Lightning zigzagged across the sky and a deafening roll of thunder rent the air. Through the window she could see the bolts of lightning grow more dazzling and blinding, and the ship tossed helplessly atop the waves like a child’s toy boat. The candle which had lit the room now dimmed and sputtered. Wynter was left alone in inky darkness and listened to the waves against the hull, the hard pounding of the rain, and the ear-splitting thunder. A new fear took hold of her. What if the ship sank? She couldn’t swim and she knew she’d be swallowed up by the inundating water. Not even Cort’s rope would help her then.
“Be brave, my pet,” she seemed to hear her father’s voice in her ears. This gave her a tiny bit of confidence that the ship wouldn’t sink. She had come too far to drown like a helpless kitten. She had to live and make her fortune. McChesney Manor depended on it.
But as the ship swayed and she was thrown off the bunk, she again doubted she’d live through the ferocity of such a storm. In fact, the rope might be her downfall if the ship sank. She was tied to the wall and unable to even float away. She decided to free herself of her bonds. With quick and agile fingers, Wynter unknotted the rope from her waist and took uneven steps towards the center of the room.
In the ebony blackness she felt herself adrift. The floor seemed suddenly to pull away from her, and she realized she was falling towards the bunk again. Her arms reached out to grasp hold of anything, but empty, black space engulfed her. Then her backside hit the hard, planked flooring as her head smacked against the edge of the trunk in which the lace nightrail had been stored.
Lights flashed before Wynter’s eyes, then darkness.
“Wynter, are you all right? Tell me you’re all right.”
Tawny gold eyes were the first thing Wynter saw when she opened her own eyes two hours later. The ship had stopped its unmerciful swaying, and now a brilliant moon shone through the large window and lit the cabin in a silvery haze.
She attempted to lift her head off the pillow, but she fell back again, glad to feel the mattress of the bunk beneath her. An aching pain in the back of her head stilled any extra movement, and Cort’s strong but gentle hands massaged her forehead.
Dirk put in an appearance with Dr. Dietz. “How is she?” the swarthy man asked as the doctor came forward and examined the bump on her head. Dietz smiled at Dirk and Cort.
“She seems fine, but it will take some time for the knot on her head to go down. Keep her still, because there could be complications.”
“Of course,” Cort agreed and turned to smile at Wynter.
Wynter glanced at him. The effort to move her eyes seemed to hurt a bit, and she said, “Where am I?”
“You’re on the Sea Bride, my love.”
“Sea Bride? What, what is that?”
Cort and the other two men looked alarmed. “The Sea Bride is my ship,” Cort told her.
Dietz placed a calming hand on Wynter’s arm and knelt beside her. “Do you know your name, my dear?”
“Yes,” she said, her gaze incredulous. “My name is Wynter.”
“Good. Good,” voiced Dr. Dietz. “She is fine,” he said to Cort and left the cabin.
Dirk followed behind the other man, and when Cort was alone with Wynter, he noticed her smiling at him. He was stunned not at the fact that she smiled, but because her smile showed genuine love and affection for him.
Sitting beside her on the bunk, he took her hand in his, aching to kiss the tender fingertips but resisting because he knew she’d grow upset. “You gave me quite a start to find you on the floor when I returned to the cabin. I thought you were lost to me. It took you so long to come round.”
“I fell, didn’t I? I really don’t remember, but from the size of the bump on my head, I must have hit quite hard.” She squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry you were so worried about me.”
“I was,” he admitted, and enjoyed the warmth emanating from her eyes for him, the feel of her hand in his. This was a different Wynter from the suspicious one he’d left in the cabin earlier that night.
“Cort.”
“Yes?” he said.
She smiled again. “I was saying your name, that’s all. It seems strange for some reason to say it, though I imagine I must have said it quite often in the past.”
Something in her attitude caused the hairs to raise on the back of Cort’s neck. Something with Wynter wasn’t right. He bent nearer towards her, his eyes locking with hers.
“Wynter, do you know who I am?”
With silken fingers she stroked the hard line of his jaw, and her face shone with love.
