The Pirate's Daughter

by Helen Dickson

  He would watch her with a hint of admiration in the depths of his dark eyes, and he could not deny that never had a woman with so much beauty graced his dinner table. She made a charming and decorative hostess. Seated at the opposite end to her, he would allow his gaze to linger on the perfection of her features and the tender, irresistible curve of her lips as she happily conversed with the gentlemen around her, ingratiating herself into the ship’s company with perfect ease.

  That she was completely at home surrounded by seamen and the sea was one cruel reminder of the time she had spent with Drum O’Leary aboard the Dolphin following Wylde’s execution. Often she would sense him watching her and meet his gaze. Her eyes would narrow and she would arch her sleek brows in silent question.

  Life was tedious on board ship, and when an attractive nineteen-year-old midshipman by the name of Daniel Stark began paying Cassandra more attention than was seemly towards the Captain’s wife, she saw little harm in being charming in the face of such politeness. Unfortunately, Stuart was not of the same opinion.

  From across the table one evening during dinner his eyes rested on his wife with angry reproach. Stuart found it impossible to take his eyes from her as she indulged in light repartee with the young midshipman. She leaned towards him, her lovely eyes alight with pleasure as she laughed delightedly at something he said close to her ear, seeming to exclude the company around them. Stuart’s blood boiled at the liberty Stark was taking with his wife. Those gathered round the table would have been dumbfounded to know that, as he languidly toyed with the stem of his goblet, he was seething inside.

  Cassandra’s attentiveness went to Stark’s head quicker than the wine he drank. Clearly he was quite besotted, and so naïve was she that his charm blinded her judgement and she trod the trembling ground with an innocent’s boldness, without realising the trouble she might bring to the young midshipman. Out of the corner of her eye she observed Stuart’s brooding look of deep displeasure, and, meeting his gaze head on, she ventured to put on an expression of considerable amusement.

  Leaving the gentlemen to their brandy after the meal, Cassandra and Rosa went on deck where, as was usual at this time, the crew was relaxing. After they listened to the spell-binding quality of a man singing a ballad, the ship’s fiddler began scraping away vigorously at a merry jig, at which there came a rousing cheer and everyone became infected with feverish gaiety as men began clapping and dancing with each other.

  Cassandra was astonished when Daniel Stark came on deck and boldly caught her about the waist and whirled her into the dance. At first she laughingly protested and held back, for, being the Captain’s wife, she never entered into any of the frivolities and was always happy to observe from a distance. But, seeing the merry light in her partner’s eyes, and that Rosa was already enjoying the dance with a lively young seaman, the temptation to dance and lighten her heavy heart was too much to resist.

  The whole ship rang with lusty cheers of appreciation from the crew as she proceeded to enter into the spirit of things, having no conception as she did so of the anger it provoked in Stuart when he came on deck and saw her partaking in the merriment, with the crew clapping and stamping their feet in accompaniment in the circle of light cast by the lanterns hanging in the rigging.

  As he stood in the shadow, his eyes became riveted on his wife as she danced with gay abandon. The tempo was quick and, with skirts swaying, her nimble feet flashed over the deck. There was something vibrant and passionate about the way she moved—easy and agile, taunting, tantalising and lovely to watch. She threw back her head and laughed with innocent delight into the eyes of young Stark, causing the young midshipman to look at her in a way that made Stuart’s temper difficult to control. A searing stab of jealousy pierced his heart. If she had not been his wife he would have been enthralled by her wild beauty, but as it was he became possessed of a blinding fury.

  When the dance had finished, Cassandra laughingly declined to dance some more. As the merriment continued she sauntered away, letting her gaze wander into the shadows. Her breath caught in her throat when she saw Stuart’s still figure watching her and, despite the distance between them, she could feel his anger coming to her in waves. Deciding that confidence was the best way of dealing with his moods, she walked towards him, Daniel Stark close at her heels.

  Chapter Eight

  ‘Why, Stuart. You find me enjoying myself,’ Cassandra remarked breathlessly.

