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

by A Pirates Pleasure

“Lord Kinsdale’s,” Skye said over Roc’s shoulder. She glanced his way as he watched her. “Just in case Father is there.”

  She parted the drapes as the carriage set to motion again. Her heart leaped. Williamsburg had changed. They were passing the Bruton parish church, and it had been built anew. They turned, and she saw the governor’s mansion, complete now, rising at the end of the broad greenway with grace and elegance.

  Children were playing, men were hawking their wares. Slaves were working in the gardens, and upon a pile of bricks before a white house a fifer was idly playing a tune. She sat bolt upright. There, halfway down the street, lay her own home. Two-storied, whitewashed, brick-trimmed, with a picket fence about the small yard.

  The coachman knew his way. He drew up before the house. Skye didn’t wait for anyone to come to her. She leaped down from the carriage and tore through the fence, ran up past the steps, past the flower beds, and burst through the doors.

  “Father!”

  She heard footsteps from the parlor and headed that way. A tall black woman with strong handsome features came hurrying toward her. “Mattie!” she said with pleasure.

  “Skye!”

  They came together with a fierce hug. “Child, child, child, it is so good to see you! Safe and sound and home at last. Your father was so very worried about you—”

  “Where is Father?” Skye asked hopefully, pulling away. Mattie was looking over her shoulder to the parlor door. Roc stood there now, watching them.

  “Lord Cameron,” Mattie murmured, bobbing him a small curtsy.

  “Mattie,” he acknowledged her. He stepped on in. He was comfortable in her parlor, Skye thought with a touch of resentment. “Where is Lord Kinsdale?” he asked also.

  “It’s a terrible thing, Lord Cameron!” Mattie said. She pulled away from Skye and walked to the elegant rosewood liquor cart and poured out something. Skye assumed it was a brandy for her.

  Mattie walked straight past her and handed the glass to Roc. He nodded his thanks and drank down the brew. She looked at Skye. “I’ll get tea on right away, and something for you to eat.”

  “Mattie!” Skye wailed.

  Mattie shook her head miserably. “He’s gone run off and been captured by those louts, he has!”

  “What?” Skye gasped, looking quickly to Roc.

  “The Silver Messenger come into the river about a week ago. You know your father, Skye. He went about ranting and raving and saying that he had to come for you himself. Well, he’s so anxious to go off to sea to find you or meet you or just wear off steam, that he decides to hire himself a new captain out of one of the taverns. Turns out he hires himself a pirate! It’s the government down in Carolina, that’s what Spotswood says it is. Those slimy sea creatures go into North Carolina, then slip on up here. When we catch ’em, we hang ’em! It’s just that we don’t catch them all.…”

  Skye fell into one of the elegant little Louis XIV chairs before the fireplace. She covered her face with her hands, remembering the carnage when the Silver Messenger had first been taken by the pirates. A great trembling shook her, and silent tears began to fall down her cheeks. He was all that she had in the world.

  No, she had a husband.

  A stranger …

  She needed her father. She loved him, and she needed him desperately. The old fool! Why had he left?

  He had come for her. He had wed her to Roc Cameron, but he hadn’t even trusted in Roc. He had been impulsive—like she was herself. He had cast care and reason to the wind.

  “Has there been a ransom demand as yet?” Roc asked.

  Skye looked up hopefully.

  Mattie shook her head. “A man come back off of the Silver Messenger, a decent man, I assume, for he went to the governor with his tale. The ship is taken, and Lord Kinsdale is prisoner in the hold, and that is all I know for the moment.”

  A sob escaped Skye. Mattie sank down by her, taking her into her arms. “Don’t fret, they won’t hurt him, I’m certain. The governor has ships out—”

  Skye leaped up. “The governor. Perhaps he knows more!”

  She swept past Mattie and Roc Cameron and came out to the street again. She was travel-stained from her night in the woods and tears made dirty tracks down her cheeks, but she didn’t care. She ran down the length of the palace green, near hysteria. She loved Theo; she adored him. Even when they disagreed, he would puff up his cheeks and eventually see things her way. Even if he had cast her into marriage against her will … He had worried about her unduly, all of these years. He had wanted a fine house for her, a bastion against the world. He hadn’t even wanted her to travel to England, but his position had meant that she should be well trained in the fine arts of feminity, and so he had given in.