“Certainly I know who you are, my heart. You’re my husband.”
CHAPTER
10
Cort’s long silence unnerved her. She tilted her head in bafflement.
“Wynter,” his voice sounded strained, and she dropped her hand from his face.
“Is anything wrong? You look so odd,” Wynter told him.
Cort peered at her from lowered lids, seeming to want to say something else, almost at war with himself. Finally he flashed a dazzling smile at her and gently brushed her lips with his. “I think you should rest now. You’ve been through quite an ordeal.”
He stood up and pulled the covers around her. She reached for his hand.
“I am tired and quite worried that I won’t remember everything. I can’t really recall our wedding, though I do remember getting married … in Bristol, I think.” She laughed weakly. “My memory seems to have stopped at the moment I went to see you at the Fleece that day. Bits and pieces are jumbled in my head after the second I entered and found you talking to that buxom tavern wench.”
She shot him an impish smile. “But I’m not in the least jealous, my love. You married me.”
The soft glow of love consumed Wynter’s face, and in Cort’s eyes he had never seen her more beautiful or vulnerable. Not able to resist her, he again kissed her. This time the kiss was long and laced with a melting desire he thought he’d never feel again for a woman.
“My bride,” he whispered, almost in awe, unable to believe that her love-filled eyes were for him.
The image of her abundant reddish-brown hair fanning the pillow and framing her beautiful face stayed with him after he left her. A contentment filled him, because no woman had ever gazed at him with such complete trust and love. It wasn’t until Dirk sauntered over to him that the spell was broken.
“How is Vrouw Larkin?” Dirk asked.
Wynter’s married name startled Cort. God, what was he doing? She thought they were married, and he hadn’t told her otherwise. In fact, a part of him had wanted to believe it. But now the truth must be faced. Wynter might think she was his wife, but she wasn’t, and he should tell her.
Hesitantly Cort answered. “The lady is fine. In a few days she’ll recover.”
“Good,” Dirk said and shot Cort a peculiar look.
Cort halted him just as Dirk turned to leave the deck. “Spread the word among the men, among everyone, that when they address Wynter, they refer to her as Vrouw Van Linden.”
“Huh? Captain, have you gone mad? The lady isn’t your wife—”
“Do as I say, man. And make sure that all know not to refer to her dead spouse or they will suffer the consequences.”
“Ja, Captain. I will.” Dirk walked away, taking backward glances at Cort.
The man must think I’m insane, Cort thought, and watched as the newborn sun cast shimmery golden fingers upon the waves. In fact, Cort did think he was insane. For the first time in years, he wanted something which the sea and his ship couldn’t give him. He wanted love.
He wanted the love of Wynter McChesney.
Wynter stretched in languid contentment some hours later when the sun poured into the cabin. She hadn’t meant to stay abed so long, but she admitted to herself that the sleep had done her good. She still didn’t remember all of her past, but for some strange reason she didn’t see the need. With Cort nearby, she felt secure.
Of course she would hav
e liked to remember the moments she had spent as his wife, and a blush like a sunset consumed her just to dwell upon their intimate life together. Had she pleased him? she found herself wondering, and sat up. Hugging the pillow to her, she knew that most certainly he must have pleased her in that way. Didn’t she love him with her whole heart? She might not remember very much of their early life except for the stormy beginning of their love, which she knew now was a poor way to mask her feelings, but her body, her soul, and her heart were his.
A tap sounded on the door and a young woman with dark hair entered the room. She carried a plate filled with biscuits oozing melted butter.
“I’m pleased to see you’re awake, and if I do say so myself, you look fine,” the young woman said and smiled.
“Do I know you?” Wynter asked and returned her smile.
“Sure you do. I’m Mary Mertens. The captain made me your personal maid after your husband—”
Mary’s hand flew to her mouth and she hurriedly set the plate on the table.
“After my husband what?” Wynter asked.
“Nothing, Vrouw Van Linden.” Wynter noticed that Mary said her name haltingly. “Here’s your breakfast. Eat hearty, and I’ll be in to see to your wants in a bit.” Mary curtsied and left the room as if the devil were behind her.
