“You are a good man, Boyle.” Leland reflected on the myriad responsibilities of his post, the importance of which increased tenfold given Sophia’s presence. “Smitty, verify the accuracy of the log-line, the sand-glass, and the deep-sea and hand lead-lines.”
“Already done, Cap’n.” The first mate lifted his chin. “And the lifebuoys, grab-lines, and Jacob’s ladders have been rigged in the mizzen channels.”
“All right.” Reviewing even the most trivial detail, Leland scrutinized the waist and then studied the rigging. “Make sail.”
The decks came alive with the activity one would expect of a ship going to sea, and he remained at the helm, until they cleared the south foreland and steered into the open ocean.
“We are well found and away, Cap’n.” The bosun saluted.
“Then maintain course and heading.” Leland stowed his spyglass. “If you need me, I will be in my cabin.”
With that, he descended the companion ladder to the gun deck and discovered a surprising sight, but before he could pose a question, the cook chuckled.
“Gifts from your wife, Cap’n.” Bateman shook his head, as several tars washed their faces and wielded new blades. “She claims the ladies prefer a clean-shaven beau, and this scurvy lot could not wait to bathe.”
“Is that all it took?” Leland laughed, because he often encouraged his crew to improve their appearance, as most still looked like bloodthirsty pirates. “Well, she possesses an uncanny ability to sway people to her line of thinking.”
“Cannot imagine why that might be.” The cook arched a brow. “And I am told you will take an early dinner and retire with your bride.”
“Oh?” Leland opened his mouth and then closed it. “On whose—never mind.”
With a dismissive wave, he continued to his cabin. When he set wide the door, confusion reigned supreme, because his once modest chamber represented something more akin to the elegant hotel in which they spent a glorious night.
To the right, new wall lanterns cast a soft glow over a sitting area, which featured two high back chairs, a small round table, and a thick rug. While their large bunk, bedecked in rich damask and fluffy pillows, remained anchored at the right, his desk had been centered before the stern windows, which now boasted thick drapery, which he considered pointless at sea but might prove beneficial while in port. The little table where they took their meals had been covered with linen and moved a bit closer to the door, which he bolted just then.
From behind a decorative screen, which now shielded the bathing area, she emerged, with her hair cascading about her shoulders and wearing naught but a robe, and he was hard in an instant.
“Hello.” Without hesitation, she walked straight toward him, wrapped her arms about his neck, and kissed him, and he could have cried. “What do you think of our private sanctuary?”
“I suspect I married a woman of many talents.” Through the thin fabric of her garment, he cupped her bottom. “Really, Sophia, the transformation is incredible.”
“I am so glad you like it.” After unhooking his shirt, she pressed her lips to his bare chest. “And I shall explain, in detail, my alterations when we dine. For now, I wish to make love, and then you will tell me why those men referred to you as Marooner.”
~
It was dark when Sophia came awake, and she rubbed her eyes, as Leland gave her a gentle nudge.
“Sweetheart, hurry.” He patted her bottom. “Get dressed, and wear your heavy pelisse, else we will miss the sunrise.”
“But it is so warm beneath the blankets.” Humming, she reached for him. “Come back to bed.”
“You tempt me beyond reason.” Again, he jolted her. “There is something I wish to share with you. Please, darling.”
In the fortnight since they departed Port Royal, her husband returned to his secretive, surly self, and the only time she glimpsed the attentive man who escorted her to the elegant hotel was in their bunk, when they made love. Twining their bodies between the soft sheets, he bared his true self, and she craved the intimate connection with him. But beyond the confines of their haven, he was a stranger. Given his plea, she stretched, flung back the covers, and scooted to the edge of the mattress.
“Will you fetch my stockings and a chemise?” Yawning, she stood and walked to the washstand, where she poured water into the basin and cleaned her face and teeth.
“I collected your wool gown, too.” Squatting, he tugged on each hose, pausing to kiss the insides of her thighs, before he rose and drew the slip over her head. Then he helped her don the gown. “You know, we could buy you some breeches, which might be more practical aboard ship.”
