The Buccaneer

by Donna Fletcher

  Lucian dropped the letter to his desk. "He emphasizes that there isn't anything he wouldn't give to have his daughter returned safely."

  "This is a man who loves his child deeply and is suffering over her absence," Santos said sadly.

  Lucian pounded his fist on his desk, startling Santos. "You think he speaks the truth?"

  "He's offered you his life for his daughter's," Santos argued.

  Lucian rubbed his head, the thought disturbing him. Abelard would willingly trade his life for Catherine's, this he didn't understand. He had thought Abelard a cold, hard man who thought only of himself and his position in society. He had never expected such an unselfish offer like this from him, the man who had condemned him to rot in hell.

  "What will you do?" Santos asked.

  He answered swiftly. "I'll not return Catherine."

  "Abelard has no recourse if you don't unless . . ."

  Lucian moved to the bright red liquor cabinet, throwing open the doors and snatching a crystal decanter and two matching goblets off the shelf. "Explain 'unless,'" he ordered, and placed the two goblets on the desk, filling them with rum.

  "Unless Abelard approaches the Crown for help."

  Lucian shook his head. "Unlikely. His credibility is damaged and until repaired no one would dare side with him. Besides I don't think he wants Catherine's capture made common knowledge. He'll deal discreetly with me for now."

  Santos took the goblet Lucian offered him. "And what of Catherine?"

  "What of her?"

  "She must wonder if her father has contacted you."

  "She knows her father has, but I have refused her any information."

  "And she has accepted this?"

  Lucian shrugged negligently. "She has no choice."

  "She may not remain agreeable with your decision for long."

  "She may not have to," Lucian said, and raised his goblet in salute. "Wish me luck, I intend to ask Catherine to be my wife."

  o0o

  Sleep evaded Catherine while Lucian slumbered soundly beside her. Her jumbled thoughts kept her from a peaceful night's sleep. She worried over what course of action to pursue. All alternatives to her problems appeared, in the end, unacceptable.

  She couldn't neglect her father's safety and well-being. She couldn't leave Lucian alone and full of bitterness. And she certainly couldn't ignore the love she shared for both men.

  She shifted to her side attempting to find a more comfortable position. Her thoughts plagued her even more. Lord, but she loved her father. In all the years growing up she had never once thought of him as her stepfather. When she was young, she had imagined him her real father who had come to rescue her from a wicked family. And he truly had rescued her, rescued her from people who had made her feel inferior and worthless. He was her knight in shining armor who did battle for her whenever she required defending.

  Now it was her turn to battle for him and she couldn't fail him. She just couldn't.

  Troubled by her emotions she shifted again, turning on her other side. She faced Lucian. He lay on his back, one arm beneath his head, the other at his side. She had come to realize after so many nights of sharing his bed that it was a position he had acquired out of necessity.

  His arm acted as a pillow, his other hand rested at his side where a weapon would normally lie, and he lay rigid as though if he turned either way he would tread on another's sleeping space.

  Of course by morning she would be wrapped around him or snuggled next to him and more often than not he would have himself wrapped around her. Her presence in his bed had helped ease his tense sleeping pattern. And if she continued to sleep with him? He would find peace beside her.

  You can't leave him.

  She agreed with her silent voice. She had once thought that when she had found the document she would plan an escape. But she had decided of late that escape was impossible. Her heart would break if she ever had to leave him. She loved him beyond reason, beyond madness. She couldn't live without him.

  So what were her alternatives? No answers materialized. No voice in her head cried out to solve her problem. She was alone, confused, and frightened. Lately her strength and courage had waned and she found herself fearful and close to tears. She did not like this change in herself.

  She shifted again, this time onto her back. She had attempted to talk to Lucian when he had returned to their room later in the evening. But he had insisted she rest and that they would talk tomorrow when she felt better.

  Restless and worried she would wake Lucian, she slipped from the bed, reaching for her blue silk robe on the chair near the window. She left the room quietly, leaving the door ajar for her return.

  She padded softly down the stairs, making her way in the dark to Lucian's study. She slipped inside, leaving the door partially open. In barely a minute she had lit the oil lamp that sat on the end of Lucian's desk. She raised the lamp and casually walked alongside the shelves of books searching for something to read. She needed to lose herself in words. Words that would ease her troubled thoughts.

  Her fingers drifted along the bindings of various books, but none seemed appropriate to ease a weary soul. A smile flashed across her face and she turned, returning the lamp to the desk. She hurried behind Lucian's desk to the floor-to-ceiling shelves flanked by two tall windows. She dropped to her knees and allowed her hand to guide her in the dark along the bindings of the books that occupied the bottom shelf. When her fingers connected with a thick volume, she pulled it out and hefted it up into her arms.

  Catherine clutched the heavy book to her chest and plopped herself down in Lucian's chair before depositing her treasure on the desk in front of her.

  She lovingly ran her hand across the book. The book she had turned too often when troubled and needed encouragement — the Bible.

  Opening it slowly, she carefully turned the pages. What passage would settle her emotions tonight?

