by Angel Payne
“You won’t.” Her touch on his shoulder was like a cleansing wind on his senses. “You won’t.”
He took that slender hand and squeezed it. “Now I won’t. But I knew I’d never be able to say that with certainty until the Moonstormer was done away with, both the myth I’d created and the murderer it was responsible for hiding. I couldn’t begin to hope of a life with you if I didn’t. The danger I’d be exposing you to—”
“I’m not unacquainted with danger, Captain.” She jutted her chin defiantly.
“A problem we will be discussing in the near future, Lady Golden.”
“Problem? What the bloody hell do you mean, problem?”
He just turned and began to lead her over the small outcropping of rocks that marked the turn in the beach. “Dink and I had begun to uncover trails of very troubling facts by the time we docked at Abaco,” he continued explaining, “starting with dozens of testimonies we’d gathered in New Providence, then confirmed by the small files of information your father helped me obtain from the army here.”
“The army?” She shouted it, jumping down from the rocks to meet him chest-to-chest. “And Papa? They all nearly had you swinging from Lady Marston’s poinciana tree the night they apprehended you!”
“I’m pleased to hear you enjoyed the show, my lady.”
He watched her snap a stare at the strangely familiar voice which responded in his place. As he’d expected, she bared a snarl at the man. He had to admit, even with a serene smile, the soldier who’d led his “arrest” last night looked like a hawk hovering for its kill.
“Hellion,” Mast directed in her ear as he pressed his hands to her shoulders. “Put the claws away. It’s all right.”
Had prison robbed him of a few bats in his damn belfry?
“Bloody hell, it’s all right!” Golden snapped. But to her disparagement, Mast tugged her forward until he was close enough to lean forward and actually shake hands with the detestable cur.
“Captain.”
“Captain.”
“Your time was almost up in there,” the bastard from last night asserted. “My men were starting to load their guns.”
“Tell them they can unload,” Mast replied in a businesslike voice. “It’s all over. Carlos Nanchez will no longer be spreading terror on the Main under any of his disguises.”
As if knowing the chill that coursed through her body at the announcement, Mast squeezed her shoulders again, and pulled her closer to his broad chest. Even so, her instinct wouldn’t allow her guard down. She was stiff and tense beneath his affectionate caress as she continued to scrutinize the tall soldier before her.
“Ah, well,” the soldier said with a tone of understanding, “then, ’tis good to see you still alive, Stafford.”
“I can assure you, it’s good to be alive. Very good.” Mast smiled down at her. “I believe you and Lady Golden have met?”
“We have. A pleasure to see you again, my lady.”
Golden only glowered at them. Why didn’t they just break out the cakes and tea and make the bloody soiree official?
As if their sudden fraternity wasn’t unsettling enough, the pair joined in a soft chuckle at her. The heat of her glare climbed.
“Golden—sweeting—” Mast wisely emphasized the latter endearment. “Whether you choose to believe it or not, Captain Merrick was the most invaluable part of our plan.”
“Plan?” she huffed. “Plan? Oh aye, one just plans to have a pig like this drag them away in chains every day. One just plans to have people spit on them as they walk through a ballroom in unjust disgrace. One just plans to—”
The continued warmth in Mast’s gaze provoked the first catch to her voice. The knowing gleam in Captain Merrick’s eyes brought on the second. The third never came. Golden’s throat broke free with an astonished gasp, instead.
“You hoped I enjoyed the show…” she uttered with newborn comprehension. “The show.”
She whirled an impaling stare at Mast.
“Great God Puntan, you planned all of it beforehand!”
“Hellion, just calm down and listen—”
“Everything,” she exclaimed. “The guns, the torches, the shackles…you knew they were coming to arrest you all along. You purposely let them drag you away before everyone in Abaco. You wanted everyone to despise you.” Her head moved in a slow, painful nod. “Congratulations, Captain. You were very successful. They loathed you, all right. Everyone but me. My heart was too shattered to feel anything.”
