Heather Graham - [Camerons Saga - North American Woman 02]

by A Pirates Pleasure

  Aye, by choice, she had touched the Hawk, and been touched in turn.

  By the time Robert came to the door, telling her, “Milady, it is time!” she felt as if they had come to take her to the executioner.

  “It’s time?” she repeated.

  “Lord Cameron awaits you aboard his ship, the Lady Elena. He wishes to sail with the tide.”

  She swallowed quickly, trying to betray no emotion. “Will I see your master again?”

  “I do not know, milady. Come along, please. Men will come for your trunks.”

  She left her room behind. Mr. Soames was waiting at the bottom of the stairs. She thanked him for his services and felt more and more like a maiden walking to the headman’s block. She was being rescued, she reminded herself. Lord Cameron would expect her ardent thanks and appreciation.

  Robert took her outside. Señor Rivas was waiting with a small pony trap to take her down to the dock. Robert helped her into the vehicle, then joined her. “I will see you safely to the Lady Elena,” he said.

  Skye looked back to the house. She stared up to the window at the master’s bedroom. She thought that she saw the drapes fall back into place. Was he watching her leave?

  She turned away from the window, feeling the fool. He had amused himself with her, then accepted payment to rid himself of her! She should despise him so very fiercely.

  Tears welled within her throat. She knew that she would not shed them. She stiffened her shoulders and reminded herself that she was her father’s daughter, and that she would not fail or falter now.

  Before them lay the docks. She saw the two tall ships there, both tall and proud. The Lady Elena, and the Silver Hawk. She had never realized before that the pirate had drawn his name from his ship. She looked at the beautiful figurehead, a silent sentinel.

  The Lady Elena lay with a woman’s figure upon her bow, too. It was an Indian, Skye thought. An Indian maiden with long flowing hair and buckskin dress. What a curious choice for Lord Cameron, she thought.

  The docks were busy. Men loaded supplies aboard the Lady Elena; seamen scrubbed deck and knotted rope. Skye saw all the hustle and bustle as the pony trap came to a halt and Robert Arrowsmith helped her down. Señor Rivas tipped his hat to her and Skye smiled, telling him good-bye. Then Robert led her along the broad plank that stretched from the dock to the Lady Elena.

  She was a larger ship than the Silver Hawk, Skye thought. She seemed to carry fourteen guns, with a narrow and high-rising hull. She would be a fleet ship; if not quite so swift as the pirate ship, she was more heavily armed and could probably fight well upon the open sea. Lord Cameron was a merchant, she knew. His fields were filled with tobacco and cotton and corn, and his ships endlessly plied the routes between the mother country and the New World. He armed himself very well against pirates, she thought. And yet her father had thought that he had done the same, and still the Silver Messenger had been taken.

  “There he is!” Robert said suddenly.

  Skye’s heart slammed hard against her chest and her breath seemed to catch within her throat. Her palms were damp. She was not afraid of Lord Cameron! she assured herself. But she was nervous about this first meeting. She did not yet know what she meant to say or do, or how she would manage her life from now on. Thoughts of this meeting had been difficult enough before she had come to know the Silver Hawk; now it seemed a travesty.

  “Where?” she murmured uneasily.

  “There,” Robert said. “At the helm. He speaks with Mr. Morley, his quartermaster, and Mr. Niven, his first mate.”

  “He captains his own ship?”

  “Always, milady, if he is aboard.”

  She could see only his back and his form, and nothing of his face. He was dressed in a fine fawn-colored brocade coat and soft brown knee breeches. His shirt was white beneath his waistcoat, laced and frilled, spilling from his cuffs and neck. He wore a cockaded hat with eagle plumes above a full powdered wig. He was a tall man, and seemed able.

  “Milady?” Robert said.

  She realized that she stood there, upon the plank. Robert took her hand and led her forward and helped her to leap down to the deck.

  “Milord! Milord Cameron!” Robert cried.

  The man paused, passing his ledger to the mate on his left. Robert urged Skye along, bringing her up the four steps to the high-rising helm. She stared downward, carefully holding her skirt lest she trip upon the stair.

