by Linda Ladd
His blunt revelation hung in the air, having shocked Caitlin into momentary silence. Seconds later, she released a low, mirthless laugh.
"I need no bloody guardian."
"Queen Anne thinks otherwise," Trey answered, watching her closely in the hope that the wishes of the Queen of England might carry some weight with the girl. She only stared at him without speaking.
"As you no doubt know, your mother was lady-in-waiting to the Queen when Anne was but a princess," he went on. "Both your parents were dear friends to Her Majesty. That is why she is so concerned about you."
"Concerned? For what reason, pray tell? Christian and I were together, happy and safe, until you pulled your cowardly ambush and dragged us here in chains."
Trey leaned back, his eyes on her angry face, and Caitlin sat with muscles held tense as she awaited his reply.
"Happy you might have been," he finally said, "but leading an outlaw life with enough gold on your head to buy this entire plantation is hardly a safe way to live for you or your brother. Besides that, the Queen has warned you repeatedly to desist your piracy and return to Windsway. And if any other reason be needed, you have let this plantation dwindle into serious neglect. Cane production was half what it should have been when I arrived here, though I have since taken measures to correct that."
Comprehension flamed like fire to a wick, and Caitlin's upper lip curled with disgust.
"So, you greedy lout, 'tis Windsway you lust after. But do not fear, I will gladly deed over this house and all its lands to you—if you will free my brother and me."
Trey met her scathing accusation without emotion.
"I have no desire to own this plantation, Caitlin. I own a vast estate in Sussex that I recently inherited from my mother's family, as well as hundreds of acres in Scotland that belonged to my father. The extent of my holdings makes Windsway appear insignificant in comparison. Nor did I particularly wish to leave my duties in Her Majesty's navy to act as your guardian. I am only here at my Queen's command."
"You will have to clap me in chains to keep me here," Caitlin replied through gritted teeth.
"I really doubt if that will be necessary. Once you are safely married to one of the landowners hereabouts, as the Queen has instructed, I'm sure you—"
Caitlin was on her feet before he finished, both fists braced on the desk as she leaned toward him, her voice trembling with fury.
"Never! I will never marry anyone! No one can make me!"
Trey did not move, his eyes playing over lips white with fury and golden eyes burning with hatred.
"Unfortunately, Caitlin, you have little choice in the matter. It is the Queen's express command and, as a ward of the Crown, you are obliged to obey."
Caitlin's slender fingers clenched with fury. His calmness infuriated her the most, because she could barely restrain her desire to scream at him, to tell him how contemptible he was! With effort, she sat down and took a long moment to get a hold on herself.
"You cannot force me to marry. You will have to drag me biting and scratching to the altar. No man would want a bride under those conditions."
He smiled then, and Caitlin stiffened at the expression on his face. Was it sympathy she read in those azure blue eyes?
"I won't have to do that, once you remember that your brother is still aboard my ship, and therefore at my mercy. As the Queen's ward, your crimes have been pardoned, but Christian is a grown man and has yet to answer for his actions. It is my duty to take him to England to face the courts, unless you agree to do as I tell you."
He was so utterly relaxed sitting there making his threats, telling her what to do. Pure rage rose up, expanding inside her chest, expanding until she could not draw a breath. He thought he had won. He thought she had no choice but to obey him, but he was very wrong. Lord Trey Cameron, Earl of Worthington or whoever he was, would never force her to marry some greedy stranger. She would escape from Windsway if it took her forever!
As a slow smile curved her full soft lips, Trey's eyes narrowed in suspicion. Her smile did not touch those beautiful eyes of hers, and he knew instinctively that he would be foolish to underestimate the girl across from him.
"I understand you grew up aboard your father's ship, the Anna, so your education has no doubt been neglected somewhat—"
"My father neglected nothing, damn you! I speak four languages fluently, and read and write them as well! And I can navigate a ship by the stars and use a sword or musket as well as any man on your motley crew!"
Trey had to acknowledge his admiration if she indeed possessed such varied accomplishments, but it was the more womanly tasks that would serve the girl best in the days to come.
