Tides of Passion

by Sara Orwig

  “Now, the only obstacle in our plan is Doria. When we stop at the next inn, we must see to it that she takes the sleeping potion.”

  It proved to be as simple as Lianna expected. Doria unwittingly drank tea laced with the potion. Lianna’s nervousness mounted until they were once again in the coach, pulling away from the inn, leaving a sleeping Doria behind.

  A blast of wind whipped against the coach, causing the leather over the windows to shake. Quita leaned down to pull a fur lap robe across her mistress’s knees, then another across her own. Lumbering in deep ruts, the coach gained speed. Lianna raised the leather flap, peeping out the window at the half-timbered inn. Mist shrouded the steeply pitched roof and twin chimneys. Inside, sleeping with the soundness of the drugged, lay Doria. Sitting stiffly, her fingers clutching the fur lap robe, Lianna watched the inn until they rounded a bend and it was out of sight. Jubilantly she looked at Quita.

  “Now we shall succeed,” she said as she unfastened her cloak. “Quita, quickly, change garments. Whatever you do, guard against discovery by the coachmen and lackeys. They are armed, and John Stafford promised my father he would see me safely aboard La Joya.”

  Struggling with the heavy clothing in the chilly confines of the coach, they worked quickly until Lianna’s full lips curved in a smile of satisfaction. Dressed in the maid’s simple black cotton and rough woolen cloak, she gazed at Quita in the black cape, the pink batiste skirt peeping out where the folds of the cape fell open.

  “Thank goodness we have the same color hair. We can pull the bonnets low to hide our eyes. Here, pull this gauze down over your bonnet.” Lianna adjusted black gauze across the arching brim of her poke bonnet. “Our black hair will aid in the deception.” She looked down at the serpent ring and withdrew it from her finger. “Put this on, Quita. The striking serpent is the Marcheno crest.”

  With each minute Lianna’s excitement mounted. She would be the first to depart from the coach, since their plan was to deposit Quita at the wharf to board El Feroz.

  When they reached the busy docks, the coach threaded slowly toward its destination. The mist had abated; gray clouds scudded low across the sky, yet their gloominess could not spoil Lianna’s enthusiasm as she gazed out the window at the tall masts, the webs of rigging. Along the wharf people milled about, with barbers trimming hair, mates moving to and fro, calling orders. Stevedores heaved crates of cargo, exotic bundles from faraway lands, while vendors hawked their wares.

  Dampness cloyed the air; shouts, the creak of wheels, and the thud of cargo lowering to the dock sounded clearly. The smell of fish, baking bread, and the salty sea mingled with odors of damp wood and leather rigging. As the coach rolled to a standstill, Lianna turned to grasp Quita’s hand. Lianna’s pulse raced as swiftly as the clouds. “Gracias, Quita. And I pray you find what you desire.”

  Lowering her gaze, Quita murmured, “God forgive me, forgive me…”

  Lianna stepped out of the carriage.

  Speaking over his shoulder, John Stafford lifted down Quita’s portmanteau. “’Ere now, be quick, lass. Yon ship will sail before ye be aboard her. We’re running a mite behind schedule.” He shouldered her portmanteau.

  Hurrying ahead of him, keeping her face turned away so that the gauze veil tied under her chin hid her face from his view, Lianna approached the frigate. She stared at the ship which would give her freedom; the long row of black cannon on the gun deck was a grim reminder that danger might lie ahead. The lion figurehead appeared ready to spring. The red ensign hoisted at the gaff proclaimed loyalty to the kingdom. The sleek lines, the activity of seamen aboard her, the prospect that the ship would give her a new life, caused Lianna to deem El Feroz a beautiful sight, and her breath left her lungs as she looked up at the tall sails. Men crawled about above, untying lines, readying the ship to leave, and Lianna thought it one of the most exciting moments of her life. Her blood pounded swiftly.

  They mounted the gangplank, where John Stafford placed the portmanteau on a gleaming deck. “Quita, I wish you well.”

  Lianna merely curtsied. “Gracias, señor. Farewell.”

  John turned and his long stride carried him down the gangplank. Her heart thudded as she looked across the docks at the land of England, knowing it might be a long time before she saw it again. Wind tugged at her veil as she lifted it to see a rider on a horse rush into view between two buildings. Her heart thudded as she saw his familiar shoulders and golden hair. Edwin!

