Cort didn’t listen to anything else she would have said. He didn’t wait to hear her tell him that one day, as soon as he came to terms with his past and admitted he loved her, she would go willingly to him. Instead he thrust her from him, and for a split second he saw not Wynter, but Katrina’s sly face before him.
Old wounds reopened in him, and he felt as he had that evening on the bluff above the North River when Katrina told him she planned to marry his cousin. But now the woman rebuffing him was Wynter, a woman he had come to love as no other person in his life before or after Katrina. And this time the sting of what he perceived as rejection hurt twentyfold.
More calmly than he felt, he stood up and looked into Wynter’s upturned eyes. He stroked her cheek with a tanned index finger and shook his head sadly. “To think what we could have had, little one. But I know now that our time has passed and cannot be recaptured. You must find yourself, and I have been too long away from the sea.” His gaze shifted to the indigo ocean, spotted with crests of white foam. “My mind has been on domestic affairs and not privateering. A pirate is only as good as his booty, my sweet, and my men grow restless to move on. I must move on to other places, other women.”
“Cort!” Wynter breathed his name in shock.
“Sorry to be so cavalier, love, but I was a fool to expect to live happily with one woman; and I was foolish to expect someone so young and untried to stay by my side. Wynter, you and I have nothing in common. We’re totally different and want quite different things out of life. So, if you wish, I’ll take you wherever you want to go.”
Was this the end of everything, of all they had shared together? Could Cort really mean he’d take her wherever she deemed and then dump her there like so much baggage? But she knew he meant it by the cold glint in his eyes. Cort Van Linden didn’t want her, had probably never cared for her at all. She’d been a fool, a wretched fool!
Her voice shook when she spoke, but she steadied it. “I’d appreciate it if I could stay on here for a few weeks more. My pupils have need of me.”
“If that’s your wish. I’ll have someone come for you later.”
“You won’t return to Santa Margarita?” she asked.
“No. Not as long as you’re here.” Cort made a long, sweeping bow and grabbed her hand. He kissed her suddenly cold flesh. “I bid you adieu, little one.”
He turned and strode down the beach and yelled to Dirk to prepare to set sail. Within the hour, Cort and the crew of the Sea Bride were gone.
CHAPTER
16
Much to Mary’s joy, Jan stayed behind. Wynter wasn’t certain if the man stayed because of Mary or if Cort had given him orders to remain on the island. But Wynter didn’t bother to decipher Cort’s reasoning. Her love for him had caused her hours of weeping onto her pallet every night, and each morning she searched the sea for a hint that Cort may have changed his mind and returned.
On the fourth day after Cort’s absence, Saba joined Wynter on the beach. The daily class had just disbanded, and though Wynter put on a smiling face for the children, Saba could see the pain in her eyes. She patted the girl’s shoulder while Wynter sat on a rock and looked out to the sea.
“Captain Cort is foolish,” Saba told her. “But he return for you. He will.”
“No, Saba. Cort is gone for good. I think I drove him away, but God help me, I never meant to. I love him so!”
“He loves you. I feel it in here.” Saba tapped a bony finger on her chest, right above her heart.
Wynter didn’t refute her. Suddenly she didn’t have the strength. For the last few days she’d felt ill, especially in the mornings, and quite tired. She hoped Saba would hurry along so she could take a much-needed rest. But she hadn’t wondered about these ills, blaming them on her feelings about Cort.
“I bring you good food tonight,” she heard Saba saying. “Fish stew with many spices. You’ll like food so much you won’t worry over anything.”
“Please, Saba,” Wynter said suddenly as the thought of food nauseated her. “I know I shall retch if you say another word about fish.”
“Ah!” Saba exclaimed and considered Wynter in silence. “You carry Captain Cort’s child.”
“Whatever are you saying?”
“Baby. You are having the captain’s baby. I know these things,” Saba said almost arrogantly that Wynter would even dare to question her. “You have the captain’s baby growing in your belly.”
“I’m just upset, Saba. Everything has been too much for me. You’ll see that within a few days I’ll be perfectly well again.”
