The Diamond King

by Patricia Potter

  He paused, did not move, and the pain gradually subsided.

  She felt his taut muscles strain, and she was suddenly aware of how much self-control he had, how much he was reining in his own desire.

  “Lass?”

  She felt sore, but even more she still felt the craving. Her hand touched his mouth, and she arched her body once again, wanting desperately to continue this voyage of discovery, to find where all these feelings were leading.

  He moved again, slowly, tentatively, and the pain waned. The fullness in her, the strangeness of it, changed into something so sensuous and beautiful that she instinctively moved with him. Heat flooded her as his rhythm increased and he ventured deeper and deeper until she thought he could go no farther. Spasms of pleasure rolled from the deepest core of her, exploding in a great storm of brilliant colors and bursts of splendor.

  She heard his heavy breathing, a groan, but he did not move away and she savored the feel of his body so intimately connected to hers. Sensation continued to roll through her, like waves on a beach.

  “Ah, lass,” he said in a whispered exclamation.

  “Hmm,” was all she could reply. She had no words to express the transformation that had just taken place in her body. She had taken her voyage and found the destination far more incredible than she could ever express.

  He balanced himself on one arm, and he brushed a lock of hair from her face in a gesture now intimate and even more tender than any that had gone before.

  She saw him swallow hard, saw his dark blue eyes search her face.

  “I am sorry for hurting you,” he said in a ragged voice.

  She pressed her fingers to his mouth. “Nay,” she said. “The hurt has eased but the wonder will always stay.”

  He moved, and she lost the warmth of him. He rolled over to lie next to her, and she rested her head against his chest and heard his heartbeat.

  “Jenna,” he said, his arm going around her. “This should not have …” But despite his attempted denial, she heard a note of tenderness in the sound.

  But there was also despair.

  Her chest tightened.

  She had known a moment of glory but it would not last. He would not let it.

  He would regret it instead.

  Because she was a Campbell? Or were there other reasons?

  She snuggled farther into his arms, seeking his warmth even as a cold chill permeated her.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The night air brushed Alex’s face as the sails filled, and the Ami left the harbor. He remained on watch until the flickering lights of the town faded from sight.

  No cannon from the fort. No commands to stop.

  He was free.

  But he knew that was a lie. He had never been less free. Not even when hiding in the Highlands for so many months.

  He wondered where she was. Probably with Meg. Claude said she had gone to be with Meg as soon as she’d arrived back on board. He had stayed behind to manage the sale of the contents of the Charlotte.

  By the saints, he had made a mess of things. When she had woken this morning, ’twas plain she expected gentle words. Perhaps even an avowal of love.

  He couldn’t do it. He could not hurt her further.

  So he had turned his mind to the next hours, to the negotiations that would take place. He had watched the disappointment, even pain, on her face before she masked it and feigned indifference. God, but it hurt, and yet he knew he could not feed her hopes. A break now was better than later.

  And so he had tried not to touch her as they thanked the governor for the night’s hospitality and he walked her to the wharf. Then he’d found the man he hoped would buy the contents of the Charlotte.

  He had made the best bargain he could under the circumstances. He’d received less than half the worth of the cargo. He’d hated to turn over the Charlotte’s papers to the governor. But it was far preferable to what he thought he would receive the night before or to trying to sail his own ship from the harbor under the guns of the fort. During the next hours, his mind’s eye kept returning to Lady Jeanette, and the way she had looked this morning. Her eyes had been sleepy but when she’d looked at him, he saw longing. He had feared guilt or regret or anger. There was none of that. Only a slow smile that was worse than anger …

  Until he had pretended that nothing had happened, nothing had changed …

  In the soft quiet evening with a slice of moon and thousands of stars, he wondered just what he had done, and what would be the repercussions. What if there was a child?

  He had thought of nothing last night except how he had needed her. He’d been lost in that need, in the way she had made him feel. A magic had bonded them; for the first time since Culloden he’d felt whole and complete.

  Now she had to sail with them. She could not stay on the island now, nor could she sail from there to another destination. The Charlotte’s passengers—if they heard of the captain’s wife—could never find out that his “wife” was Jeanette Campbell. They would not have known that he did not have a wife aboard when they were taken.

  When one had asked about Lady Jeanette, Claude had simply said she was being held as a hostage to be ransomed.

  It would hopefully offer her some protection. No matter what she decided to do.

  And as far as he was concerned, she could do anything she wanted, and he would help her. He owed it to her.

  Anything, that was, except allow her to stay in his life. It would be a sure path to disaster. For both of them. A Leslie and a Campbell. Fire and water. Then why did they explode together as they had the night before?

  It would not have mattered so much if not for the price that would be on his head. He no longer blamed the sins of the Campbell on her. She was unique. He had never met a woman like her before, except perhaps for his sister.

  Jeanette Campbell had suffered at her family’s hands. That much was obvious. What father would send his daughter thousands of miles away to a man she did not know?