  “Skye!”

  She paused, leaning against a tree. She didn’t stop because she had been summoned, she stopped to gasp for breath. Roc was coming behind her.

  “Skye, wait!”

  She turned around and ran again, approaching the gates to the mansion. Armed guards stood before them. They blocked her way with their brown Besses when she would have burst through the gate. “I have to see the lieutenant governor!” she cried.

  “And who might you be, miss?” one asked her skeptically.

  Hands fell upon her shoulders. Roc had caught up with her. “Lord and Lady Cameron, and it is most urgent.”

  “Oh, milord! It is you. Lieutenant Governor Spotswood is in.” The guards moved away. “He was preparing to ride to your estate this very morning, milord.”

  “Well, then, we have saved him some trouble,” Roc murmured. His hands remained fast upon her shoulders and he steered her through the gate. His words sizzled angrily against her earlobe as he bent to whisper to her. “Now, milady, I know that you are upset, and in private I have promised you certain concessions, but if you think to burst away from me like that again, I’ll take a horsewhip to you.” To emphasize his words, his hand fell hard upon her rear anatomy.

  She gasped in surprise and fury. The guards all turned their way. Roc smiled charmingly. “Horsefly!” he said.

  “Horsefly, my—”

  “Come, love. We’re far from properly attired to visit the lieutenant governor, but it seems now that we shall visit anyway!”

  Even then the front doors opened and Spotswood’s butler bowed low in greeting. “The lieutenant governor will see you upstairs, Lord Cameron.” If the butler thought anything of their strange attire, he did not betray it. As Roc pushed her through the entry way she suddenly gasped, looking at the layout of the mansion, at the arms upon the walls, at the size of the hall and the stairway.

  “What?” Roc demanded tensely.

  “Bone Cay,” she murmured.

  “What?” he repeated suspiciously.

  “Bone Cay. The—the Silver Hawk’s house there. It greatly resembles this one.”

  He fell silent. Skye did not glance his way. Maids were polishing the floor. The butler hesitated, awaiting them.

  “Come along,” Roc murmured, urging her forward.

  Upstairs they came straightaway to the grand reception room with the fine leather wall covering that was of such pride to Spotswood. The lieutenant governor was at tea, finely dressed and wigged and ready for his day. He stood, expecting them, a fine porcelain cup in his hands. “Ah, Skye, my dear!”

  He set his cup upon a table and hurried toward her, taking both her hands tight in his and studying her anxious eyes. “I am so sorry, dear, to greet you after these years with such sorry news!”

  “Is there nothing else that you know, sir?” she asked.

  Lieutenant Governor Spotswood looked over her head to Roc. Irritated, Skye squeezed his hands. “Sir, please …!”

  He squeezed her hands in turn, and his gaze returned to hers. “I believe that he is alive and well, my dear. I told him that he should wait patiently and all would prove to be well. But he could not be patient, he determined to set to sea, and set to sea he did, with a rogue for his captain.”

&
nbsp; “Do you know the pirate’s name, sir?” Roc asked.

  Spotswood nodded slowly. “A seaman managed to escape the ship and swim to shore. He came instantly to my house, bringing the news.”

  “And?” Roc persisted.

  “The man’s name is Logan. Captain Logan. We hear tell that he has sailed with Hornigold and Vane. Do you know anything of him?”

  “Logan!” Skye cried. Logan, she repeated inwardly, feeling the blood rush from her face. Logan, cruel, reckless, careless—and hating her greatly, she was certain. What would he do to her father?

  She shivered, remembering the hook upon the man’s arm where his hand should have been. She remembered his narrow face, and his total lack of mercy. She remembered his fury when the fight had broken out, and how he had demanded her as his prize.

