She never asked him about Kincaid. Since Kay had led her to believe that Kincaid was dead, she didn’t expect him to change his story, and she didn’t want him to know that she thought he was a liar.
Her memories of leaving the camp by the waterfall were still clouded by her sickness. She did remember that Kincaid had thrown back into the pool what gold he and the Indian guides couldn’t carry. What remained of the treasure had been in the longboat with them when she and Kincaid returned to the ship. Once the fighting began, she’d not given the treasure another thought until she’d awakened in this house.
Hour after hour she’d lain in bed and tried to summon Kutii’s image again, but he hadn’t come. Her grandmother had possessed the ability to see into the future or—sometimes—events occurring in the present in a different place. Bess had always been afraid of the sight she had inherited from her grandmother, but now she wished she had more of the power, not less. She wanted desperately to know for certain if Kincaid was alive—and, if he was, whether he was recovering from his terrible wounds or near death.
On the fourth day, she could wait no longer. When Annemie came to open the shutters in the early morning, Bess was standing beside the bed. “I want to dress,” she said. “I must see Lord Kay at once.”
Annemie nodded. “I thought you must be feeling better. I will have a bathing tub and suitable clothing brought to you. My master will be available at twelve. He—”
“No,” Bess said firmly. “Not noon. This morning.” When she had awakened just before light, she’d had the strongest sensation that Kincaid was in even greater danger—that if she didn’t act quickly, his life force would be extinguished like a snuffed-out candle. “Please tell Lord Kay that I must see him before breakfast.”
Annemie hesitated. For an instant she gave Bess a shrewd gaze of appraisal.
Bess’s stomach churned. She had no idea what she would say to Kay when she saw him. She only knew she must do something at once. “Please,” she said.
The older woman nodded. “I like you, missy. If my master must take a wife, perhaps you are not the worst one for this household.”
Bess shook her head. “Oh, but I am,” she answered softly. “My heart is already pledged to another. Nothing can come of this relationship with Lord Kay that will not bring sorrow to all of us.”
An hour later, bathed, perfumed, and dressed in an indigo undergown and an old-fashioned azure silk gown with puffed sleeves, Bess was ushered into a bright, richly furnished parlor by Annemie. Lord Kay was seated at one end of a magnificent teakwood table set for a morning meal for two. He rose as Bess entered the room, smiled, and bowed with all the grace of a polished courtier.
“Elizabeth. How lovely you look this morning! I’m so pleased you could join me for breakfast.” He waved her to a place beside him. A uniformed footman pulled out the chair, and Bess allowed him to seat her.
Lord Kay smiled warmly at Annemie. “I know you’ll not mind breakfasting in the kitchen this morning, my dear. Elizabeth and I have much to discuss.”
Bess glanced up at Annemie and read the anguish written on her plain features as clearly as if it had been lettered in gilt script.
“As you wish, sir,” Annemie murmured. She curtsied and left the room with the footman.
Lord Kay was dressed in a black, purple, and orange flowered morning gown of quilted satin, and a black silk turban. But despite the fashionable clothing, there was no hint of effeminacy about him. His long face was weathered by the tropical sun and the sea, and the intensity of his gaze as he scrutinized her figure left no doubt as to his romantic interests.
He was freshly shaven. Bess could still smell the bite of shaving soap in the air and see damp spots on his face. His hands were clean, his long fingers heavy with rings, and his nails neatly trimmed.
Her gaze drifted past her host to rest on the large oil portrait that hung on the wall. The painting was that of a striking woman standing on a cliff overlooking the sea. Bess’s lips parted in astonishment; she might have been staring into a mirror. The gown she was wearing and the one in the painting were identical. “My grandmother,” she said. “That’s my grandmother when she was my age.”
Kay chuckled. “The gown is a nice touch, don’t you think, my dear? I had it made especially for you. I’d like you to wear it at our wedding—along with this.” He picked up a velvet case from the table, stood up, and came around behind her.
Bess stiffened as he hung a heavy necklace of gold disks around her throat, then fastened earrings in her ears. She couldn’t see the design on the earrings, but she caught a gleam of gold reflection in the silver wine goblet in front of her plate. She raised one of the disks and stared at the beautiful etchings of strange symbols, mythical birds, and animals. She didn’t recognize the piece as one she and Kincaid had brought out of the jungle.
“This is part of my inheritance from my father,” Kay explained. “Lovely, isn’t it?” He returned to his chair and sat down. “Are you hungry? Shall I have—”
“We need to talk,” Bess said. “Lord Kay, I—”
“Peregrine,” he corrected her. “You must call me by my Christian name. There is no need for formality between us.”
“What do you want of me?” she asked frankly.
His lips curved in a smile, but his eyes hardened. “My dear, you disappoint me. I thought you knew. We are to be husband and wife.”
“Why?”
“Because I want you. I’ve wanted you for years.” He leaned forward and reached across the table to take her hand.
She pulled it out of his reach. “I’m not my grandmother, Peregrine. And I’m not the Elizabeth you imagine. I’m Bess, and I can’t marry you.”
“You don’t have a choice.” His voice took on a steely edge.
