The Pirate and the Pagan

by Virginia Henley

  She chose a bolt of tissue-thin silk damask in pink as pale as the blush of dawn and another bolt of stiff, rustling taffeta which had the color and crackle of flames.

  “And this,” said Ruark, choosing the altobassos cloth of gold.

  Some of the calicos and chintzes had fantastic painted patterns covered with sprigs of flowers, seed pods, vines, and trailing grasses. Others had native birds flitting about trees of bamboo and Summer thought what beautiful drapes and bedhangings they would make. She pictured how splendidly she could refurbish Roseland and tucked the thought away for another day in the near future.

  Captain Hardcastle said, “I’ve cane chairs and lacquered cabinets and other furnishings.” Ruark shook his head. “The attics at Helford Hall are filled with the stuff.”

  “Oh, Ru, may I see them?”

  “They are your attics, darling.”

  The light was fading before they were rowed to the quay. It took three sailors to carry the treasures Summer had plundered from the hold of the Golden Goddess and they staggered with laden arms behind Lord and Lady Helford as they made their way to the Shipp Inn.

  No sooner had a hearty meal been brought up to their suite than a message was brought for Lord Helford. He opened the note and scanned its contents. “It’s from the King. He asks I attend him.” Ruark bit his lip, not really wanting to leave Summer alone.

  “Where is he?” asked Summer, alarmed that His Majesty could be in the next room and walk in at any moment.

  “He, Buckingham, and Lauderdale are aboard the Royal Oak.” He looked hesitant.

  Summer urged, “You must go. Please don’t think me such a clinging, useless creature you cannot leave me alone,”

  “I’m sorry, darling. Married to me, you will find yourself alone only too often, I’m afraid. I’ll order a chambermaid for you.” He looked regretful. “Don’t wait up for me, sweetheart.”

  As she undressed for bed she missed him terribly in spite of her assurances. She wanted to be undressed by him, she wanted to see his eyes as each part of her body was revealed, she wanted the feel of his hot mouth upon her skin as he tasted her. She knew she was being ridiculous.

  She looked about the room piled high with his love tokens and felt comforted, yet the bed would be cold and lonely without him. She undressed and slipped naked between the sheets. Her breasts ached for him unbearably.

  She was appalled at the prospect of entertaining the King and courtiers. As she lay alone her thoughts multiplied and her misgivings turned to fears. How could she possibly face such an ordeal? Ruark shrugged and laughed, thinking it a simple affair to entertain a king. All this to face when she returned to Helford Hall on top of Spider’s imprisonment. It was not to be borne!

  Finally she rolled into a ball on her side and cupped her breasts to still their pain. She never knew at what hour he returned, she only knew that when she awoke, she was cradled in his arms. Happiness flooded over her as the new day began and she stretched luxuriously in the warm featherbed, feeling delicious all the way down to her toes. She peeped at Ruark, hoping to catch a glimpse of him while he still slept, but his eyes were already loving her. All her fears and fancies of the previous night melted like snow in Summer. He laid her back upon her pillows and spread her hair in a great fan against the white flax sheets. The backs of his fingers brushed her cheeks, her throat, her shoulders as lightly as thistledown. His gesture was so infinitely tender, it brought tears to her eyes.

  His lips brushed her eyelashes, removing the tears, then moved to her lips in the gentlest kiss he’d ever given her. She sighed and moaned helplessly. Each curve of her body anticipated the caress of his hands and his mouth. She watched his handsome, dark face through slitted eyes, luxuriating in this private dawn where they could lie naked together like this. She ran her fingertips over his lips and he kissed them with reverence. Her breath caught in her throat and she wondered if it were possible to die of love.

  Ruark lifted her face to his with reverent hands as if he were receiving a sacrament. When his hands caressed her breasts, he did so with a delicate touch as if he were handling precious porcelain. “I love you so much,” he whispered. “Sweet, darling love, yield to me.”

