by Merry Farmer
He took up the oar. “It’s a good omen.”
The dolphins chattered their encouragement, escorting them for a long while as they resumed their slow progress. Then, just as suddenly as they’d appeared, they were gone, leaving behind an eerie silence.
Awed by the beautiful scene they’d witnessed, she touched her husband’s shoulder. “If we don’t make it to land, I want you to know I’ve been happier in the short time I’ve been with you than ever before in my life.”
He laid his hand atop hers. “Don’t despair, querida, we’ll...”
She gripped the rope when he got to his feet, making the raft lurch alarmingly.
“A ship,” he declared, shading his eyes against the sun. “Coming this way.”
Maximiliano had no choice. He waved his arms above his head, hoping and praying it wasn’t the Union Jack flying atop the mast of the approaching vessel. If it was a British ship, he’d probably be recognized and arrested, but at least Heidi and the babe would be safe.
“Do they see us?” she asked.
“Not yet,” he replied, his spirits sinking when the ship changed course, but then she tacked and made straight for them. “Now, he does,” he said, sitting beside her and putting an arm around her shoulders.
“Can you make out the flag?”
He waited until the vessel had dropped anchor and he was certain. “The Dutch Jack.”
They clung to each other, watching the approach of the rowboat lowered by the galley. When it came alongside the raft, he was relieved to see the sailors wore the uniform of the Dutch navy. “Not pirates,” he told Heidi with a grin as he sliced through the rope binding her to the flimsy craft.
“Godt,” she replied. “Remember you’re Danish.”
“Ja.”
Two sailors held out their arms for Heidi, one of them saying something in Dutch as they helped her into their boat.
“They are telling you to be careful,” Maximiliano explained. “Dansk,” he told the sailors. “Wij zijn Deens.”
He freed the portmanteau and passed it to the rescuers, then accepted their help to board the rowboat. “Dank je,” he said in heavily accented Dutch, drawing Heidi closer as the sailors began the short journey back to the galley.
He took a last look at the waterlogged raft, doubting it would have carried them much further.
Gone For Good
Heidi shivered, despite the heavy blanket around her shoulders. “I’m nervous,” she admitted to Maximiliano who sat beside her in the captain’s cabin.
“Don’t worry,” he replied. “By now they’ll have examined everything in your luggage. The pink bloomers alone will convince the captain you’re Danish.”
Despite his attempt to ease her worries, his body tensed when the Dutch captain entered the cabin accompanied by two sailors.
“Spreek je Nederlands?” he asked. “Engels?”
She breathed again. Clearly, the Nederlander didn’t speak Danish.
“English, a little,” Maximiliano replied.
“You say you are Danes,” the captain said in perfect English.
“We are Torsten and Heidi Jakobsen from Sankt Thomas,” Maximiliano replied in the same language, with a heavy Danish accent. “I worked for the Danish West India Company.”
“The reason for the brand on the pistol.”
“The company issued the weapon for protection in case of slave revolts.”
“And why did you decide to leave the Danish island?”
“I lost my job.”
The Nederlander nodded. “The downturn in the sugar trade.”
Maximiliano soldiered on. “We were aboard the Hekla when she was attacked by pirates near Culebra.”
Heidi took the captain’s thoughtful nod as a sign their story was credible, but her throat tightened when the Dutchman said, “I understand it was the infamous Lázaro who captured the Hekla.”
“Ja,” Maximiliano replied without hesitation. “He took us prisoner aboard his boat, but it was wrecked by the hurricane and we were marooned on an uninhabited island.”
“Just the two of you?”
“Ja. No other survivors.”
“You were lucky.”
“Thanks be to God,” Maximiliano said. “My wife is pregnant and our Savior was watching over her.”
Heidi struggled not to laugh at her husband’s pious tone, but her nervousness returned when one of the sailors handed Maximiliano’s fancy pistol to his captain.
“And how did you get this fine weapon?”
“Found it in the wreck.”
A long silence followed. The captain stroked his pointed beard, clearly deciding whether to believe her husband.
“We have money to pay for our passage,” Maximiliano said. “And I have some knowledge of sailing. You can put me to work.”
The captain shrugged. “We found the Danish money from San Tomás in your luggage. It is of no value to us.” He continued to examine the pistol. “This brass-work and the filigree is exquisite Spanish workmanship.”
“Keep it,” Maximiliano replied. “As a small token of our gratitude for rescuing us.”
The captain smiled for the first time, but then asked, “And who is Roland Stephenson?”
Heidi took a deep breath. “We were traveling with him to New York. He was an American sugar magnate who married my aunt.”
“Was?”
“He died on board the Hekla,” she explained with as much sorrow as she could muster.
“Condolences,” came the reply. “But you are in luck. We are bound for New York. You can return his pocket watch to his widow. No doubt it will mean a lot to her.”
She accepted the engraved gold watch he held out, careful not to look at Maximiliano lest her sorrowful demeanor crack.
“We can all be glad Lázaro is gone for good,” the captain declared.
“Ja,” Maximiliano agreed. “He won’t rise from the dead this time.”
