by Jane Jackson
Despite all the lacerating doubt and uncertainty, she could not regret that. Nor – even if it were possible – would she want to go back to being who she was before she met him.
Once they returned to Falmouth her father could tell him the truth about her journey. Would he understand? Or would he reject her for her lack of trust? It would be too late then to change anything. In any case, he would return to his house, and the possessive arms of Louise Downing.
She tensed against knifing pain. Quickly wiping her eyes, she returned to the table.
Addressing the envelope to Ramon Gaudara, she folded the letter and slipped it into the envelope for safekeeping. Was the civil war the reason Jago was severing all his connections with Spain? That would still not explain his decision to sell his schooner.
As owner-master he could collect and deliver cargoes anywhere in the world. He was not confined to Spanish ports or waters. It did not make sense that he would sell the only vessel he owned outright.
Selling the silver refineries would bring him a large amount of money. What did he need it for? He had demanded and been given the post of senior captain with Bonython’s. He would be sailing Fair Maid to the Azores in December at the start of the fruit season. His seamanship would ensure a fast passage and consequently a high price for his cargo. So why? And why now?
By dinnertime she had completed all the letters. After the meal, Jago returned with her to the cabin. She sat opposite him while he read each one. She had worked hard on them and, considering how brief his notes and instructions had been, she was pleased with the result. But they were going out in his name, so it was his opinion that mattered.
When he had finished, he gave a brief nod and bent over the table to scrawl his signature at the bottom of each sheet.
Caseley wrapped her arms across her waist. She knew better than to expect gushing compliments, but could he not have managed a simple thank you? Disappointment vied with anger and her effort to mask both made her tone sharp.
‘Am I to take it they are satisfactory?’
He looked round. ‘Do you doubt your own ability?’
‘I – no – but –’
He cut across her confusion. ‘Then you must know they are exactly what I wanted.’
‘Would it have cost you so much to say so?’ Rising, she turned away. As tears pricked she was furious at her weakness. What was she, a child? Praise asked for had no value. She knew she had done a good job. That should have been enough.
‘I’m … sorry.’ The word was uttered with difficulty as though unfamiliar to him.
Wearily she shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter.’ She waited for him to go. Instead he came up behind her. She could hear him breathing. Don’t touch me, she prayed silently, her tongue paralysed by the knowledge that she wanted him to.
His hands, warm and heavy, clasped her shoulders. She caught her breath and her eyes closed. Slowly, deliberately, he turned her round.
She kept her eyes lowered.
‘Caseley?’
She did not respond, terrified to meet his piercing gaze, all too aware that evasion was impossible, the truth would be there for him to read. Then what would she see in his eyes? Amusement? Irritation? Pity?
‘Caseley, look at me?’ he said softly.
She gave her head a tiny shake.
His hand came up and grasped her chin. Her skin burned beneath his fingers. She tried to pull away. His grip tightened.
‘Look at me!’ It was harsh, a command.
Her lashes lifted long enough for her to see his bearded face, his glittering eyes so frighteningly close, before tears splintered her vision.
He muttered an oath then his mouth came down on hers. He released her chin and his arms encircled her, drawing her against him.
Honed by the physical demands of handling a large schooner in all weathers, his hard-muscled body was unyielding but warm. His lips trailed fire across her cheek and down her throat, then returned to her mouth with a tenderness that spoke of iron control.
Caseley felt a strange contraction deep inside and liquid sweetness surged through her limbs. She drew in a long sobbing breath as her hands slid over his shoulders and into the thick hair curling on his neck.
Crushed against his chest, she could feel his heart pounding, knew her own matched it. He released her mouth and as she rested her forehead on his shoulder, he laid his bearded jaw against her temple. His quick breathing feathered her ear. Her legs trembled uncontrollably. No matter what happens, she thought, I have had this moment.
‘Caseley?’ His voice was little more than a vibration.
‘Yes?’
‘Say my name.’
She opened her eyes.
He tilted her chin up with his forefinger. ‘Say my name.’