"That is all well and good, and your father is to be commended, but can you entertain guests upon the harpsichord? Or embroider fine linen for your husband's table?"
The incredulous look on Caitlin's face slowly turned mocking. "I dare say I can do both as well as you."
Trey felt the urge to laugh, but the girl sat rigid with anger.
"I daresay you're right about that, but I am not soon to have a husband who will expect such of me."
Caitlin's rage intensified as he stood to tower above the desk, his next words an obvious dismissal.
"It grows late now, Caitlin. Run along and bathe and dress for supper."
Chapter Three
Caitlin walked from the room and his presence, her jaw clenched. She paused in the breezeway outside the library, letting the wind cool her heated face. If the smug devil thought to turn her into some simpering lily-livered lady to please some greedy man who coveted Windsway, he was in for a very big surprise. She would escape the filthy wretch if it killed her! Or better yet, if it killed him!
The desire to thwart her self-confident, mocking captor sent her at a quick pace toward the gallery facing the canefields. She stopped when she saw a guard posted there, then looked back to find another at the opposite end of the breezeway. Without a weapon, it would be difficult to get past them in broad daylight, and she gave up for the moment, muttering a few choice remarks about the oafish captain as she climbed the walled staircase that led to the second-floor gallery.
Men were positioned there as well; frustrated by her own helplessness, Caitlin leaned against the whitewashed wall, staring out over the vast emerald-carpeted lawns to where the Glory sat like a painted vessel upon a painted sea. Her sails were furled, the masts slender spikes silhouetted against the turquoise water, and Caitlin strained her eyes toward the small figures moving about the decks.
If only Trey Cameron did not have Christian to use against her, she could easily slip through the guards when night fell. But she couldn't risk having Christian taken back to England. She thought the Queen would surely protect him, even if he was only a half brother to Caitlin. But Christian's father had been a French nobleman, and the Queen might have forgotten how much James Alexander had loved his beautiful Margaret and her son.
Anger welled again, hardening the delicate curve of Caitlin's chin. The frigate lying at anchor was well armed, its rows of cannon surveying the bay like so many beady black eyes. Even if she could get word to Roger, the Anna would have no chance entering the bay.
Everything seemed very gloomy, and it was with flagging spirit that Caitlin made her way down the wide porch to her childhood bedchamber. The wide louvered doors stood open, white silk curtains billowing like wings of gossamer on the brisk ocean wind. Caitlin held the hangings aside and stepped inside.
Pearl stood beside a small blue-and-white porcelain hipbath, and Caitlin smiled, her gaze roaming the spacious bedchamber. The rosewood bed sat against the wall beside her with its lace coverlet and gauzy insect netting hanging from a hook on the ceiling. It was secured to the four posters now with pink satin ribbons, but when Caitlin was a child, Pearl had untied the netting, enveloping Caitlin nightly in a protective white cocoon.
Memories crowded her mind again, memories that she'd rarely had time to think about during her years at sea. P
earl seemed to sense Caitlin's presence and looked up, but the welcoming smile that lit up her black wrinkled face faltered beneath the misery she saw in Caitlin's eyes.
"There, there, baby," Pearl crooned in her lilting West Indian speech as she came to Caitlin, and Caitlin closed her eyes, letting herself be soothed as she laid her cheek wearily on Pearl's shoulder. For a long time, she had made her own decisions, faced her problems alone with no one but Christian or Roger to help her. It felt good to be held in the gentle arms she had known as a child. She suddenly felt tired, very tired.
"I have missed you, Pearl," she whispered. "Very much."
Pearl pulled back, dark eyes searching Caitlin's young face. "I, too, child, but I have been most worried about you. The tales I have heard about you and dear Christian, oh, they are frightening enough to put this old woman in her grave. They say you fight and loot Spanish ships like the pirates of Tortuga!" Her gaze dropped to Caitlin's shirt and leggings, her voice turning reproachful. "And what is this I see? Breeches? On a woman as beautiful as the stars in the sky? You should be in gowns of silk and the finest lace."
