“Milord—” she whispered, but it was not necessary. He did not touch her, he moved away from her.
“There is ample oil for the lamp to burn until daylight,” he said softly.
Then he left her, closing the door behind himself.
Skye remained against the paneling for a long time. Then she slowly exhaled and, in time, pushed away from the wall and sank down to her bed. She lay there fully clothed and thought wretchedly of the morning, and of the night that had passed before. She could not forget the Hawk. She could not stop thinking of everything that had passed between them, and she could not stop feeling as if her very heart bled. She could not love such a man; she could not even care for him! But she did. Heat washed over her with memory. Yet how carelessly, how callously, he had cast her aside! He spoke of money and ransom endlessly, yet she had, in the end, been worthless to him. He was a pirate; she had been a whim, an adventure, and the adventure was over now.
The adventure was over.…
And a tall bewigged stranger with silver eyes was telling her that she was his wife!
It was too much. Too much. She longed then for nothing but home. For Williamsburg. For market square with its endless fairs, for the bowling green where she had often played and laughed with the other children. Williamsburg, with her planned and beautiful, broad streets. With the College of William and Mary, her endless bustle of students and scholars, her law debates, her fashionable and tawdry taverns …
It was her home. It was where her father had built his house, just down from the governor’s mansion begun when she had been a child. Alexander Spotswood had planned much of it himself. When she had been very little, she had watched the construction with him, and he had tousled her hair with affection. “See, child, the entry will be here, and I, your lieutenant governor, will greet most guests here. But if you are very important—and of course, Skye, you shall be that!—you may come up the steps and I will greet you in the hallway above. See here, I have shown your father. We will have the most fashionable leather to cover the walls in the hall. Then my bedchamber will be here, and our guests will be here. And as I’ve told your father, we will have the most fabulous wine cellar.”
Home would be a haven, she thought.
But she was not going to be brought home. Lord Cameron was taking her somewhere down the peninsula to his Tidewater plantation. She swallowed fiercely, watching the lamplight waver over the walls of the ship.
He meant to keep her there. At some godforsaken manor in the wilderness. Surely, it would be horrible, it would be swampland. By summer the insects and heat would be unbearable.
She shuddered and reminded herself that she planned to fight Lord Cameron to the very end. A rising anxiety engulfed her. Could she fight him? There would be no help for her when she tried to fight a lord, a powerful landowner. No one would help her, for anyone would think that she was daft, trying to fight something so very right and proper.
Then there was Lord Cameron himself.…
She shivered, wondering how he would feel if he knew the truth about her. He would loathe her, she thought.
Perhaps … perhaps he would loathe her enough to disavow her. To annul the marriage himself. Proxy marriage! They could not do that to her, could they?
Perhaps …
But then again, perhaps, if he knew, he would show her no deference. He would hate her, but he would show her no deference at all. He would not leave her at peace in this cabin.
She turned over and tried to close her eyes, tried to find oblivion in sleep. It eluded her for a long, long time. Nor were her dreams restful. She imagined him coming to her.…
The Silver Hawk.
He came as he had come to her from the lagoon, rising up with the water sluicing from his body, coming to her with firm purpose, reaching for her. His eyes blazed, and suddenly he was not her lover, but the man who claimed to be her husband.
His arms closed around her and she struggled, but he was dragging her down, deep down into the sea. She heard him whispering to her, and she didn’t hear the word. Then suddenly it came clear.
“Whore!”
She awoke with a jerk. She was fully clad and the light was bright around her and she was alone. She lay back, shivering. She did not sleep again that night.
Tara and Bess, cheerful and chattering, came to serve her in the morning. Skye was quiet, allowing Bess to talk on and on with grave excitement about the pirate’s island while she brushed and braided her hair. Tara set up a breakfast tray for her, complete with fresh eggs, brown bread, and strong, sweet tea. The girls were excited, she knew, because they were heroines. They had survived an ordeal by fire, and when they spoke about the Bone Cay, they had a rapt audience among the young sailors. Skye kept a grip upon her tongue, determined not to ruin their happiness when she was bitter and frightened of the future herself.