‘Jago.’ She tested the syllables shyly, speaking them aloud for the first time. ‘Jago.’ She smiled.
He did not smile back. Stepping away, he slid his hands down her arms to grasp her fingers. ‘Whatever happens in the next two days,’ he raised her hands to his lips, kissed each one in turn, ‘trust me.’
Caseley felt a dart of fear and a shudder rippled through her. Had he picked up her thoughts, or had she sensed his?
About to say more, instead he let her go. ‘We should sight land in an hour. I want you to come topside. But you must stay beside me at the wheel. The wind is shifting and we’ll have to change tack several times as we approach the harbour entrance.’ He glanced at the barometer once more, frowning briefly. But when he looked at her, his expression softened. ‘All right?’
Aware that his question had nothing to do with joining him on deck, she nodded. He left and she went into the sleeping cubicle to fetch the short jacket that matched her skirt. Events were in motion over which she had no control. Yet strangely she felt calm. There had been no confiding, no explanations. Yet without a word being spoken their relationship had changed.
Leaning against the gunwale a few feet from Jago as the deck canted, Caseley was relieved to be on the higher side. With all sails full, the schooner drove through the water at speed, her fine stem cutting a path and tossing aside a foaming bow wave that bubbled and sparkled in the sunlight.
Wind and sea had changed since she was on deck earlier that morning. Busy with the letters, she had heard the grating clank of the steering chains, the squeal of ropes through blocks, and the loud rippling snap of sails refilling as the course changed. She had not registered their significance.
Now with time to look, she noticed that instead of coming from one side of the stern, the wind was blowing over the port beam. No longer a steady breeze, it was fitful and gusty.
The sea had dulled to pewter grey, and dark rolling masses of water streaked with foam surged towards them from the southwest.
Caseley glanced at Jago. Meeting her gaze he gave a small shrug. Clearly he had no idea what was brewing either. To her surprise Caseley found his honesty a comfort. A smile that pretended everything was fine would have been patronising as well as shutting her out to worry alone. Recalling his frown as he checked the barometer, she looked from sea to sky.
Though the sun still shone, it was through a fine veil and a large ring encircled it. She knew that meant rain was on the way. The puffball clouds had become torn and ragged as they scudded across the filmy sky. A frisson of nervousness made her glad they would soon be safely in port.
The uneasiness gripping her now was different from that she had experienced earlier when Antonio Valdes came on deck. His eyes had darted from her to Jago and back. As bitter realisation thinned his lips to a tense white line, he had stumbled past her to the wheel-shelter.
She had adjusted to the increased pitching without even thinking about it. For Antonio Valdes, so sure of his invincibility, to have his advances spurned, his machinations foiled, and his machismo demolished by seasickness must be devastating.
Despite knowing that he would have used her for his own ends without a moment’s hesitation, she still pitied him as he
emerged from the lavatory, his colour a blotchy greenish-white as he wiped his mouth with a handkerchief clutched in trembling fingers.
It crossed her mind to offer help. But even before she intercepted Jago’s warning glare, she abandoned the idea.
Not only had Antonio failed to sweep her off her feet, he recognised the bond between her and Jago. Though he had no idea of its significance, the fact that it existed rubbed salt into his wounded pride.
Having his seasickness exposed to their joint gaze made him a very dangerous man. Looking neither left nor right, his dignity in shreds, he staggered back to the companionway.
Jago beckoned to Caseley. ‘You’ll find Martin in the galley shack. Tell him to take an old bucket down to Valdes. By the look of him he won’t make the stairs next time.’
The afternoon wore on. Nathan took over the wheel while Jago fetched the sextant and took sightings.
‘See that double flash?’ Caseley followed his pointing finger. ‘That’s the Caso Mayor lighthouse.’
‘What’s the one on this side?’
‘Santa Marina Island. Our course will take us between two islands, Santa Marina and Mouro. The river curves round past Magdalena Beach and Puerto Chico up to the wharves of the main harbour.’
