‘You’ll find the strength once you have the memories. Once you see where Margaret rests, that will bring you peace,’ she assured him.
She knew he was leaving even though he had said nothing of his intentions. He twisted in her arms to face her and didn’t deny it.
‘What if I don’t? I wasn’t strong enough the first time, and I don’t think I am strong enough now to relive the grief. When I remembered Margaret had gone, I understood why I wanted to die.’
‘When Mael died I was devastated,’ Blanche said. ‘I felt as though my world was going to end, but I was only fifteen when I married him and eighteen when he died. My life had been wrapped in his.’
Jack’s heart tightened. She spoke with so much fondness. She must have loved him so greatly to still feel such emotion.
‘How soon before you married again?’ he asked.
‘Three years. Longer than most women wait but I wanted to choose wisely. I didn’t love Yann at first but he was a sensible choice. He was ten years older than I was but for our whole marriage we were content. When I learned my pleas had failed and he was to be executed after the seizure of Quimper, I expected the same pain. But the anticipation was worse than the reality.’
She left Jack and began pacing around the room, then stopped and put her hand on the turnspit beside the fire.
‘Yann did not make a good death. He died begging for mercy and in the end I grieved more over the foolishness that had led him to follow the path he did. He gave me a son and for that I am thankful, but I do not miss my husband now. I mourned him but that has passed and now I merely regret the paths that led us here.’
Jack grimaced. Margaret had not been as young as Mael but that loss seemed most akin to the one he had experienced. Blanche spoke of contentment with her second husband, but not passion or love. It was no wonder she was in no rush to remarry a third time and had grown hard since Yann’s death. He stood and took his bowl and spoon to the trough of water and dunked them to clean them.
‘I’m glad I saw you tonight,’ he said, avoiding her eyes as he told her what she had already guessed. ‘I have to leave.’
‘You said there is nothing for you in England,’ Blanche said.
He looked at her. Could there be something for him here, though? Could the fierce fire of attraction that he couldn’t ignore, however hard he tried, become a perpetual flame to sustain them both? He had grown fonder of her than he believed possible, even taking into account the way she had concealed things from him. But he had other matters to deal with first.
‘I can’t stay. I don’t know what else I left behind. There are still gaps in my memory. Huge gulfs. It’s as if someone has unpicked a tapestry leaving only shapes and forms and half figures. I need to go back and find out who I am. You understand that, don’t you?’
‘Of course I do,’ Blanche said. She returned to the table and began straightening the wooden spoons Jack had moved aside. ‘When will you leave?’
She wasn’t going to try to stop him. He remembered how initially she had made no secret that his presence was a trouble to her. Perhaps she would be glad to be rid of him.
‘Nevez is leaving the day after tomorrow. I’ll take passage on his ship.’
One more day in Blanche’s company. One more night under this roof. It was the only choice but telling Blanche made it harder than expected.
Blanche looked at him. ‘You already planned this before I gave you the cross.’
‘I can’t stay here for ever—we both know that. I’ve been hiding from discovering the truth. When Nevez told me about the cross I was angry that you had kept anything from me. Whatever I had discovered, that was the final push I needed.’
He walked to her as emotions swelled inside him and took her hand, rubbing his fingers over the back of her knuckles. He couldn’t look at her in case he saw sorrow in her eyes. Didn’t want to in case there was none there. He reached a hand to her cheek, noticing the way the petal softness caused his nerves to heighten in awareness.
‘You’re a good woman, Blanche. I couldn’t have asked for a better place to wash ashore but I’ve trespassed on your hospitality for too long. You have a life to lead and I must go discover mine.’
She took his other hand, lacing her fingers through his and placed both over his heart. He risked meeting her gaze. Blanche’s eyes were wide, her face solemn and her lips pressed together. Jack wanted to soften them with a kiss and feel her melt into his arms as she had done before. Whatever she had done, nothing changed how much he desired her and how his body responded instinctively. If he kissed her once, he wouldn’t trust himself not to keep kissing her. And if he did that, how long before he gave in to the needs welling up inside him and made love to her here, on the kitchen table? If he did that, he would be lost and likely to abandon all plans to leave. He could now. He was not married. No one else claimed his heart. Guilt flooded him.
He picked up the lantern and stepped out of temptation’s reach.
‘It’s late and neither of us have slept enough. We should go to our beds.’
Separately. Jack’s skin grew hot and his limbs turned to calves’ jelly at the thought of taking Blanche into his bed and bidding her farewell in a manner neither of them would forget.
Blanche took the lantern from his hand and led the way back. Jack followed a step behind. She hadn’t said she would miss him, but then again, neither had he. It was too raw, too soon after the bitter words to admit such a thing. At his doorway Blanche paused and passed him the lantern.
‘I can find my way without this. Sleep well, Jack.’
She left without waiting for a response. He called her name as she reached the bend in the stair and she looked back questioningly.
‘You were right about concealing the cross,’ he admitted. ‘If I had remembered Margaret when I first regained consciousness, I don’t know if I would have been strong enough to bear it.’