  She rushed forward to grip the rail as he rode straight for her carriage. She waved frantically, trying to catch his attention. He waved back, but continued toward her carriage.

  She dared not cry out because John Stafford was within hearing distance. John yelled at Edwin as he jumped from his horse and disappeared into the carriage.

  Lianna couldn’t breathe. She ran down the gangplank in desperation as John Stafford sprinted toward the carriage. Before he could reach it, the man on the seat leapt to the ground and raised his pistol.

  Lianna stopped in her tracks, her hand flying to her mouth in horror as the man yanked open the door of the carriage and pointed his pistol inside. Edwin climbed out, and the man slammed the door as John Stafford reached them.

  “Yer a damn fool, Edwin!” John Stafford yelled so loudly that his voice carried across the wharf. Swinging his clenched fist, he knocked his son to the ground.

  Edwin rubbed his chin and stood up, but his gaze looked beyond his father to Lianna, who could hear his voice. “I’ll tell Quita good-bye and join you.”

  “Aye, ye will, riding with a pistol in your side! Hurry it up.”

  The man with the pistol turned to watch Edwin while John Stafford climbed into the driver’s seat.

  With each step Edwin took, Lianna’s pulse pounded faster. To be so close, yet so impossibly far from marriage to the man she loved, seemed to tear her in two.

  He paused in front of her. “Quita told me. I can do nothing to stop you because if I do, the guard your father hired to prevent our running away together will most likely shoot me. Dammit, you can’t go on a ship with only men!”

  “I’ll just be a serving girl. I’m sure the captain needs someone who can speak Spanish because he sails to the New World. If we talk much longer, your father will suspect something.”

  “Can you slip off the ship after we’re out of sight?”

  “I can try, but they look ready to sail.”

  His gaze swept the ship while wind caught his blond locks and tugged them away from his face. She ached to reach out and grasp his hands, to press herself against his reassuring solidness. “What can we do?” she whispered.

  “I’ve agreed to sail on a ship leaving London soon. If we have to, we’ll wait until I return. Or if I can find you, I will. Quita goes in your place?”

  “Yes.”

  “And Doria?”

  “I slipped some sleeping potion into her tea at the last stop.”

  “Ah, Lianna! What a cruel fate, yet you’ll be free. If I kiss you, my father will suspect what has happened.”

  “But they won’t suspect if I kiss you,” she said, and flung her arms around him. “Don’t touch me, just stand and let me kiss you.” She pressed her lips to his, then stepped back.

  “Get off the ship, Lianna. Get off and meet me at the first inn on the road to London. It’s the Coachman’s Inn.”

  “And if we sail in the next hour?”

  “Then you’ll have to sail, and we’ll find each other if I have to go to the ends of the earth! Lianna, promise me you’ll wait.”

  “I’ll wait, Edwin. It is far more likely that you won’t.”

  “I’ll wait.” His skin flushed a burning red while he clenched his fists. “Damn!” he whispered.

  She felt trapped, caught by forces beyond her control. She wanted to remain in England, to go with Edwin. They were hopelessly caught in circumstances beyond their control, and she couldn’t bear it.

  He turned away, squaring his shoulders as he walked back and mounte
d his horse beneath his father’s watchful eyes. Lianna returned up the gangplank and stopped at the rail to see her father’s carriages still waiting while John Stafford talked to his son. She could no longer hear them, but John kept shaking his head. One of her father’s men stood with his pistol tucked into his waistband while he watched her. She wondered if he suspected her true identity, and she moved back a step.

  To her horror, as she watched John and Edwin talk, sailors raised the gangplank. She wanted to cry out, to tell them to wait for only another quarter-hour until her father’s carriages had moved out of sight.

  Behind and high above Lianna, a man shouted, “Heave up anchor to get under way. Set all topsails.”

  She turned to gaze upward. Clinging to the footropes on the afterside of the mast was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a mane of burnished brown hair. The laces of his white shirt were open on a chest bronzed by months in the sun and his narrow hips were encased in black breeches. He looked at Lianna and a grin flashed on his face.

  Close at hand, a tall flaxen-haired seaman dressed in a striped red shirt and baggy trousers answered the command, “Aye, aye, sir.” In turn, he raised a speaking trumpet to call, “Yardmen, lay aloft; loose topsails.”

  At the call, seamen scrambled to unfasten the furled sail. As white sails began to pop and fill with wind, winches creaked.