  ‘So I see,’ he replied coldly, taking in at a glance her hair tumbling about her shoulders in an aura of disarray, her flushed face and shining eyes. He wondered if it was her exertions that made her look so radiant or the lingering feel of Stark’s arm about her waist.

  His expression was impenetrable, bearing no hint of what he was feeling—only his eyes did that, and what Cassandra saw in their black depths was infinitely more terrifying than the marble severity of his face. Daniel shifted uneasily beside her, and Stuart favoured him with a withering glance.

  ‘You may leave us, Stark. My wife has danced enough for one evening.’

  Realising he might have overstepped the mark by taking too much liberty with the captain’s wife, and not wishing to antagonise him further by staying to offer words in his defence, Daniel acquiesced with a slight inclination of his head and made a hasty retreat, knowing he would be severely reprimanded for it later.

  Stuart moved away towards the rail, out of earshot, away from the light and the noise of the revellers and curious eyes. He sensed, rather that saw, Cassandra follow him, and that she stood behind him, staring at his taut back.

  ‘Stuart! What is the matter?’ she asked, sensing the tension vibrating inside him.

  He turned and looked at her. Her eyes glimmered into his as she closed the distance between them. Her neck was bare and the lanterns’ glow turned her skin down to her breasts to the sheen of gold. He wanted to reach out and touch her, to feel the warmth of her, the beauty of her, but if he did that he would be lost. They would both be lost. Focusing his gaze on the blackness beyond the ship, he moved away from her to recover himself. He needed to have some distance between them, since his male body, no matter what he might say, didn’t give a damn.

  ‘You cannot be angry with me for dancing. I could hardly resist Mr Stark in such high spirits and it was so good to dance.’ It seemed like an eternity before Stuart turned, and she cringed before the naked anger glowing in his eyes.

  ‘It would seem young Stark has acquired a boldness otherwise unknown to him. To act so free with the captain’s wife is not acceptable. It is intolerable. I will share many things, but I will not share my wife.’

  The brief drift of happiness Cassandra had experienced in the dance melted away. Regaining her composure, she struck a huge lode of stubbornness at least as rich as his. ‘Come now, Stuart. You cannot be serious. It was harmless—a moment of jollity—nothing more. Mr Stark was merely being polite. I enjoy talking to him and he makes me laugh. And, anyway, why should you object when you are no longer interested in what I do?’ she reminded him with a bitter smile.

  Stuart glared at her. Most of what she said was true—though not the last part—and what was she guilty of other than enjoying herself? But he was angry and his anger made him cruel. Nothing had prepared him for the shock, the intense resentment he had felt on seeing another man pay her such close attention. ‘The fact remains that you are still my wife,’ he stated with lethal calmness, ‘and I would kill any man who became your lover.’

  Cassandra’s temper erupted. ‘I may be your wife, Stuart, but you have cast me aside. If I so wished, I would take whom I please to my bed and be damned to you.’ The words were flung at him without thought, the sheer absurdity of them making a nonsense of them. For her to take anyone else other that Stuart to her bed was unthinkable.

  Stuart’s reaction was instant. His face had gone white beneath his tan, his eyes harder than ice. ‘If you ever think of doing any such thing,’ he said in a low, savage voice, ‘you will yearn for th
e days before you met me.’

  ‘I am beginning to do so already,’ she was quick to retort in retaliation, instantly regretting the lie and wishing she hadn’t said it. She sighed heavily. ‘I’m sorry, Stuart. I didn’t mean that. But there’s precious little to do on board this ship—especially when my own husband treats me like some kind of pariah. But I have no wish to argue with you over this. It’s too ridiculous for words.’

  ‘Ridiculous? I think not.’

  Tilting her head slightly to one side, an unconsciously provocative smile suddenly curved Cassandra’s lips. ‘Why, Stuart,’ she taunted softly, moving within his arm’s reach, the subtle smell of her perfume wafting over him in a cloud, ‘from your behaviour and the way you speak, anyone would think you are jealous of Mr Stark.’

