When she came to the beach, she noticed that Mora’s hut still stood. Cabi was standing outside of it, watching her with large, black eyes. Beside him was Henrik.
She rushed over to the two boys and embraced them. They fell upon her, sobbing. Henrik spoke mostly Dutch with smatterings of broken English. Cabi told her that a pirate ship had attacked them the day before and killed his stepfather.
“My mother is inside with a friend of yours.” Cabi inclined his head towards the hut. The first person Wynter thought of was Cort. Rushing into the hut, she saw a grief-stricken Mora. The woman made a small greeting and left the hut. Wynter’s gaze settled on the small, dark-haired figure resting on a pallet.
“Mary! You’ve been hurt!”
Mary looked up at her with sorrowful eyes. “No, I wasn’t hurt. I lost my baby. Mora is taking care of me, but she needs someone to look after her. I’ll be all right soon.”
“Where’s Jan? Surely he can care for you.”
“Jan was killed.”
Wynter sank to the ground. Evidently Mary had lost the child from the shock of Jan’s death. “I’m so sorry,” Wynter said and finally began to weep. “You loved each other so much.”
“Don’t be sad. There was nothing anyone could do. I’ve always taken care of myself. At least we were married before … before it happened.”
How strange that Mary should comfort her when she’d lost so much. Wynter, at least, still had her baby. And Cort?
“Have you seen Cort?” Wynter inquired, not wanting to hear the worst.
“Not since before the cannon fire hit us. I don’t know where he is.”
“I must find him. Rest now, Mary. I’ll be back to tend to you later.”
She learned from one of Cort’s crewmen that Saba had been with him before the island was attacked. Cabi told her that Saba now resided in the hut that Wynter had used for the school.
When Wynter reached the doorway to the hut and called the woman’s name, Saba came quickly out. The two women embraced.
“Where is Cort?” Wynter asked, after making certain that Saba wasn’t injured.
A wave of alarm rushed through Wynter at the woman’s composed but detached look. “Captain Cort died this morning. I took care of him all night, but in the end, his spirit left him. He is buried there.” She pointed a thin, brown arm in the direction of the ocean. “A sea captain should rest in the sea.”
The tears rushed from Wynter’s eyes, down her cheeks, and onto the bodice of her gown. Never in her life had she felt such a wrenching pain in her chest. Why couldn’t she have died, too?
For a long while she sat on the huge, ebony rock, the same one Cort had sat on the day she fished in the ocean. His body now rested for eternity in that same ocean. Her mind flew back to the first time she’d seen him at McChesney Manor, to the times she’d slapped him and declared she hated him, to the time she loved him. All the memories intermingled until she thought she’d die from the sweet pain of them. She cried openly and unashamedly until she felt Dirk’s hand on her arm.
“Will you stay here, vrouw? Captain Rye wishes to set sail.”
She shook her head. “No, but I have nowhere to go.”
“Neither do I. Captain Cort is gone. He was my friend, and you are the woman he loved and who carries his child. Wherever you go, I will go. He’d want me to look after you.”
“I think he would, Dirk.” She sat and glanced at the white-foamed waves breaking at her feet. “Do you suppose that Captain Rye would take us to New Netherland? Cort spoke of Lindenwyck and his family so fondly that I should like to visit. I want our child to be born at Lindenwyck. Cort would have approved, I believe.”
“Ja, ja, that is it. I go to speak to the captain now.”
After Dirk hurried away, Wynter got up and found that Saba had been watching her and listening the whole time. The old woman came forward and embraced her once more.
“Go on with your life. You are young and will make a new beginning.”
“Thank you for looking after Cort, for everything you did before he died.” Wynter found it terribly hard to say those last two words. Saba smiled her understanding, and Wynter went to Mora’s hut.
“You’re coming with me, Mary. I’ll have Dirk bundle you up and carry you to the Lady Kay.” Wynter thought a minute, then said, “If you want to come with us to New Netherland.”
“Yes. I’d like that.”