But she wasn’t. Two more weeks passed, and the nausea didn’t abate but became worse in the mornings, and spells of sleepiness threatened to overcome Wynter during her classes. Finally on one afternoon before the heavens released a deluge of rain upon the island, Saba and Mary appeared to coerce Wynter back into the hilltop house.
“I’m happy here,” Wynter protested.
“Oh, do behave and stop acting so stubborn,” Mary admonished her. “You’ll make yourself sick to stay here in such weather. And if you get ill, your child will suffer.”
Wynter longed to say she wasn’t having a baby, but now she knew she was, and she saw from the determined thrust of Saba’s jaw that she better come docilely along to the big house, which she did and was immediately put to bed as the wind and rain lashed the island. Saba covered her with a warm blanket and served her delicious oyster soup.
“I’m perfectly fine,” Wynter insisted. “I’m not sick or an invalid.”
“Baby must be healthy, you must be healthy. Captain Cort will knock the teeth out of old Saba’s head if Vrouw gets sick.”
Wynter smothered the urge to laugh, because she knew Cort would never harm Saba, that more likely Saba would be the one to box his ears. But to keep her and Mary happy, she dutifully did as she was bid.
She tried to calculate how far along in her pregnancy she was. Her last flux had been the week before Fletch died; that was in early April, and this was the last week of June. Nearly three months along, so the child would be born in December or January. Wynter sighed, disturbed to realize that her child would also be a bastard.
She hit the pillow with her fist. “Damn you, Cort Van Linden! Damn you!”
“Jan and I will be married as soon as Captain Cort returns,” Mary gushed happily one morning a few weeks later. But then a strained silence met Wynter’s ears when Mary said, “I hope it’s soon. I don’t want to give birth without marriage.”
“Mary, I had no idea you were pregnant.”
Mary bobbed her head, a little embarrassed. “I’m not as far along as you. I just want to have a son for Jan, but I want the child to have his father’s name before the birth. It would mean so much to me if Captain Van Linden arrives soon so he can marry Jan and me.”
Wynter remembered that Cort wouldn’t return as long as she was on the island, and she thought that, by now, a ship would have arrived for her. But each day, though she saw tiny specks sailing on the horizon, none anchored at Santa Margarita. Why hadn’t Cort sent a ship for her? She hoped it would be soon, because she did wish to leave Santa Margarita before his return. She knew that Saba and Mary would run to tell him he was going to be a father, and Wynter didn’t want to have Cort marry her out of a misplaced sense of loyalty. He didn’t love her, so why should he want their child? She had decided to start life anew—where, she didn’t know, but wherever it was she’d have her baby and raise it without a father. With as much love as she had to offer, the child would never want for affection.
And who knew what might happen? She might make her fortune and claim McChesney Manor for her baby. She could very well envision raising a child there, but still she felt a restlessness which wasn’t completely obliterated by dreams of the future … a future without Cort Van Linden.
One morning after drinking her tea and strolling along the cliff that dropped into the sea, she saw a ship. Her heart almost stopped beating as the ship came closer, and she gave a
huge sob which felt torn from her throat. The Sea Bride!
But not the Sea Bride as she remembered it. Once, the ship had sailed smoothly over the seas and resembled a sleek bird of prey. Now it appeared to be a limping crane. From Wynter’s vantage point, she noticed that the sails were torn and remnants blew haphazardly in the ocean breezes, and that part of the window which jutted out from Cort’s cabin had been blown to jagged bits. It was evident to her that the ship had been in a battle.
She clutched her throat with a slim hand. What of Cort? Was Cort dead? She could see Dirk on the upper deck, issuing orders. When the ship limped into the harbor, without thinking, she raced towards the house, then down the cliffside steps to the beach. It seemed hours, but only minutes had passed, until she saw Cort’s crew rowing ashore in smaller boats. Luckily, Dirk’s was the first boat to stop in front of her. By the time he had jumped out and the other crew members had pushed the boat ashore, Wynter was in a frenzy.
“Where is Captain Van Linden?” she cried and grabbed hold of Dirk’s shirt before he could even turn around to face her. “Is he on board? Please tell me he’s all right!”