  “You know this pirate?” Spotswood said to her intensely. She looked into his eyes again and nodded. She trusted him; he would do what he could. Some found him controversial; Skye had always cared for him greatly. He had been born in Tangier, on the east coast of Africa, when his father had been stationed there for the Crown. He was an adventurer himself, she thought, a man quick to rise to a challenge, determined, and vigorous.

  “I know—Logan,” she murmured. She was striving for control but a huge sob shook her anyway. “I am afraid that he will kill Father.”

  “Tea!” the lieutenant governor said. “You must have some tea, and something to eat. Then a long wash with hot water, and a good night’s sleep. Sleep will make the world look brighter.”

  “I must do something!” she cried.

  “Perhaps—” Spotswood began, but Roc cut him off with a startling fury. “Sir! Would you cast the girl into danger all over again when she has just been brought from it? I will take the Lady Elena and go after this Logan.”

  His hand was upon Skye’s shoulder again. He pressed down, causing her to sit. “My love, you will do nothing! You may remain here in Williamsburg, or you may return to Cameron Hall, but you will not set sail again.” He bowed low to them both. “Sir! I am going to order my servants home, to see that the Lady Elena is readied for sail.”

  “I shall see to breakfast, Petroc,” the lieutenant governor called after him. He smiled to Skye. “It will work out, Skye, I am quite certain.”

  Her troubled eyes fell upon his. “Sir! You do not know this Logan. I have seen the man.”

  “Have you?”

  “On the island of New Providence.”

  “Hmmph! That den of iniquity will soon be no more. There will be proper government there, and soon, I swear it!” He handed her a cup of tea and winked. “There’s a touch of honey and whiskey in the brew, Skye. Steadies the hands, on an occasion such as this. So you know Logan.”

  “Yes!”

  “As fierce a man as the Silver Hawk?”

  Skye lowered her eyes, shaking her head. “A far, far different man than the Silver Hawk! Logan is cruel and horrid and the Hawk—”

  “Yes, my dear, tell me. I am boundlessly interested in these rogues!”

  “Logan is cruel,” she repeated simply. “The Hawk is not.”

  “They say that Logan is sailing the islands and shoals of the inland waters just south of our own colony, in North Carolina. It might take one rogue to find another.” He came close to her suddenly, coming down upon one knee and looking past her shoulder to the hallway. He was anxious, Skye realized, that her husband not return.

  “They say that your Silver Hawk is in Virginia.”

  She gasped, winding her fingers into her shirt. “So—why—why haven’t you seized him, arrested him. Surely, you plan on hanging the man!”

  “Too slippery, my dear. I cannot come near him, not as yet. I haven’t the force, or the power. He could well disappear into the night, and that would be that. But I have heard rumors that there is a tavern near Jamestown way, but on the peninsula, by the waterfront. All manner of rogues congregate there, milady! I have heard that the Silver Hawk is among them, just arrived last night.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” Skye whispered. Suddenly, like Spotswood, she was looking over her shoulder, lest her husband should return. Her heart began to beat quickly. A startling new hope began to build within her.

  Lord Cameron was a worthy seaman.

  The Silver Hawk was … indomitable.

  “You were his captive for many days?” Spotswood said.

  She nodded, feeling that the blood was drained from her face.

  “And he was gentle with you?”

  “Er—yes,” she murmured.

  “Then perhaps you could pay the one rogue to go after the other! Let him help us first, then he can hang in his own time!”

  “Sir—”

  “Shush! Your husband is returning.”

  He is not my husband! she longed to shout, but he had once told her that she could not change truth by denying it.

  And she was also shivering and trembling within, besieged by a tremendous guilt. He had been honorable in all things. Perhaps not. There had been last night. Last night he had not been so honorable; he had been a man, and the man who claimed to be her husband. He had touched her and awakened her, and maybe it hadn’t been his fault that she had dreamed of another, and that their images had combined.

  She could not go to the Silver Hawk. She was Lord Cameron’s wife. She could not seek out a rogue.…

  But her heart was beating frantically. When Roc Cameron left her, she knew that she would ride herself, and try to find the pirate king. Her father’s life was at stake.