  Like a bloom of silken petals she opened her soft thighs. He sheathed himself in her gently, sweetly. She had never imagined his lovemaking could be so utterly poignant and beautiful. His mouth never left hers. Their warm lips fused over and over until her mouth tingled and felt bee-stung from too many kisses. His love-making was gentle and unhurried, and with closed eyes she drifted away on pink clouds, smiling dreamily as he filled her with his love. Her pleasure grew so intense she feared she might faint, then suddenly at just the perfect moment they melted into each other, her soft cry bringing him more sweet pleasure than he had ever known. He kissed the soft tips of her breasts as she lay in his arms, adoring him with her eyes. “How did I ever find you?” he murmured.

  Suddenly he was afire to buy her something which would show her the extent of his love. While she was at the dress shop, he would go to the jewelers. “Take the bolts of cloth to the dressmaker and you can tell her what you’d like made up. When they’re ready, they can be shipped to Helford.”

  “I think I’ll also take the mantuoes you gave me, then they can be taken in if they don’t fit me properly. The ladies will be pea green with envy back at Stowe.” He stepped from the bed, and as her eyes swept down his well-muscled torso she knew the women were already pea green with envy.

  “You know it’s really ironic that these fashions from the East that are all the rage are a direct result of little Catherine becoming Charles’s queen. England got Bombay from the Portuguese as part of her dowry.”

  “Where is the irony, Ru?” she asked, puzzled.

  “Oh, I forget you’ve not been to Court, love. Women can be such cruel bitches. They all hooted with laughter because Catherine wore the old-fashioned farthingales when she arrived,” he explained.

  “Fashion itself is a cruel bitch; the scarcer and more costly the commodity, the more it becomes the mode,” she replied.

  He threw her an amused look before he went into the adjoining room to shave. “That sounds brittle and jaded … so unlike you, sweetheart.”

  She bit her lip. She must remember not to swear in front of him, nor must she appear to be cynical and worldly-wise. Lord Helford thought he had married a sheltered, well-bred lady. He adored her innocence, and if he wanted her corrupted in any way, he would do the corrupting!

  The most fashionable modiste in Plymouth had her establishment in the town square, so Summer did not have far to go. Lord Helford had a discreet word with the enterprising Frenchwoman who had fled to England to take advantage of the insatiable English appetite for anything French. He told Madame Martine he would pay double for any garment she could make ready today, so naturally the woman decided to make a month’s sales in one day the moment he took himself off.

  Summer’s pile of purchases grew ever higher. She bought gowns, laced waistcoats, petticoats, crinolines, a dress with a fashionable train, and naturally each outfit needed matching shoes, stockings, undergarments, hats, muffs, fans, and vizards.

  Madame Martine provided a light lunch whenever her clientele warranted it, and Summer ate her crab and cucumber sandwiches in the small fitting room while madame’s seamstresses plied their needles.

  Two women came into the shop to browse after lunch and Madame Martine excused herself to wait on them. By eavesdropping, Summer learned that they were none other than the Duchess of Buckingham and the Countess of Lauderdale. Quite clearly she heard Madame Martine say, “Ah, your ladyship, I am very sorry but that cloth of gold ees not for sale, eet belongs to Lady Helford.”

  “My good woman, I am the Duchess of Buckingham. Price is no object. Lady what’s-her-name can await your next shipment.”

  Bess Maitland, the Countess of Lauderdale, chimed in, “Och, the lassie will never know. Palm her off with any old tale.”

  Summer stepped fr
om the fitting room wearing only her shift and busk. “Lady what’s-her-name begs to differ,” she said angrily.

  Buckingham’s wife held the bolt of gold cloth possessively as if no force on earth could part her from it. The duchess’s eyes narrowed, making her even uglier than usual. “Just who do you think you are?” she said, sneering.

  Summer took a step closer. “I, madame, am the owner of that bolt of cloth you are clutching to your scrawny bosom.”

  Bess Maitland, who had enormous breasts, as a lot of the gentlemen of the court could testify, let out a bark of coarse laughter.

  The Duchess of Buckingham was now an alarming shade of purple. “Do you realize who I am?” she shouted.

