Finally he began to move again, stinging strokes that first felt uncomfortable, then exhilarating. Under her curved fingers, she felt the heat of his skin and the tightly curving muscle of his shoulder blades as she slid her hands down his back in a helpless motion. With her face nestled into the taut curve of his shoulder, he thrust again and again, taking her to realms she’d never dreamed existed.
This, then, was what it was all about—this giving and taking between a man and a woman. And she lost herself in him, with his harsh breathing in her ear and her body filled with him, hot and heavy inside her, love in its most primitive form. Now, she thought with a faint sob, she understood it all.
And when he gave a long, shuddering groan and stiffened inside her, thrusting more deeply than she’d thought possible, she felt the shattering waves of her own response and yielded to them with an abandon she’d never dreamed she could have. Nothing mattered now, nothing but this man, this devil of the high seas whom she now knew she loved beyond all else.
There would be no more tilting at windmills or foolishly trying to capture the wind. Now, she had found love . . .
Fourteen
Fine white sand glistened under the hot sun, and foamy breakers crashed endlessly upon the beach. Sitting beneath the shade of a canvas tent erected as shelter, Angela gazed at the scene with appreciation. Paradise. Never had she imagined such beauty could exist far from the green shores of England. This was a wilder beauty, nothing like the cultivated fields and neat stone fences of her experience.
Broad-leafed plants and exotic creatures existed in a harmony of vivid greens and blues, so bright at times it hurt the eyes. Colorful splashes of butterflies beat pastel-hued wings in tiny, delicate flutters. Brilliantly plumaged birds twittered in the treetops, and tiny reptiles that Dylan told her were lizards and iguanas scurried up trees and on the ground.
“Stay near the beach,” Dylan warned. “If you get lost, it could take days to find you.”
Judging from the thick undergrowth, Angela took his advice to heart. It was too hot and humid to take long walks anyway, she decided, so most of her daylight hours were spent with a book under the shade of her tent or watching the crew work while Emily napped in the shade.
A block and tackle had been erected, using a huge tree with roots as thick as a man’s torso, to haul the Sea Tiger from the water and up onto the beach. It lay on one side, looking, Angela thought, rather like a sea turtle that had been flipped onto its shell. The top mast had been taken down, and the cargo and most of the guns were removed. Several long guns now perched atop limestone boulders at the mouth of the cove, a deadly warning against any predators or trespassers.
Clouds puffed across a hot blue sky, and sunlight beat down with a vengeance, glittering off both the waters of the bay and the white cliffs that rose on each side of the sandy beach like jagged teeth.
Fanning herself lazily with a palm leaf fan, Angela sat beneath the shade and watched as the crew worked to clean the keel of the ship. It was a long and laborious process, especially with the sun beating down mercilessly. Crewmen scraped at the wooden hull to remove weeds and barnacles, checking closely for marine borers. Turk had told her that though the Sea Tiger was made of a fragrant, worm-resistant cedar, there was always the chance that the tiny, destructive mollusks could chew through the planking and weaken the structure. As a form of protection, the ship was double-planked with a layer of felt and tar, and cleaned as often as possible.
It had been too long since the last careening, and as a result, the ship had been much too slow and clumsy. It could cost them more than time, Turk had said solemnly, and she’d shivered at the unspoken warning. It was always a shock to recall that any government man-o’-war would be only too delighted to intercept and destroy the Sea Tiger. The reminder was doubly disturbing now that she had given herself so completely to Kit.
He was a pirate, for heaven’s sake, a man who preyed on the weak and innocent. Why had she fallen in love with him? And why did he seem to be avoiding her these past two days?
Hugging her knees to her chest and trying to ignore the innumerable grains of sand in her shoes and beneath her thin skirt, Angela gazed out over the sun-chipped waters of the cove and tried to come to terms with her newfound emotions. It was more difficult than it should have been.
So many complex reactions assaulted her that she had trouble sorting them out. Falling in love with a pirate was tantamount to social and emotional suicide. Pirates were notoriously short-lived, and their careers entailed certain disagreeable habits—such as robbery and murder. She closed her eyes, groaning softly. Though she had to admit that she had not seen anyone die at the hands of the Sea Tiger’s captain and crew, neither was she convinced that it was not entirely possible.
Sighing, Angela leaned forward and lifted a palm full of sand, letting it trickle between her fingers. It was a mystery to her why she felt as she did. If she had any sense at all, she would find a way to flee as far and fast as possible.
But love rarely made sense, she had heard, and now she was inclined to believe in that maxim.
“Do you mind if I join you?” a resonant voice asked, and she looked up to see Turk approaching.
“Of course I don’t mind. I welcome the company. Everyone is so busy scraping barnacles and seaweed that I find myself feeling a bit lonely.” Unable to stop herself, she glanced toward the ship, where Kit was working, then forced her attention back to Turk.
He folded his huge body into a sitting position beside her, his liquid dark eyes resting on her as he returned her smile. At that moment, Rollo, caged for his own safety and placed beneath the shade of her tent, chose to warble a particularly nasty sea ditty. Angela flushed and threw a cloth over his wicker cage.