“But I do. I don’t belong to you. I’m not a slave like Annemie.”
“She’s not a slave,” he snapped. “Annemie is a free woman and a devoted friend. She—”
“She is yours to command. I am not. Whatever is behind this scheme of yours—whatever happened in the past between your father and my grandmother is long dead.”
“Don’t speak of things you know nothing about.”
“You cannot control my life. I don’t love you. I could never love you. You nearly killed me. You sent men to burn my plantation. And you stole the gold that I risked my life to get. Why in God’s name would you ever think I’d wed with you?”
“You owe it to me, Elizabeth. If you become my wife, it will end this feud between our families and wipe away the disgrace committed against the Kay name. My father—”
“Your father is as dead as my grandmother. It’s over, Peregrine. It’s been over. You are an intelligent man. If you know anything about me, you know that I’d sooner kill you or kill myself than marry my enemy—a man I can never love.”
Peregrine’s face darkened and his breathing quickened. “I will have satisfaction, madam. You have wronged me, and I will redeem my family’s name.”
“What will satisfy your honor?” she demanded. “What do you want? Really? You don’t want a wife who would make every hour of your life miserable. A wife you would have to imprison to keep her from shooting you in the back.”
“If I cannot have your love, in time I will have your respect. But you will be mine.”
“I carry another man’s child. Do you know that?”
He nodded. “Annemie told me. But it doesn’t matter. You can keep your little bastard. We will tell Jamaican society that you are a widow. Do you think I’m some sort of monster that I’d separate a woman from her babe?”
“I know that Kincaid is alive,” she said softly. “I love him. I want you to give him back to me, give us our gold, and let us go.”
“By God!” Peregrine slammed his fist down on the table, sending flatware flying. “By God, you do think I’m mad!”
“Not mad,” she said boldly, rising to her feet. “Not mad. A man larger than life, perhaps, but never mad. You’ve proved th
at much. Who has done what Falconer has done in his lifetime? Did Governor Kay wield so much power for all his titles? You are a greater man than your father, Peregrine, and this is beneath you.”
“If I’m not mad, you think I’m a fool, to give up both you and the gold,” he scoffed.
“You are no thief, Lord Kay,” she said, attempting to play on his vanity. He was far worse, but she knew she’d get nowhere with him by insulting him.
“The gold belongs to me, in payment for what was stolen by your grandmother.”
“It is mine,” she insisted. “Not Lacy’s. Not your father’s. Mine. And if you take what is mine, you become the worst sort of pirate. And from this day forth, when you look in the mirror, you will see the face of a common thief.”
He shrugged. “The gold was never important—you were what mattered. And I will not be denied my revenge.”
“Revenge. Is that what marriage is? A punishment?” She took a deep breath and tried to control her trembling. Her instinct told her that Kay was more dangerous than the jaguar that had attacked them in the jungle. She knew she could not afford to make a mistake with him. “Is it my hand in marriage you want, Peregrine, or is it sex?” she asked him. “If you want me to sleep with you, I will. But I want Kincaid alive. And I want your promise that you will set us both free and never trouble us again.”
He sank down in his chair and covered his face with his hands. For long minutes there was no sound in the room but the tick of a tall case clock and the muted whisper of their breathing.
Bess clenched her hands into knotted fists beneath the folds of her skirt. What had she said? How could she have offered to sleep with this man? Had she taken leave of her senses? But the truth was, for Kincaid’s life and the life of their unborn child, she’d sleep with the devil himself.
At last, Peregrine raised his head and looked at her. “My father never knew Lacy in the biblical sense,” he said. “She was a prize that always escaped him.”
Bess waited.
“Willingly? You would give yourself to me willingly?”
“One night.”
“A week,” he countered.
She shook her head. “No. I couldn’t. One night only, and then you must give us our freedom. And the gold,” she added as she sat down.
“It is not what I’d planned,” he said.
“Things in life rarely are.” She moistened her lips. “But this might be better than what you’d planned. You thought you wanted me dead, then you changed your mind. You can change your mind about this too. Wouldn’t it take a better man to heal the breach between our families than it would to exact a heartless revenge?”
“My father loved her, you know,” Peregrine said. “He loved her and she utterly destroyed him in the end. He lost his mind before he died.”
“Lacy didn’t destroy him,” Bess said. “He destroyed himself. He let the hate eat him up. You don’t have to do that. You can prove yourself a wiser man than he ever was.”
“You value yourself highly, Elizabeth Bennett, to think a night in your arms would be worth a fortune in gold and a lifetime of enmity.”
She forced herself to smile at him, then lowered her lashes seductively. “If I do not, sir, then who will?”
“And what makes you think your Scots barbarian is still alive?”
She tilted her head and looked up at him. “You are a businessman, Peregrine, are you not? You did not reach your position by destroying useful tools. Since you didn’t know if Kincaid would be of use to you, I think you kept him alive.”
“You are very clever for a woman.”
“You reasoned that you could always kill him later.” Kincaid is alive, she cried inwardly. He is! Her insides turned cartwheels. She wanted to cry and weep all at the same time, but she didn’t. She concentrated on Peregrine Kay and what he was saying.