  Summer’s auntie Lil had told her all the gossip about Buckingham and how he’d held on to his vast fortune by marrying the daughter of the parliamentary general who had got the Buckingham lands. Summer’s tongue ran away with her now. “Are you Old Noll come back from the devil to get me?”

  Bess Maitland hooted and slapped her thigh in glee. Lady Buckingham raised the bolt of cloth as if she would use it as a weapon and Summer grabbed hold of its end. The two women pulled on the coveted cloth like two mongrels with a bone.

  Suddenly the shop door was flung open to admit four elegantly clad gentlemen. Lady Buckingham gasped, “Your Majesty!” She let go of the bolt of cloth and Summer sprawled on her bottom, clutching the gilt fabric.

  The King had eyes only for Summer and her delicious state of undress. He strode forward gallantly, beating the other men to it. “My dearest Lady Helford, allow me to offer you my hand, and my heart, too, if you’ll have it.”

  “Thank you, Sire,” she whispered, realizing the great homage being offered her.

  Buckingham drawled, “I see you ladies have met.” His bland face belied the amusement implicit in his dry tone.

  Bess Maitland rolled her eyes at her husband, who was thoroughly sorry he had missed the fight, and Madame Martine looked as if she were going to pass out.

  Summer backed into the fitting room, holding the gold cloth over her deshabille and not daring to meet Ruark’s eyes. He called out, “We are invited to accompany His Majesty to Stowe, my lady.” Then with faultless manners he bowed to the two women. “My ship has just arrived from the Indies. Why don’t you ladies come and take your pick of cloth while we await Lady Helford?”

  The King sat himself down on a carved settee and waved them all off. “Excellent suggestion, Helford. I’ll rest my feet here and await the bride.”

  Madame Martine helped Summer into her own black and cream outfit with trembling hands. Finally she hissed, “Ees that really Hees Majesty?”

  The lazy voice came from the other room. “No, no, of course I’m not the King. The wretched fellows were just pulling your leg, madame.”

  Summer stifled the urge to giggle. She couldn’t hide from the fact that King Charles awaited her presence in the other room. She picked up her hat and muff and carried them out with her.

  He smiled his sloe-eyed smile at her. His long legs were stretched out before him. “I’ve never seen you dressed before,” he said outrageously, and her mind flew back to the day he had seen her in the beribboned nightgown.

  She blushed. “Sire … I …” She curtsied, not quite knowing what to say to this King who was looking at her the way any ordinary male would.

  He said intimately, “You must promise that when we are private, you will call me Charles.” It was a command. “Tell me the truth, Lady Summer. Did you really live on the next estate to Helford or did the scurvy fellow make it up?”

  “Yes, we were neighbors who never met until that day in London.”

  His warm brown eyes assessed her, frankly liking what he saw. “I never knew anyone called Summer,” he mused.

  She put her head on one side and replied, “I never knew anyone called Rex.”

  “Ha! The lady has wit. Though you have never been presented at Court, you are most welcome to come to St. James anytime.” He took her hand and kissed it, then invited her to sit down with him.

  Breathlessly she did so, not quite believing that this was really happening.

  “Did you set Stowe on its ear? I’ll bet the men have been lined up to dance with the new bride.” He was openly flirting with her and she found she liked it.

  “There was no dancing last night, Sire. The masques and balls are planned for after your arrival.”

  “I think perhaps I should warn you about my courtiers. Dancing’s just an excuse to get their hands on a beautiful woman and ask for an assignation right under her husband’s nose. Most of the damned scoundrels are cavaliers who’ve lived at the licentious European courts, remember.”

  “Oh, Sire, I don’t think I need to worry. All the gentlemen at Stowe are Ruark’s friends.”

  The King was highly amused. “Little innocent bride! The wives of your friends are the first ones you make love to; ’tis so convenient!”

  She laughed. “Now you are teasing me, Sire.”

  “No, sweetheart, ’tis you who are teasing me.” He sighed and patted her hand. “We’ll give the marriage a few weeks before we try to corrupt you.” His mouth curved into a smile below the slender mustache, and Summer realized he would always be more man than monarch.

