For a moment, he remained silent, and she wanted to scream.
What he did to her, in private, often left her shaken and vulnerable, because the physical joining of their bodies manifested an intensely intimate deed, but he treated the act as naught more significant than combing his hair. That was why she found it more and more difficult to lose herself in his exploits, which seemed designed to shock her, and in that he succeeded.
There was a cruel sort of compact to carnal endeavors bereft of any declaration of emotional attachments. Absent love, intercourse represented nothing but a pastime, an amusement, a leisurely pursuit reminiscent of skipping rocks on the pond at Saelmere Park. And much like the pebble that skimmed the surface, before it lost momentum and sank to the bottom, she suspected her union was destined for the same disastrous outcome.
“If I promise to engage in the trivial narrative of my existence, at dinner, will that make you happy?” When she nodded, he chuckled. “Then you must promise to do something for me.”
“Need I even inquire?” As if she had to guess.
“Ah, but I want you before and after lunch.” Then he bent and whispered, “And I want your luscious lips wrapped around my whore’s pipe.”
“Must you be so vulgar?” The man was insatiable. “And do not refer to that part of your anatomy by that name, as I am no whore, and I find the mere implication offensive.”
“Fair enough.” Leland waggled his brows. “What would you have me call it, as I am open to suggestions?”
“Well, given what you insist I do with it, which I am still not entirely convinced is normal, but I will not gainsay you, as I am inexperienced and rely on your tutelage, and it does not harm me, what is wrong with Sophia’s pipe?”
In that instant, he burst into laughter. “Oh, my proper English lady, there is hope for you, yet.” Then, to her disgust, he swatted her bottom. “Now, go below, take down your hair, and get rid of that gown, because I want you naked when I arrive in our cabin.”
“And that is new?” She humphed, accepted the now empty cup, and returned to the galley.
After assisting Bateman with meal preparations, Sophia adjourned to the captain’s cabin, to brace herself for Leland’s plans. From the bunk, she retrieved a fluffy pillow, because his favorite maneuver was brutal on her knees.
From the table, she collected a few charts, which her ribald husband left behind, after he broke his fast. At his desk, she shook her head, as she rued the disorganized mess, which she had yet to tackle. “Well, there is no time like the present.”
The first drawer contained various tools associated with his occupation as a sea captain, and she arranged everything in a neat and tidy manner. The second and third drawers held a variety of logs and charts, along with etchings of naked women in lewd poses, which she tossed into the sea, so she separated the important items into two stacks and placed them, accordingly. The last drawer yielded a bottle of brandy, some other foul-smelling concoction, and the familiar glasses, which she set atop the blotter. In the back she located a crumpled parchment, and she spread it flat to smooth the wrinkles.
It was then the impressive seal of His Majesty caught her eye, and she perused the curious document. A chill of dread slithered down her spine, as she digested the contents, and her knees buckled. “My god, I married a pirate.”
THE MAROONER
CHAPTER SIX
Port Royal, Jamaica
The November wind cut across the bow, whispering and thrumming in the sheets, as the Cry Havoc eased into port. At the larboard rail, Leland admired his bride, as she bounced with unveiled joy. Garbed in pale lavender wool, with a matching pelisse and bonnet, she cut the perfect picture of an English lady, as they prepared to go ashore.
“Listen.” She perched on her toes and favored him with a glowing smile. “Can you hear the music? What sort of food do they eat here? And are there any theaters? Oh, I cannot wait to go shopping, as I would redecorate our cabin.”
“There are all manner of delights, and you may partake of whatever you wish.” He signaled his men to prepare the mainsail hull, and then he led her to the Jacob’s ladder. “Wait here, and I will go first and help you down.”
“All right.” Fetching in her lace-trimmed finery, she posed an enticing contradiction to the wanton woman who sat in his lap, naked as the day she was born, and rode him after they broke their fast.
If he could confine her influence to the sensual realm, he just might maintain control of their marriage, but she tested him at every opportunity. Of course, he could not blame her, because he was the one who decided to share his personal history with her, and he should have known she would not stop there.