  Roc Cameron’s long strides beat against the hardwood floor. Spotswood called to a servant and asked that a meal be served to them there. Roc came behind Skye. “I have sent Peter homeward. I will find your father, Skye. I swear it. I will bring him home safely, no matter what the trial and cost. Believe in me.”

  Skye thought that Spotswood watched them with a curious light to his eyes. She flushed, for Roc’s declaration had been passionate, and his touch upon her was tender. She didn’t know quite what Spotswood knew about their relationship, but she found herself looking uneasily to her lap. She meant to betray her husband.

  “When will you leave, Petroc?” Spotswood asked him.

  “I’ll see Skye settled in her home tonight, and ride out in the morning.”

  “The morning!” Skye cried.

  Roc’s silver eyes fell to hers. “Yes. What is the matter with that?”

  “Just that—just that you should leave earlier! You should leave today. Perhaps Logan takes Father further and further away. Time is of the essence—”

  “Skye, they can only load and arm and supply the ship so quickly. I will see you safe this evening, leave by the dawn, and sail with the tide. It will be all right, I swear it.”

  Food was brought to them. Spotswood began to question her sharply about the time she had spent in New Providence. There was little she could tell him. Her time there had been so brief. Yet both men listened to her with rapt attention, and when she caught her husband’s eyes upon her, they were bright with a startling fire.

  What could she do? she wondered in dismay. If he would not leave, then she could not escape him to find the Silver Hawk!

  When the day waned to twilight, Roc rose and told Spotswood that they would take their leave. Skye nervously arose with him. He took her hand and bowed to Spotswood. Skye murmured something, aware that the lieutenant governor was watching her. He thought that she should go for the Silver Hawk. That’s why he had told her what he had.

  He would gladly hang the Hawk, but later!

  She nibbled nervously upon her lower lip as Roc led her from the governor’s mansion and outside to the palace green. His hand was upon hers and she trembled, torn between guilt and a growing affection, and a slowly rising desperation that he should leave her.

  “What is the matter with you?” he asked her suspiciously.

  She shook her head, lowering it. “I am worried about my father.”

  He paused, catching her sh
oulders, drawing her close. “You mustn’t worry!” he told her kindly. “You mustn’t. I swear that I shall not fail you.”

  She smiled, startled to feel that tears were hovering on her eyes. He held her against him. She heard the sound of the children playing, of the leaves rustling over their heads. It seemed so peaceful, and he held her so gently. As a husband might. As a lover.

  She inhaled and exhaled quickly, pulling away. “I’d like to get home. I’d like to have a bath.”

  “Of course,” he told her.

  By nightfall she was up in her own room and in her own deep tub with a froth of French rosewater all about her. She leaned back her head and breathed deeply and felt steam rise above her.

  He was across the hallway from her. In one of the guest bedrooms. She had not told him that he must go there; he had chosen the room. He had said that he would not disturb her, and he was a man of his word.

  A man of his word, and more.

  The steam about her seemed to swirl within her. She remembered his whisper, and his touch, and it seemed that the very heat of the steam swept deep inside of her. She flushed, wanting to forget. It was so wrong to feel this way. It had to be, after what she had come to feel for the Hawk.

  She was going after the man to help her—and never to come close to him again. She could not do so. She was married to Lord Cameron. Truth, whether she denied it or not.

  And truth … because in the fireglow and green darkness of the forest, he had taken her into his arms, and their marriage had been consummated there. She would never escape it now.

  Not her marriage …

  She had to escape her husband. That night, she had to escape him. How? she wondered desperately.

  She shivered, despite the heat of the water. She could not betray him so. He had been too decent to her.

  She had to leave, and leave that very night!

  She never quite knew her intention when she stood in her bath, the scented rosewater dripping from her, to reach for her bathtowel. It was a huge cotton sheet of material that smelled freshly of the sun. She wrapped it around herself and stepped into the hallway. Downstairs, she could hear Mattie humming softly. But no one would ever disturb her up the stairs. Mattie would come if she called. If not, Skye knew, she would be left undisturbed.