But when Dirk faced her, she knew he wasn’t. “Is he dead?” she asked, and turned so pale that Dirk grew immediately alarmed and reached out with his brawny arms to hold her around the waist.
“Nay, not dead,” he said in broken English. “Captured on Port Royal by Morgan.”
“He’s a prisoner, then?” Wynter didn’t know whether to be relieved or not.
Dirk led Wynter to the house, and when they were inside, he sat her on a chair and stood awkwardly before her. He explained that in a sea battle—a very foolhardy battle, too, and one he had attempted to talk Cort out of—the Sea Bride had attacked Morgan’s ship, the Fortune. The Sea Bride suffered some casualties among the crew, and the ship had been nearly put out of commission. However, Morgan had asked only that Cort board the Fortune as his prisoner, and allowed the Sea Bride to limp back to Santa Margarita. Morgan had advised Dirk to inform Cort’s wife that before the month was out, Cort Van Linden would be hanged in Port Royal for piracy against the English Crown.
Wynter sat in stunned silence when Dirk handed her a piece of white parchment. “Captain Morgan said to give this to you.”
Trembling so much that she had trouble breaking the seal, Wynter unrolled the parchment.
You are the only one who can save him.
Henry Morgan
“What can I do to save Cort?” she asked Dirk.
“Nothing, vrouw,” Dirk said harshly. “Morgan wishes only to have you in his power on Port Royal. He cares nothing for Captain Van Linden’s life, but wants only his wife. Don’t go to Port Royal. You can’t save him—not at the price Morgan will ask. Cort wouldn’t want his freedom in exchange for you.”
Wynter jumped up from the chair. “But we have to save him, Dirk!”
“As soon as the injured are well again, we sail to Port Royal and attack.”
Dirk made it sound so simple, and Wynter guessed that to Dirk’s way of thinking, it was But she knew that the injured might take weeks to heal, and by that time Cort could be dead. No, she wouldn’t allow Cort to die if she could save him, even if it meant giving Morgan what he wanted—herself.
“How long will it take before the Sea Bride is seaworthy?”
“Two weeks, vrouw, but you’re not going—”
Wynter halted him with a hand in midair. “Yes, I am, Dirk Breden, and you shall make sure I get there. Otherwise I shall row myself to Port Royal. You wouldn’t want me to capsize in a tiny boat, would you? Think how upset your captain would be with you if I drowned, along with his child.”
Two weeks later, the Sea Bride’s repairs were completed, and Wynter sailed to Port Royal with a glowering but solicitous Dirk beside her.
Mary and Jan also accompanied them, and the members of the crew who had recovered. Wynter knew that all of them disapproved of her actions, but Wynter had a plan—a plan she hoped would work. She’d confided to Dirk, Mary, and Jan that she had no intention of bowing to Morgan’s terms, but she’d lead him a merry chase, hoping to take his mind off his prisoner while Dirk and others planned Cort’s escape.
By midday of the morning they had left Santa Margarita, the Sea Bride entered the harbor of Port Royal. Surrounded by water that glittered peppermint pink and turquoise beneath a brilliant blue sky, the ship anchored in a wide lagoon nestled between the town and the countryside. Wynter hadn’t known what to expect upon landing. She wondered if the ship would be confiscated and the crew imprisoned. None of this happened. Instead it seemed that Morgan had somehow been apprised of the ship’s arrival, for he waited on the docks for her.
She’d purposely dressed that morning in the green-and-gold brocade gown that Cort had purchased for her on Saint Martin’s. The bodice was cut fashionably low, so low that her breasts threatened to break free of the material. But her purpose was to entice Morgan, not to reward his passion. She knew she was really inexperienced, not knowing what to expect where men were concerned. Granted, she knew how to flirt, how to smile and dance prettily. But this was different, because she must make Morgan think she’d welcome him into her bed eventually. Cort had taught her everything to date about lovemaking. And taught her well. Morgan was another fish altogether, and she realized this the moment he took her outstretched hand.