Within the hour, Wynter, Dirk, and Mary were aboard the Lady Kay with some of the rest of Cort’s crew who decided to leave Santa Margarita. Henrik stayed behind with Cabi, and Wynter realized he’d be happier there with the islanders since he had no true family. As the Lady Kay sailed away, and Santa Margarita faded into the distance, she wondered if Cort’s family would accept her. Would his aunt and cousin take in the pregnant mistress of Cort Van Linden?
Wynter wanted Cort’s child to be accepted at Lindenwyck. Though Cort had spent his childhood and young manhood there, she sensed that he hadn’t been happy the last year of his stay. She also knew that he felt he didn’t belong but had lived on his relatives’ charity all of his life.
Well, that wouldn’t happen to their child, she vowed to herself. When she arrived at Lindenwyck, there would be no doubt in anyone’s mind that Cort Van Linden had been a prosperous man and that she was the woman he had loved.
She unfolded the blue silk gown Cort had bought for her and counted the tiny diamonds on the bodice and full sleeves. She realized she had a small fortune in diamonds here, and that, if spent with care, the proceeds from such a sale would last her a long time. At least until she could think of another way to make her fortune and return to McChesney Manor.
“Miss, whatever are you thinking about?” Mary asked from the bunk in the cabin that Captain Rye had assigned to them.
“I’m thinking that once we arrive at Lindenwyck, Wynter Van Linden will be a wealthy woman.”
“Oh, you wouldn’t pretend to be the captain’s wife?”
Tears misted Wynter’s eyes, and the gray orbs resembled the skies before a snowstorm. She turned to Mary. “In all respects I am Cort Van Linden’s wife and the soon-to-be mother of his child. If anyone has a right to call herself a Van Linden, it is me.” She fingered the betrothal ring, knowing she could sell it but also knowing she’d never be able to part with it.
Before the Lady Kay would dock in the busy harbor of New Amsterdam, everyone on board would refer to her as Vrouw Van Linden, widow of the famous Captain Cort.
On Santa Margarita, Saba ministered to her patient. Every day she sat beside the pallet where his broken body lay and forced liquids down his throat. She didn’t know why she attempted the impossible. More than likely, Captain Cort was going to die. She’d told Wynter he already was dead so the young woman wouldn’t have to live with the sight of him.
Saba hadn’t expected Cort to live through the first night, but he had. His skin burned like fire, and he mumbled Wynter’s name throughout the night. The injuries he suffered during the attack hadn’t been as bad as some of the others’ on the island. At least Cort was alive. His leg had been injured and infection could set in. Saba knew that if he hoped to survive, the leg might have to go. But Cort was a fighter, and through a stroke of luck, his fever broke and the leg mended. He would retain a slight limp for the rest of his life, but he was fortunate to be alive. That’s what Saba told him.
Cort didn’t think so. He had wanted to die, but the thought of Wynter kept him alive. Hate coursed through him, and when he learned that she’d actually visited the island and cried crocodile tears over his apparent demise, rage had consumed him. How dare the little vixen show up! He wondered if she were back in Port Royal with Henry.
Three months after the attack, Cort finally walked the beach. Saba joined him and, like a mother, she took his hand.
“Captain Cort is sad.”
He grabbed her around the waist. “Sad? How could I be sad with you beside me?” The corners of his eyes crinkled into a smile.
> “I am not your Wynter.”
The happy smile dissolved into a grimace. “I never want to speak about her again. The tart is probably living like a queen in Port Royal with Henry Morgan.”
“No, Captain Cort. I heard her tell Dirk that she wanted to go to Lindenwyck.”
Cort stopped in his tracks. “She can’t be serious. Why?”
“Return home and find out.”
Home! He hadn’t been to Lindenwyck in over ten years, and now to return because of Wynter … What was she up to? Why would she go there, of all places? Unless Henry had thrown her out and she needed money to buy McChesney Manor. Of course, that was the reason. Somehow she was going to wheedle the funds out of his Aunt Lena to buy the estate.
Well, he’d settle that score with Wynter once and for all. No one was going to use his aunt. Not even Wynter McChesney, a woman he still hungered for, desired and detested.
The Sea Bride was still seaworthy and hadn’t been destroyed in the attack by Morgan’s fleet because she’d been harbored on the other side of Santa Margarita. He’d call the remaining members of his crew together and go home. Even if no one wanted to go along, hell, he’d go by himself!