At teatime there was none of the leisurely pace and chatter of previous evenings. Caseley ate with Nathan, Jimbo, and Martin while Jago and Hammer remained on deck. Antonio Valdes did not appear.
Afterwards Caseley went to the cabin. Dragging her bag out she lifted it onto the bunk and felt among her clothes for the package. From now on it would be safer to keep it on her person. As her fingers closed around it she heard the door open. Her heart leapt into her throat.
‘Caseley?’ Jago’s voice reached her through the drumming of blood in her ears. Lifting the short flared skirt of her jacket, she pushed the bulky envelope into her waistband, smoothing the material flat again.
‘Yes?’ Leaving the bag where it was, she emerged from the cubicle, unrolling her gabardine cape.
‘What do you want that for? Are you cold?’
She shook her head. ‘Not at the moment. But it may be chilly later when we go ashore.’
‘Go ashore?’ A frown drew his dark brows together.
‘You said we would be in port this evening.’
‘So we will.’
‘Then I must go ashore and deliver the c – contract.’
‘Tonight?’ His gaze was shrewd, penetrating.
She nodded, swallowing to try and lubricate her dry throat. ‘My father said Señor Spinoza wanted me to go to his house the moment we arrived.’
‘Surely he meant during office hours? We will not be moored up much before eight. How can you be sure anyone will be there?’
She shrugged helplessly. ‘I – my father said as soon as we arrive. I must follow his instructions. That is why I’m here.’ Would he try to stop her? What would she do if he did?
He gazed at her for what felt like a long time. Her fingers tightened on the cape. ‘Please, Jago. I have no choice.’ She saw a muscle jump in his jaw then he inclined his head in a brief nod.
‘All right, come up on deck. I don’t want you out of my sight.’
She glanced at him but there was nothing romantic in the grim set of his mouth and narrowed eyes.
‘One moment.’ He caught her arm as she reached him in the doorway. ‘What is the address where you are to meet this …’
‘Señor Spinoza. I have it here in my pocket.’ As she felt for the folded scrap of paper her father had given her the evening before she left, her fingers brushed against the bulky shape of the package making is rustle. She felt heat flood her face and could not meet Jago’s eyes as she passed him the address. Please don’t let him have heard.
‘What are you hiding, Caseley?’ His quiet demand sent chills along her arms.
She had to tell him as much of the truth as she could without breaking her word to her father. ‘I did not bring a purse or reticule with me, so I am carrying the contract in my waistband to leave my hands free for getting on and off the boat.’
His expression gave nothing away as he took the small piece of paper and Caseley folded the cape over her arm to occupy her trembling hands.
‘I know this place,’ he murmured. ‘It’s in the old town, not far from the harbour.’
She followed him up the stairs, taking up her position on the port quarter as he reclaimed the wheel. The setting sun was hidden behind a mass of grey and violet cloud and the sky had an eerie yellowish hue. Though it wasn’t cold she felt gooseflesh erupt on her arms.
Ahead loomed the Spanish coast. In the fading light Caseley could just see purple mountains rising behind the smaller hills over which spread the town of Santander.
At Jago’s command, Nathan and Hammer lowered the large foresail while Jimbo took in the flying jib. Next the square topsail was hauled up and the staysail dropped. Cygnet was now in the river. Shielded from the wind by rolling hills, the water was calmer.
Their progress had slowed and Martin was in the bow, checking the depth of the channel with a marked and weighted line, singing out the fathoms as the schooner made her way upriver.
‘Why is he doing that?’ Caseley asked.
‘We’re going in on an ebb tide,’ Jago said, ‘and the river has a lot of shifting sandbanks.’
‘Wouldn’t it have been safer to take on a pilot?’
‘Anchor in the bay and wait until morning? Possibly. But I know this river well and I want to get home as quickly as you do.’
She stayed silent after that. Her fingers strayed to the package at her waist. She wanted to be rid of it as soon as possible. Naturally she wanted to see her father again, to watch his face as she told him she had done as he asked, and the documents had been safely delivered. But then what? What was there for her to look forward to?