“He’s a dreadful bird,” she muttered. “I cannot imagine why Kit keeps such a foul-tongued creature.”
“For entertainment, I suspect,” Turk replied. “Rollo has been with him since Kit was a boy. There’s a peculiar bond between them that I refuse to speculate upon.”
Angela laughed. “Probably a most wise decision. Rollo says the most awful things, and I’m quite certain I know who has taught him most of it.”
“True.” Turk spread his huge hands on his bent knees, still smiling. “Miss Emily, I take it, is still napping in the shade of her tent.”
“Yes. This heat is too much for her.”
“And not for you, Miss Angela?”
“Well, not as much as Emily.” She plucked at the damp fold of her skirt. “I’m afraid I am not as addicted to modesty as Emily, and have discarded certain articles of clothing without remorse.”
Turk laughed softly. “I presume you mean your petticoats. A display of remarkable good sense, I must say. If I were you, however, I should also divest myself of those shoes. No one shall mind.”
Struck by the notion, Angela needed no coaxing. She slipped off her shoes and stockings, stuffing them into a corner of the tent before stretching out her legs and letting the cool breeze wash over her bare feet.
“Ah,” she sighed, “that is so much better.”
Turk smiled. “I should think so. One must admire your adventurous spirit. So many ladies would recoil in horror at the very suggestion of such impropriety. I applaud your lack of false modesty.”
“Thank you. Modesty can be a bit uncomfortable, I’ve found.” She smiled again, digging her bare toes into a hill of warm sand. The shade from the tent made it a little cooler, but the sand retained the heat. It felt peculiar, coarse and grainy as it oozed between her toes and crusted the bottom of her feet.
“You know,” Turk remarked, “I could see you enjoying yourself on a South Sea island, tanned as dark as the native girls, wearing grass skirts and dancing around the fire on a moonlit night.”
She looked up. “Have you been there? To the South Seas?”
“Oh, yes, on several occasions. It is a most enjoyable area in which to visit. In fact, I do believe it is my favorite of all the places we have been since
I first met Kit.”
Curious, she asked, “When did you meet Kit?”
“It has been a good fifteen years, I would say.” He looked thoughtful, then nodded slowly. “Yes, I would say it was fifteen years ago. He was still studying at Oxford then.”
“Oxford!” Angela stared at Turk. “Do you mean the university?”
“Yes.” Turk looked amused. “He is not quite the illiterate bounder that he has been reputed to be. A bounder at times, perhaps, but a well-educated one. In fact, he compressed eight years of studies into little more than four before he decided to, shall we say, pursue other interests. Does it surprise you so very much?”
Angela floundered for a response, then decided upon complete honesty. “Yes. I admit that it more than surprises me—it shocks me. How on earth would Kit have the resources to go to Oxford?”
Frowning slightly, Turk adjusted a metal buckle on his sandal strap, then shrugged. “Let me just say that he had a wealthy benefactor who believed in his ability to do so.”
“But . . . but to go to Oxford—it seems so unlikely. I mean, the university is so prestigious and expensive, and Kit seems as if . . .” She paused, suddenly recalling the many books he had, books on theology, history, philosophy, and mathematics. That would explain his catholic tastes in literature, though it still seemed incredible that he had actually attended Oxford.
She shifted position on the canvas mat spread beneath the tent, trying not to sound too curious when she asked casually, “Did you attend Oxford with Kit?”
Turk’s mouth twisted wryly. “Probably not in the manner you’re considering, though I was there in a certain capacity. Kit was generous enough to take me under his wing when he discovered my propensity for learning, and saw to it that I was given every opportunity to avail myself of an education. If not for Kit . . .” His voice roughened slightly. “If not for Kit’s concern, I might never have come as far as I have.”
Angela said carefully, “But Turk, how far is this? I mean, living on a ship, robbing and plundering as a way of life? Is this really your life’s dream?”
“Miss Angela,” he said after a moment, “I am well aware of appearances. I might suggest that you not always judge a person on how matters appear. And that includes Kit.”
Kit. The most alien and difficult of all males to understand. She frowned slightly, and resisted the urge to look toward the ship.
“Why does he distance himself from me as he does? I thought once we . . .” She halted, her face flaming as she realized she’d been about to blurt out the fact that they had been intimate.
But Turk, if he noticed, ignored her blunder and said merely, “Kit finds it difficult to trust in anyone, and because of his past betrayals, he has more reason than most to suspect the fairer sex of duplicity.”
“Betrayals? I suppose most people have been disappointed in others a few times.” She hugged her knees to her chest, thinking of Philippe and his cruel rejection. “I have been betrayed also, and have not allowed it to embitter me.”
“Ah, but Miss Angela, there are circumstances of which you are unaware.”
“So enlighten me. Perhaps then I can understand why he does and says certain things.”
After a brief hesitation, Turk said slowly, “Let me just say that there was a young woman of excellent birth and breeding whom he was very much in love with at one time. Miss Susan chose to break off the betrothal in a very public and humiliating manner. Added to the soul-searing betrayals he had already suffered at the hands of his mother and stepmother, Kit left England behind and took to the high seas. It has been a purging of sorts for him, and very beneficial in ways you might never quite comprehend.”