“I am a lady, and ladies do not wear breeches, my dear husband.” She turned, so he could tie her laces. “And I need not dress like a man to assert my authority.”
“In that I cannot argue, because you make the simplest, offhand suggestion, and my crew jumps to perform your bidding.” Holding her outerwear, he clucked his tongue. “Had I known I could instill discipline so easily, I would have taken a wife much sooner.”
“Nonsense.” She picked up her silver-backed brush, but Leland snatched it from her, and she smiled, because he loved tending her. “I made polite recommendations, and they responded. Daresay I had little to do with their improvement.”
“You are too modest.” As he worked the tangles from her locks, she gathered her pins.
Before the long mirror, she twisted her hair into a thick chignon. “There. We are ready.”
“With not a moment to spare.” Clutching her hand, he twined his fingers in hers and led her into the passageway.
On deck, a brisk wind cut through her pelisse, and she shivered. “What is the rush, as it is still dark?”
“But I do not want to miss the event, and I have something special planned.” At the larboard rail, he halted. “Lift your arms, Sophia.”
“What are you doing?” About her waist, he wrapped a length of rope, which he then tied to himself. “Is this some sort of joke?”
“We are going to climb the ratlines, and I will take no unnecessary risks with your safety.” With his hands at her hips, he lifted her. “This would go much easier if you wore breeches, as I fear your feet might become tangled in your skirt.”
“Worry not, as I shall be extra careful, and you knew I was a lady when you married me.” Curious and excited, at once, she moved slow and steady, with her man in her wake. Unafraid of the danger, because he would never let her fall, she ascended to the tops of the foremast, where a sailor greeted her.
“Morning, Mrs. Stryker.” The young tar saluted, offered assistance, and glanced at Leland. “Cap’n.”
“You are relieved, Flynn.” Leland scooted with his back to the mast and pulled her to his lap. “I have the watch.”
“Aye, Cap’n.” Flynn descended the ratlines.
Resting against her husband’s chest, burrowed beneath the folds of his greatcoat, which he wrapped about her. “Why did you bring me here?”
“Because I wanted to talk, and this seemed the most appropriate place, given the topic.” Cradling her head, he kissed her crown. “When I was young, I would hide in the tops to escape my tormentors.”
“So this was your refuge?” She sighed, as he caressed the crest of her ear between his finger and thumb, a habit that often put her to sleep in the aftermath of their lovemaking.
“It was.” For a few minutes, he fell silent, and then he heaved a breath. “I have never shared that secret with anyone.”
“I am honored that you trust me.” There was so much she wanted to say to him, of her admiration and devotion, but she would not forestall him, and something told her he was not ready to hear her declaration.
“When I was but three and ten, we overtook a damaged ship, after a wicked squall, and my captain promised to aid the other vessel. Instead, he took the cargo as a prize, let loose the tars on the women, and rounded up the men in the waist.” Given the morbid tone of his voice, she tamped her shock at his haph
azard admission. “The captain bade me shoot a man, to prove my loyalty to the crew, else they would throw me into the sea.”
“What happened to the ladies?” Tears welled, and Sophia closed her eyes against the pain.
“I think you know what became of them, and their screams haunt me to this day, but I was powerless to help them.” In that instant, he squeezed her. “Still, it was my finger on the trigger of the pistol that took an innocent stranger’s life, and I never forgot it. Until that moment, I did not understand what it meant to be a privateer. I thought we were in trade.”
“And when you learned the truth?” A series of horrors played before her.
“Whenever we attacked, I hid in the tops, as I did when I was a boy.” With the back of his knuckles, he brushed her cheek. “One day, during a particularly violent assault, I was discovered, and the captain challenged me. Armed with naught but a knife, I prevailed, although I am still not sure how, and I assumed command of the ship.”
“What of the passengers on the other vessel?” She braced for his response, because it would determine so much.