  Lucifer.

  The thought startled her and she found herself searching his passage out. Page after page she turned until —

  Catherine stared down wide-eyed at the papers that lay between the pages. Slowly and with some reluctance she reached for the sheets of hastily scrawled print. Aware of their significance, she drank a deep breath, preparing herself.

  She read carefully, concentrating on every word. When she finished, she read them again and then again. Finally she shook her head and rubbed at her weary eyes.

  "Catherine."

  She jumped, startled by Lucian's voice and by the tenderness with which he had said her name.

  He walked farther into the room, dressed in only his breeches that hung partially unfastened. His hair looked as though he had hastily run his fingers through the log strands, but his eyes were bright and alert to his surroundings and to the significance of the situation they now faced.

  "I'm sorry you found them."

  She stood, remaining behind the desk, the papers clutched in her hand. "I don't understand."

  Lucian approached her slowly and spoke to her with the sympathy of one who had just suffered a loss. "I know how this must hurt you."

  "No," she argued, another shake of her head confirming her denial.

  Lucian continued, attempting to ease her pain. "I know how dearly you love your father.

  "No, he couldn't have done this," she protested strenuously.

  "But he did, Catherine. He signed the papers, condemning me to servitude on the merchant ship." He stood in front of his desk bathed in the faint glow of the oil lamp.

  "You don't understand," she pleaded, hurrying around to stand beside him with the evidence of her father's guilt crumpled in her hand.

  He lovingly ran the back of his hand along her cheek. "I understand this is a shock for you and in time —"

  She brushed his hand away. "No, you misunderstand. My father couldn't have signed these papers."

  He stiffened hearing her defend Abelard. "You have the indisputable evidence in your hand."

  Sh
e vehemently denied the obvious, shaking the papers in his face. "My father would never do this."

  Lucian felt his temper mounting. She actually stood in front of him, papers in hand, denying her father had signed the documents. Documents that carried his neatly scripted signature.

  "You are holding the proof of your father's guilt." His voice rang with cold malice.

  She spoke with conviction. "If my father truly signed these papers then he must have had good cause."

  Her words struck him like a harsh blow to the face. If she loved him as she had claimed that day on the beach, how could she stand here and hurt him so?

  "You must understand my —"

  His sharp words cut her off. "You defend him even with such blatant evidence?"

  "You don't know my father. He could never condemn a man to suffer as you did."

  "But he did."

  Still she argued. "No, Lucian. Something is wrong, terribly wrong. My father is a good man."

  He stood stunned, not believing the tenaciousness with which she defended Abelard. Her love for her father far outweighed her hastily expressed love for him. And he wanted her to love him with that unwavering tenacity.

  "You still believe your father innocent?"

  "I believe this matter needs further investigation."

  "That isn't what I asked," he said curtly, and repeated his question. "Do you believe your father innocent?"

  "Yes."

  Simple and direct. She had announced exactly how she felt and sealed her fate.

  Lucian walked around his desk and reached beneath the desktop.

  Catherine heard a click. Her heart caught in her throat.

  Lucian drew his hand out from beneath the desk and dropped several papers to scatter over the top. "Your freedom, madam."

  Catherine understood the papers that lay in front of her proved her father innocent of treason. She didn't understand what he meant by her freedom.

  "You gave me what I sought. Now take what I promised in return."

  An icy chill ran up Catherine's spine and a shiver touched her soul. "Lucian." His name ran like a gentle plea from her lips.

  He stood tall, his shoulders back, his demeanor that of the pirate Lucifer and not Lucian Darcmoor the man she had come to know and love.

  "You will sail the day after tomorrow for England."

  "Lucian," she cried, feeling her heart painfully break.

  He ignored her as if he hadn't heard her plea or cared. He walked around the desk and straight out the door without a backward glance. Catherine clutched the papers to her chest and sank to the floor. Her father's freedom had cost her dearly. She had lost Lucian forever.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Catherine hadn't seen Lucian since the night before in his study. After having cried for an hour she had returned to their room. He hadn't been there, nor had he been at breakfast this morning. He had purposely kept his distance from her.

  He had left orders for her to pack and ready herself for her return to England on the morrow. A ship was being prepared for her journey, not the Black Skull, but one that could take her directly to English shores.

  She dropped down to sit on the edge of the bed and sighed heavily while staring down at the sarong she held in her hand. The meager garment would be considered scandalous back in England. But not here in Heaven.

  A regretful frown marred her lovely features as she cast a sorrowful glance around the bedroom. She would miss this house, this island, and the friends she had made. She had come to think of it as her home. She had come to believe that in time Lucian would grow to love her as much as she loved him. She had convinced herself that fairy tales did indeed come true.

  She had been a fool.

  A single tear spilled from her eye and fell on her cheek. She roughly brushed it away. What good would tears do her? Lucian was determined to have his revenge. He would let nothing stop him. Not even love.

  "He is a fool." Santos said, standing in the open doorway.

  Catherine wiped at her teary eyes and forced a smile. "His hurt won't allow him to forget or forgive."