  What did matter was that he could not afford to have a lady in his life.

  It would be years before he could safely settle somewhere. To do so, he would have to avoid all English colonies. He would need enough money, after seeing to the needs of his ten orphans, to go somewhere the English could never find him.

  After Lady Jeanette had gone into the sick bay, the passengers had been herded up on deck and released. He had let them keep their personal property—clothes and even jewels—that seemed to mean something to them. The rest he kept.

  Spoils of war, he told himself. In truth, it was defiance against a conscience that was beginning to work again. It had been sleeping since Culloden, since life and death depended on ruthlessness. Or so he thought. He had taken out his rage and sorrow and anger in the only way he thought available to him.

  He was not going to change one thing, though. He was a wanderer. He had always been a wanderer, even before the British destroyed his home. He’d loved the sea then. He’d loved coming home, knowing it was there, knowing his father and mother and sister were always there. But after a few months, he would feel restless again. He’d needed to make his own way, not just inherit land that had already been played out and could not support its people.

  The Ami was in full sail now, skimming the waves. He loved the feel of the ship below his feet, the soft rhythm of the sea, the flap of sails, the cool night breeze, the fading lights.

  It was life to him. Particularly now, when there was no other home, no anchor other than the one he could pull up at any time.

  He wondered whether Jenna had second thoughts about what had happened last night. He had been no help this morning. He had been cold and distant after waking up in her arms. It had taken every bit of his control to do so. He’d wanted badly to clasp her to him and promise her a future.

  It would be no service to her. The best thing he could do for her was to set her free from the Ami, and from him. She was strong enough to find a man worthy of her, one that did not wear a
scar that marked him, nor a leg that might someday completely cripple him.

  But as he looked at the sliver of the moon and the array of stars, he felt a loneliness and loss that was as vast as the sky. Only it had no light, no glitter, no promise.

  Jenna watched Meg sleep. She had been gone twenty-four hours, and in those hours, Meg had improved tremendously. Whether it had been the bark, or just time, she did not know. She only knew that the child’s face was cooler, more relaxed.

  And she would always remember Meg’s welcoming grin. “I was afraid you would not come back,” Meg had said.

  Surprisingly, the lass’s eyes had glistened when Jenna produced the dress she had purchased on the way back to the ship. It was a summer sky blue that matched Meg’s eyes, and the cloth was a fine, soft lawn.

  Meg had tried at first to disdain it, but her eyes and fingers kept returning to it.

  The child’s reaction warmed a heart that had been damaged this morning. She still felt a throbbing inside her from last night’s … lovemaking. She hated herself for that. Especially after she’d awakened this morning to his indifference.

  Light had crept through the window then, and he was no longer in bed, but dressed and standing at the window. And when he turned to her, his eyes were impossible to read. Where last night, she had seen so many emotions, now they were as undecipherable as they had been when she’d first met him.

  “I’m sorry, Jeanette,” he’d said.

  “Jenna,” she’d corrected, obviously reaching for the intimacy they had shared the previous night.

  “Jenna,” he’d conceded. “I have to get you back to the ship,” he said. “The governor might change his mind again.”

  “I don’t think so,” she disagreed.

  “I am not willing to take that chance.”

  “And you?”

  “I have some business. I hope to be back this evening and we will set sail then. I do not want any of the passengers to see you until we leave, and I will not be sending them ashore until we are ready to sail. I want to leave nothing to chance.”

  “Captain … Will …” She couldn’t keep calling him captain. The children called him Will. She was sure, though, that it was not his name. She didn’t know why she felt that way. Perhaps the way he’d looked the few times she had been in the area when his name was mentioned. There was always a pause.

  He had that look now. For a moment, his eyes softened. “Alex,” he said. “My name is Alex.”

  She wanted him to say the rest of it, because that would mean trust. But he did not. Still, it was a step.

  But then his jaw had tightened and the softness disappeared from his eyes. “You took risks last night,” he said. “I shall see that you are repaid.”

  Her heart froze. “I did not ask for repayment.”

  “All the same, I have to see to your safety,” he’d said coolly.

  The words broke her heart. When he’d said his name was Alex, she had seen warmth in his eyes, but it had disappeared almost immediately.

  She had invited what had happened last night, but from her heart, because it felt right. His offer of reparation made her feel the whore. Had she really thought he would wake this morning and declare his undying love? That he would forget she was a Campbell? Forget that they were thousands of miles apart in their loyalties?

  Except they weren’t. She had no loyalties now except to Meg and him. He knew it, and yet … he was denying it.

  “You have to see to nothing,” she said, matching his coldness.

  “You cannot stay here. The governor will know you lied to him.”

  “And you cannot go to a British island. So what do you intend to do with me?”

  He looked at her with frustration burning bright in his eyes. “We are in a pretty muddle,” he said.

  Muddle. That was all she was to him.

  She stretched, feeling an unaccustomed soreness deep inside, and yet there was something else, too. She felt sated. She had never understood the word before. She also felt a hunger she could not define with words.