‘Yes, you would.’ She gave him a warm smile. ‘You’ve always been strong, even when you were at your weakest. You defied Bleiz Mor and confronted Ronec. You clawed your way back from death on the beach and overcame the fever. You are stronger than any man I’ve known.’
She left him standing alone, her words sapping his strength more than anything else she had said.
* * *
‘Our guest will be leaving tomorrow morning.’
Blanche sought Andrey out as soon as she had woken, creeping past Jack’s doorway in case he heard her footsteps. She had always known he would go. It had been inevitable from the day he regained consciousness that his presence would be temporary, but saying the words out loud made it too real.
Andrey dipped his bread into the bowl of honeyed milk and bit a chunk before raising his eyebrows. ‘What do you want me to do?’
‘Do? Nothing. Unless he asks you for help with arrangements, in which case you should assist him. I just thought you should know.’
He continued eating without looking up at her. ‘You’ll be glad to see him gone, I expect.’
At one time she would have welcomed Jack’s departure. Now his forthcoming absence loomed like a storm cloud. She considered herself lucky that she’d had even a short time with him.
Was she lucky, though? To have been given a glimpse of a man she suspected could make her happy and whom she desired so fiercely. It would have been better never to have encountered him and seen the possibility of happiness dangled almost within reach. It was a cruel irony that Jack had withstood temptation while he believed he might be married, but discovering he was free of ties had led to him deciding to leave.
‘Of course,’ she said briskly. ‘It will be a relief not to have to hide what we do.’
‘You’re lying,’ Andrey replied kindly.
Blanche sat on the bench beside him. Her fingers trembled as she picked fitfully at one of the bread rolls, tearing it into small pieces. S
he gave a bitter laugh.
‘I admit I’ve enjoyed his company. Despite the blunders I’ve made and the wrong I did him in not giving him the cross, he still thinks I’m a virtuous widow living quietly in seclusion.’
At least her final secrets had remained hidden. Jack would leave without ever knowing she was the pirate he despised. She sighed wistfully and crumbled the bread between her fingers. ‘His faith almost makes me wish I was the woman he believes me to be.’
Could she stop and let Bleiz Mor die? Or let Andrey take over the guise. After the revulsion she had felt seeing the bloated bodies of the drowned crew, she was losing her taste for death. She’d spared the crew on the recent attack and if she were not careful she would hesitate to strike and find herself on the end of a sword. She’d avenged Yann’s death fivefold by now and her luck would not last for ever. Didn’t she deserve to rest after so long fighting? Brittany would continue without her.
It was something to consider, but the idea of such a momentous decision made her head ache.
‘Tomorrow we’ll sail up the coast,’ she said, standing and brushing the crumbs away. ‘Today I shall do nothing. I’m tired.’
The sun was bright and there was no wind. She craved solitude and a favourite spot called to her. She could think and plan in peace for the day.
‘I’m going to spend the day thinking alone. I’m going to the Maiden Stones,’ she told Andrey. She lowered her voice even though no one else in the hall could hear them. ‘If you speak to Jack, will you ask him to join me there later in the afternoon?’
Andrey grunted and a gleam entered his eye. Blanche ignored it. Let him suspect what she hoped might happen. She wouldn’t confirm it and couldn’t deny it.
* * *
Blanche watched Jack climb the last corner and make his way across the steep incline to join her at the steps. He was breathing heavily from the effort. At some point he had unlaced the ties of his tunic and the linen hung open, fluttering in the breeze. Perspiration trickled down his neck, tracing a path that disappeared between the firm muscles of his chest.
Blanche shuddered as the hunger she had been keeping under control rose up again. She stood, placing herself between the two guard stones and held herself erect.
As he reached the top of the path, Jack bent and caught his breath then looked around and spotted Blanche. His eyes filled with suspicion and he looked at her, face carefully expressionless. A twinge of anxiety caused Blanche a moment of uncertainty. This was the wrong thing to have done after all.
‘Andrey said you wanted to speak with me.’
Blanche nodded. She didn’t trust herself to speak because the lump in her throat threatened to make her voice waver. She would rather face a dozen Frenchmen than Jack bearing the look of hurt and grief when she had given him the cross. She didn’t want him to see how greatly his presence affected her. She walked to where he was standing, close to the path where the gorse was thinnest. He didn’t seem to mind her joining him and for moments they stared out at the sea.
‘I thought if we were going to say goodbye it should be somewhere beautiful that hasn’t been tainted by any of the deception or arguments.’
There was longing in her voice and she knew Jack could hear it too because his lip quirked and he lowered his eyes. She hadn’t intended to dwell on their parting but regret welled inside her that they were parting less than warmly.
‘I’ll be sorry to see you go,’ she admitted quietly.
‘So we are saying goodbye now?’ Jack grimaced. ‘Do you not plan to see me tomorrow?’
It gave Blanche a little hope that he regretted it, too. She shook her head. ‘No. I dislike partings and I’ve said goodbye to...’
She stopped before admitting she’d said farewell to too many people she had cared about. It seemed a foolish thing to admit that he had come closer than any man to breaking through the shell around her heart. She had no right to lay that burden on him after the deceptions she had been guilty of. Nevertheless, he looked at her with understanding in his eyes, and she knew he was finishing the sentence in his mind. She felt a weight of sorrow that someone who seemed to understand her so perfectly without words was leaving.
