The Pirate's Daughter

by Helen Dickson

  ‘Y-yes,’ she stammered. ‘He—he is staying at the Courtly plantation, which is the home of Sir Charles Courtly in the parish of St George. Sir Charles is John’s long-time friend, who also has large investments in the Wyndham Company.’

  Stuart nodded. Her confusion showed on her face. She was very young, her face that of a guileless child, and his own became warm and gentle, and yet at the same time ardent. He drank in her presence, quelling the insane impulse to bend his head and slowly, endlessly, kiss the smile from her soft inviting lips, to carry her along the shore away from prying eyes and make love to her.

  She had no conception of her own beauty or the impact it had on men. No woman had ever affected him so deeply on first meeting. He must see her again, and the knowledge that he would exhilarated him. She fired his blood. He wanted her completely and irrevocably—with a need that defied all reason.

  ‘Then at least allow me to arrange some transport to take you out there.’

  Cassandra accepted gracefully. There was a vigorous purposefulness in his long quick strides as he headed for the waterfront, and an air of carefully restrained power, of forcefulness, emanating from him. She stood rooted to the sand, while all of Meredith’s dark warnings about being acquainted with men such as Captain Marston rushed through her mind.

  He spoke with a silver tongue, and his words, like his bold stare, set her blood aflame. He had told her he would be reluctant to see her go, and she was surprised how reluctant she would be to leave him. She told herself she was being foolish, that she was overreacting to what was nothing more than empty flattery, that it could not matter to her. Despite what he thought and said, she could not link her future with that of a reckless sea captain. In no time at all he returned.

  ‘It’s all arranged. A carriage is waiting to take you out to the Courtly plantation. It’s hardly a vehicle fit for a lady, but it will get you there.’

  ‘Thank you. You have been most helpful.’

  ‘I hope we will meet again before I have to return to England. Perhaps when I return from Jamaica. Everything about you intrigues me in a way that makes me want to get to know you better.’

  Suspicious of his flattery, Cassandra laughed nervously, though a traitorous part of her responded to the low caress of his voice. She had to get away from him—to escape the intoxicating madness he was plunging her into. She needed all her willpower to dispel the assault on her defences. This man was too assured, too handsome, too irresistibly exciting by far.

  ‘And I think you are an outrageous flatterer, and capable of luring helpless females into a game at which you are obviously a master, Captain Marston. Yes, I can well believe that you are capable of charming a snake out of its basket. How many female hearts have you stolen with such honeyed sentiments?’

  His look was swift and predatory, and a roguish gleam brightened his eyes. ‘Some—although I see nothing helpless about you. However, most women would think such thoughts but never utter them.’

  Cassandra saw laughter lurking in the depths of his dark eyes. He was mocking her. Annoyance stirred and her eyes flashed. ‘I am not most women, Captain Marston.’

  He raised an eyebrow with an amused admiration. He hadn’t missed the flare of temper in her eyes. ‘I couldn’t agree more. You are unaware of the potency of your charms that makes you different, Mistress Everson, and I meant no insult.’

  Cassandra smothered a smile at the man’s outrageous audacity. ‘None taken.’

  ‘And you will allow me to call on you when I return?’

  ‘Yes, of course. I shall look forward to it,’ she murmured.

  ‘Thank you. Duty may take me away from you now, but not for long. I will not lose you. If you are not here when I return, then I will find you in London.’ His voice was low, urgent and persuasive, and he was studying her from beneath his strongly marked eyebrows, watching her face as he bowed his dark head politely, his expression appraising as she turned and began to move away and followed the young midshipman and her companion off the beach.

  Stuart’s eyes continued to watch her. Her step was one of confidence, as if she sensed hidden dangers ahead but determined nevertheless to enjoy them. She moved gracefully, with an added fluency that drew the eye to the elegance of her straight back and the proud tilt of her head. In those first dazzling moments when he had scooped her out of the capsizing boat, neither had been prepared for the impact of their meeting, for the attraction had been mutual and instantaneous. The unexpectedness of it astounded Stuart, and Cassandra would have been surprised if she had known the depth of his feelings as she walked away from him. Suddenly, this, his final trip on the Sea Hawk, had begun to take on a certain appeal.