Epilogue
New York, eight months later
Standing by the font, Maximiliano watched with pride as Heidi placed their wide-eyed son in the nervous priest’s clumsy hands.
The words of the Latin rite came back to him as if fifteen years hadn’t passed since the last time he’d been in a church.
Predictably, his son squirmed as the elderly priest poured the holy water over his forehead.
“Orlandus Stephenson de Aguero y Monzón, te baptizo in nomine Patri et Filii et spiritus Sancti.”
Orlando cooed, eliciting indulgent smiles from his parents and godparents.
Maximiliano thanked the priest when the ceremony was over. Heidi bundled the babe up in several blankets and they made their way to the door of the church.
Maximiliano braced himself for the blast of frigid air that greeted them as they stepped out of St. Peter’s. Heidi’s Danish blood had adapted well to the New York winter, but he doubted he would ever get used to the cold.
He helped his wife and son board her aunt’s comfortable enclosed carriage, then turned to assist his aunt-by-marriage. Her husband climbed to sit beside the driver for the short ride home. When everyone was settled, Maximiliano took his own seat across from his wife, tucking a warm blanket around her legs.
“Thank you, Tante,” Heidi said as they set off for her aunt and uncle’s house. “The historic church was a wonderful setting for the baptism.”
Margit Andersen beamed at her grand-nephew. “My pleasure. The bishop is an old friend.”
Maximiliano and Heidi smiled contentedly at each other when the movement of the carriage lulled Orlando to sleep.
Nanny Birgit took brisk charge of the babe once they arrived at the Noho mansion whose grandeur had been a surprise to Heidi when they first arrived. She’d had no idea her aunt had married a very wealthy man.
Butler Freddy relieved them of their winter garments and boots.
“Our guests arrive in an hour,” Margit reminded them primly.
Maximiliano wiggled his eyebrows. “Time for a nap,
wife?”
They peeked in the nursery where Orlando lay fast asleep in his crib under Nanny’s watchful eye, then retired to their ornate bedroom.
“That went well,” Heidi said as they helped each other disrobe then climbed into bed.
“I was proud of you, and my son,” he replied, gathering her into his arms under the fine cotton sheets.
They were more than grateful for the Andersens’ help. Heidi’s relatives had welcomed them with open arms and no questions asked. Margit assured them she considered it a blessing from God to be able to take care of her dear departed sister’s only daughter. Soon after their arrival, she had organized a ceremony to solemnize their wedding vows and arranged the best of care for Orlando’s birth. The long-lost relatives had subsequently been introduced to a circle of well-to-do friends. They’d met such influential people as Washington Irving, Cornelius Vanderbilt and Johann Jakob Astor, all of whom were scheduled to attend the evening’s reception in honor of Orlando’s christening.
Upon learning Maximiliano had extensive seafaring experience, Astor had offered him the captaincy of one of his vessels. A hearty endorsement of his sailing skills from the Dutch captain had also impressed Astor.
“They’d all faint dead away if they knew they were celebrating the baptism of a pirate’s son,” Maximiliano quipped. However, he had to admit it felt good to be once more accepted into polite society, though he’d resisted Margit’s suggestion he shorten his name to Max.
“Not so foreign-sounding,” she often reminded him.
He kept her at bay with the tale of King Carlos and the family’s coat of arms, which he was sure she’d boasted of to her friends.
“I expect we’ll be asked more than once how we chose our son’s name,” Heidi said.
“And, of course,” Maximiliano chuckled, “we cannot tell them the sale of Roland Stephenson’s gold watch provided us with the funds to survive those first few days in New York until we found your aunt.”
“Now we have the luxury of a bathtub big enough for both of us, and real soap.”
“And no sand and no ants.”
“I love the fine clothing and all the other luxuries my aunt insists on buying for both of us, but sometimes I miss the freedom we had on the island.”
They lay together in silence, remembering.
“You could always go topless here in our own chamber,” he suggested with a smile.
“And you could wear a loincloth,” she countered, tracing a finger down his belly. “I know you miss the tropical sun.”
“And the endless blue sky,” he agreed, placing her hand firmly on the pleasant erection her touch never failed to arouse. “But it is too dangerous to think about Florida. We’ll find a warmer place, eventually.”
“So, Max, Upper Canada is out of the question?” she teased.
“Danish minx,” he replied.
He licked a nipple and they began the slow climb to mutual release.
About Anna Markland
Anna’s interest in genealogy blossomed into the creation of steamy romances about family honor, roots and ancestry. She is a firm believer in love at first sight. Her heroes and heroines may initially deny the attraction between them, but eventually the alchemy wins out.
Her novels are intimate stories filled with passion, intrigue, adventure and suspense.
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The Pleasure of a Pirate
by Linda Rae Sande
A Masked Ball
Lord Weatherstone’s mansion, Mayfair, 1819
Doing his best not to gawk at those who made up the crush of Lord Weatherstone’s masked ball, Blake Russell stood near the refreshment table and drank a glass of champagne. Not used to the fizzy drink, he was pondering how he might surreptitiously replace it with brandy when the orchestra launched into the second dance set of the night.
