When the door swung open she grabbed the bedcovers and pulled them up to her throat, expecting to see the mysterious captain of the ship enter. She blinked her eyes with relief as a short, sturdily built man with salt and pepper hair entered and smiled brightly at her.
"My name's Briggs, my lady. We met briefly last night when I showed you to this cabin, but there weren't no time to pass pleasantries then. I brought you something to eat."
Season gave the little man a scalding glance. "I have no intention of eating your food. I wish to see your captain at once," she demanded, while giving him what she hoped would be her most authoritative look.
"I'm sorry, ma'am, but I can't honor your wish. The captain's a busy man. I'll just put the tray down here on the desk. You might feel hungry later."
"I will not change my mind. You are a pirate, and I will never partake of your food." Season's anger soared when she saw that her words only brought a sad smile to the little man's face.
"Now I can see how we might look like a motley lot to you, but I can promise you we aren't classed as pirates, my lady. With my captain in command, you will be as safe as you would be if you was back in your own bed in England." His soft blue eyes moved over Season's lovely face, and he laughed. "I wonder if my captain will be safe from you, though?"
"You may leave now," Season declared, turning away from Briggs. She had seen nothing to fear from this man who spoke so respectfully to her and seemed to have the kindest blue eyes.
Briggs nodded his head and swept her a graceful bow before departing the cabin. Season heard the key grinding in the lock once more and knew she had been locked in again.
Easing herself off the bed, she walked over to the desk and glanced down at the breakfast tray. The ham smelled delicious, and her mouth watered when she saw slices of melon and two generous pieces of bread spread with creamy yellow butter. She closed her eyes against the tempting aroma of brewed tea.
"I won't weaken," Season said aloud. "I will not eat that man's food!" She decided she would rather starve to death than put one morsel of food in her mouth, and closing her mind to her hunger, she paced the length of the floor and back.
She couldn't help but notice that the cabin wasn't filthy as she had feared last night. In fact, it was spotlessly clean. The oak deck gleamed brightly, reflecting the sunlight off its smooth surface, and the dark wall paneling smelled of lemon oil. The bed coverings were snowy white. Season doubted that there was a speck of dust in the whole cabin.
She walked back to the heavy, hand-carved desk and flipped open the lid of a small mother-of-pearl box she found sitting there. Inside the box she found several cheroots. Turning around, her eyes swept the cabin. There were shelves running along the length of one wall, and she saw that they were crammed with maps.
She gripped the edge of the desk so tightly her knuckles whitened. There was no doubt in Season's mind; she was in the captain's cabin! She felt panic! Only moments ago she had told Briggs she wanted to see the captain; now she was afraid he would come to see her!
Glancing down at her thin lace nightgown, Season looked about for something with which to cover herself. She spotted the bundle on the floor, and knew she would find some of her clothing inside.
Going down on her knees, she loosened the knot and found to her relief that the man had brought several of her gowns. The Raven had not robbed her as she had supposed; he had merely picked out what he thought she would need. From the looks of the bounty, he had left nothing out. There were shoes, hairbrushes, underclothing, and even a bar of soap.
Sitting back on her heels, Season wondered why The Raven had brought so many of her belongings. Evidently he intended her to be on this ship for a long time. She was now more frightened than if he had merely stolen her jewels. Where was he taking her? Would she ever be free again?
Season feared The Raven would enter the cabin at any moment, so she quickly slipped into one of the three gowns she had to choose from. She found that the captain had overlooked one important item; he had not included a hoop in the bundle. Her green velvet gown dragged on the deck, and she would have to be careful not to trip on it.
Picking up her ivory-handled hairbrush, Season began to brush the tangles from her hair. Just because she was a prisoner didn't mean she couldn't look her best. She would not cower in the corner like some lost soul. When The Raven did come, he would see that she wasn't intimidated by him.