  “Milady, let me assist you.”

  The voice was low and well modulated. The hand that touched hers was gloved in soft leather. She accepted the assistance, and looked up slowly.

  A startled gasp tore from her lips.

  He was nothing like the Silver Hawk, nothing at all. He was clean shaven and his powdered wig was neatly queued, and he was dressed totally as the lord. He was young, and his features were striking and clean cut and strong.

  It was his eyes …

  Only his eyes …

  They were the same as his distant cousin’s, so very much the same. Silver-toned and arresting, perhaps more so on this man, for the very white of his powdered wig made the darkness of his lashes and brows all the more striking.

  He arched a brow, stiffening at her look. “Milady, be not afraid! I am Petroc Cameron, sworn to defend you, and not that heathen cousin of mine. The eyes, I’m afraid, are an accident of birth. The resemblance has always been a matter of distress to me, but never so much as now, as it causes you discomfort!”

  Discomfort … he did not know the depths of it!

  “Sir!” she managed to murmur.

  “Milady …” he said. She thought that there was warmth to his whisper. He held both of her hands and studied her swiftly. “You are well?” he said anxiously.

  “Very.”

  “Thank God for that,” he said, and turned to his men. “Mr. Morley, Mr. Niven, I give you my lady Skye. Skye, all and any of us are at your service, and we will strive to erase the horrors of the past days for you.”

  She could not speak. She nodded to Lord Cameron’s mate and his quartermaster. Mr. Niven was young and blond and blue-eyed, and though his smile was as grave as the circumstances, his eyes were merry, and she thought that she might like him very well. Mr. Morley seemed more staid and strict; he was bewigged like Lord Cameron, and solid in posture.

  “Mr. Morley will see you to your cabin, milady,” Lord Cameron told her. “I will be with you as soon as possible; I’m afraid that I must now see to our embarkation.”

  She nodded, turning around to say good-bye to Robert. She would miss him.

  Robert was gone. He had left the deck without a word.

  There was a touch upon her elbow. She turned again to see Mr. Morley standing there, a grave expression upon his heavy jowled face. “If you’ll come with me, my lady?”

  She nodded vaguely, but she had no desire to leave the deck. The plank was being pulled, and seamen were climbing into the rigging to half-hoist certain sails to catch a steady breeze and move them carefully down the channel. Small boats—the Silver Hawk’s small boats—came to the bow, preparing to guide the Lady Elena away from the treacherous shoals.

  “Milady?”

  “Mr. Morley, I should like to stay on deck.”

  Mr. Morley shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. “Lord Cameron has ordered that I take you to your chamber.”

  “I will not be ordered about by Lord Cameron, Mr. Morley.”

  “He thought that you would despise this island, this place of your imprisonment, and would be eager to see your last sight of it.”

  She smiled sweetly and with a tremendous guilt upon her heart. “I sail away, Mr. Morley, and the breeze is fresh and sweet.”

  The Lady Elena moved away from the dock. A command was shouted, and men scurried about. A sailor paused before Skye, bowed his head to her in flushing acknowledgment, and said, “Beg pardon, milady?”

  “Oh, of course!” she murmured, and stepped aside. He cast his weight against the rigging for the mainsail, s
eemed to dangle upon it, and shouted for aid to pull up the canvas. Another of his fellows came along, and between them, the huge mainsail rose above them.

  “Come, milady, please!” Mr. Morley urged her.

  She sighed, but could not leave the deck. She pushed past him and hurried to the hull, looking backward to Bone Cay.

  She saw a figure upon the pirate ship where it lay at berth, quiet and restful.

  Sunset was coming on. Sunset, and the tide. The island and ship and channel were bathed in color. Red draped beguilingly over the ship, the sand, the men and women milling upon the dock. She looked from the rise of the island to the outline of the house and walls back to the dock, and to the ship, an elegant lady in the sunset. Then she blinked back a sudden surge of tears.