“I daresay.” Angela realized there were reams of things she did not know about Kit Saber. She had not seriously thought about his previous life, and why he had become a pirate. Now she wondered if she really wanted to know the reasons. The thought of him being in love with a woman named Susan left her feeling uncertain and more jealous than she had been over the sleazy tavern girl. Even at the time, she had known that Kate was not the sort of woman he would want, though her precarious emotions had catapulted her into impetuous reaction.
“Turk,” she said after a long silence broken only by the distant sounds of the crew working on the beached ship, “does he still love this Susan?”
“No. But he still recalls her betrayal.”
“You say his mother and stepmother betrayed him. How?”
“Ah, that is something he will have to tell you, Miss Angela, though I will impart this information: You look enough like Elaine to be her sister, and that, I believe, may be part of the reason Kit has occasionally reacted in certain ways.”
“Elaine—his mother?”
“No. His stepmother. Or perhaps I should say, his former stepmother. She died several years ago. Of an excess of spleen, in my opinion.”
“She sounds very disagreeable.”
“More than disagreeable. Elaine was one of the few people I’ve met who can safely be called wicked. I cannot imagine what Kit’s father saw in her.”
“Is his father still alive?”
“Very much so.” Turk uncoiled his long body, rising to his feet to tower over her. “I greatly fear that should I linger much longer, I will begin to divulge information best heard from the party most concerned.”
Angela’s mouth twisted into a wry smile. “I take that to mean that you are fleeing my company before you say too much about Kit.”
“As usual, your acuity is commendable.” Turk gave her a half-bow that would have been elegant in any drawing room, despite the incongruity of his loose garments and sandals. “I shall consolidate my efforts with those of my fellow crewmen, so that we may decrease the time required to service the ship. If you should need us, we are only a shout away.”
Angela glanced toward the beach’s edge, where surf washed up in foamy curls to lap at the stern of the ship. Men stood knee deep in tide, scraping furiously at the hull, while others coated the scraped areas with wax, tallow, and tar.
She recognized Kit, his chest bare and gleaming in the hot sun as he worked alongside his men. He would have been easy to recognize anywhere, and from any distance. With his lean grace and predatory stance, he stood out in a crowd. She’d seen that much in the tavern, where heads had turned and people had parted to allow him through. He radiated ferocity at times, but more than that, there was the regal air of authority about him that drew others’ respect. Bit by bit, she’d learned that though normally pirate captains were elected by the majority of a vote and kept only as long as they were popular, on the Sea Tiger Kit was undisputed master. He controlled the ship, and he controlled everyone on it. Including her.
“Where do we go from here, Turk?” she murmured, wondering what lay in store for her. Would Kit keep her with him? Did she want to go home now, when her life was so entangled with his?
“London, I believe.”
She jerked her gaze from the beached ship to Turk, shading her eyes with one hand. “London?”
“That is where you make your home, is it not?”
“Yes, but I thought—I mean, since we have come to . . . to an understanding, I thought Kit would want me to remain with him for a time.” Her cheeks grew hot at Turk’s steady gaze, and she knew what he must be thinking.
His voice was gentle, however, when he said, “You must not depend upon conjecture, Miss Angela. It is always best to rely on knowledge.”
“By that,” she said crossly, “I assume you mean that I should discuss it with Kit before I speculate on what will happen next.”
“Yes. That is precisely what I mean.” Turk knelt on the hot sand so that his face was almost level with hers. “Do not expect too much of him at the present. As I have told you, he is a man accustomed to betrayal in all its most virulent forms. It is my opinion that he will not easily trust in others.”
“But I have not betrayed him.”
“No, and that is a conclusion that he will certain
ly reach on his own one day.” Turk paused, then said slowly, “Give him time, and if you love him, I think you will be most pleasantly rewarded in the future.”
For a long time after Turk had joined the crew working feverishly on the ship, Angela sat pondering what he had said. It had come as a shock to her to learn that Kit was educated. It was not so shocking to learn of the past betrayals in his life, though she was curious as to what his mother had done. She frowned. If his stepmother had only recently died—was his mother dead as well? Perhaps that explained his bitterness. If only Turk had told her more.
It was Emily, however, who relayed more information, in her innocent, off-hand manner. Angela sat cross-legged beneath the overhang of Emily’s small tent, watching afternoon shadows and making small talk.
“Oh, Captain Saber’s mother abandoned him when he was quite small,” Emily remarked, fanning her warm face with a large palm leaf. She lay back upon a heap of pillows in a tent that had the sides tied up to allow cooling breezes to pass through. Heat, it seemed, was another affliction that left Emily pale and listless.
“Abandoned him?” Angela gazed at her friend in annoyance. “Why would she do that? And why is it that you know all these things about Kit, and I don’t?”
Emily looked faintly surprised. “I have no idea. About either. I just know that Dylan told me Kit has searched for years for his mother after she abandoned him as a child. That’s all I know—really.” She paused, breathing deeply. “I don’t know how people live in the heat. I feel drained. Must we stay here much longer?”
Capture The Wind Page 22