Hours passed while Season paced the cabin floor restlessly. She remembered the time her father had taken her to visit the king; she had been no more than ten. It had been the only time her father had taken her to London and she had been filled with excitement. One afternoon, one of Queen Charlotte's serving ladies had taken her to visit the wild animals that were kept in cages near the palace. That day Season had watched a magnificent lioness pace the length of her cage. She remembered feeling sad that such a magnificent animal should be kept in a cage. She now knew how that lioness had felt. Season was restless and could feel her calm slipping with each passing moment. She was accustomed to roaming free at Chatsworth. She realized that the one way to break her spirit would be to cage her for a long period of time.
Her footsteps lagged, and she sat down on the soft bed, burying her face in her hands. She would not give in to the weakness of tears; no matter what The Raven did to her, he wouldn't break her spirit. She was determined that she wouldn't show weakness while in his presence.
Season heard the grating of the key in the lock, and she almost jumped out of her skin! Watching the door swing open, she clasped her hands tightly together and waited for whoever was about to enter. She was relieved to see it was only Briggs. He was carrying a tray of food, so Season surmised it must be nearing the noon hour.
Briggs clicked his tongue when he saw the uneaten breakfast. "You really must try to eat, my lady. A wee little lass like yourself could just waste away to nothing in no time at all if you don't eat. The captain wouldn't like you to become ill from lack of food."
"How I choose to treat my own body is of no concern to you or your captain," Season said, tossing her golden mane in defiance. "If you want that food eaten, then eat it yourself."
Briggs merely smiled kindly and shook his head. "You won't be hurting no one but yourself if you don't eat, my lady. You haven't seen the captain when he doesn't get his way. I've seen grown men cringe when he's out of sorts."
"What do you expect of me, Mr. Briggs? Should I say 'Yes, Captain', 'No, Captain', 'Whatever you want, Captain.' I didn't ask to be put on this ship. I have no control over my life, except to say whether I will or will not eat!" she stormed defiantly.
Briggs made no reply. He placed the lunch tray on the desk and left with the breakfast tray. Season watched him leave and listened to the key turning in the lock.
The delicious aroma of the food assaulted Season's senses. She tried to think of something that would take her mind off her hunger. For some reason unknown to her, she was being held prisoner by The Raven. Her father was a wealthy man, and she realized the colonists must have heard about her arrival in New York. She supposed that by taking her captive they were striking a blow at the English aristocracy.
Season smiled bitterly. If The Raven were to demand a ransom for her safe return, she knew her father would pay. How long would it take for word to reach her father in England, and how much time would pass before he could deliver the money to The Raven? Today was the first day of her captivity, and she was almost out of her mind already from being locked in this cabin.
Perhaps she deserved to have this happen to her, Season thought, weighing her guilt for the first time. In the past hadn't she only been interested in her own wants? Not once had she considered her father's feelings. Twice her father had arranged marriages for her, and twice she had balked. Had her father been right when he had called her an ungrateful child? Wouldn't marriage to her cousin, Edmund, be preferable to the situation she now found herself facing?
Season walked over to the desk and stared down
at the food. Her eyes were drawn to the roast chicken, which had been served in a fruit sauce. As she eyed the thinly sliced baked potatoes, she could feel her stomach react in protest.
Crossing the cabin, she stood beneath the porthole. It was too high for her to look directly through it, so she watched the sunlight shining through its crystal panes and shrugged her shoulders, wishing she had something to do to make the hours pass more quickly.
Glancing at the shelves where the maps were kept, she crossed the room and removed one of them. Dropping to her knees, she spread the map and studied it for a moment, but knowing next to nothing about geography, Season soon tired of looking at the charts which made no sense to her.
Irritated, Season rolled up the map and shoved it back on the shelf. That was when she spotted the book. Someone had placed the book at the back of the shelf as if wanting to hide it away. When she turned it over in her hands, Season was shocked to find it was her favorite volume of French poetry! She climbed onto the bed and began to read. Before long she was caught up in the haunting poems of love and honor. She couldn't help but reflect on how strange it was for an American pirate to have a book of poetry, even stranger that he would be able to read French. This discovery only served to deepen the mystery that surrounded The Raven!