But in the last sennight, something had changed, and fear invested her gaze when he caught her staring at him. While she continued her investigation of his character, she lacked her former enthusiasm. He should have welcomed her reticence. Instead, he endeavored to please her, because with her he would never be alone, and that was his greatest fear.
“Sophia, turn around, and grip the rope.” Standing in the jolly boat, he steadied the ladder. “Smitty, hold her tight, and do not drop her.”
“Aye, sir.” The first mate grabbed both her hands, until she gained her footing. “Go slow, ma’am.”
“Easy.” Leland stretched and reached for her ankle to guide her progress. As he glanced up, he savored an unhindered view beneath her skirt, and he wondered if his desire for her would ever wane, because the more he took her, the more he wanted her. “Be careful.”
“I am being careful.” At last, she dropped to the boat, and he relaxed. “Where are we going?”
“Well, I need to speak with the port agent, to ensure our shipment of sugarcane is loaded tonight, because we must cast off for Boston, tomorrow.”
“You mean we are leaving so soon?” Crestfallen, she pouted, and he vowed to make it up to her. “But we only just arrived.”
“There will be plenty of opportunities to explore the city, on other trips.” Two tars descended the ladder and took up the oars. At his signal, they rowed. To Smitty, Leland yelled, “Make sure everyone is back aboard the ship at noon, as we depart with or without them.”
“Aye, Cap’n.”
Sitting beside Sophia, he extended his arm, and she rested her palm in the crook of his elbow, and all was right in his world.
“What is that tall structure?” She craned her neck.
“It is the watch tower, which is used to deter privateers.” He pointed. “And next to it is the Port Admiral’s house.”
“Privateers?” She cast a side-glance. “Do you mean pirates?”
“Aye.” When she squeezed his arm, he kissed the crest of her ear. “But you need not worry about them, because their numbers are dwindling.”
“Oh?” The breeze rustled the lace edge of her bonnet, and she smoothed a wayward tendril. “Why? And do you know many pirates?”
“I know a few.” That was one topic he would prefer to avoid, because he still could not admit the truth. “Given the current state of military affairs, and England’s determination to eradicate piracy, their way of life is no longer sustainable, and they are forced to find legitimate ways to survive.”
“It sounds as if you know quite a bit about it.” Despite her calm composure, he wondered if someone told her of his past. “Are pirates naught but vicious criminals?”
“There is more to it than that, but I would not expect you to know anything of it, given you were to the manor born.” Therein manifested the greatest difference between them, and he doubted she would understand the situation he confronted as a boy, much less sympathize with the man who persisted as one of the most ruthless buccaneers in Jamaica. “But not everyone is so fortunate in their parentage, Sophia. Still, others have no choice in the matter, as it is join or die with such men, but we arrive at the dock, so now is not the time to discuss it.”
One of the tars jumped to the boards and tied off the jolly boat, and Leland disembarked. When he turn
ed to lift Sophia, she wrapped her arms about his neck and kissed him.
“I would know more, if you would enlighten me when it is convenient.” Sliding down the front of him, she held his gaze. “Indeed, I would know everything of your world, if you let me, and I would never spurn you.”
“Of course.” He wanted to believe her—to believe in her, but he was afraid of losing her, so that conversation would never happen. “For now, let us enjoy the local attractions, which I have longed to share with you.”
With that, he escorted her to the shipping office, where he met with the port agent, signed the necessary documents, paid the requisite fees, and scheduled the delivery and stowing of cargo. What he had not anticipated was the change in the way people dealt with him, when his bride anchored at his side.
“Mr. Stryker, you may rest assured we will complete the loading of your ship on time.” The port agent tripped and stumbled, as he rounded his desk and reached for Sophia’s hand, which he brought to his lips. “And permit me to welcome Mrs. Stryker to our fair city. If there is anything I can do to ensure an enjoyable visit to Port Royal, do not hesitate to call upon me.”
“You are too kind, Mr. Gleeson.” Averting her stare, she tapped a finger to her chin. “Could you recommend a place to secure fresh produce, as I am in need of various items to plan menus for the crew’s meals? Given your knowledge, perhaps you can point me in the right direction.”