Caitlin smiled. Pearl's tirade was familiar, as Caitlin had worn neither skirts nor petticoats since the day her father had taken her aboard the Anna. She'd lived in Christian's outgrown pants and shirts until the age of ten, when the ship's tailor had begun to make Caitlin her own small silk shirts and tight-fitting breeches.
"You know how I hate all those frilly things, Pearl. Besides, I work the sails like the others aboard the Anna, and ruffled skirts and such would get tangled in the riggings." Her golden eyes glinted with the mischief that Pearl remembered so well. "Trousers are truly much more comfortable, perhaps you should try a pair yourself."
Pearl assumed a suitably scandalized look, and Caitlin laughed at the visual picture of her dignified, soft-spoken nanny sweeping along the breezeways in her quick, no-nonsense walk in breeches and hose instead of the black silk dress and long white apron and scarf that she always wore. The image made her laugh softly, but her amusement faded abruptly at Pearl's next words.
"I am sure Captain Cameron will expect you to dress like a lady while you are here with us. He has brought trunks of silks and muslins and fine laces from England. Bertha and her seamstresses have worked for days in the sewing room on the gowns he has ordered for you."
Caitlin's frown deepened. "I have seen all the fine ladies of Bridgetown cowering from the sun beneath their fancy lace parasols like frightened mice! I want nothing of their ghostly-white complexions and beribboned bonnets! I'll wear no ruffled garments either, or stomachers binding my waist until I can't breathe! Especially if that slimy English captain purchased them!"
Pearl's brows came down at Caitlin's choice of words, but the fierce defiance shining in Caitlin's eyes worried her more.
"The captain has been most kind to us since he arrived here in the spring. The overseer he hired is fair with our people, and the mill is working again for the first time since your Papa died."
"Do not sing his praises to me! He has brought me here against my will and now threatens me with Christian's imprisonment if I do not wed some stranger!"
Dismayed at Caitlin's words, Pearl watched the younger woman pace the pale blue carpet like a caged lioness, her fine features twisted with resentment.
"Why, child, he told us that he was to take care of you," Pearl said slowly, "but he said nothing of your marriage."
Caitlin stopped abruptly, her face settling into determined lines. "There will be no marriage, Pearl, because I will do whatever it takes to stop it. I'll never, ever—"
A light rapping at the portal sent Caitlin rigid with tension, but she relaxed again as the smiling face of a little girl appeared. She looked to be around six years old, a beautiful child with light brown skin and cinnamon eyes, and she held a large white pitcher of water with both hands. A boy followed her into the room, carrying two wooden buckets of steaming water. He was much older, his skin a rich dark mahogany. His woolly hair was cropped close to his round skull, and luminous black eyes lingered curiously on Caitlin's snug black breeches as he poured his burden into the hipbath.
"These two little ones are my grandbabies," Pearl said to Caitlin, drawing the two children forward. "This is wee Martha, the youngest of my Sarah Jane, and this is her oldest, Samuel. He's twelve now."
The tiny girl bobbed a delightful curtsy, still clutching the pitcher against her breast, and Caitlin smiled at her before turning her attention to the boy.
"Do you remember me, Samuel? You were as little as Martha here when I last visited Windsway."
"Aye, mum, I remember your hair." His eyes touched the shiny copper tresses cascading over her shoulders. "I never saw another with hair like yours." He darted a quick look at his grandmother. "I heard all about the Anna at the careenage in Bridgetown, and someday I wanta be just like you, mum."
Caitlin smiled at the adolation shining in the jet eyes.
"You'd make a fine cabin boy for us, Samuel. Would you like to sail on the Anna someday?"
A wide white grin immediately appeared across his face, but Pearl gave both children a gentle push toward the door.
"Now, don't you start pestering Miss Cait with your hankering to go to sea, boy. She is too weary for such as that now. Scoot along now and let her get her bath in peace."
They obeyed at once, but Samuel turned to give Caitlin one last grin before the door closed behind them.
"They are beautiful, Pearl, both of them. How is your daughter?"