He chuckled. “We would have made a good match, Elizabeth. Are you certain you won’t reconsider? I could make you a very rich woman.” “I’m already rich.”
“I would be good to you.”
“I’m sure you would.”
“One night, I believe we agreed on. And I would expect your full . . . cooperation.”
“Our ship, our gold, Kincaid—alive and breathing—and my own freedom.” Bess’s heart was pounding so hard that she was afraid Kay would hear it and know how frightened she was. “And . . .” She flashed him a charming smile. “. . . your undying friendship.”
“Men have killed for my friendship,” he said deliberately.
“I would have your word, sir.” She stood and extended her hand to him. He took it, and as he squeezed her fingers, she willed herself to know if he was telling the truth or not. If he meant to keep the bargain, then she could do no less—but if he was lying to her. . . If Kay was lying, she’d have to think of another plan, and the time for schemes was fast running out.
“You have my word, as a gentleman.” The left corner of his mouth turned up in a sly smile. “But I give you warning, Elizabeth. If you try to cheat me of my prize, I’ll hand Kincaid over to the Spanish. They’ll castrate him and sell him to the Turks. He’ll spend the rest of his short life as a galley slave.”
She hesitated, clinging to his hand as the awful threat sunk in. The first faint flashes of violet that crossed her mind’s eye were bewildering until she perceived the thread of silver that laced through the purple color. And when she let go and nodded her assent, she was certain in her heart that she had made the right decision.
Nearly another hour passed before Kay instructed Annemie to take Bess to the place where Kincaid was imprisoned. The housekeeper’s manner was cool as she led the way out of the house and through the garden. At any other time, Bess would have marveled at the beautiful trees and flowers, but now her only concern was Kincaid and his well-being. Bees buzzed around her head, bright-colored birds flew overhead, and lizards scampered across the grass in front of her feet, but she didn’t stop to look at them.
“Have you-seen him?” she asked Annemie. “Are his wounds healing?”
The older woman didn’t answer. She just kept walking.
A black gardener doffed his woven hat as the two women swept by. “Morning, Missy Annemie.”
“Albert.”
At the far end of the garden was a dovecote, and beyond that were the stables. Two grooms, also very dark-skinned, were working with the horses. One was exercising a roan colt; the other was plaiting the mane of a gray mare. Both men called out a greeting and removed their hats.
The housekeeper acknowledged them and walked faster. A hound ran toward her and she sent it scampering away with a sharp command. After passing the carriage house, she made a right turn, walked down a shallow grassy slope, and continued onto a well-worn path.
Bess tried again. “I’m not going to marry him, Annemie. I’ve made a bargain with him, and when I keep my part, I’ll go away—forever. Please tell me, have you seen Kincaid?”
“You will soon see for yourself this man of yours.” They followed the trail for about five minutes, then skirted the edge of a sugarcane field and entered a grove of palms. “There,” Annemie said, pointing to a stout wooden enclosure. “My master sometimes keeps slaves here if they cannot be trusted.”
A light-skinned native carrying a musket stepped out from behind a tree to block their way.
“Let us pass,” the housekeeper said. “Lord Kay has given orders that the lady shall see your prisoner.”
Two more brutish men stood in front of a locked gate. They stepped back and slid the iron bolt at Annemie’s request, and the women entered a small, high-walled courtyard. A huge iron sugar kettle stood at one end of the space. Stocks loomed at the other. Three walls were upright logs; the fourth side was a long, low building lined with doors. Four white men, armed with pistols and cane knives, obviously guards, squatted on the dirty sand, casting dice.
“Each door is a single cell,” Annemie explained. “Sometimes more than one man is kept in the stalls. If they are, they ar
e chained.”
Bess cringed. The high walls cut off the breeze and made the enclosure an oven under the burning rays of the tropical sun. The fetid air smelled of fear, and sweat, and human waste. This jail was far worse than the stable they had passed. She knew that Kincaid had been badly injured in the fight on the ship, and she wondered how he could possibly survive under these conditions.
Annemie called to one of the men. Reluctantly, he abandoned the game and came to open the door she pointed to. As the sunlight poured into the dark cell, Bess saw Kincaid lying on a mat on the floor and ran to his side.
“Kincaid,” she cried. She laid a hand on his forehead. His skin was hot to the touch. “Kincaid,” she said, taking hold of his bare shoulders and shaking him. “Can you hear me? It’s Bess!”
“He had a physician,” Annemie said. “Twice he came to wash and bandage him. Without medicine, your man would have died. The sword cut to his side was minor, but the musket wound was slow to heal. He broke a guard’s arm. That is why he is chained.”
Bess ran her hands over the bloodstained bandages and down his filthy body. He was naked, his hair snarled and sour-smelling, his skin covered with insect bites. A rusty leg iron encircled one ankle, and a heavy chain bound him to a ring in the wall. There was no water and no food in the cell. “Oh, Kincaid,” she whispered. She laid her cheek against his, then kissed his parched-lips.
His eyes flickered. “Bess?”
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