“Of course, Mrs. Stryker, as I am glad to be of service.” Gleeson preened like a peacock, and Leland wanted to punch the agent in the nose. “You may find a great selection of goods at the market square, which your husband can show you.”
“I can, and I will.” Grabbing her by the wrist, he dragged her from the shipping office. “Did you have to be so bloody accommodating to that perfumed dandy?”
“Leland, please, slow down. I am not a horse, and I cannot keep pace.” She dug in her heels. “And it is called manners, which you could use, given your foul temper. I submit I did nothing wrong, as I was only being nice to your friend.”
“He is not my friend.” At the main road, he veered left and set a course for his favorite establishment and a bottle of rum. “From now on, you do not speak unless I grant permission.”
“No.” When she came to a halt, he yanked her hard, and she sobbed. That stayed him. “I am no servant, and you will not treat me as such. Rather, I am your wife, and I demand the respect I am owed. If you did not wish to marry, then you should not have offered for me, as no one forced you to the altar.” Then she sobered. “You are jealous.”
“Did they not?” Furious, loomed, toe to toe with her, and she stiffened her spine. “Was I supposed to leave you to the mercy of those so-called gentlemen, who would have dealt far worse with you? And I am not jealous. I only ask that you behave with some measure of decency, instead of fawning over strangers.” He bared his teeth. “Now, move, else I will throw you over my shoulder and carry you.”
“You wouldn’t dare.” She folded her arms.
“Do not test me, Sophia, as you will lose.” Who was he fooling, when she tested him at every turn? When she made no attempt to obey his command, he clenched his jaw and groaned in frustration. Finally, he relented and offered his escort, and at last she settled her palm in the crook of his elbow. “I need a drink. Maybe, several.”
A familiar and comforting establishment occupied a corner of a bustling thoroughfare, and he had spent many a night in the pirate’s den. The combined stench of sweat, vomit, rum, cigar smoke, and sex permeated the dank brothel, and a trio of musicians screeched a tune on their instruments, as whores plied their wares.
At an empty table near a window overlooking the beach, Leland straddled a bench and tugged Sophia to sit. In the corner, a surly brute took a three-penny upright, and they grunted in rhythm. To the right, a short-heeled lass knelt between the legs of an old tar and suckled his nutmegs. That was Leland’s world, and he rolled his shoulders, as the tension abated, and then he signaled a bar wench. “Bring me a bottle of rum and two glasses.”
“Aye, Marooner.” The hussy winked. “Nice to see you.”
He expected his always-astute wife to comment on his pirate alias, but she remained noticeably silent.
“Make it three glasses.” At that moment, Blade ‘Reaper’ Reyson sat astride the opposite bench and rested elbows to the table. “It has been a while, Stryker. Who is the bit o’ fluff?”
“Reaper.” Leland nodded once and pulled Sophia near, because Reyson’s nickname was well deserved. “This is Sophia, my wife. What brings you here?”
“Ma’am.” Reyson stared at Sophia, and she scooted even closer but said naught. “I met with Cager, a sennight ago, while he docked, and he extended the same lunatic agreement you signed, as well as a business proposition I am still considering.”
“Really?” When the bar wench returned with Leland’s order, he grabbed the bottle and poured three drinks, one of which he pushed toward Sophia. “Do you want to settle down and follow the straight and narrow path?”
“Cager made a decent case, and we cannot run forever.” Reyson rubbed the back of his neck and then arched a brow. “Did I say something wrong?”
“Why do you ask?” Swirling the grog, Leland stretched his booted feet.
The Reaper motioned with his head. “Because your woman just departed.”
In an instant, Leland came alert, glanced to his side, and cursed at the empty space. Throwing a few coins on the table, he stood. In a single gulp, he drained his glass and sprinted toward the exit.
Outside, he peered from left to right, located his wife, running along the sidewalk, and gave chase. “Sophia.” In seconds, he caught her. “Sophia, stop.”
“How could you?” When she faced him, tears streamed her cheeks, and she shrieked as she pummeled him with her fists. “How could you take me to that…that…that awful place? I never would have treated you so abominably. No matter your faults, I never would have humiliated you like that. Have you no respect for me? Do you care for me, even a little?”