Because a pirate continued to plague her dreams, and because Lord Cameron entered in upon them in moments of intimacy.
When her clothing had been straightened, her hair done, her cabin neatened, Bess asked permission to go on deck. Skye freely granted it.
She remained within the cabin herself for a long time, hoping to avoid Lord Cameron. But the walls seemed to close in upon her, and she soon came topside. He was at the helm. She stood far across the deck from him with crew and rigging and sails between them. He bowed to her, his hands upon the heavy wheel. She nodded curtly in return and came portside, staring out over the water. The day was beautiful, the water was very blue, and the sky was light and powdery. She could see a distant shoreline.
“Florida,” he said softly behind her. She knew his voice, it was so like the Hawk’s. His breath touched her nape and feathered along it. She turned. He wasn’t looking at her, but at the land that lay off the hull of the ship. “A treacherous land, beautiful, and inhabited by all manner of creatures. It’s fascinating.” He smiled at her at last. “I have always loved it.”
Something about his smile drew a response from her. “I have never seen it.”
He shrugged, leaning over the helm. “Ah, but you’ve lived in London, and to many in our fair colony, London constitutes all of the world.”
“And don’t you feel that way, Lord Cameron?”
“More than anything, I love Virginia,” he said, and she felt the curious intensity in his voice. He leaned against the wooden railing at the hull and studied her as he spoke. “I love Virginia, and Cameron Hall, and the acres that surround her. The house sits high atop a hill, and from the windows and porch you can look far down the slope and see the James flowing by. You can see when storms roll in and watch as the sun rises. You can see the ebb and flow of traffic upon the river. She runs deep. All manner of commerce come to us. Tenants work much of the land, and all of them come to the docks to send their produce to England, to buy their ribands and baubles and fine dish and plate and materials. The grass upon the slope is so green and verdant that at times it appears blue. The summers are hot, but the river sweeps away much of the heat. The winters are never too cold. It is endlessly beautiful.”
“It sounds as if you speak of a paradise,” she said softly, the last word catching in her throat, for she had found her own paradise, and that on a tropical isle with bright wildflowers and endless heat and the glow of the sun upon the earth. He could not know the secrets of her heart, she thought, and yet he looked at her with a slow, rueful smile that seized her heart. “Paradise? Perhaps. It is a realm we create ourselves, isn’t it? Separate unto each and every one of us, and found where we choose to seek it.”
She turned quickly from him, watching the shoreline.
“They say that there is endless treasure buried there, upon the sandy shores,” he mused. “They’ve all played there, the buccaneers. Once it was Captain Kidd. Now Hornigold and Blackbeard and others.” He looked at her once again. “Blackbeard and Hornigold have been wreaking havoc along the Carolinas this fall. Blackbeard fought a fierce battle with a ship of the Royal Navy. He is vastly admired
among men. They stand in awe of his daring.”
“Do they?” she murmured.
“It will be something to see, if this pardon proclamation of yours comes through.”
“I imagine it will,” she murmured.
“Thank God, my dear, that your adventuring days are over. Soon you will be at Cameron Hall … forever.”
She looked to him quickly, and the gaze he gave her with his subtle curl of a smile sent rivulets of sensation coursing down her spine. Damn those silver eyes of his! The simple words seemed to carry the most satanish, underlying threat. Or promise. Or warning. It was a warning, she realized. On this ship, she was somewhat safe from him. But when they came to his house, his precious Cameron Hall, things were destined to change.
“Forever, sir? I think not. My father will be there when we come in, will he not? I must protest vehemently all that has been done without my consent.”
“Nothing was done without your consent.”
“But it was.”
He shook his head gravely. Still she thought that he was enjoying her discomfort. “You signed all the appropriate papers when your father visited you in London.”