  A hunger she feared would haunt her forever.

  Yet she still had pride. A pride that had carried her beyond small affronts, her parents’ shame, her sisters’ displeasure. She reached down for the nightdress that had been discarded so easily earlier and covered her nakedness, forcing herself to do it slowly, without any sign of shame or embarrassment.

  She shivered. She had felt beautiful last night. Beautiful and loved and cherished. And now she felt like a fool. “I require some privacy,” she said calmly, maintaining the pretense.

  He left the window and turned back to her. “Jenna …”

  “Please go,” she said.

  He hesitated, then walked away, through the door, shutting it too softly behind him.

  She had allowed a tear or two, then had dressed and waited for his return. She had steeled herself to behave as he had, despite the ache and need and despair inside. He would never know it. Just as she had never let anyone know how their looks or comments or actions had wounded her.

  Strangely enough, she never even entertained the thought he might abandon her. He had not abandoned the children. He would not abandon her. There was an odd sense of honor about him.

  And he hadn’t. When he had returned to take her back to the ship, she had tried to be indifferent. She’d said little, merely remarked on the fine weather.

  And at the wharf, when the quarter boat came for her, she declined his outstretched hand to help her step inside and instead took that of one of the sailors.

  She was torn. She wanted to disappear on the island, but he had been right about that. She could not do it. She wanted to demand to be left off at the next island, but then what of Meg and Robin?

  Perhaps if he cared so little about her, he also cared that little about Meg and the lad. Perhaps if he thought she really would take care of them, he would feel relieved at ridding himself of the lot of them.

  She doubted it though. His affection—even love—for the children was evident in his actions, his concern. She should be ashamed of such a churlish thought, yet she dared not. It was all she had to stiffen her resolve to care for the children.

  To keep from showing the captain—Alex—how much he had hurt her that morning.

  She knew she should not feel such hurt. She had known exactly what she was doing last night. She’d known then that it was a borrowed moment, not to be confused with the promise of a future.

  A moment only … of utter joy … complete freedom. More than she had ever had in her life.

  Knowing was not the same as accepting …

  Turning away from such disturbing thoughts, Jenna looked down again at the sleeping Meg, remembering the child’s awed face as she’d told Jenna how pretty she looked. She’d tried to brighten, finally singing a sailor’s song she had heard aboard the Charlotte.

  “Tell me how you found … Will,” Jenna had said.

  “Someone told me that there was a man in the hills with children.”

  “Children?”

  “Aye,” Meg said. “There were nine, including Robin. I made ten.”

  “Ten?”

  “And Burke,” Meg added. “He helped take care of us.”

  “For how long?”

  “Near a year.”

  “In the mountains?”

  “Aye. Sometimes we were cold and hungry. Sometimes we had to run from one place to another, but Will ne’er left us.”

  The dour captain. The man who had surprised her with the slow, lazy smile, with hands that were gentle. Even kind.

  Until this morning.

  So many contradictions. Who was he really? What was he really?

  “What happened to the others?” she asked.

  “He found them homes in France. He tried to find me a home, me and Robin, but we belong with Will,” she said proudly. “Someone has to take care of him, too.” Meg’s eyes fastened on her for a moment, opening wide as if an idea had just been born.

  �
��Perhaps ye, my lady …?”

  “You,” Jenna corrected, then added almost desperately, “And I am betrothed.”

  Meg looked disappointed. “But—” she started.

  “But nothing, love.”

  She stayed a few more moments, then stood and went to the window. The captain was coming back aboard. He would surely stop by to see Meg.

  She did not want to be here when he did.

  Jenna leaned down and touched one of Meg’s short curls. “The captain will be here soon,” she said. “And I have to change clothes. I will see you later.”

  Meg smiled. “I missed you last night.”

  It was the first time Jenna had ever been missed. After this morning, it was like being handed a gift of the finest gold. “And I missed you, love.”

  Meg’s smile could have lit the room if a lantern hadn’t already illuminated it. Still, it did get brighter.

  Jenna pulled up the cover. The porthole was open and a fresh breeze flew into the room. She started to close it but Meg had protested.

  Meg snuggled in the bed, wincing just a little. Jenna had rebandaged the wound after looking at it. There was less secretion and it looked as if it might finally be healing. Some of the painful redness had receded.

  The child should sleep well, particularly after seeing Alex and being assured everything was well with her world.

  But would it ever be? Regardless of his feelings for children, the captain—she was trying to think of him that way again—apparently did not want ties.

  He did not want family. He did not want obligations. He did not want any of the things that she so desperately needed.

  Perhaps now that he did not feel so hostile about her, he would let her have Meg and Robin.

  It was a matter of making the proposition in the right way, at the right time.

  She would not have him. Or a husband. But she would have what her heart had yearned for these past years: someone to love.

  She hesitated. She did not want to leave. But then she heard the sound of the anchor being pulled up, the creak of the ship as it started to move. He would be here soon.