  Young, original and fresh, Mistress Everson possessed an indescribable magnetism in abundance, with that unique quality of innocence and sexuality rarely come by. She was a woman, hardly more than a child, with a combination of youthful beauty and an untouched air of shy modesty, and yet she had about her a primitive earthiness that sat strangely at odds with her well-bred gentility. When she smiled a small dimple appeared in her cheek, and her rosy parted lips revealed perfect, small white teeth. Stuart was enchanted. He thought he had never seen anything quite so appealing or irresistibly captivating as Mistress Everson. Women like her were as scarce and as hard to come by as a rare jewel and must be treated as such, and he was determined that she would not escape him.

  He knew practically nothing about her, but the violence and depth of his attraction, and his instinct, told him he had met the woman with whom he wished to spend the rest of his life. He had always avoided any sentimental attachment, yet here, against his will—for he had not thought to look for a wife until he returned to England—he found his head filled with thoughts of Mistress Everson, and he became determined that as soon as he returned from Jamaica he would embark on the most exhilarating and exciting chase of his life.

  As he was about to turn away he stopped in his tracks and looked at her again, checked, suddenly, by a memory when he saw a thick strand of her silvery gold hair, having come loose from the pins securing it beneath her hat, become caught by the breeze. It toyed with it and raised it high, and it rippled and danced behind her as she walked like a ship’s pennon borne on the wind. His brow became creased in a puzzled frown when the memory stirred once more. He tried to think what it was and to remember of whom it was Mistress Everson reminded him. He got no further, for at that moment he was distracted when one of his crew drew his attention, and he was forced to turn his mind to other things.

  Cassandra knew Captain Marston was watching her as she walked away through the vibrant, colourful profusion of people thronging the beach. She was tempted to turn her head and look back, but for some strange reason that was beyond her she kept her eyes focused ahead.

  How could it be that after a few minutes away from him she was already craving his company once more? When he had looked into her eyes she had felt the intensity of his regard, and had known that he was passionately aware of her. Their meeting had left her tingling with pleasure, for she had never met a man so fascinating, stimulating and exciting. That he was a man of power and accustomed to obedience from others was clear.

  She very much hoped they would meet again—or did she? She sighed, totally confused. What was wrong with her? Had she lost control of her reason? Was the island getting to her already? Was it the heat or some temporary madness? No one had ever made her feel this way. Could it possibly be that she was falling in love with a man she had met just once?

  Chapter Three

  The Courtly plantation lay some four miles inland in the parish of St George, a broad lowland area separating the higher central uplands from the southern region. Since the settlement of Barbados by English colonists in 1627, the island had developed with astonishing rapidity, as forest clearance had proceeded apace, and the production of sugar, and its by-products, rum and molasses, had become the island’s principal economy. Barbados was politically stable, with the institution of slavery
dominating every aspect of life on the island.

  Protected from the sun’s hot rays by a parasol she had acquired in Trinidad, seated beside Rosa in the swaying carriage, Cassandra had a good view of the sun-drenched island. At the back of her was the jewel-bright sea, and before her stretched an undulating landscape of small settlements, modest hills and a patchwork of flat, tidy sugar fields, with the sight of expansive sugar plantations and poorly maintained settlers’ cabins dotting the verdant landscape.

  Winding footpaths cut through brush and forest, thick with tropical foliage. The size and shapes of the trees, many of them towering fringed cabbage palms, were awesome. Leaving the road, they travelled down a wide track. Ahead of them were the outbuildings and the main house of a sprawling plantation. The three-storey stone and timber house, sturdy and handsome, which had been built on a rise above the cane fields to catch the cooling breezes and to look over the estate, was a stately English manor house in a tropical setting.