Wynter wondered what was wrong with Mary Mertens, but after eating the biscuits, she decided to dress. She glanced around the room and spied a plain calico blue gown which she remembered as her own, hanging on a wall hook. She reached out for the gown and, taking it down, muttered aloud, “Now, why would I have packed such a gown as this?”
She shook her head in bafflement, because the gown was so unadorned for a honeymoon voyage. She must ask Cort to fill in the gaps of her memory. Though Debra had cut her off without funds, and Wynter knew that Adam and Lucy would never have provided her with any money for elaborate wear, she couldn’t think why she would have left home without her own things.
Then she saw the trunk against the wall. “I’ll bet my clothes are in there,” she said and dashed towards the huge chest. For a moment she fiddled with the lock before it opened, and then looked with dismay at the contents. The elaborate satin, silk, and velvet, gowns that brushed against her hands as she rummaged through the mélange of clothes were not familiar to her, and the strange fashion of the clothes told her these gowns and capes were foreign. A small jab of panic rose within her.
“Where are my own gowns?” she cried. “Where are my things?”
No answer was forthcoming. Even when Mary returned a short time later, Wynter was still in the dark.
“I can’t say, Vrouw Van Linden. You better ask the captain,” Mary informed her.
“I’ll do that,” Wynter declared, but knew she had to wear something other than the frilly lace nightrail which was as unfamiliar to her as the clothes in the trunk. So, she opted to change into the blue gown she’d worn many times at McChesney Manor to ride the fields with Fletch.
For a brief moment she wondered how Fletch and dear Maddie were getting on. She must write them soon.
When she was suitably attired and her hair brushed by an eager-to-please Mary, Wynter left the cabin and was soon on deck. Breathing in the fresh sea air helped the dull headache she’d had since awakening. She realized she must have taken an awful fall to still have such a big knot on the back of her head, but when she saw Cort on the quarterdeck she forgot her headache.
“Cort! Cort!” she called and waved. In seconds she was beside him, her face lit by a warm smile, and she kissed him intimately on the mouth.
Cort appeared positively taken aback by this impulsive action. “Wynter, this isn’t the place for kissing. My men—”
Laughing up at him, her eyes sparkled like ocean pearls. She put her arm through his. “I’m your wife, Cort. The men will get used to me in time, and I think you should be used to my kisses by now.”
He turned his head towards the open sea so she wouldn’t see the guilt on his face. After a few minutes of silence, she broke it.
“Fletch would have liked this. I wonder how he is.”
This time she saw more than surprise in his eyes, more than guilt. Something like shock.
“What about Fletch?” he asked.
“He signed up to sail on a ship for somewhere. Virginia, I think. But I don’t remember if he left or not by now. Fletch wanted to make his fortune, and I know he will. He couldn’t wait to sail away from England.”
“Yes, well … I’m certain he made out fine.”
Wynter sighed. “I hope so. Fletch is so terribly young and was forever down with a cold.” She squeezed his hand. “Cort, tell me about our wedding.”
Did she imagine it or did he stiffen beside her? Why did his hand feel so cold in hers suddenly? The wind blew warm upon them.
“We eloped,” he said suddenly when she had decided no answer would be forthcoming.
“And?”
“That’s it.”
Wynter giggled. “Cort, there must be more to it than that. You must have wooed me, otherwise how could I have married you? Why, that time I saw you on the hillside by Lady Montgomery’s, we were less than friends.”
“Passionate enemies, my love,” he said and shot her a devastatingly handsome smile which set her pulse to racing.
“Still,” Wynter said, considering him, “I don’t see how all this came about. I went to the Fleece to ask you for a loan to buy McChesney Manor … and now we’re married and I don’t seem to have any of my own clothes with me—”
Without warning, he drew her into his arms. His lips pressed against hers and the warmth of his kiss stilled any more questions.
Whistles of approval surrounded them. “I think my men like my choice in women,” he said when their lips parted.
“And I think it’s a good thing I’m a married woman. Cort Van Linden,” Wynter whispered in a breathy voice. “Otherwise I won’t be held responsible for my actions where you’re concerned.”