Why was Jago so anxious to get back? He had his father’s quicksilver to trans-ship – and there was also his house. He had only seen it once. He would want to see for himself how she had spent his money. And of course there was Louise.
Where do I stand in all that, Caseley wondered. She had refused to do any further work on the house. Jago had said Louise would not bother her any more. But he had not said he would give her up. If he did not, then the kisses that moved her so deeply, the attraction, antipathy, respect, dislike, admiration, and fury he stirred in her, had meant nothing to him. She was no more than a passing fancy.
Doubts crept in, quiet as cats, and tore at her with unsheathed claws. What did she have to offer a man as well travelled, as sophisticated and knowledgeable as Jago Barata?
It was almost dark when they reached the harbour. Huddled in the warm folds of her cape, Caseley watched as Jago guided the schooner in alongside one of the quays lit by brightly burning lamps. He ordered Jimbo to make fast the stern line only. The seaman leapt ashore, apparently unsurprised.
She caught Nathan’s sleeve. But he only grinned as the bow drifted out and, caught by the current, swung the schooner round to face down river once more. Jimbo trotted down the quay, ready to catch the bowline Hammer threw to him.
‘Why did J – the captain do that?’ she asked quietly.
‘To save time,’ the mate explained. ‘Skipper said we might want to get away quick.’
Once Cygnet was securely moored, Caseley looked expectantly at Jago and started towards the midsection of the schooner, ready to disembark. His hand shot out and caught her arm before she could take a second step.
‘No one leaves this vessel until the cargo has been unloaded and the quicksilver brought aboard and stowed below.’ He looked over Caseley’s shoulder. ‘That includes you, Valdes.’
‘Enough of this foolishness,’ Antonio snapped. ‘You cannot keep me here against my will.’
‘Nor do I wish to.’ Jago was perfectly calm. ‘But you have been ill. You are still weak and, I believe, feverish. A few hours’ rest while we unload will help you recover. Believe me, señor, I have no wi
sh to detain you. Jimbo, escort Señor Valdes to his cabin.’ He walked away before the Spaniard could draw breath to argue.
‘This way, sir.’ Jimbo’s gesture was polite, but his eyes were alert and his strong stocky body was twice the width of Antonio’s slender frame.
To Caseley’s surprise, instead of storming off in a rage, Antonio shrugged in apparent acceptance.
‘I’m going to find the wharfinger,’ Jago told Nathan. ‘We’ll get no help at this time of night. But the space is booked and paid for so he can’t refuse to open the warehouse. Set up the winch and start unloading onto the quay.’
‘Let me go with you,’ Caseley pleaded softly. ‘I can deliver the contract and be back on board before the men have finished unloading. Then I won’t delay departure.’
Jago’s glare froze her. ‘Have you taken leave of your senses? You want me to let you go off into town, alone, at this time of night?’ A harsh whisper, his voice vibrated with impatience. ‘In the name of all that’s holy, you live in a port. How could you be stupid enough to suggest such a thing?’
‘Then send one of the men with me. I –’
‘They are all needed here.’ He bit the words off. ‘When the work is completed, I will take you to deliver this contract. Until then, you stay right where you are.’ He sprang onto the gunwale then leapt onto the quay. Striding quickly towards a row of warehouses, he disappeared into a shadowed alley between two of them.
Chapter Seventeen
Caseley leaned over the schooner’s side and looked down into the black oily water. In the lamplight she saw a rainbow broken by bits of cork and frayed rope floating on the surface as water slopped between the quay and Cygnet’s hull. She shivered.
Even with two sound feet she would be wary of jumping that gap. It wasn’t very wide. But the schooner was riding two feet below the quay and the top of the gunwale was narrow, wet, and slippery. Hampered by her long skirts, it would be all too easy to slip and find herself trapped between the wooden hull and stone quay, unable to climb up and no one able to reach her as filthy black water filled her nose and mouth, dragging her down …