  "Do not make excuses for his poor behavior," Santos ordered, entering the room. "He is a grown man and should behave like one. Not like some little boy who pouts over ridiculous things."

  Catherine looked up at Santos when he stopped in front of her. She nervously twisted the sarong in her hand and her lips quivered, fading her smile to a mournful frown. "I never knew love could hurt so much," she admitted, and began to cry.

  Santos opened his arms and heart to her.

  She tossed the wrinkled sarong to the side and hurried into his arms.

  "Cry," he told her, and wrapped her snugly in his fatherly embrace.

  "I can't bear the hurt," she cried, her voice barely coherent with her face buried in his chest.

  "He doesn't deserve you. You are much too good for him," Santos defended. "He is ten times a fool. No, a hundred times a fool to treat you so."

  Catherine eased away from him and looked up into his eyes. "Then why do I hurt for him as much as for myself?"

  Santos smiled sadly. "Because you love without restrictions."

  "And he can't?"

  He shook his head slowly. "Not yet. He must free himself of his past before he can look to his future.”

  "Then it is too late for us." Catherine stepped out of his arms.

  "No," Santos insisted strongly. "It is never too late. Don't give up. Don't ever give up."

  "But isn't that what Lucian is doing? Never giving up. Never forgetting the past. Seeking his revenge at all cost."

  "It is what one seeks and the reason for it that matters. Follow your instincts and your heart."

  Catherine's lip quivered. "I have, and love hurts. It hurts badly."

  Santos offered her his comforting arms once again and Catherine gratefully drifted into them.

  By late afternoon Lucian still hadn't returned to the house. Catherine had finished packing her things and Santos had secured her traveling cases and had them sent on to the ship. She had kept one small traveling case for herself as she had done when leaving England over four months ago.

  She had attempted to eat the noon meal, but her stomach had protested and she had only been able to eat a few slices of melon.

  Afternoon had drifted into early evening and Catherine found herself wandering from room to room lost in her thoughts and her sorrows.

  Her heart ached unbearably. She thought of seeking Lucian out and begging him to reconsider his hasty decision. But she recalled last night and his expression when he had dumped the proof of her father's innocence on his desk. At that moment he had resembled the pirate Lucifer when he had stepped through the shattered cabin door on the ship and so calmly ordered her to drop the pistol she held.

  His threatening stare had frightened her then and that same stare had managed to frighten the devil out of her last night, but this time for a different reason. The first time she had feared for her life, his look had been so fierce and menacing. Last evening his look was just as fierce and menacing — and determined. Nothing would stop him from seeking his revenge, not even love.

  A teardrop spilled on her cheek and she brushed it away while walking toward the rear of the house. She abhorred her penchant of late for tears. She had never taken to crying easily. She had learned when young to hide her hurt feelings, so these frequent tears annoyed her.

  When a problem needed facing, tears only blinded one's vision and emotions. She needed clarity of thought, her emotions —

  Were totally out of control.

  She wandered out the back of the house, past the cookhouse and toward the garden, deciding to take one last glance at the lush flowers and plants, embedding them in her memory to retrieve on a cold winter's night in England.

  "Love is painful."

  Zeena’s familiar voice caused Catherine to turn around. "No one ever warned me of that."

  Zeena walked toward Catherine after issuing orders to the young girl b
eside her at the entrance to the cookhouse. "Would it have made a difference?"

  Catherine pondered her question briefly and shook her head. "No. I wouldn't trade this love I feel for Lucian for anything in the world. And I will never regret the time I spent with him."

  Zeena raised her brow and smiled strangely as if just receiving news that left her wondering. "You truly love him."

  "Of course," Catherine said, stunned. "Did you doubt that I did?"

  She shrugged. "I thought perhaps your suffered a young girl's whimsy. And that the island and its beauty would soon weigh on your nerves. I assumed you would miss England and your grand parties and the life you are accustomed to."

  Catherine signed. "I miss my father. I never cared for the lavish parties and balls, or the manner of people. I lived a quiet and partially secluded life, and I preferred it that way. I will miss Heaven."

  Zeena held out her hand to Catherine. "And Heaven will miss you."

  Catherine took her offered hand, squeezing it. "Your friendship means much to me. I wish — " Tears filled her eyes and her throat tightened. "I wish I —" She couldn't finish. She couldn't openly admit that she was leaving Heaven never to return.

  Zeena in return squeezed Catherine's hand. "Do not lose hope. Love can often work magic."

  Catherine sniffed back her tears. "Magic would be the only possible ingredient powerful enough to rectify this situation."

  Zeena winked. "Love is more powerful. Watch and see for yourself."

  The two women hugged and Catherine took herself off to the gardens. She hadn't wanted to disagree with Zeena about love being more powerful than magic. Her love could survive the worst gale, cross a continent, travel through time, and still remain as strong as it was at this moment. Lucian's love was the one in question and obviously he did not possess as deep a love for her as she did for him.

  She had been as foolish as a young schoolgirl in her first throes of puppy love. She had laid her heart bare and he had broken it. She had no one to blame but herself.