He couldn’t wait to see the lying little tart’s face when he arrived at Lindenwyck.
“I’m returning to Lindenwyck, Saba, and no one is going to stop me.”
Cort strode back up the beach, and Saba smiled to herself. She silently decided that he should be with the woman he loved and must return home for that woman. She purposely didn’t tell him about the baby.
Part 2
New Amsterdam
CHAPTER
21
A late summer’s wind caressed Wynter’s face as the Lady Kay sailed into the harbor of New Amsterdam. The verdant slopes of Long Island were to her right, and on her left was a heavily forested shoreline.
Wynter breathed a relieved sigh now that the ship no longer bobbed and tossed on the ocean and had entered calmer water. She was exhausted from the trip, and if she never set foot on another ship in her life she’d be grateful. A part of her realized that on the Sea Bride, with Cort beside her, she had come to love the sea. Now, she hated it and couldn’t wait until she stepped on dry land again.
When they disembarked at South Street, the town of New Amsterdam became a reality. The steeple of St. Nicholas Church dominated the landscape, rising above the fort like a protective sentinel. Dusk was falling. Despite the late hour, people rushed to and fro, and when Wynter and Mary finally set foot on the cobblestoned street, laughter and happy chatter drifted from the nearby homes and businesses.
“Puts me in mind of Port Royal a bit,” Mary commented.
“Yes, it does,” Wynter agreed. They came to Stone Street, where Captain Rye had told them they could find a fine Dutch woman who ran a boardinghouse. But Wynter was weary of the hustle and bustle of seaport towns. She longed to arrive at Lindenwyck and enjoy the peace and serenity of the countryside.
Before they left the ship, Dirk had promised her he’d make arrangements for a sloop to transport them to Lindenwyck within the next few days. So Wynter and Mary had time to gather their wits about them and get over the sensation of swaying from the long sea trip. Wynter took the diamonds she’d taken off of her gown and sold them to a jeweler on Pearl Street. She left his shop with payment in guilders, and was quite elated that the diamonds had brought more than she anticipated.
The first thing she did was to visit a dressmaker, and after rushing the woman along with fittings, in four days’ time the finished gowns she’d ordered arrived at the boardinghouse.
The morning of her departure, Wynter presented to Mary and Dirk the picture of a bereaved widow, which she considered herself to be. Though she and Cort had never married, she felt she had been his wife and would have been married to him if her pride and Henry Morgan hadn’t gotten in the way.
She smiled prettily at them in a gown of black silk. A white ruff surrounded the neckline as did a simple pearl choker, and on her head was a white cap. She wore sheer black gloves and held an ebony reticule. On the third finger of her left hand was the diamond ring Cort had given to her, the ring she would always think of as her wedding ring.
“Do you think I’ll pass the Van Linden’s inspection?” she asked Dirk, who looked much awed.
“Ja, vrouw.”
“Vrouw Van Linden,” Wynter reminded him.
Mary clapped her hands. “Captain Cort’s family will take you to their hearts, when they learn you’re to bear his child. I know you’ll be happy at Lindenwyck.”
Wynter gave her a wan smile and twirled her black beaded reticule. She hoped she’d find favor with the residents of Lindenwyck and would be happy, but without Cort there she doubted she’d ever be truly contented. However, she’d have his child, and the child was what mattered. She was doing this for their child who was a Van Linden, and when it was born she knew no one would ever fault that fact. She imagined the baby would resemble Cort, prayed that it would. Each night she dreamed of a man with light hair and tawny eyes, a man she’d never see again. Her child must resemble him and prove to the world that he or she was a true Van Linden.
Before she left her room, she took one last look in the looking glass. No one could really tell she was pregnant. She had had the dressmaker sew some clothes she could wear when her condition became obvious, and from the fullness of her breasts and the way her abdomen seemed to enlarge each day, she knew it wouldn’t be long. Her joy at carrying a child, however, was tempered with the knowledge that the father was dead and would never see his baby. A sob shook her for a moment, and Mary, who did indeed understand, rushed to her and patted her shoulder.
“All will be well at Lindenwyck. You’ll see. I know it is a grand place to live.”