  He was standing aboard his ship, she thought. The Silver Hawk was floating there. The Lady Elena pulled swiftly away, but still, she knew that it was he. He stood tall upon the deck, his arms akimbo, his legs well spread apart as if he rode the waves, even though the ship lay at dock. He was dressed all in black, from his sweeping hat to his booted feet. The plume and brim fell well over his eyes, shielding his face from her view.

  But it was he, she thought.

  He lifted his hand to her in a final salute.

  To her horror, a cry tore from her throat and she spun around to a very startled Mr. Morley. “Please! I’m ready. Take me from the deck to my quarters, now, please!”

  She was half-blinded, she thought. He caught her arm and led her, and without him she would have tripped over the cleats and rigging. They came to a narrow passage of steps,and Mr. Morley warned her that she must take very grave care. She scarcely heard him.

  They stepped below, and he led her quickly to the aft, throwing open a chamber door there. The cabin was huge, with windows stretching around the hull for her pleasure and ease. There was a large bunk, elegantly covered in white linen, and secured tight to the wall. There was a screen for her privacy, rows of books, a washstand and pitcher and bowl, a circular window seat, and a mirrored dressing table. It was all beautiful, all elegant, all well fit for a lady, one who was honored and cherished.

  She could barely glance about herself.

  “Thank you!” she told Mr. Morley.

  “Lord Cameron will be with you soon. Supper will be served in his cabin as soon as we are clear of the shoals and reefs.”

  “Thank you. I shall look forward to our meeting.” She dreaded their meeting with all of her heart. At the moment, though, she wished only to be free from Mr. Morley.

  He bowed deeply to her and left. Skye swiftly closed her cabin door and cast herself down heavily upon her bunk. Tears suddenly fell swiftly and forcefully down her cheeks, and she found herself swearing aloud. “Damn him!”

  Oh, but she had been a fool! To fall for a pirate, a knave, and now discover that her heart remained twisted within his callous hands.

  What had she desired? she asked herself. To live with a pirate? To lose her father forever? To wonder day after day if the rake she had sold all honor and pride for would return from his latest venture? No! One day he was destined to hang, or he would die upon the sword of another, like Blackbeard or Logan. No …

  But she didn’t want to be here. Not aboard this ship. Not with the gentleman lord who had come to rescue her.

  Her tears abated slightly. She needed time, and distance, she told herself. She needed to see her father, to cast herself into his arms, to cry her heart out and tell him that her world had been turned over, and she needed to learn to understand it, and herself.

  It was going to grow dark, she told herself uneasily. And the Silver Hawk was no longer with her, a beacon against the night.

  She rose, wiping her eyes. She saw no lanterns about the cabin, no candles. Beneath the washstand, though, she found a decanter of brandy. There were pewter mugs beside it but she did not bother with such a nicety. She pulled the stopper and drank heavily. The brandy burned throughout her. She felt somewhat better, somewhat stronger.

  There was a knock upon her door. She threw it open and stared at the young man there in stunned surprise.

  “Davey!”

  It was the young, sweet lad from the Silver Messenger. She reached out and touched his shoulders, assuring herself that he was there. A smile of pleasure swept across her features. “Oh, Davey, you are alive and well!”

  “And have been, Lady Skye,” he assured her, flushing and grinning broadly. “He was not a cruel master, milady.”

  She gasped, drawing him into her cabin. “Tell me! Where have you been? What has happened?”

  “Why, we’ve been at sea, milady. In your father’s ship. We weathered the storm, then held off Hatteras. They were sending messages, I believe. We met with Lord Cameron’s ship on the open water, and those of us who had been captured and sent to the hold were passed on over.”

  “Were you cared for, Davey?” she asked with a frown.

  “Aye, milady, a surgeon was sent down to the lot of us. The Hawk, he said, did not care to see any seaman in chains, so if we promised good behavior, we were free. We were even brought on deck for good, fresh air. It was not so loathsome a time, milady.” He paused, looked at her searchingly, then flushed. “And you, milady? I prayed for you daily. Are you well?”

  She swallowed. “Aye, Davey, very well, thank you.”

