our honeymoon? No playing cop for a while?”
“I’ll be your subservient little wife. I promise. Until then,” the woman continued, her voice turning serious, “I’ve got to make sure no one sneaks on this ship.”
“No one’s going to sail her away, not with that hole in her side.”
Bloody hell!
“It’s not someone sailing her away that’s got the mayor’s office and mine worried, it’s vandals. Just look at the stuff around here. There’s a fortune in antiques.”
“Several fortunes.” Morgan could hear the distinct sound of the man walking about the cabin, could easily imagine him trailing his fingers over the desk, the tables, the bed. “I’ve seen old ships before, but nothing like this.”
“It’s a replica.”
“I don’t think so,” the man said, “although I don’t understand why it looks so new. I’m going to bring someone from the museum back with me later today so we can authenticate a few things. Then I hope to get in to see the mayor.”
“Why?”
“The museum could use a ship like this in its collection.”
“If I know you, you’d rather sail it around the world while you look for a bunch of other old stuff.”
“Now there’s a thought. Would you go with me?”
“If I didn’t like my job so much, I might consider it.”
The man laughed. “You’re too dedicated, Nikki. Someday I hope to change your mind.”
“You could try.”
Morgan heard the kiss again. He adjusted his fingerhold, wondering how much longer they would keep up their leisurely lovemaking and their infernal prattle. He wanted to get back on the ship, hole or no hole. With the riches on board and the obvious concern for the welfare of Satan’s Revenge, he imagined the damage would be repaired within a matter of days. All he’d have to do is wait.
And he didn’t want to do that hanging from the window.
“Are we still on for dinner tonight?” the man asked.
“I don’t know. We’ve had all those reports about a fully armed pirate roaming the streets. Last night this ship turns up, and then I get called out about a murder. I may be working overtime for a while. You’ll forgive me, won’t you?”
“This time,” the man said, and Morgan could hear the deep warmth in his voice.
“I love you,” the woman said softly.
“Me, too.”
Silence again. Finally Morgan heard the man’s footsteps moving toward the door. “Call me when you get home.”
“I will.”
He left the cabin, but the woman remained.
She paced the room, opening map drawers in the table, rifling through the storage compartments below Morgan’s bunk, and then he heard the clink of the rum bottle against a crystal goblet.
Again he heard her pace, then stop beside the window.
He heard the tapping of glass against glass.
“Hey, you out there.”
Bloody hell! She was talking to him.
“Did you enjoy the liquor? If I were prone to drinking on duty, I might have some myself. Hell, I might even invite you in to share some with me.”
Morgan looked down at the water below. Drop, you fool, he told himself, but he waited, hoping against hope that she’d tire of the game and leave.
He heard the window creak open. “It’s a long way down to the water,” she said, and he saw and felt clammy hands latching onto his wrists. “If I find out you haven’t taken anything, I’ll let you go.”
He’d taken a pouch of jewels and one of gold and silver doubloons. She wouldn’t let him go and he couldn’t be caught.
When he saw blond hair poke through the window, a forehead, and then two wide blue eyes, he gave the hull one swift kick. He pushed away from the ship, from her grasp, from her sight—he hoped—and in less than a heartbeat, he landed on his back in the water and sank deep below the surface.
The jewels, his clothing, the gold and silver weighted him down, kept him close to the murky bottom as he twisted about and swam for the dock, for the piers he could see buried into the sand. Slowly he pulled himself to the top, sucked in air, then went under again, swimming away from his ship, away from the dock, until, once more, he needed to breathe.
He’d reached a sandy stretch of beach. Far behind him he could see Satan’s Revenge, and hear the shouting of a guard. Crouching low to the ground, he rushed to a stand of trees, to a cluster of buildings that stood not far from shore. Water sloshed in his boots; the jewels, gold and silver, had slipped under his feet, filling each step with pain, but still he ran until he reached a narrow alley filled with empty crates and barrels spilling with garbage.
Squeezing between two stacks of wooden boxes, he squatted out of sight, catching his breath, watching and waiting until he knew it would be safe to walk out in the open.
The morning was just coming to life. He heard the sounds of many vehicles in the distance, doors opening and closing in the buildings around him, and the sound of footsteps not too far away.
Had the woman found his hiding place?
He moved further back into the shadows until the unmistakable sound of boots died away.
He could hear the sound of an engine, and peered around the boxes. A car drove by much too slowly—and stopped. The blond woman he’d seen through the ship’s window sat behind the wheel, staring into the passageway.
Once again it seemed he was a wanted man, yet this time he’d done nothing wrong. He’d merely taken what rightfully belonged to him.
But a pirate had been spotted in town, and a man had been murdered. Morgan laughed to himself. He had been accused of many things in the past six years simply because he bore the name “Black Heart.” It did not matter that most of the wrong doings had occurred when he was hundreds of miles away. He was a pirate. That in itself has been enough evidence to prove him guilty.
That could be enough to prove him guilty again.
The car drove away at last. He hadn’t been seen—and he had to keep it that way.
Easing down to the pavement, he pulled off his boots and dumped out the water. He shoved the bags of jewels and doubloons into his coat pocket, then rested his head against the cool wall of the building.
He’d have to hide again, at least until his ship was repaired. Maybe he should consider purchasing other attire so he wouldn’t continually stand out in a crowd.
Maybe he should go back to Kate.
That thought brought a smile to his lips.
Ah, Katie. I believe our paths are destined to cross again.
A pair of dark eyes looked out across the beach, to the ship he’d sailed into harbor on, to the
cluster of buildings not far away. Pearly white teeth shone when he smiled. He liked the changes he saw in this new century he’d been miraculously thrust into. There was so much to offer a man such as himself, a tall, slender, and handsome fellow with freshly trimmed beard and hair, not to mention his newfound attire.
He turned to the glass-fronted shop he stood before and examined his reflection. The boots fitted him well. He rather liked the style, the way the black and white snakeskin hugged his feet and ankles and gleamed in the moonlight. ’Twas a stroke of good fortune to find a man of nearly the same exceptional stature, a man with the same impeccable taste.
A man with a wedding ring that, to his misfortune, he no longer needed.
Holding out his left hand, he admired the diamonds that glistened in the light from the street lamp. “What a perfect morning,” he whispered. “Absolutely perfect.”
Polishing his new ring on the sleeve of his just acquired shirt, he stared further up the beach to the place where he’d seen his old enemy hide.
Well, well, Black Heart. Our paths have crossed again. But this time, you will not see me. You will not know I am near. I’ll be watching you, though. Baiting you, and when you least expect it, ’tis then I will strike.
The thrill is in the hunt, Mr. Farrell.
So let the chase begin.
Kate had slept fitfully—once she’d gone to bed. She’d spent part of the night rocking in the wicker chair on her balcony, listening to Perry Como, watching the silhouettes of Casey and Evalena dancing in the parlor. When they’d retired for the night, she had, too.
But she’d tossed and turned, and finally gone back to her rocker.
Morgan Farrell had given her a headache. She supposed she deserved it for letting him inch under her skin. She’d sworn she’d never allow another man to do that, but he’d accomplished the impossible.