Season soon became drowsy, and the book slipped from her hand and dropped onto the bed. She laid her head back and fell into a deep sleep.
8
The Raven unlocked his cabin door while balancing a tray of food in one hand. When he entered the cabin he saw Lady Season asleep on his bed. Setting the tray aside he stood over her sleeping form and studied every detail of her lovely face.
He had somehow known that her hair would be blond, but he hadn't expected the mass of golden curls that tumbled across the pillow. As the dying rays of the sun filtered through the window, her hair seemed to come alive with flaming red highlights. She looked so young and childlike that The Raven felt his heart contract.
Had he been wrong to believe the stories he had heard about her escapades in England? He stared at the long silky lashes resting against her pale cheeks. Then his eyes were drawn to her breasts which rose and fell with each breath she took. Her bosom was full and rounded and the bodice of her gown was stretched tightly across the soft mounds. Her mouth was soft and full, tempting him to see if it would taste as sweet as it promised.
The Raven felt desire stir in him, and he knew he wanted this temptress as he had never wanted any woman before. Was she a devil that could drive a man mad with her sweetly curved body, or was she an enchantress who could lure men to their deaths for want of the touch of her lips?
He watched, spellbound, as her lashes fluttered and she looked at him with her emerald-colored eyes.
Season quickly scrambled to her knees and moved to the far side of the bed, trying to get as far away from the hooded man as she could. When The Raven saw that she was frightened of him, he felt a pang of sorrow.
"Why are you here?" she asked in a choked voice as her eyes moved over the man dressed in black. Last night he had blended into the shadows, but now she could see him only too clearly. He appeared more frightening than she could have imagined, and she couldn't control the shudder that shook her body. The black hood he wore had slits where his eyes and mouth should have been. His black shirt was tucked inside black tight-fitting breeches. Shiny black boots reached to his knees, and his overall appearance was frightening and sinister.
“I have come to personally see that you eat a proper meal," came the deep, raspy reply.
Season pressed her back against the cabin wall. "I... told your man Briggs that I had no intention of eating your food," she said in a small voice. Season was surprised that she could speak at all with The Raven hovering over her like some awesome bird of prey.
The Raven picked up the tray and sat down on the bed beside Season. Her heart was pounding loudly and she couldn't seem to move. Her deepest instinct warned her not to defy this man.
"I think you will eat, my lady, if I have to spoon-feed you every bite."
"You wouldn't dare," she exclaimed with indignation.
"Would I not? Come, eat like a good girl, and if you clean your plate, I will take you for a stroll on deck so you can get some fresh air," he cajoled, as if speaking to a wayward child.
Season considered his proposal. She was tired of the inside of this cabin. It would be wonderful to walk on deck and breathe in the fresh sea air. "Are you saying if I don't eat you will not allow me to walk on deck?" she asked, not knowing how childlike she appeared at that moment.
He nodded his head affirmatively. "I believe we understand one another, my lady."
"Give me the tray," she said with ill grace. "I just want you to know I am eating because you forced me to and not because I want to."
The Raven placed the tray within her reach and smiled behind his mask. Season watched him stand up, and her eyes followed him across the room. He picked up a chair, turned it around, and then straddled it. Season doubted she would be able to swallow a bite of food while he was watching her so closely.
"Must you stay here while I eat?" she asked with a toss of her head. She had no notion how lovely she looked as her golden hair swirled about her.
"Yes, I must. You see, I don't trust you. Besides I would not want to hand a malnourished bride over to her intended bridegroom."
Season's heart lightened when she sensed the man's good humor. "You are going to release me?"
"You don't think I want to keep you indefinitely—do you?"