“Sophia, I am sorry.” Grasping her wrists, he tempered her assault, until she kicked his shins, and he pulled her into his arms. It was then she collapsed in a state of unutterable misery, and her heaving sobs wrenched his gut. “Shh, love.” He cradled her head. “I apologize, as I never should have taken you there.”
“Set me free, you ill-mannered goat.” At her adorable attempt to upbraid him, he could not help but laugh, and she struggled even harder.
“Where would you go?” At last, she relented, and he hugged her properly and kissed her forehead, as she wept.
“Anywhere away from you.” That cut like a knife, and she sniffed. “Why did you marry me, when it is obvious you have no need of a wife?”
“Ah, sweetheart, you could not be more mistaken.” It was too late when he realized he hurt his bride, and that knowledge worked on him in ways he never could have imagined. “And I married you because I admire your spirit, which I could not yield to one of those perfumed peacocks. What say we dine at a respectable establishment, and I will share some of my history with you?” When she replied with naught more than a whimper, he gritted his teeth against the pain that ripped through him. “Please, darling, do not cry, and I will tell you whatever you wish to know.”
“You will answer my queries, without complaint?” She shuffled in his grasp and cast an expression of woe and skepticism. “You will conceal nothing, and I have your word?”
“Aye.”
~
Given Sophia’s less than graceful introduction to Port Royal, the blame for which she placed squarely on Leland’s shoulders, she met her husband’s promise of candor with a healthy dose of suspicion, as he led her down the road. After fishing a handkerchief from her reticule, she daubed her cheeks and her nose. Conscious of her appearance, she bowed her head, lest anyone note her distress.
At a pleasant-looking business, Leland opened the door, stepped aside, and bowed. “After you.”
/> To her relief, the establishment boasted rich décor of matching gold damask, with oak trim, and nary a bawdy woman or a lecherous man in sight. To the right, beyond a pair of French doors, a bustling restaurant served an elegantly garbed clientele.
“Good evening, and welcome to the Grand Port Royal Hotel.” Distinguished in black formalwear, the host bowed. “Will there be two for dinner?”
“Aye.” Leland cleared his throat and shuffled his feet. “I mean—yes, please. My wife and I would like a private table, if possible.”
“We have a small dining room, perfect for a romantic meal, and you are in luck, because it is available.” The host stepped to the fore. “If you will follow me.”
As they navigated a sea of tables, her husband took her hand and twined his fingers in hers, and that simple act did much to allay her fears. Dressed in black breeches, polished Hessians, a crisp white shirt she mended, a brown waistcoat, and a dark green coat, sans cravat, Leland did not quite look like a gentleman, but neither did he appear a pirate. Rather, he seemed adrift somewhere between two worlds, and she wondered if that was the source of his mistrust.
“Here we are.” The host set wide a door, which revealed a cozy little chamber with a small table and two chairs. “If you will make yourselves comfortable, I will send a waiter to serve you.”
To his credit, Leland held her chair as she sat, and then he moved his seat from the opposite end to her immediate left, but that was not enough to satisfy her. Once situated, he again took her hand in his, and she sensed his agitation, but she would not be deterred.
A thin, grey-haired server entered the room. “Good evening, Mr. and Mrs.—”
“Stryker.” Leland rubbed the backs of her gloved knuckles with his thumb.
“Mr. and Mrs. Stryker, we are delight you chose to dine with us tonight.” The waiter inclined his head. “The Grand Port Royal features a single signature dish, every night, and the selections vary based on the seasons. For an appetizer, we have saltfish fritters paired with a spicy mango dipping sauce. The second course is a lovely salad of mixed greens, pineapple, mandarin orange wedges, cilantro, and green onion, with a refreshing honey and lime dressing. Our main entrée is our signature chicken dish, which is marinated in pimento and scotch bonnet peppers, slow-smoked over pimento wood, served with roasted sweet potatoes and rice and peas. For dessert, we have plantain tarts. May I recommend you begin with a white wine and finish with a port?”
The Marooner (Pirates of the Coast Book 3) Page 7