He glanced around, wondering if he should ask one of the young women to dance. There were a half-dozen of them lined up along one wall, all dressed in gowns of white and wearing masks that barely covered their faces.
All except for one young lady.
She wore a gilded mask that covered all but her bright red lips and square chin. Brown hair, piled high atop her head in a riot of curls, seemed dusted with glitter, for it shined bright under the ballroom’s candlelight. Her gown, a pink frock topped with a white pinafore, suggested she had raided her lady’s maid’s grandmother’s trunk in an effort to look like Little Bo Peep.
Although the gown was doing its best to contain her generous bosom and excelled at highlighting her slim waist, Blake thought her feminine charms would topple out should she lean forward too much. As for her hips, there was really no way to know if they were wide or not since the sides of her gown were supported by small panniers.
Or perhaps those were her hips, and she really did have a figure best likened to that of an hourglass.
Blake felt a stirring in his groin at the thought of bedding such a creature, and he groaned in despair. He had been far too long without a woman, and with his ship due to sail on the morrow, this ball would be his last entertainment for at least a month.
And his last land-based assignment for the Foreign Office before he resumed his regular posting.
Locate Lord Dorchester and watch his every move. Report in the morning before the Molly sets sail.
When Blake had agreed to take over the captaincy of the Molly, he had done so knowing he would have to pretend to be a pirate on occasion. He didn’t know he might have to take on other guises when he was on dry land.
If this hadn’t been a masked ball, Blake knew someone else would have had this assignment. He couldn’t pass for a member of the peerage—or even a gentleman, for that matter—if he wasn’t wearing a mask and the clothes he wore when he was playing a pirate.
He had almost argued with Lord Chamberlain when he was given the assignment. The head of the Foreign Office, the viscount seemed to think it a lark that Blake was still in London and could see to this quick assignment.
Attend for the experience, Lord Chamberlain had said. If you don’t know anyone, just watch from the sidelines and take note on how everyone else behaves. If you spot Dorchester, stay close. He’s spread some vowels about town, his barony is broke, and there’s talk he may attempt a robbery and fence the goods or perhaps leave the country with them. If he does the latter, you will have to go after him.
At first, Blake had thought it unlikely anyone would attempt to knick something of value during a ball. Now that he’d had a chance to study the layout of Lord Weatherstone’s mansion, he understood how it could be done.
Weatherstone’s library was filled with small treasures from his travels. The desk in the study featured a solid gold quill pen. Lady Weatherstone’s jewel box was in plain sight atop her dressing table. The parlor was decorated with all manner of expensive trinkets.
There were larger artifacts, of course, but it was unlikely the baron would attempt to lift a caryatid or the jewel-encrusted globe from the library.
Figuring out which gentleman was Dorchester was easy—the butler had announced him upon his arrival in the ballroom. Although the man had come in with a mask in hand, he hadn’t put it on until the first dance was well underway.
Blake guessed the baron would have a dance partner for the second set, but Dorchester instead seemed to confer with a number of gentlemen before wandering off toward the supper room.
Following at a safe distance, Blake made sure to head straight for the tray of lobster patties once he was in the opulent room. If the baron was truly in dire straights as to his purse, it was likely he would opt for the more expensive foods at the other end of the table. He’d probably been living on the same fare as his servants, which meant crustacean
s for most meals.
Downing part of his lobster patty, Blake dared a glance in the baron’s direction, noting how the man was filling a plate with ham, roast beef and lamb.
Supposition confirmed.
Now he just had to keep an eye on the baron until the end of the ball. Which turned out to be easy.
Until it wasn’t.
Dorchester finished his meal and returned to the ballroom, which had grown far more crowded. Blake lost sight of the baron several times, but when he confirmed the man was dancing with one of the white-gowned young ladies, he made his way to the buxom Little Bo Peep he had noticed earlier.
“We seem to be the only ones in costumes from the prior century,” he remarked.
Behind the mask, the girl’s eyes widened. “We are?” she asked as she looked to her left and right, as if she thought he might have directed his query to someone else.
“Aye, milady,” he replied, using his best pirate voice. “Blake’s my name, and pirating is my game. And who might you be?” He knew it was entirely inappropriate to introduce himself to a young lady, but there was no one around to do the honors. Apparently, her chaperone was dancing.
A giggle escaped the young woman before she said, “Barbara. Miss Barbara Wycliff,” she said, emphasizing the ‘Miss’. “But for tonight, I am Bo Beep.”
Blake blinked. He had guessed correctly as to her costume. He glanced around. “You seem to have lost your sheep,” he replied.
“Indeed. And my lady’s maid. She’s already been asked to dance.”
“Then may I have this dance?”
The bright red lips split into a huge smile. “Yes, yes of course,” she gushed. She placed her hand on his proffered arm and allowed him to lead her to where couples were lining up for an English country dance. They had barely taken their places when the orchestra played the opening strains, and they were off and performing the spirited dance.