The blue eyes which had so appraised her with veiled lust the day he visited Santa Margarita now openly hungered for her. He seemed to take her arrival at Port Royal to mean one thing … that she had already consented to become his newest conquest. Well, she thought, Henry Morgan didn’t know Wynter McChesney very well to so underestimate her.
“My dear, what a pleasure to have your sweet company again. I trust your stay on Port Royal will be a pleasant one.”
His lips on her hand felt like a hot brand. Henry Morgan was a handsome man, she supposed, dressed in a scarlet silk coat with matching breeches but without the huge periwig which she noticed some other men wore as they strolled the island streets. Wynter found him repulsive and hoped she hid her loathing after they were ensconced in a carriage and meandered down the dusty lanes of Port Royal. She saw dangerous buccaneer types swaggering into the dozens of taverns that lined the streets. Some men were so filthy she knew that vermin must crawl upon their bodies, and others so clean and well-dressed that they shone like golden apples in the noonday sun.
Mary sat beside her and looked fearfully about. Jan had remained with Dirk on the ship, and Wynter couldn’t help but wish the two men were with them now. From the open lust on Morgan’s face, she prayed she wouldn’t need any help to fend him off, that he would at least act the gentleman pirate for a time, until their plan could be put into action.
Again he said, “I’m happy you could visit me, Vrouw Van Linden. You’ve no idea how I’ve longed to see you again.”
“How could I resist such an invitation, Captain Morgan? However, I think you’re mistaken in my reason for this visit.”
“Am I? I thought you had come to save your husband’s hide. He is to be hanged on Gallows Point in a week’s time, my dear.”
Wynter looked at him with as stern demeanor as she could muster, but tempered by a pain she felt sure Morgan couldn’t miss. “I don’t care a whit how Cort Van Linden dies, Captain—er, Henry. May I call you Henry?”
He nodded slowly, seemingly confused by this beautiful but surprising young woman. Wynter noticed the arch of his brows, and when she spoke again, she concentrated her gaze on his lips. “I’m afraid that Cort has broken my heart, sir, for you see, we were never married. He duped me into believing we had wed. I had lost a part of my memory, and when I woke from the awful fall I had taken, Cort lied to me only to gain entrance to my bed. It’s so humiliating to tell you this, but Henry—” and here she reached over and touched his hand, “—I hoped you’d be understanding.” Her voice filled with tears. “I put on a brave facade, but I must do so or lose my pride. However, you know Cort and to what
lengths he will go to achieve his aims. I’ll soon be well rid of the scoundrel and glad of the fact. Cort has hurt me so!”
She took a kerchief from her reticule and began sobbing into it.
Morgan scooted over to Wynter, edging Mary aside so that she’d be forced to take the opposite seat he had vacated. His scarlet-clad arm went around Wynter’s slim shoulders and held her to him. “Sweeting, what a beast the man is. I had no idea you’d been abused by his hands. But you must be brave and make a new life.” He gently tilted her tear-stained face up to his. “I can help you do that. By God, I will!”
“Oh, thank you, Henry. You’re a very kind and good man, so unlike Cort.” She began weeping again, and though she had started the tears as a ploy, she found she truly couldn’t stop. Where was Cort? Would her plan for his escape work? Could she make Morgan believe that she truly didn’t care for Cort? And if Cort really would be hanged for piracy, then what of herself and her child? They’d be at Morgan’s mercy.
Everything was so confusing, but she decided she must get her wits about her. By the time they reached Kingshouse, the governor’s residence where Morgan was staying, she had ceased her crying, and presented a happy, glowing face to Governor Thomas Modyford.
When Wynter and Mary were situated in their suite of rooms a short time later, Wynter fell onto the large brass bed in exhaustion.
“I didn’t think lying could have such a draining effect,” she told Mary. “If I have to paste one more smile upon my face, I shall be ill.”
“You’re doing this for the captain,” Mary reminded her.
“Yes, yes I am.” Wynter sat up, a frown crinkling her forehead. “Do you think he’ll care when it’s over with? Perhaps he won’t wish to speak to me again. We parted on such unfavorable terms that he might not give a damn about me at all, even if I do save his blasted life.”
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