  The plantation consisted of boiling houses and distilleries and other factory houses necessary for the manufacture of sugar, along with the squalid rows of palm-thatched slave huts, which were at the rear of the big house. They were partly hidden from sight by a barrier of trees and far enough away so any unpleasant odours did not offend the refined noses of the gentry who inhabited or visited Courtly Hall.

  John had told her a little of Sir Charles Courtly, whose father, backed by merchant capital in England, had arrived on Barbados in the 1640s. Growing sugar had been his carriage to wealth and he had amassed a fortune, which, on his demise, had passed to his son. The family had become one of several that had come to dominate the island’s economy and politics. When he wasn’t in England—where he displayed an ostentatious lifestyle—Sir Charles Courtly hosted some of the most elaborate social gatherings on the island.

  The carriage travelled up a long, narrow avenue lined with fringed palms. As they neared the house Cassandra’s reaction to the heat, the smell, the noise and the people she saw going about their work was almost physical. She breathed deeply with pleasure, for nothing had prepared her for this, but when the carriage stopped at the door of the house her heart throbbed. Knowing the painful interview with her cousin was close, a tension began to build inside her.

  The door was opened by a servant, a man resplendent in pale blue silk, and when he saw Cassandra and Rosa, a wide, incredulous smile of welcome split his black face. The man, whose name was Henry, was so polite and his smile so infectious, that the two women were put at ease immediately.

  When Cassandra introduced herself and Rosa and told him who it was she wished to see, he bade them enter. Cassandra paused to enquire of the young midshipman about paying the driver of the carriage, only to be told that the fee had been settled by the gentleman who had hired it. Cassandra’s heart warmed with gratitude for Captain Marston. If she should meet the handsome sea captain again—which she sincerely hoped would be the case—she would thank him for his kindness.

  After unloading the carriage and placing the baggage in the drive, the midshipman climbed back on to the seat beside the driver and headed back to Bridgetown. At the same time as the visitors entered the house, a petite, elegant lady with a vivacious air, in middle age, breezed into the hall. The faint scent of roses surrounded her, floating from her lilac silk gown. It was the fragrance that always reminded Cassandra of Meredith, the scent of home, comfort and love. A host of memories stirred in her heart, and her conscience pricked her, sharp in its sting, for she sincerely hoped Meredith had forgiven her for disappearing like she had.

  ‘I am Julia Courtly,’ the lady murmured, introducing herself immediately and greeting Cassandra with unfeigned pleasure, a delighted smile dawning on her face, much of her youthful beauty still very much in evidence.

  Cassandra felt a pair of brown eyes scrutinising her curiously. ‘I am Cassandra Everson, Lady Courtly, and this is Rosa, my companion. I must offer my deep apologies that we should impose ourselves on you uninvited, but I am here to see my cousin, Sir John Everson. I believe he is staying here at Courtly Hall.’

  Lady Courtly looked most surprised. ‘He certainly is, my dear, but John never said you were coming.’

  Cassandra had the grace to look contrite. ‘He—he doesn’t know. I thought I would surprise him.’

  ‘And he will be. I can’t tell you how pleased I am to welcome you to Courtly Hall,’ Lady Courtly said effusively. ‘We will not trouble ourselves as to why you have come to Barbados or how, but will see that your visit is an enjoyable one.’

  ‘John—is here?’ Cassandra enquired tentatively.

  ‘Yes, I do believe so, but not here in the house. He prefers to stay in a bungalow in the grounds.’ Her eyes went past Cassandra to Rosa, who looked as if she were about to wilt. ‘Mercy! You must think me atrociously lacking in manners. Please forgive me. You will be tired and in dire need of refreshment after your journey. Come into the drawing room.’ She ushered them inside, turning to Henry and instructing him to have refreshments sent in.

  The interior of the room was cool and elegant, with exquisite silk hangings, pictures and gilt mirrors, carpets and furniture shipped over from England and France years before, a tribute to the family’s good taste.