“Their craft was far too damaged to be seaworthy, so I deposited them on a nearby island. In fact, it was my hallmark, because I refused to kill those who crossed my path, by no fault of their own.” Beneath her, he tensed his muscles. “That is how I earned my nickname, Marooner. I am a pirate, Sophia.”
“I know.” She flinched when he jumped.
“What?” Shuffling her in his grasp, he cupped her chin and brought her gaze to his. “How?”
“It is simple, really.” She shrugged. “I found the agreement with His Majesty, in your desk, when I tidied the drawers. And I take issue with your assertion, because you were a pirate.”
“And that does not bother you?” He furrowed his brow. “Are you not afraid? Do I not disgust you?”
“Of course, not. You signed that pact for the good of your men, and do not try to convince me otherwise. While I know you committed heinous deeds, that is in the past, and I am your future. Indeed, I admire your strength and courage to do the right thing, without benefit of the Crown’s protection.” She framed his face and kissed him. “I think you are wonderful.”
“You do?” Surprise invested his expression, and his mouth fell agape. “Why?”
“Because as a child you were sold into a situation not of your making, yet you now command this amazing ship and crew.” She rubbed her nose to his, and he rested his forehead to hers. “When you could have continued a life of piracy, something you knew well, you chose the difficult path. You opted for the unknown.”
“Sophia, I left people on deserted islands, and I doubt many survived.” He bowed his head. “I cannot permit you to labor under a the mistaken assumption that I am somehow better because I did not kill people with my own hands. However you may try to rationalize it, they are dead because of me.”
“And like the man that you are, you take responsibility for your actions, but you do not let them define you, so neither will I.” No matter how he tried to avoid her gaze, she met him with equal fortitude. “You could have declined the pardon, knowing you had no security in the year you were required to perform acts of kindness, but you did not. You could have acquiesced to that captain’s demands, but you did not. You could have persisted in your criminal pursuits, but you did not. Regardless of what you say or believe, you are a good man, Leland Stryker. You are a very good man.”
For a long while, he simply stared at her, and countless emotions flickered in his handsome visage.
Then he blinked. “Look.”
From their perch, she spied a thread of shimmering gold on the horizon, and the sky manifested a stunning palette of vivid shades of indigo, pink, and yellow. Slowly, the thin strip of flaxen swelled, as night yielded to day, and the ethereal sight brought tears to her eyes.
“It is cold, and we should return to our cabin and break our fast.” Ah, she knew what that meant.
“And then you will ride me.” Fondling his crotch, she found him aroused, not that she was surprised.
“Am I that predictable?” His mock affront did not fool her for a second.
“Oh, yes.” She giggled.
“Sophia, I do not deserve you.” Spearing his fingers in her hair, he kissed her hard and fast. “You were reason enough to sign that document, no matter what happens. Now, you should prepare to be boarded, my lady wife.”
THE MAROONER
CHAPTER EIGHT
Boston
The hired hack drew to a halt before the imposing, red-bricked mansion at twenty-two Beacon Street. At the curb, Leland exited the rig and then turned to hand down Sophia. While the journey to America passed with nary a hitch, he felt as if he were waiting for the other boot to drop. At the entry stairs, he grasped the knocker, but the door wrenched open to reveal Francie, Cager’s wife and the unconventional housekeeper.
“Mr. Stryker, welcome home.” Francie stepped aside. “Will you not come in and take your ease?”
“Hello, Francie.” With his hand at the small of Sophia’s back, he escorted his bride. “Allow me to introduce my wife, Lady Sophia.”
“Welcome, Lady Sophia.” From the landing, a very pregnant Madalene waved and then descended the stairs. “I am Madalene, Jean Marc’s wife.”
“Just Sophia is fine.” His lady curtseyed. “I have heard so much about you, and I am uncontrollably excited to finally make your acquaintance.”
“Let me take your pelisse.” Francie unhooked the collar of Sophia’s outwear and then took his greatcoat. “It is cold, today. And Cager says you will need to cast off before the holiday, if you hope to escape the ice and snow.”