“I—I did not!” she said, but her words tripped and faltered as she wondered just what she had signed. She had been arguing with her father, and therefore not paying much attention to what he required of her. Some of his holdings were in her name, too, for various business reasons. She often signed papers, and she had always hated to be bothered with the details of them. Especially in London, where so very much was going on at all times.
“We will see, milady,” he said softly. He turned from her, heading back toward the helm. His absolute assurance ignited her fury. “Wait!” she demanded.
He turned back to her, arching a brow expectantly.
“You can’t mean to keep an unwilling bride, Lord Cameron! Surely it would be far beneath your dignity.”
He doffed his hat to her, bowing neatly. “Madame, I do intend to keep my bride, willing or no. Good afternoon, milady.” He turned and walked again.
“Wait!” she cried again.
“What?” he demanded.
“I—I can’t!”
“You can’t what?”
She had to tell him that she couldn’t possibly be his wife, but he was some distance from her then, and she didn’t feel like shouting such news across the whole of the ship. He waited with definite exasperation. She moistened her lips, about to suggest a certain privacy, when suddenly the seaman atop the crow’s nest shouted down to him. “Ship to the starboard, sir!”
Cameron turned around without another glance her way, striding with assurance and grace to leap up to the helm platform. “My glass, please!”
Skye, forgetting their dispute, raced toward him, lifting her skirts to hurry up to the helm. He ignored her, facing starboard. The seaman atop the crow’s nest cried down to them. “She’s changing her colors, sir! She was flying the English flag—now she gone a-pirate!”
“Gunners to your stations!” Cameron called. He brought the glass to his eye. “It isn’t Logan,” he muttered. “Nor Blackbeard, nor Hornigold …”
“Do you know them so well, sir?” Skye taunted softly.
“Blane!” he called to the hefty seaman at the wheel. “Bring her about sharp. We’ll pretend to run, then ram straight toward her, all guns blazing then. Understood?”
“Aye, sir!”
He drew the glass from his eye, startled to see her beside him. “Go below,” he told her curtly.
“No!” she said, backing away from him.
“I have ordered you—”
“You will not order me, sir! I have been through this before, and being ordered below will not save me, that I know well! Give me a sword, if you would be helpful, for I might defend myself where others might fail.”
His eyes went very narrow and sharp, and for several seconds she did not see the anger blazing within them. “Mr. Blair, I shall return promptly!” he announced. He handed his glass to a seaman and took a step toward Skye. Too late she cried out in alarm and sought to escape him. Hands of iron set upon her, plucking her up.
“Sir! How dare you!” she protested in wild fury. She thundered her fists against his back to no avail. He came quickly to the steps leading below and ducked to bring her under. He walked the corridor with long even strides, ignoring her shouts and her fists. At her door he cast her down. It was daylight; there was nothing to fear. It was a test of wills that went on between them now, and they both seemed to realize it. Pretenses were stripped away as they stared at one another. How she hated those silver eyes! So like his cousin’s in so many unfortunate ways. Their spark meant anger, and atrocious determination.
She didn’t speak, but simply cried out in rage, casting herself upon him as if she could dislodge him from the doorway. He caught her wrists and pinned them to the small of her back. He was too like the Hawk! she thought in a growing panic, for his body was tall and heated against hers, too close, too masculine. She twisted savagely within his grasp, having no desire to meet his eyes. “Let me go!” she commanded him.
“Never, dear wife,” he returned. She lifted her eyes to his. They were fire and smoke, a shield of secrets, and suddenly very dark as tension overcame him. His lip curled just slightly. He bent his head and his lips touched down upon hers, encompassing them, savoring them. The probe of his tongue parted her mouth and consumed her very breath. He touched all of her. The very movement, swift and deep and ravaging, seemed an ungodly insinuation of more.…
She writhed to free herself. She screamed deep within. She twisted free from him at last, twisting and shaking and appalled that he had been able to touch her so easily.
