Contents
Dedication
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Copyright
For Bryan, who has given me everything that matters in the world: two beautiful daughters, a lovely new home, and a partner I can count on. It hasn’t all been easy, but it’s sure been worth it. Thank you for all your hard work, which has enabled me to be a stay-at-home mom and to pursue my dreams of being an author. You’re my rock, and I love you very much.
One
Port Royal
1657
Alicia Davidson felt the contempt through the small crowd that had amassed around the freshly turned earth surrounding her father’s grave. It was like the blade of a cold dagger being slid across the back of her neck. Though the sun was blazing down upon the shifting crowd, Alicia shivered. Wiping her damp cheeks, she pulled her attention from the dirt that was being dropped by shovelfuls onto the sturdy wooden box below her feet, and examined the crowd. Who was it that was aiming such hostility toward her?
She saw the faces of many friends as well as customers of her father’s, who’d been one of two blacksmiths on the island. Some of those faces had tears pooled in their eyes; others simply watched solemnly as the clergyman recited a last prayer before slipping away. Alicia’s eyes shifted to the right, where a few people huddled in a small circle. It was when they broke apart and moved away that her gaze connected with the stranger left standing alone at the edge of the congregation. His eyes narrowed and the full impact of his disdain hit her.
His dark brown hair was long and loose, framing a face that seemed carved from stone. There wasn’t a drop of sympathy in his eyes, nor a hint of compassion in his expression. She had no idea who he was, and given the flat line of his mouth and the waves of bitterness that continued to pour from him, she had no inclination to find out.
Forcing her attention back to the only matter of importance, Alicia knelt and bowed her head, hoping everyone would take her gesture as the sign it was. She desperately wanted to say her last good-bye alone. Women walked away, skirts swishing in the grass. A few hands squeezed her shoulder as a sign of encouragement. Their sympathy was both a comfort and a harsh reminder that her dear father, who had been loved and respected, had gone to join her mother. Tears that should have been spent by now filled her eyes. A deep sense of loss squeezed her heart.
A shadow fell on the ground next to her a moment before she heard her aunt’s voice.
“Alicia, dear, come back to the house, have something to eat.”
“I’m going to stay a little longer.”
Her aunt Margaret was nearly sixty years old and had always made very clear her disapproval of the man her sister had chosen. Even now, Alicia noticed her aunt’s gray eyes were as dry as the earth that lay at their feet.
Aunt Margaret tsked. “Child, he is gone. Best to move on.”
Because she was used to the woman’s coldness, she didn’t react to it. “I need a moment,” Alicia repeated.
“Fine. But do not be long. It is dreadfully hot and there is no point in wilting out here. Besides, it is only proper you make an appearance; I have a houseful of people who wish to offer their condolences.” Margaret fanned herself as though to reinforce her point. “In the meantime, I will have your things sent to my home.”
Alicia pushed herself to her feet, moved slightly so the sun wasn’t beating directly in her eyes. “I thought I made it clear where I belong.”
“Really, child. You cannot stay alone in that little hovel. It is not proper.”
“It’s my home, Aunt Margaret. I’ll not be leaving it.”
The other woman took a full breath, expanding an already impressive bosom. Her tiny hands clutched the curve of her parasol. “I will not have any niece of mine living alone, without proper guidance. You will come with me, be given a maid, and I will find someone to teach you etiquette and decorum. You will not work in that filthy blacksmith shop, and if it takes us three weeks, we will scrub those hands until they are no longer stained black. When we are finished, you will no longer be the object of disdain and pity that you have been since Jacob allowed you to work that shop. And,” she added, with a pinched mouth, “you will have the finest of dresses.” She said the latter with a pointed look at the simple gown Alicia wore.
“This isn’t the place, Aunt Margaret. We can discuss this later.”
Her aunt feigned remorse well. “Of course, child. We can talk later.” As she stepped away, Alicia heard her aunt mutter, “He has some nerve, coming here.”
Alicia ignored the comment. Her aunt was always annoyed or complaining about someone. In the past it had been her father. She waited until her aunt was well past the line of headstones and then unbuttoned the collar of her dress. The breeze coming off the ocean carried the tang of salt with it. Alicia took in a cleansing breath now that she could breathe without feeling as though she were being choked by her collar.
The respite from the cloying heat felt amazing and she sighed. She took her time saying good-bye, allowing the tears to come as well as the memories. She talked to her father as though he were there, and by the time she stood, wiping the dirt from her skirts, the pain around her heart had eased.
It wasn’t until she straightened and took a step to leave that she noticed the stranger was still there.
His expression hadn’t softened and she found herself casting a furtive glance around, but they were well and truly alone. What did he want? She wasn’t helpless the way her aunt thought she was, but she was certainly no match for him in strength.
Alicia’s mouth dried like cotton when he began to walk toward her. Despite her galloping heart, she didn’t move. He was at her father’s funeral. Surely Jacob Davidson must have known this stranger. His gaze never left hers, and when he stopped opposite the grave from her, she was able to see his eyes were dark brown and were framed by black lashes and a cut of black brows.