Season took a bite of what appeared to be chicken, but actually tasted nothing like it at all—in fact, it was like nothing she had ever tasted before.
"What is this?" she asked, spearing a piece of meat with her fork.
"Do you like it?"
"I don't know. You tell me what it is, and then I'll tell you if I like it or not. I have heard it said that you colonists have been known to eat very strange things."
"It is called turkey—a fowl that is native to the United States," he answered in an amused voice.
"You mean the Colonies, don't you?"
"No, my lady, I mean the thirteen United States of America."
Season decided to let that pass. The last thing she wanted to do was antagonize the man since he had hinted that he would be releasing her. "Is this a meat-eating bird? I can assure you if it is, I will not eat another bite."
"No. The turkey is not a predatory bird. In the wilds it feeds on grains and berries. Many farmers raise the turkey very much the same as one would the chicken. I am told that the turkey is the least intelligent of God's creatures. It is said they will often drown in a rainstorm, simply by looking toward the sky."
"You are making that up, are you not?"
"No, I can assure you it's the truth, my lady. Your neighbors, the French, have added the turkey to their diet. It is said that the king and queen serve it often at Versailles." The Raven noticed that Lady Chatsworth had begun to relax and had lost much of her apprehension.
"Ugh, the French," she said, making a face.
"Let me see if I have this right: you don't like us Americans, and you are not overly fond of the French—who do you like?" he asked, watching her take a bite of the turkey.
"I did not say I do not like the Americans, although I have met only one of you."
"Not so, my lady. You have met myself and Briggs," he reminded her.
"But there you are wrong, sir. I was never formally introduced to you, and Briggs is most probably a pirate and a cutthroat, the same as you," she dared to say.
Season took another bite of fowl and found it to be indeed delectable. She wondered if she really liked the meat or whether the lure of a walk on deck—and her hunger—made the turkey taste so good.
"If the American you spoke of meeting is not myself or Briggs, who is it? Perhaps the person will be an acquaintance of mine."
"I doubt that you and I travel in the same circles. It is not likely that you would have me
t any of my cousin Edmund's friends."
The Raven watched her bite into a slice of apple and smiled. "I am intrigued, my lady. Tell me of whom you speak."
"You wouldn't know him. He is a gentleman by the name of Lucas Carrington. I don't think he would associate himself with you," she stated, taking a bite of sweet golden corn which was seasoned with melted butter.
"I know Lucas Carrington as well as anyone, my lady. He is a planter from Virginia. I have found him to be a most disagreeable fellow."
"Tell me what you know about Mr. Carrington," Season urged, raising her eyes to his.
Deep laughter shook The Raven's tall frame. "Lucas Carrington is a man without a purpose. He neither stands for one side, nor the other, but leans more toward the middle. Most probably he is a coward. I have heard it said that he sells his crops to the British. In my way of thinking that goes under the heading of aiding and abetting the enemy."
"I don't believe him to be a coward. You are just jealous of him because he is a gentleman and you are not," she stated flatly.
"So, the lady defends the American. I wonder why you are so quick to come to his defense. I would venture to guess that Edmund Kensworthy doesn't know about your attachment to Mr. Carrington."
Season's face became flushed. She devoured the last bite of turkey and then lowered her head so the curtain of golden hair would hide her embarrassment. "I am not interested in Mr. Carrington as a man. I am merely curious because he is the first colonist I have met."
"I could tell you about your cousin, Edmund, if you wish," The Raven offered.
“I don’t wish to hear what you have to say about him. You would only present a distorted picture."
"You might be surprised by my assessment of your intended bridegroom. I know him to be an honorable man; unlike Lucas Carrington, he has his loyalties. If you don't know him very well, let me warn you that you cannot always judge him at face value. Give him a chance, my lady, for I'm sure he will make you a good husband. Do not always judge a man by your first impression. Edmund is impulsive sometimes, but he is always sorry when he acts unwisely."
Velvet Chains (Historical Romance) Page 9