  He nodded and flushed again, and stepped away from her. “I came to see if you might require anything, milady. Lord Cameron would probably not take too kindly to my talking with you.”

  “Lord Cameron has no right to tell me who I may or not speak with, Davey,” Skye said flatly, standing. Then she paused, startled, and felt a peculiar sensation sweep along her spine. Her lips parted into a soft gasp, for she realized that the man had come up behind Davey, and stood, filling the doorway behind the lad.

  Davey swung about, and whitened.

  “Is your duty here done then, lad?” Lord Cameron inquired.

  “Aye, sir!”

  “Be gone with you then, son,” Lord Cameron said, his eyes not upon Davey but looking over the young man’s pale head, and finding Skye’s. She started to tremble. She hated that silver color, and hated that he could appear so like the Hawk.…

  And so entirely unlike his black-sheep cousin.

  “We have left the shoals and reefs behind us, Skye. I have come to take you to dinner.”

  She folded her hands together tightly. “That is very kind of you, Lord Cameron. This is all … very kind of you. I do, however, find that I am very weary. If I could—”

  “Lady Skye! I shall not keep you long at all, I promise. And I could not dream of allowing you to take to your cabin without a meal. I understand your distress, but please, I insist. You must come to dinner.”

  There was a note of steel to his voice. Like his distant cousin, he was accustomed to command. What was it with these men? she wondered irritably.

  “Sir—”

  “Milady,” he said firmly, and offered her his arm.

  She hesitated, then accepted, for short of total rudeness, she had no other choice, and whatever his feelings in the matter, he had risked life and limb to come for her.

  He drew her arm within his and led her just down the hallway to the next door. “My cabin, milady. And should you need them, Mr. Morley and Mr. Niven share quarters just across. There are more officers down the hall, and the seamen’s quarters are the deck below.”

  She nodded and tried to smile. When he pushed open the door, she entered quickly, eluding his touch. She looked around quickly and found it to be a more practical than elegant place, though all seemed to be in the best of taste. His desk was heavy and finely polished and heavily laden with charts. Warm velvet drapes fell over the windows in a deep sea blue, matching the simple coverlet that lay over the bunk against the far wall. A table had been brought to the room. A snowy white cloth lay atop it and a complete silver setting, and handsome plate with soft flowered designs.

  Lord Cameron closed the door to his ca
bin behind him and walked behind one of the handsome high-backed chairs, pulling it out for her.

  “Milady?”

  “Thank you,” she murmured, sliding into the chair.

  He did not join her. He walked over to his desk, to a decanter there. “Wine, my dear?” He turned about to face her with a curious smile. “Or have you already been indulging?”

  “What?” she gasped, staring his way. There was a look of steel about him that made her think that she had underestimated the man.

  “Forgive my very bad manners, milady,” he said apologetically. She avoided meeting his gaze. She could not bear to see the color of his eyes.

  “You are forgiven.”

  “You have been through an awful ordeal. You are certainly entitled to—indulgence.”

  How did he manage to make the word sound so frightfully decadent?

  He came to the table, setting a glass of deep red wine before her. She was tempted to grab it and swallow down the liquid in an instant. She could not let this man so unnerve her! He was no pirate, she reminded herself, but a lord of the peerage. He was sworn by honor to certain behavior, and she need not fear him.

  She did not fear him. She picked up her wineglass and sipped upon it and forced herself to meet his eyes. “Yes, it has all been quite an ordeal.”

  He drew back his own chair and sat opposite her. “I heard wonderful things about your valor, Skye.”

  “Did you?”

  He nodded to her gravely. “The crew rescued from your father’s ship told us how you battled the pirates in defense of the Irish maids. They say you fought unbelievably well. They say that you won.”

  “I know something of swordplay.”

  “Yes, your father told me. You do not know something of it; you know it very well.”

  “Yes.”

  “So you bested the first pirates.”

  “Yes.”

  “But not the Silver Hawk.”

  Despite herself, she felt her eyes fall. “No.”

  He was silent, silent so long that she wished she could scream or meet his stare boldly and brazenly and shout out the truth of it all.