He said nothing, but his eyes finally shifted to the grave between them. With nothing more than a creak of his knee-high boots when he crouched down, he grabbed a handful of dirt and let it sift through his fingers over the casket. Then, with a last scathing glance at her, he stood and left as silently as he’d come.
Two
“You can’t mean to run this shop by yourself, Alicia. It’s madness!”
“Thank you for the encouragement, Charles. I always know I can count on you,” Alicia responded. Judging the embers in the forge, she picked up the billows. They whooshed as she pumped air into the fire; the red of the coals brightened. Only midmorning, her shirt clung to her back and the tendrils of hair that had escaped her braid stuck to her cheeks. Breathing was becoming more difficult, and Alicia knew by the end of the day her lungs would hurt from the effort.
She wouldn’t have it any other way.
“You know I didn’t mean it the way it came out. It’s not that you’re not capable. The problem, my dear girl, is that you’re too capable.”
Alicia replaced the billows on the hook her father had fashioned onto the edge of the long worktable.
“I’ve never known efficiency to be a negative trait.”
“It wouldn’t be if you were a seamstress.”
“You know that’s
never going to happen.”
“You’re eighteen. You shouldn’t have to worry about keeping a business afloat.”
“My mother taught me about numbers and ledgers. I know how to manage them.”
“You think the Navy will continue to buy swords from you now that your father is gone? It was one thing to have you work with your father—they managed to turn a blind eye to that out of respect for Jacob. It’ll be another to them when you’re the sole proprietor.”
Alicia set her teeth. “I’m trying to be patient because I like and respect you, but I’m getting tired of your constant discouragement. It’s all you’ve been telling me for a week now.”
“And I’ll keep telling you until it starts to sink into that thick head of yours. You’re choosing an impossible road. It’ll do nothing but make you miserable.”
Alicia sat on the table. Despite the messy nature of her work, the surface was clean and clutter free. Tools were always replaced after being used. Her gaze met Charles’s.
The father of three rambunctious boys and a sweet yet shy daughter, Charles had worked at the shop nearly as long as Alicia could remember, which, owing to the fall that had left her scarred and wiped her memory clean, was about six years ago. He’d been loyal, hardworking, and like her aunt, firm in the belief that a blacksmith shop was no place for her. Unlike her aunt, however, he acknowledged her skill.
“I’ve never cared what people thought of me.” There was a spark of a lie in there, but she wouldn’t give Charles more ammunition. If he knew she sometimes wished she were included in the social activities of people her age, wished people wouldn’t look the other way when they passed her on the street, he’d jump on the fact. Then he’d team up with her aunt and she’d never hear the end of it.
“As for work, all the Navy will care about is that their swords are better than those of their enemies. This shop can give them that, I can give them that.” And she had for the past two years. She took great pains with the craftsmanship of her swords, and it always filled her with such pride when she saw an officer walk by with one of her blades at his side.
Charles rubbed his coarse whiskers. “I don’t believe your father ever told them it was you who forged those swords, which is my point. They won’t be happy about it.”
“They had better get used to it, or they can go elsewhere.”
He frowned. “Thinking like that will sink this business. The Navy is our biggest purchaser. We lose them, we may as well close the doors.”
It was Alicia’s turn to sigh. “What else would you have me do?”
He ladled a cup of water from a cask near the door and swallowed it in a large gulp. His eyes wouldn’t quite reach hers. “Anything else. You should go with your aunt. You’d have an easier life with her.”
“I’m not interested in easy, Charles. I need to be true to myself. I’d be miserable if I went with her. Besides, putting on a fancy dress and primping with my hair doesn’t change who I am on the inside. Can you honestly see me spending my days having tea and talking of all the eligible bachelors?”
He shook his head. “At least it’s more ladylike. And living with her, you’d have a chance at getting married.”
“Even with this?” Alicia asked, tracing the scar that slashed from her right earlobe to mid-cheek.
“Since when has that bothered you?”
She shrugged. “It doesn’t.” Which was the truth. Most often she was too busy working to even think about it.
“Besides, it’s not the scar, Alicia, it’s the smell of ash and smoke that is more of a deterrent.”
Alicia grinned. “That isn’t normal?”
“Blimey, you’re a handful. I give up,” he said, throwing up his hands. “I’ve said my piece, I don’t imagine you’ll listen to me any more than you do your aunt.”
“I appreciate your concern, but no. I’ve made up my mind to work my father’s shop.”
“Your mother wouldn’t have wanted this,” he said.
The jab hit its mark, bruised her heart. “Perhaps not. But she never stopped me from coming here with him. She knew how I loved to work alongside him. Charles, Jacob taught me this.”
“Because he lost his sons,” he reminded her gently.
Alicia inhaled sharply. “If you’re saying he’d never have had me in here if Daniel and Eric were here, then you’re wrong. He breathed this shop, and he was proud to have me here. There’s nothing he’d have loved more than having all his children work with him. He always had time to explain and teach. Your son Jack is proof as he’s spent many hours in here at my father’s side.”