  On the barge ride back up the Tamar, the King and Ruark had their heads together the whole time. Bess and John Maitland, the Countess and Earl of Lauderdale, were almost comical in their suitability for one another. They were both redheaded, coarse in the extreme, with a bawdy wit which amused the King, but when they were together, they spoke with such a thick Scottish burr, none could understand them.

  Buckingham’s wife Mary suffered from mal de mer, which left him in Summer’s company. She felt rather awkward over what had happened at the dressmaker’s. “I’m afraid your wife won’t care much for my company, your grace.”

  George Villiers’s blond looks were godlike, but his tongue had a cutting edge which no one escaped, least of all his dull wife. “Well, you can’t truthfully say you would care much for hers. I don’t. Though we coexist, we do not coalesce, cohere, nor cohabit.”

  Summer heaved a sigh of relief. She knew Buckingham made a dangerous enemy and she would fare better in all circles if she had his approbation. He raised his quizzing glass to study her. “You are an unusual-looking female … rather exotic. I predict you shall become all the rage. Watch out for my cousin Barbara; she will hate you on sight.”

  Summer laughed. “The King has warned me about the men, now you are warning me about the women.”

  He raised an insolent brow. “And both of us rather redundant, for I fancy you could hold your own against either sex.”

  “That which doesn’t kill me, makes me stronger,” she quoted.

  “Precisely. Yet it isn’t your quality of survival which intrigues me. You have an air of mystery about you. You are an unknown quantity. I believe we see only the tip of the iceberg. Fascinating!”

  Her heartbeat accelerated. She did not want this man examining her too closely. If he learned anything to her discredit, he would expose her for the sheer pleasure of it. Should she act silly or shallow to throw him off the track? No, he was shrewd enough to see through any sham. All she could do was turn the conversation to a subject which would hold his attention—himself. “You are the one who is fascinating, your grace. Rumor has it you are the cleverest as well as the richest man in England. In fact”—she paused dramatically—“I’ve heard it said ’tis you not Barbara who is the power behind the throne.”

  When they reached Launceston, Summer was relieved that she and Ruark were to have the privilege of carrying the King to Stowe in their carriage, while the Maitlands and Villierses had to hire three carriages, two of which were for baggage alone. She found Charles’s company far more relaxing than Buckingham’s.

  They did not arrive until after dark, but Lady Grenvile had held off dinner until such time as the King arrived and it was almost eleven o’clock by the time the six-course meal
was over.

  Card tables had been set up in the long gallery and soon twenty of the great courtiers were playing bassette round a large table with a bank of over four thousand in gold before them. In the end it was Jack Grenvile who scooped up the winnings; and Lady Castlemaine, her face like a thunderstorm, quit the table and dragged Buckingham into a game of trick track which Summer had been enjoying with Elizabeth Hamilton and Anne Carnegie.

  Barbara said petulantly, “I don’t know why Charles had to create Grenvile Earl of Bath at the same time as I received my title.”

  “Then I shall enlighten you, dear coz,” said Buckingham. “Jack’s father Bevil died at Lansdowne leading his men into battle. Jack, who was only fifteen years old at the time, mounted his father’s horse and charged the enemy. Charles will never forget those who have served him well.” His mouth twitched as a droll thought struck him. “And that goes to show you where titles are concerned, our monarch considers fighting just as worthy as fucking.”

  “George, ’sdeath I swear you must be suffering from the pox again, you’re in such an ill humor. When we get back to London, I suggest you see Dr. Fraser for some turpentine pills.”

  If Barbara thought to discomfit Buckingham in front of the other ladies, she was sadly disappointed, for he had an immediate rejoinder. “I’ll never know why you recommend Dr. Fraser when he botched your last abortion so badly.”

  Barbara had the grace to flush. “Oh, George, you will have your little joke. Are you ready to play cards? I’ll even play bassette if it will please you.”

  “My dear, the point of the insidious game is to outguess the others as to the order in which the cards turn up. Let’s play something which requires a little skill.”