  ‘You must be made comfortable at once,’ Lady Courtly said. ‘I shall see that rooms are prepared while you take some refreshment.’

  Cassandra smiled her gratitude. She hadn’t expected to be greeted so warmly. ‘I thank you for your kind thought,’ she said in a low voice, ‘but Rosa and I really don’t wish to be any trouble. It was an exceedingly irresponsible action on my part to come here without a proper invitation. We will be perfectly content to stay with John.’

  ‘What! In that poky bungalow where there isn’t room for a body to turn round? Absolutely not. I’ll not hear of it. You are John’s cousin and there is no better place for you to stay than under this roof. Besides, with my son and his wife away in England at present, the house is much too quiet.’ Impulsively Lady Courtly put out her hand and laid it on Cassandra’s, her smile warm and entrancing. ‘I shall so enjoy having you stay and introducing you to our friends, and you can tell me all about what is happening in England.’

  ‘Thank you, Lady Courtly. I will speak to John.’

  ‘Of course you will, and I know he will agree that it is best you stay here. Oh, and my name is Julia, by the way. Lady Courtly sounds pompous and so formal, I always think. The three of you will dine here later—and then you can meet my husband.’

  After partaking of much-needed refreshment, Cassandra and Rosa were directed to John’s bungalow some distance from the house by a shy young houseboy. The small building was almost hidden by the surrounding trees and sweet-scented flowering shrubs, and all manner of hanging and climbing creepers, with blossoms as dark as crimson or white as snow. The air was heavy with their perfume and the droning of bees.

  Thanking the boy, who scuttled away, Cassandra stepped on to the verandah, welcoming the cool tranquillity of the shade it offered. Two bamboo rocking chairs stood side by side, and a hammock hung from a nearby tree. Gingerly she stepped through the open door, unprepared for the exotic strangeness of the bungalow, of its smell of lemons and musk. The polished wooden floor was strewn with gaily-coloured woven mats, and curtains fluttered in the gentlest of breezes at the open windows. Brocade upholstered divans scattered with corded and tasselled cushions stood against the walls.

  Emerging from an adjoining room, hastily fastening his breeches, John’s appearance was dishevelled, his eyes languid. Cassandra laughed with delight on seeing her cousin, of whom she was extremely fond. Her delight was shortlived. The effect her arrival had on the man who was twelve years her senior was one of incredulity and absolute horror. Despite the heat and John’s natural high colour, his rapidly whitening wide-eyed face was enough to unsettle Cassandra’s composure.

  Smiling apprehensively, she moved towards him, hoping for an embrace, but John did not laugh, and nor did the coffee-
skinned, scantily clad young woman who had come to stand behind him, who was staring at Cassandra in wondrous awe.

  John’s righteous display of anger fairly shook his body, for the mere fact that Cassandra had arrived unheralded on Barbados at all was bad enough, but that she should come upon him while he was savouring the welcoming and undemanding delights of his native mistress in the middle of the day was embarrassing to say the least.

  ‘Cassandra! Confound it!’ he exploded. ‘What in damnation are you doing here?’

  ‘Please, John, don’t be angry with me. Let me explain—’

  ‘Explain? Explain what?’ he shouted as the young woman behind him slipped back into the bedroom, her bare feet a whisper on the floorboards. ‘Nothing you have to say can justify your appearance. How dare you come all this way without my knowledge or approval? It simply will not do. Your astounding conduct is reckless and foolhardy to say the least. You always were too stubborn and headstrong for your own good, but I thought you’d more sense than to do something like this. What if I had returned to England—or been carried off by one of the infernal diseases that are forever rampant in the tropics?’

  ‘Then I would have no choice but to return to England myself. Oh, come now, John,’ she pleaded. ‘Tell me you are pleased to see me.’

  John was unappeased by her apparent calm; in fact, it only increased his anger. He moved closer, glaring at her. ‘Have you taken leave of your senses? Have you gone mad? How can you expect me to be pleased to see you when you arrive unheralded and unattended? What in God’s name possessed you?’