‘I don’t remember my goodbye to Margaret,’ Jack said quietly. ‘I wish I did. It would mean more to know it was a kind one.’
The pain and remorse in his voice twisted Blanche’s heart. Of course he had to leave. With such grief in his past, how could he not return to his true life and the people who understood and loved him.
She held her hand out and he took it.
‘Live a good life, Jack. I hope you find what you need to find when you return home.’
Jack nodded. He kissed the ridge of her knuckles, lips pressing firmly, then his eyes darted away. He dropped her hand and walked back towards the path. Two paces later he spun around.
‘Know that you are in my head and my heart. I’ll always regret the things we never did or said.’
A keening hunger began to wake inside Blanche to touch Jack and have him return her touch. To feel his hands on her body in the most intimate ways possible.
‘It isn’t too late,’ Blanche said.
Jack walked past her to the stone where they had made love. He laid his hand on it and looked round, his expression bleak.
‘I think I fell in love with you without knowing I shouldn’t have. I betrayed Margaret’s memory without even realising I was doing it.’
Jack’s face twisted, grief enveloping him. He dug his fingers against the rock as if he hoped it might crumble between his hands. He cut such a lonely figure that Blanche couldn’t resist walking to him and resting her hands on his arms. She expected him to shrug her off but he didn’t.
‘Would Margaret have wanted you to grieve this long? She loved you, yes?’
‘Of course she did!’ Jack sounded indignant. Blanche put her hand to his cheek to appease him.
‘Then she would have wanted you to live, not to become as chaste as a monk.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘I don’t know, but I suspect it. If you had been the one to die, would you have wanted her to spend her life pining from sorrow or would you have wanted her to find another? Not to take your place, but to be her companion when you no longer could?’
Jack looked at his hands. ‘The idea of Margaret in the arms—let alone the bed of another man—rips my heart to shreds,’ he admitted. ‘She had the sweetest smile that had lit her face, and a laugh that caused anyone nearby to join in. That she might never have used those again would have been unbearable.’
Jealousy flared in Blanche but subsided as quickly as it had reared up. Of course his wife would have been young and sweet. Jack, with his deep well of kindness and urge to comfort and protect, would choose no other sort of girl.
‘I would have wanted her to be happy,’ Jack said eventually. ‘How could I not?’
Blanche gave a gentle smile. ‘Then you know she would have said the same about you.’
Jack bent his head and touched his forehead to Blanche’s. Warmth flowed through her as he tightened his arms around her back, and there it was again: the unmistakable, undeniable something that burned between them. Something deeper than physical attraction. Her lips sought his but as soon as she began to relax into the kiss she came up against a solid wall. She put a hand to his chest and looked at him seriously.
‘I promised to tell you what I did after Yann died,’ she said. ‘I need to tell you now.’
He looked puzzled. ‘Can’t it wait?’
‘No. Not this. You need to know what I am.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I sold everything I possessed and when that had gone I sold what remained.’
He looked at her, brow furrowed. She wanted to slap her hands against his chest in frustration that he didn’t understand what she meant without having to say it.
‘I sold my
self, Jack.’
Chapter Fifteen
Blanche watched as understanding filled Jack’s eyes and changed into revulsion. She turned her back, unable to bear it any longer and not wanting to see his condemnation. When he spoke behind her, his voice was level and low.
‘Why?’
‘Because it was all I had,’ she said.
He gave a sharp exhalation. Blanche looked back at him. The disgust had vanished and his face was as neutral as his voice. She lifted her chin and met his gaze with a challenge.
‘I’m not proud of what I did, but I’m not ashamed either and I won’t be condemned for it either. A woman does not have as many resources to draw on as a man. She must use what talents and skills she has.’
‘When was the first time?’ Jack murmured. He held a hand up and looked away. ‘No. Don’t answer. I shouldn’t ask that. It isn’t any of my business.’
Blanche felt her legs begin to buckle. She sat down on the grass, curling her legs beneath her.
‘I don’t mind,’ she said. In truth, now she had begun to share her secret, it felt like a weight had been lifted from her heart.
‘Sixteen miles out of Paris I was at an inn. I had run out of money. I had enough to pay for some bread and a meagre bowl of soup, but not enough for my board. The innkeeper suggested I had a choice of sleeping in the stables with the other poor travellers or spending the night in his bed. I’d walked so far and was so weary by that point that it wasn’t a hard decision.’
She laughed, seeing his expression growing solemn. How could men imagine the anxiety that women faced on a daily basis when they lived without protection.
‘The innkeeper wasn’t an ill-looking man and seemed kind. His wife had died not three months earlier and he was lonely. If I had slept in the stables I’d have most likely spent the night awake trying to fend off men in any case. Better to have only one and a soft mattress afterwards.’
Jack gave a grunt that sounded angry, but Blanche knew enough of him to know she was not the one he was cross with.
Uncovering the Merchant's Secret Page 17