“But I was hoping you would join us for Christmastide celebrations and, perhaps, the New Year.” Madalene hugged her protruding belly. “Francie, will you ask Mabel to prepare refreshments, and have Betsy convey everything to the drawing room?”
“Of course.” Francie hung the garments on a hall tree. “And Mr. Cavalier is in his study, with Cager. Shall I call them?”
“Oh, I can do that.” Madalene cupped a hand to her mouth. “Jean Marc. Cager.”
The less than graceful summons resulted in a thundering stampede, as Jean Marc ran into the foyer.
“What is it, Mon Chou?” Jean Marc grabbed Madalene by the shoulders and scrutinized her from top to toe. “Is it the babe? Should I summon Dr. Gideon?” To Cager, Jean Marc said, “Quick, saddle a horse.”
“My darling husband, please, calm down, and belay that order, Cager.” Madalene patted her husband’s cheek. “I am fine, and so is the future addition to our family, but I fear for your health, as you are wound tight as a clock spring. I only wanted to inform you that Leland is home, and he brings his bride with him.”
“His bride?” Cager glanced at Sophia, arched his brows, and caught Leland in a narrow-eyed stare. “Wait a minute. Wait just a minute. How in bloody hell did you ever convince that prime piece to marry you?”
“I could ask you the same question.” Leland scowled and pulled Sophia to his side, as something built within him. Some mystical force he could neither control nor resist. “This is Sophia, but you can call her Mrs. Stryker.”
“Nonsense, as we are all family here.” Jean Marc ushered Madalene into the drawing room. “Come in and take your ease, and tell us of your journey. How was the weather, as you sailed from Jamaica?”
“We had heavy seas once we reached the Outer Banks, but I delivered a cargo hold full of sugarcane, as contracted.” Suddenly uncomfortable, when he counted those gathered as family, Leland noted Jean Marc sat in an overstuffed chair and pulled Madalene to sit in his lap, as was his way. In desperation, Leland mirrored his friend’s habit, perching on the chaise and drawing Sophia to sit on his thigh. To his infinite gratitude, she did not protest. Instead, she draped an arm about his shoulders. “The men are offloading, as we speak, and I plan to cast off tomorrow, for London, once the rum and molasses are stowed.”
“What?” Madalene pouted. �
�So soon? But you just arrived, and I would get to know Sophia. And what of the holidays? Will you not stay for Thanksgiving?”
“Maddie is right.” Jean Marc settled his palm to her large belly. “What is the rush?”
“I thought we had orders to fill.” For some reason he could not explain, Leland wanted Sophia all to himself. A primal force, unbending in its insistence, unfurled and spread, investing him in a foreign power he could not deny. Despite his longstanding friendships, he would not share her with anyone. “I would maintain a disciplined schedule, and the men do not earn money when we are at port.”
“Jean Marc, make him stay.” Madalene whispered in his ear. “Even if only for a few days, do not let them depart, because it would make me unhappy.”
“Mon ami, you heard my wife.” Jean Marc shook his head. “You are hereby docked, and I will instruct my employees to delay your shipment for three days.”
Once one of the most cunning pirates on the seas, Jean Marc became a respectable merchant in the aftermath of his wedding to Madalene, an heiress whose father paid Leland to kill her, but he botched the job, because he refused to murder anyone with his own hands. After Jean Marc rescued her, he planned to debauch the wealthy daughter of an English nobleman. Instead, he lost his heart, and Leland feared he was headed down the same terrifying path.
“So my business is subject to the whims of your wife?” That did not set well with Leland, as no woman controlled him. Then again, Sophia determined so much of his existence, more than he was willing to admit. “Do you intend to explain that to my crew?”
“Leland, please.” Sophia brushed his hair from his face. “It will be nice to spend some time in Boston, as this is my first visit to America. And it is only three days. I, for one, would enjoy the opportunity to thaw out, as it has been positively freezing aboard the Cry Havoc.”
“Whatever you wish, sweetheart.” Of course, he could refuse her nothing.
The Marooner (Pirates of the Coast Book 3) Page 9