And appalled that he had touched her so deeply. She was trembling, she was hot and cold.
And all the things that she had learned in the arms of the Hawk were surging forward to wrap around her, and whisper softly to her of a desire that could exist.
Lord Cameron freed her suddenly, pushing her away. “This marriage may not be such a travesty, milady. I would love to explore it further, but I am afraid that pirates knock upon our doors. Will you excuse me?”
She cried out in fury, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, wishing she could wipe the sight and sound and touch of him from her memory forever. Footsteps pounded overhead of them. The crew was preparing to go to battle.
“I must leave you—”
“Damn you! Leave me a sword!”
“So that you might use it against me later?” he mocked.
“Are you afraid that I might use it too well?”
He laughed, reached to his scabbard, and tossed her his sword. She meant to threaten him then and there and demand her freedom, but he was too quick for her, dodging behind the door and bowing deeply. “I should love to oblige you, my love, but I’m quite afraid that we are under attack. You will excuse me!”
The door slammed sharply, a lock twisted. Skye charged it, but too late. With an oath she slammed hard against it. He was gone, she knew, but she turned around to scream to the door anyway. “Men! You think to lock me in for protection, but if you fail, then the rogues will come so easily for me!”
There was no reply. She fell upon her bunk, holding his sword. It was rapier sharp. She bit her lip, and then she found herself hurtling across the cabin on the floor. The ship had come about at a startling, reckless speed.
Crushed amid her petticoats at the door, she stumbled to her feet just in time to fall again as the roar of the ship’s cannons exploded all around her.
She came up and hurried to the window. She pulled back the draperies and gasped, for they were fast coming broadside against the buccaneer. The ships came together with a mighty crunch. There was an awful screeching sound as grappling hooks were tossed, and then the cries of a dozen men went up as they leaped from the rigging to the deck. The clash of steel could be heard above all else.
Skye scrambled for the sword and held it tight. She coughed, and her eyes starte
d to water, and she realized that smoke was entering her cabin through the doorway.
She screamed, and hurled herself toward the door. It was not yet hot. She could still escape.
The door flew open. Young Davey stood there, his freckled face pale. “There’s fire below, milady. They’re fighting it, but I’ll take you closer topside—”
Skye brushed past him. “Closer topside! I’d rather die by the sword than burn to death any day!” she assured him, starting along the narrow hallway.
“Milady, wait!” Davey wailed, scurrying to get before her. “All is under control, the rogues are just about bested! The ship is captured, she is!”
Skye ignored him and hurried up the steps, rushing up atop the deck. The air was not much better here, for it was thick with black powder from the cannons. She blinked, trying to get her bearings in the smoky shadows. She could hear no clash of steel; the day had gone silent, quickly, completely.
“Welcome, milady!”
Hands were upon her so suddenly and completely that she screamed, her wrist nearly crushed as a giant hairy paw fell upon it, shaking Lord Cameron’s sword from her hand. She was jerked back against a burly, unwashed body and held tightly. A touch of sharp steel came against her throat and she gasped, then barely dared to breath. A long knife lay against her neck, and the slighted movement might well sever her very life.
“Lord Cameron, sir!” The man’s laughter rang out. “Lookee what I’ve got here, sir! Perhaps this changes things just a bit, mee-lord! Now listen up, and listen real good! You want the girl back? Well, if you want her, you pay heed to my words. My men and I will nonchalantly return to our ship. I take her with me. When we’re free of you, I’ll send her back in a longboat with one of your own mates. What do ye think about that?”
There was no answer. Skye stood dead still as the powder began to clear.
Lord Cameron was perhaps twenty feet away. The deck was, indeed, filled with men in various positions. Bodies lay upon the deck, but mostly they seemed to be the pirates who had gotten the worst of it. Lord Cameron’s men knew how to fight.The rogues had not surprised them; they had surprised the rogues.
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