Silence swirled between her and Mast like the increasing wind of the coming evening. Like the turmoil in her chest—and the storm she could see building in the gaze he wouldn’t relent from her. It seemed time had suddenly reverted; in that moment, she could fathom less of what he was feeling than when they’d first clashed in Papa’s study. Only then, the sensation was a curious challenge. Now, it was a foreign fear.
Mast stepped forward. His eyes didn’t leave hers as he said over his shoulder, “Begging your pardon, Captain Merrick.”
“By all means, Captain Stafford,” the soldier chuckled.
In one furious sweep, he yanked Golden off her feet and into his arms again. She reacted with equal fervor, biting out a Caribbee oath and squirming, but he clamped his grip harder and lowly growled, “I wouldn’t if I were you.”
She cursed herself profusely as she obeyed. The world went by in a blur as Mast tromped with her back to the rocks they’d just came from. With a grunt, he set her down then pointed to them.
“Sit.”
She stood exactly where she was.
“Sit down, Golden. Please.”
With a slew of more silent curses, she sat.
She tried to think about anything his dirty, but alluring presence so close to her, but Mast sank to his knees in the sand and moved in until he surrounded her, his hands cupping her face.
“I’m sorry for what you had to go through.” He kissed her. “I am.” He inhaled deeply. His eyes flashed intense blue heat at her. “But I had no other choice, hellion. You can’t imagine what Dink and I felt when every trail of evidence we uncovered kept leading back to the Athena. To have to admit we had a spy or even a killer under our noses the whole time—a member of the very crew we were relying on to help flush the real criminal out—my crew, Golden. The men I trusted with my life.”
His gaze hardened and he looked away. “I felt like driving my fist through a few hundred walls at once.”
“Aye,” she replied softly. “I know the feeling well.”
“I imagine you do.”
The tingle of a smile tugged at her lips. Mast’s lips responded with a tentative tilt. The magical, knowing force between their spirits began to flow again.
“I really do understand now,” she said. “You knew someone on the Athena was the criminal, but you didn’t know who. At the same time, you wanted to destroy the Moonstormer legend altogether.”
“Exactly. But we were damned if we knew how to do it. Downing two pheasants with one stone seemed impossible—until we came up with the plan.”
“To fake your own arrest and execution.”
“Aye. As a matter of fact, we realized that ‘killing me off’ might be the only way to trap the real murderer. With every one of the beliefs that the Moonstormer had been brought to justice, the bastard had nothing to hide behind anymore. He’d try to disappear as fast as he could, with as much as he could get his hands on. We simply made sure that became as easy as possible for him.”
“A trap.” Golden grinned. “Of course.”
Mast tapped the end of her nose. “That was what kept me away the day of the ball, not Penelope Farsquith.” He gave a small chuckle at her reddening cheeks, then lowered his hand and entwined it with hers. “Captain Merrick helped us create false documents for a lucrative shipment of oriental silks that would pass through Abaco the day after the ball. Dink and I left the papers ‘lying about’ my cabin when we left for the Marston’s party. When I was conveniently ‘shot’ and
out of the way two days later, we knew it was just a matter of watching the Athena to see who took the bait.”
“Ben,” she said softly.
Mast nodded tightly. “Yes. Old Ben.”
“Were you surprised it was him?”
“Aye, in a way…but in many others, not. Just before I took over the helm of the Athena, Captain Thompson almost had to expel Ben from the crew because of his drinking and gambling. The old boy managed to clean up the drinking, but I often suspected Ben’s luck at the tables, and who he owed for it.”
They passed the next moment in a moment of mourning for the old sea dog they’d both loved. Suddenly, Mast’s features crunched into a foreboding frown. “There was just one important factor in this whole game we hadn’t taken into consideration,” he said ominously.
She straightened in perplexity. “What?”
“You.”
“Me?”