But all wasn’t well at Lindenwyck.
In fact, as Rolfe Van Linden stalked down the long, drafty corridors and found his way along the marble staircase to the vestibule below, he wondered if anything would be right again. He passed the sitting room where his mother sat on the Russian leather chair and spoke to young Mikel who slumped in a matching chair, and Rolfe thought of the hopelessness of the situation that presented itself.
Once again his wife had duped him, this time in his own home. He had overlooked her previous dalliances, but to bed the stable boy in her own room was unforgivable. Why couldn’t Katrina use some sense, have some discretion, he found himself thinking for the thousandth time in their married life. He’d opened the door and there she had been, naked with perspiration glistening on her pale, perfect body as she lay atop the young stable boy who could hardly be older than 17 but appeared virile and more manly than Rolfe would have liked. And to think she only glanced up at him, so unconcerned, undisturbed by his presence, then to ignore him and continue pleasuring her much-flustered lover.
How Rolfe hated her!
He’d slammed the door and taken off, and now he stood above the precipice that dropped hundreds of feet to the waters of the North River. Behind him was the stone edifice he called home. Lindenwyck. Place of the Lindens. He almost laughed aloud at this. He considered himself to be the only true Van Linden after his father died, since Cort left. The blood of his Dutch ancestors flowed through him, but he couldn’t discount Mikel, as much as he wished. Mikel Van Linden, his heir, aged ten, would one day take over the patroonship of Lindenwyck upon his death. A death Rolfe didn’t see occurring for a good number of years yet. He knew he had to leave everything to the boy, but he resented the blond-haired son of his wife. The child wasn’t his own.
Oh, Katrina had tried to foist the boy off on him, telling him the child was premature. However, Mikel had been a very large baby, well over nine pounds, the midwife had proclaimed, and Rolfe knew that premature babies didn’t come into the world at such large weights. He told her bluntly that he didn’t believe her lie and knew the child had been sired by his cousin, Cort. Katrina had looked at him from those huge blue eyes which had intrigued him, enticed him, and she said,
“What will you do about it, Rolfe? Admit your cousin is more man than you? I think not. You want me as your wife, and now I’ve presented you with an heir. I doubt that your mother would be pleased to learn that her grandchild is the whelp of her nephew.”
After that he took his pleasure with her whenever it suited him, and Katrina became pregnant, but the child died at birth. Though he wished for other children, Katrina disgraced herself with too many men for him to want to touch her again. The men were well-bred, and her sojourns had been away from the house, but during the last year she stayed at home and took her lovers to her bed there. Rolfe was never certain whether overnight guests frequented her. He was grateful that none of his friends ever uttered an untoward remark in his presence or hinted that they’d bedded Katrina Van Linden, but Rolfe felt less than a man and was thankful that his mother was too naive to realize what was happening under her nose.
He should throw the harlot out, but he couldn’t. Katrina had a hold on him, knew that he had once killed one of her lovers in a fit of jealous fury shortly after the miscarriage. The man, a business acquaintance, had spent the night at Lindenwyck, Rolfe found him with Katrina in the hayloft the next morning, having had no idea they’d sneaked away. This was the first time he realized she bedded men other than servants, and with a fury he hadn’t known he possessed, he ran the man through with a pitchfork. The killing seemed to excite Katrina’s passions for Rolfe, but Rolfe pushed her aside in disgust.
He had covered the man’s body with the hay he’d lain in to pleasure Katrina, then at midnight of the next night he carted the body away and dumped it into the North River. Now, each time he looked into the river’s swirling depths, he almost imagined he saw the face of that poor, besotted merchant.
A warm September breeze ruffled his light brown hair. If anyone had seen him standing in the gathering dusk, they’d believe that the patroon of Lindenwyck was a man in control of his own life, his family’s, his home. No one would guess that the tall, muscular man, dressed in a black knee-length coat and breeches, was anything other than master of his own home. Not a soul would have guessed that Rolfe Van Linden envied his wayward cousin, Cort, simply because Cort had had the good fortune not to marry the scheming, beautiful Katrina Verleth. But Rolfe had, and regretted the marriage every day of his life.
Pirate's Golden Promise Page 21