"My Sarah Jane is fine. She is heavy with another babe now, her fifth by her man, Johnny. The captain took a liking to him and set him to helping Mr. Purcell, the new overseer, with the accounts."
Caitlin pondered what Pearl had said, but was more concerned with the warmth with which she'd said it.
"You speak as though you like him."
Pearl paused as she poured a glass vial of lavender-scented oil into the warm water. "He has been good to us." At Caitlin's dark reaction to her admission, Pearl turned from that subject, her voice soothing.
"Come now, baby, this nice warm bath will relax you and you will feel much better about all that has happened."
The hot fragrant tub did look like the most wonderful of luxuries, as Caitlin had worn the same clothes since she'd been captured, with only a bowl and pitcher provided aboard the Glory for her needs. Pearl was probably right, perhaps the warm water would soothe the tightly knotted muscles of her neck and shoulders. She sat down on the blue velvet bench at the foot of the bed, pulling off her boots and dropping them to the floor, eager to sink into the scented bath and close her eyes. She was tired of thinking, tired of worrying. What she really needed was to rest and relax, then perhaps she could think of a way out of her dilemma.
Pearl helped Caitlin slip out of her breeches and shirt, her eyes widening at the small jeweled dagger that Caitlin took from her boot and slid beneath a pillow on the bed.
"Why do you have such a thing, child?"
Caitlin sighed as she sank to her shoulders in the tub, the delicate fragrance wafting up around her in moist warm waves.
"I promised Papa I'd always wear it, so that no man would ever hurt me like they did Mama."
Pearl's face creased with an old haunting sorrow as she took a silver-handled hairbrush from the mirrored rosewood dressing table. She knelt quietly behind Caitlin, drawing long strokes through the soft, reddish gold ringlets.
"Your mother's hair was like this, too, all soft and fine and curly, but hers was as black as midnight." She sighed. "My poor lady, she was so good and kind."
Caitlin stared at the silk-lined bookshelves across the room, where many of her childhood treasures lay where she'd left them long years ago. The tiny little China doll, her ivory brocade kimono now yellow with age, the gold elephant from the Ivory Coast, the tiny fringed baskets from Egypt—Caitlin's father had brought them all to her from his voyages. James Alexander had always brought presents for everyone in the house, even the servan
ts. Her mother had always gotten exquisite handmade jewelry, and roses in all colors and varieties from everywhere in the world, except once when her husband had brought her a huge white harpsichord from France.
"You used to do this when I was little, Pearl, after Mama died," Caitlin murmured dreamily. "Remember?"
"Aye, child, before you slept I would brush your hair and tell you about your Mama."
"Tell me about her again, please. I remember so little, except for her hands. They were white and soft and very gentle when she touched me."
"Lady Margaret was an angel on this earth with beautiful eyes like yours, all gold and warm."
Caitlin never tired of Pearl talking about her mother in that soft melodious voice. A piercing sadness gripped her for an instant. Why couldn't her mother have come into the canefields where Pearl had hidden with Christian and her? She should have come when the Spanish ship first fired on the plantation, but she'd sent Pearl ahead with her children while she'd seen to the servants in the sick house. The soldiers had murdered and mutilated her and anyone else they had found.
"Papa made the filthy Spaniards pay for killing Mama," Caitlin murmured. "And Christian and I helped him."
Pearl sighed. "That poor man nearly died from. grief when he returned to find her dead. If it hadn't been for you children, he surely would have lost his mind. Even so, I thought I'd surely die when he sailed off with you aboard his ship, but now you are home again at last. I prayed mightily for this day to come."
"But I cannot stay here. I must free Christian so that we can rejoin the Anna."
The brush stilled in Pearl's hands. "You are now a full-grown woman of eighteen years, Miss Cait." Her voice softened. "Have you never longed for a husband and a babe to call your own?"
Caitlin was quiet for a long moment. She had thought of it often on Los Gatos, when Christian had wandered off with one of his women. What would it be like to love a man? And have him love her? Who would he be? What would he look like?
"Perhaps someday I will want a husband, but I will choose him. I will not have some greedy man thrust upon me by that loathsome devil downstairs."