  Her barb struck home, which only succeeded in increasing Stuart’s wrath. His eyes glittered dangerously. ‘Jealousy is not something I can be accused of—and I will never admit to so base an emotion with no other reason than to flatter your vanity. I am neither blind nor dim-witted that I cannot see what’s going on. That young pup follows you with eyes like a lovesick calf from stem to stern, and you—you behave like a silly, giggling girl. The fact that you do nothing to discourage him infuriates me. I find the time you spend in his company offensive. How dare you think you can make a fool of me in front of the entire ship’s company?’

  Cassandra stared at him incredulously, momentarily stunned by what she considered to be an unwarranted accusation. Her cheeks became flushed with indignation. ‘I was not aware that I had,’ she retorted, clenching her fists under the folds of her dress to calm herself, the freezing contempt in his eyes having brought a rush of anger.

  ‘That you should behave so brazenly with every man of your acquaintance I will not tolerate. But then,’ he said, speaking with quiet, icy precision, ‘being in the company of villains as often as you have—men lacking in both morals and principles—there is no telling what you will and will not do.’

  They were both breathing hard as their eyes clashed, hers blazing as hot as his. ‘Your accusations are ill founded and unjust—and I will not stay to be insulted by my own husband.’ With a scornful toss of her head she turned and walked away.

  ‘Cassandra, wait.’ Her head turned at the cool authority of his tone, but to Stuart’s astonishment she ignored it. He marched after her, his hand moving as rapidly as a striking snake as it closed cruelly around her arm and spun her round. Her glorious hair fell across her neck and shoulders and over his hands. Hot blood stained her cheeks red, and her angry eyes were shining with tears. Her chin tilted obstinately. Confident of her love, he had thought her pliable to his demands, but she outfaced him, her tempestuous nature ready to do battle with his.

  ‘Damn your treacherous heart,’ he hissed between clenched teeth, wishing she didn’t look so unbearably beautiful, so young and vulnerable, facing him in her outrageous mutiny. He was on the point of fury where all reason had left him. ‘I warn you, Cassandra, I will not tolerate you making a spectacle of yourself again. Is that understood?’

  ‘Why—what will you do? Throw me overboard? Feed me to the sharks? Lock me in my cabin?’

  ‘If necessary. And if you so much as glance at young Stark, I shall have him keelhauled.’

  Cassandra blanched at his threat. ‘You wouldn’t.’

  ‘Try me.’ His voice was hoarse, strained with anger. He towered over her, his eyes so full of blazing fury that Cassandra feared he would strike her.

  When she looked at his satanic features, at his jaw taut with rage, she saw a stranger, a violent stranger, of whom she was suddenly very much afraid. She stared at him, her mind in turmoil. She could actually feel the savage, scorching fury that was emanating from him. It was as if, by her abandoned behaviour, she had unleashed some untamed force inside him that she had never dreamed existed in any human being.

  ‘Disobey me, Cassandra, and you will soon learn what I can and cannot do.’

  ‘Disobey you? How dare you remind me of my vows? It is I who should remind you of yours.’

  ‘You are my wife and will behave as such. You will follow my instructions for your behaviour until this voyage is over. Is that clear? And until that time I suggest that your evenings are spent in conversation with your companion—with whom, considering your backgrounds, you have much in common—and, when the meal is over, refrain from coming on deck at this time.’

  ‘You cannot mean that?’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘You mean that you would have me cooped up down below every evening—in all that heat?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  The delivery of his words was cold and lethal, leaving no doubt in Cassandra’s mind that he meant what he said. ‘So—I am to be punished.’

  ‘It is not the word I would use—but if that is the way you see it then I will not argue. I think you have created enough diversion for the members of my crew for one night. Go below.’

  ‘And you can go to hell, Stuart Marston.’ Cassandra turned on her heel and strode off across the deck.

  Having been a sharp-eyed observer of the incident, and not unaware of young Stark’s captivation for Stuart’s beautiful wife, James Randell approached him, leaning against the rails, calmly puffing at his clay pipe and sending up small clouds of smoke, which went drifting away into the night sky.