He groaned her name almost in agony, but tapped her playfully on the derriere. “Now go below, or my men might get jealous of this attention you’ve bestowed upon me.”
She smiled seductively. “There’s more where that came from, my love. Much more.”
Wynter returned to the cabin, unaware that Cort Van Linden, the man she believed to be her husband, hoped she would forgive him when she remembered the past.
Cort moved among his men, issuing orders, seeing that the sails damaged in the storm were repaired. He had swallowed his guilt and refused to feel remorse for not apprising Wynter of the truth. In fact, he didn’t know how to tell her. At one point during his supervision, he stopped on deck to dip a cup into a barrel of water. As he drank and had a moment to think, he wondered how he should phrase the words if he told her.
But after futile attempts in his mind to come up with an adequate explanation, he tossed the cup into the barrel. What good would it do to tell her they weren’t married, that he never had any intention of marrying her or anyone? The wound of Katrina’s betrayal had long ago healed, but his distrust of women ran deeper than a ravine inside his soul. He found them all frivolous and interested only in what presents he could bestow upon them. None of them gave themselves with a pure heart but had ulterior motives. Like Estelle Montgomery. Granted, Estelle was not cold-hearted like Katrina; but in her own way, she’d tried to tame him, to use him for her own gain after her husband died. She’d told him she loved him many times, but she wanted him to marry her, and Cort didn’t care about her enough to make an honest woman of her.
Cort remembered Lawrence, Estelle’s husband, who was long past 60 when she married him. Lawrence Montgomery had been a man of property, of means, and a great friend to a young man who desperately needed a friend and benefactor. And Lawrence, despite his hereditary English title and wealth, had enlisted Cort to pirate for him. The old man had loved expensive artifacts and jewels, and he was so tight with the purse strings that plundering was his means to have them wit
hout spending a tuppence. Even before his death, Cort and Estelle had started their affair, but Lawrence knew of it and didn’t mind. Many times Lawrence told Cort he couldn’t satisfy his young and beautiful wife, so he thought it good for Estelle to indulge in a love affair with a handsome young man. He had all he wanted … as long as Cort pirated for him. Which Cort did with relish.
So the expenses of the Sea Bride’s overhaul had been paid by Lawrence Montgomery, who didn’t care that the ship had been confiscated from an Englishman named Henry Morgan; and Cort not only had a powerful ship and great wealth to back him, but the wife of Montgomery to warm his bed when he visited Lawrence. Cort knew he should be a happy man, but he wasn’t. Even Estelle couldn’t hold his interest for long. But Wynter McChesney could, and this surprised him because she still acted like a spoiled child.
Yet from the moment he saw her preening before him and smiling that brilliant welcoming smile at him at her birthday ball, he was determined to have her. Deep down, he wanted her love, craved it as a drowning man who attempts to swim to the surface and life. But he knew that one day she’d regain that portion of her memory about her dead young husband and would hate Cort for deceiving her into the belief that they had eloped.
For the first time in a long time, he felt unsure of himself and the future. Yet when Mary came to him and whispered in his ear that “Vrouw Van Linden awaits you, sir,” and gave him a knowing look, followed by a little giggle, Cort made up his mind. To hell with the future! To hell with any scruples he might still possess! One must live life for the moment, not the morrow.
When he made his way to his cabin, he knew that that night he’d claim his “bride.”
CHAPTER
11
The sound of Cort’s footsteps along the passage way alerted Wynter to his coming. Inside the cabin, she took one last look around the room, making certain that the candles flickered on the table, set for two, where a silver tray was laden with succulent beef swimming in a thick brown sauce. Beside the tray were two crystal goblets, filled to the brim with dark red wine, and a loaf of bread, fresh from the oven. She dipped a finger in the bathing tub she’d ordered Dirk to fill, to make sure the temperature was right. Then her anticipatory gaze slid to the bunk with sheets rolled down and pillows fluffed. A dark stain colored her usually rosy cheeks to imagine that soon Cort would hold her in his arms. “Let me please him,” she found herself saying in the empty cabin.
Pirate's Golden Promise Page 11