Charles lowered his gaze, being properly reminded of the man he’d worked with for years.
“And the fact remains, Charles, that Daniel and Eric are gone. This shop is not only my father’s legacy, it’s all I have left of him and, in a roundabout way, all I have left of the brothers I don’t remember.
“From the first time I saw my father shape steel, saw him create something beautiful from nothing, I knew that was what I wanted to do. Did my mother like it? No. But she understood it. You won’t change my mind, Charles. No one can. It would be easier to rip out my heart while I was still breathing.”
He locked eyes with her for a long while. Long enough for the half-burned logs to roll and spark in the forge. Long enough for Alicia to feel the sweat run in a sticky trail down her temple. Then he nodded and went back to work. They said nothing more, though their words hung in the air as surely as the smell of heated steel.
For the past seven days her aunt and a few other well-meaning acquaintances of her father’s had stopped by to offer the same advice. Well, the others had offered. Her aunt had actually ordered Alicia to come live with her. She, like Charles, had discovered that they weren’t the only stubborn ones. The little house and the blacksmith shop were all Alicia had left, and she wouldn’t leave either behind to satisfy someone else’s belief of what was proper.
The town was mostly quiet as she made her way home later that evening. A few children raced by her, leaving the youthful smell of sweat and energy in their wake. The lamps hadn’t been lit yet and long shadows crossed the street. Through windows she saw the glow of light and the flutter of family life. Her feet stopped, and Alicia found herself jealously watching. What she wouldn’t give to have that again.
“Move along,” a harsh voice commanded from behind her.
Alicia spun around. “Pardon me?”
“I told you to move along. These are well-kept houses and the people here make an honest living. Go back where you belong.”
It wasn’t until the man grimaced at her clothes and face that she remembered she was still filthy. Her hands, despite scrubbing, bore the traces of her work and no doubt her face was as grimy as her clothes.
He didn’t move, so Alicia did. Though she held her head high—she wouldn’t apologize for being who she was—she left nonetheless. She turned down one street, then another, until her little house came into view. It was dark and empty. The truth she’d been working hard to avoid suddenly pelted her. Nobody was waiting for her, or would, if that stranger, Charles, and her aunt were any indication, ever again. She was a blacksmith now. And as much as she wanted this life, she knew it would come with a price.
A swelling emptiness engulfed her and she sought refuge in the room her parents had shared. She hadn’t been in it since her father’s death when she’d come to pick his burial clothes. Now, looking about the tiny room, she felt an overwhelming need to be close to them, to the people who’d loved her as she was, without trying to turn her into what they thought she should be.
At the foot of the bed lay a simple trunk. She’d never seen it opened and had never wondered what was inside. But now, desperate to feel a connection to them, Alicia lit a candlestick, placed it on the floor, and knelt before the trunk.
The lid opened easily and with it came the smell of both her father and mother, a hint of smoke mixed with lavender. Sniffling loudly, she began to sort through the cont
ents. There were several trinkets, worn blankets, and a few of her mother’s dresses wrapped in paper. Alicia unwrapped one and pulled out a yellow gown, very plain in design but beautiful in its simplicity. She remembered it had been Anna Davidson’s favorite before she’d died last spring. Standing, Alicia held it upright to see if it would fit her.
Perhaps she could wear it to church, prove to people she could be pretty if she chose.
A small wrapped package fell from within it and plopped onto the wooden floor.
Curious, Alicia set the dress on the bed and picked up the bundle. Turning it over, she saw her name, in her father’s hand, across the front. Frowning, she sat on the bed and pulled open the string that held the package closed.
Inside were two letters. Her name was on the first; the second, bearing her father’s seal, had the name “Blake Merritt” neatly written in the middle. Who was Blake Merritt? she wondered. But she set it aside and carefully opened her letter.
My dearest daughter,
Hearing her father’s voice as she read the words, Alicia had to fight the tears that pricked her eyes.
If you are reading this, then it means I’ve gone to be with your mother. Before I explain anything, please know you were one of our greatest joys. We could not have loved you more.
However, you weren’t always ours. When you were twelve or so, we found you and your natural mother washed up on the beach. You were both hurt. Your mother was very distraught and you, my dear girl, weren’t conscious. Before your mother died, she begged us to keep you safe. She was afraid the pirates who had attacked your ship would learn of your escape and come for you. Your name, and the name “Samantha,” were the last words she spoke.
You were hurt and bleeding, and we took you immediately inside our home. You had a large cut across your cheek, which we tended to as best we could, but as you know, it left a deep scar. We fretted over you for days, and when finally you awoke, you remembered nothing, not even your name.
Looking back, I can see it was selfish not to tell you the truth, but your memory never returned and we had promised your mother to keep you safe. We decided it best to let you believe you’d fallen as a child, and the scar and memory loss were a result of that accident. We wanted to spare you the pain of knowing your family had perished at the hands of pirates.
Romancing the Pirate Page 1