  ‘Forgive me, Stuart, and I know it’s none of my business, but I am aware of the attention young Stark pays your wife. The poor lad’s smitten. Would you like me to have a word with him?’

  Stuart shook his head slowly, his anger of a moment earlier subsiding. ‘No—there’s no need, thank you all the same, James. I believe he is aware of my displeasure and will trouble my wife less in the future.’

  ‘If you’re sure.’

  ‘Confined as we all are on board this ship, and my wife and her companion being the only females, it is only natural that members of the crew find it difficult keeping their eyes off either of them.’ This was true, but Rosa was not as beautiful in the accepted sense as Cassandra was. Cassandra was exquisite, with the kind of beauty that made every man she came into contact with sigh with longing. She drew men to her like bees to honey, and always would. ‘Good Lord, James, I don’t expect them to go around in blinkers, but I suspect young Stark wants a good deal more from my wife than merely to converse. I have seen the look in his eyes.’

  James chuckled, speaking casually. ‘Aye! But what about the look in the lady’s eyes? My observations tell me she is quite uninterested. She is too much in love with her husband to have eyes for anyone else.’

  Stuart glanced at him sharply, but before he could say more James had sauntered off, still puffing at his pipe.

  Cassandra had thrown Stuart off balance by boldly succumbing to Mr Stark’s attentions, and his threat to confine her to the cabin was not an idle one. She had been playing with fire, she could see that now, and it must stop. She wouldn’t risk angering Stuart to the point where he would carry out his threat and have her removed entirely from his presence. It was important that she remained close to him so that she could stoke the flames of his desire.

  Determined to make matters no worse than they already were, she took great care after that to avoid the companionship of Daniel Stark.

  When Rosa failed to appear in Cassandra’s cabin one morning, as she usually did before they took a turn on deck, she went in search of her, surprised and concerned to find her young companion collapsed on the bed in her cabin, retching spasmodically and her usually cheerful face pale and drawn.

  ‘Good gracious, Rosa,’ she said, going to her in alarm. ‘You are unwell. How long have you been like this? You seemed all right last night at dinner.’

  Rosa sighed, closing her eyes and letting her head fall back on to her pillows. ‘Yes, I was. It came on suddenly—shortly after I came to bed.’ Her words were slurred and she spoke with effort.

  ‘Do you suppose it’s something you ate at dinner?’

  ‘No. If it
was, I dare say others would be ill, too. But don’t worry, Cassandra. I’ll be all right when I’ve rested a while.’

  ‘You should have called me,’ Cassandra reproached gently, pouring some water into a basin and bathing her friend’s face, noticing how dry her skin was and how her forehead burned with fever. She tried to sit up, but Cassandra pushed her back on to the pillows. ‘Don’t even attempt to get up, Rosa. I’ll fetch Mr Patterson. I’m sure he’ll be able to give you something to bring your fever down and make you feel better. I won’t be long.’ She went out, her heart pounding hard, more concerned about Rosa’s condition than she dared to admit just then.

  Stuart was on deck when Cassandra appeared. Observing how distraught she looked, he strode towards her. ‘Cassandra, wait,’ he commanded.

  At the sound of his voice she stopped and turned as he approached.

  ‘What is it?’ he asked sharply, looking down at her anxious features. She stared up at him with eyes wide and fearful, in a face out of which every hint of colour had fled. ‘Is something wrong?’

  ‘Yes—it’s Rosa. She’s ill—very ill. I’m so concerned about her.’ If she had not been so worried about her friend, she would have seen that Stuart was regarding her seriously, with a look not devoid of concern. ‘I must find Mr Patterson immediately. I am hoping he can give her something to make her feel better.’

  ‘How long has she been like this?’

  ‘She became ill during the night. At first I thought it might be something she ate at dinner, or even seasickness due the sudden squall that took hold of the ship when the wind rose during the night—but she’s a good sailor and has never been troubled by it in the past.’

  ‘Then go back to her. I’ll have someone locate Mr Patterson and send him to attend Rosa directly. Has she a fever?’

  ‘Yes. She’s also vomiting.’