“Don’t flash those gorgeous eyes at me, woman. Aye, you. We’d foreseen every glitch the scheme could have had, except you getting to Nanchez before us. Fortunately, after a night in prison and a few hours playing the perfect corpse, I was on my way to appearing the ideal partner Carlos was seeking when he came into the Rusty Starfish Tavern in Abaco for the last time. It took every ounce of my limited theatrical ability not to go through the roof when he asked me if I wanted to help kill you.”
Golden blinked at the grating tone of his voice. She twined her fingers with his and gave an understanding squeeze.
“I just thank God Captain Merrick and his men were waiting to follow us.”
A strident, high-pitched squeal cut him off then, drawing both their gazes out to the sunset-glinted waves. “Well, all right,” Mast confessed, obviously with some reluctance, “we had a little help in that phase of the operation.”
Golden laughed as the familiar gray snout poked its way free of the water and circled merrily for them. “Thank you, Nirvana!” she called.
But the happy amusement was a trickle of emotion compared to Golden’s joy when a second nose popped up next to Nirvana and bobbed confusing circles around him.
“Don’t worry, Nirvana.” Mast smirked. “I have problems getting my wench to follow a lead, too.”
Golden giggled and jumped against him, forcing him to take a step back with the ardent power of her embrace. “I love you,” she murmured against his neck.
“I love you, too, hellion.”
He pulled back just enough that they locked stares, and Golden looked long and deeply into that midnight sky she didn’t think she’d ever fathom completely. Oh, but she’d try. With all her heart and soul, she’d spend the rest of her life trying.
“The Moonstormer is dead,” he told her quietly.
“Aye.”
A hesitant flash furrowed his brow. “But I’m very much alive.”
She smiled and fingered his scar. “Aye.”
“My Lady Golden Gaverly, do you think you could spend the rest of your life with a simple man and not a sea demon?”
Golden laughed again, then kissed him with all the passion and joy in her heart. “Mast Stafford,” she uttered lovingly against his lips, “there’s nothing simple about you.”
Epilogue
Ten months later: January 1783
Golden never wanted this kiss to end. She wound her arms tighter around Mast’s neck and felt a thrill shoot down her spine at his answering groan of pleasure and his lips’ increasing rhythm against hers.
But the world wouldn’t leave them alone. The applause around them was impossible to ignore, growing louder and louder. Reluctantly, Mast released her so they could turn and wave to the throng gathered in the Saint Kitts glade to hear the vows, Guypa emotionally officiating, that had bonded them as man and wife.
Golden obliged her people and waved, but she couldn’t take her eyes off Mast. He was the most spectacular sight she’d ever seen. His dark skin, hair, and eyes were a breathtaking contrast to his white frock coat and matching stock that were offset by a cream-colored satin waistcoat, light fawn breeches, and for once, shiny gold-buckled shoes instead of his beloved boots. She smiled again as he stole a glance at her, that look becoming another long and enthusiastic kiss, resulting in louder and more boisterous applause. Again they forced themselves to release each other.
“Well, it do not surprise me!” Maya exclaimed, securing hands to hips from where she stood on the flat rock before the pond next to Golden. “By the stars, you two wait longer than the elephants to come together!”
“Now, lovey.” Dink angled from behind Mast on the opposite side of the rock. He assumed the same stance as Maya, which rattled the string of beads around his neck and knocked his traditional Arawak loincloth to an almost indecent angle. “Ya promised me last night in the hut ya weren’t gonna harp on that. Mast was busy helpin’ England reclaim this island so we could all live in peace again. He can’t help it if the blarsted job took forever.”
“Thank you, Mister Peabrooke…I think.” Mast gave Golden a private wink and a dazzling smile, which sent a renewed flurry of excitement down her spine—and all through her soft woman parts. She ran a hand over the white brocade of her wedding gown there, and smiled.
“What are you thinking?” Mast leaned over and asked her.
She scooped her hand beneath his arm. “About how much I love you.”
That brought a soft smile to his lips. “You’re beautiful today.” He fondled the ring of hibiscus, oleander, and orchids that supported the white lace veil flowing down her back. “But I prefer that shell and loincloth ensemble of yours better.”
She giggled. “It’s in the closet on the ship.”
“Then what are we waiting for?”
He grabbed her hand and they ran down the aisle of palm fronds and heliconia petals, ducking the shower of more flowers and good fortune herbs tossed at them along the way. Mast led her through a tunnel of fern before the forest opened to the wide white beach. More well-wishers cheered for them there. Papa proudly waited next to the flower-decorated boat which would take them to the Athena, its sails getting unfurled in the deeper waters.
“Nug,” Lord Gaverly mumbled, angrily swiping a tear. “You look radiant.”
“Oh, Papa.” Golden rushed to embrace him. “Papa,” she uttered, “thank you.”
His bushy eyebrows lowered. “For what?”
“For making Mast come to get me even when you knew I could get back to Abaco alone.”
He chuckled heartily and kissed her on the forehead. “Of course. Now go on. Barbados awaits you. Besides, I don’t know which is more impatient, your husband or the tide.”
She glanced at Mast. He suddenly appeared very uncomfortable standing beside the boat—and staring longingly at her. Golden laughed before and hugging Guypa, Maya, and Dinky. Then she rushed to her husband’s side.
“Barbados and Stafford Shipping, here we come,” she whispered to him with a smile.
His answering grin was more resplendent than the brightest sunbeam she could imagine. With his chest puffing, he helped her into the boat. “First Mate Rico Salvadore, are we ready to cast off?” he boomed.
“Aye, sir!” Rico replied while scooping up the oars and flashing a wide grin at Golden. “The Athena is ready and waiting for you and Mrs. Stafford.”
“Mrs. Stafford,” Golden murmured in wonder. “Mrs. Stafford.”
“We could use ‘hellion’ if you prefer.” Mast’s mouth was dead serious, but mirthful lines twitched around his eyes. Golden playfully silenced him with a deep, languorous kiss.
Standing witness to their embrace was a throng of black and white Kittians alike, standing together on the shore, no one wanting to break the magic of the miracle that was sealed here today. A magic, they knew, that was so special, it only existed in island sunsets and summer storms, in rainbows and shooting stars…and if one was very lucky, the whisper of true and everlasting love.
They watched as the small boat sidled up alongside the majestic brigantine. The captain,
his gaze still fixed to his bride, swooped her up beneath one arm (despite her well-heard protests of, “I can do it myself, damn it!”) and climbed the ladder with his other arm. They continued to watch as the anchor was hoisted out of the water, the crew men scurried up the masts, and the proud sails were secured.
The warm rush of a trade wind come from out of nowhere to fill those eager sails, propelling the Athena and her precious cargo to a new life in a new land.
As the ship faded to a dot on the horizon, the crowd finally began to slowly disperse. But the few who remained smiled softly as the trade wind favored the little beach again, carrying a distinct Caribbee whoop upon it, followed by an excited shout.
“A baby? God help me, another sea goddess to tame!”
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Excerpt from Promised Touch
Chapter One
“Bloody Jesus, Johnnie…who’s she?”
The words themselves, Shivahn Armagh had heard, yet learned not to hear, a thousand times before. It was the stares she would never get used to. Those stares which matched the filthy English soldier’s tone shade for shade. Bold. Bald. Morbidly interested, but cruelly indifferent; as if gawking at some artifact pilfered from one of the local chapels, not a woman who’d been ordered from her bed after a night of delivering one baby, stitching two heads, and sleeping three hours.
Nay, she would never get used to the stares.
Nevertheless, she surrendered not a fraction of her pride as the soldier called Johnnie pulled her through the ankle-deep mud and oatmeal-thick fog surrounding the gates of Dublin’s Prevot Prison. She forced her shoulders to support her tattered shawl as if she wore Queen Medb’s own robe; her patched sack of herbs and ointments might have been a velvet pouch of emeralds and perfumes bouncing against her left hip.