  The ship began to move beneath Lianna’s feet, and as she looked at Edwin only yards away, she began to sail away from him! Feeling as if her heart were splitting apart, she clung to the rail while warm tears streaked her cheeks.

  The gap of murky, swirling gray water widened. Across it, Edwin turned his horse to follow her father’s carriage. He turned in the saddle to look back at her.

  On impulse, aware that her life had changed irrevocably, Lianna raised her hand to wave. “Good-bye, Edwin, love. I promise I’ll wait for you,” she whispered.

  As Edwin rode slowly away, she felt as if her heart were going with him. And in that moment, starved for the least shred of love, desperate in her new circumstances, Lianna vowed to get back to him no matter how long or how difficult it would be.

  She watched until Edwin and the carriages were far down the dock and the ship streamed out toward sea. Her tears were whipped away by the wind, and her burning throat began to return to normal. “I’ll be back, Edwin,” she whispered one more time. Gradually she became aware of what was going on around her. She was sailing now, and nothing could be done to stop it.

  The agonizing yearning and hurt stirred by Edwin’s parting began to change to curiosity. Lianna accepted her fate and began to take in the feel of the wind, the tang of salt water, and the awareness that she had escaped the dread Spanish marriage. She was free and beginning an adventure.

  She stood at the rail watching the buildings and houses of Portsmouth dwindle into a dark line. Edwin could no longer be seen. She shivered as a fierce wind struck her, and she looked above at the sparkling white sails, the wide horizon. Her future was uncertain, but promising.

  The man on the footropes climbed down with a lithe masculine grace that adapted to the constant movement of the ship, his muscular legs flexing with coordinated strength as he called, “Get the wench below, Fletcher.”

  “Aye, sir,” the seaman beside her replied softly, and passed the speaking tube to a second man. “This way,” he said, lifting her portmanteau to lead her toward the hatchway.

  Swiftly she caught up her skirts to follow the man below.

  Edwin twisted in his saddle to watch Lianna walk back up the gangplank. He knew he could not stare at her too long without arousing his father’s suspicions. As John Stafford talked about the foolishness of his son’s actions, Edwin saw the gangplank lift. El Feroz was sailing!

  He felt as if someone had plunged a knife into his heart. Now there would be no way for Lianna to get off the ship. His anger grew as he looked at his father, who had reined behind the carriage as it moved away, watching Edwin with a furrowed brow.

  He had no choice but to move on with the carriage. There was still the hope of her returning to him someday, since she hadn’t sailed to Spain and a wedding, but Edwin still cursed the circumstances of his birth that separated him from Lianna and the life-style he craved. His thoughts seethed and he vowed to himself that somehow he would rise above his station and lead a life only he would command.

  “Yer a young fool, Edwin. She’s not for the likes of us, and ye only make yerself miserable.”

  Edwin couldn’t answer for fear his anger would erupt and he would disclose his full intentions. His father rode at his side, and he couldn’t so much as turn in the saddle to watch what was happening with El Feroz.

  They slowed in front of a two-masted brigantine, La Joya, its men getting set to sail. Quita emerged from the carriage, and Edwin dismounted swiftly. “I want to see Lianna on board ship and tell her good-bye.”

  Before his father could answer, Edwin climbed down while lackeys began to unfasten the trunks and carry them aboard ship.

  Quita’s dark eyes met his gaze briefly; then her head lowered as she took his arm and he escorted her aboard La Joya, where they met the captain.

  “Sir, may I tell her farewell?” Edwin asked.

  “Of course, lad. Miss Melton, we were sorry to learn your father would be unable to sail, but we’re happy to have you join us. We’ll show you to your cabin when you are ready.” Captain Lackly looked at the men unloading her trunks. “Where are the servants who are traveling with you?”

  “There are none, sir. My maid became ill during the journey.”

  “You travel alone?” he asked with a frown.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “That’s highly unusual, but I’ll see to your welfare. When you’re ready to go below, just signal. Good day, sir.” He walked away, and Edwin pulled her a few steps farther away from the gangplank, where they could talk without interference.

  He fought an urge to lock his fingers around Quita’s throat as frustration welled up inside him. “I told Lianna farewell, and they’ve sailed. She can’t get off the ship now.”

  “She begged me to change with her.”

  “This is madness! How can you trick the Spaniard?”

  “He doesn’t know what she looks like.”

  “Where does El Feroz sail?”

  “To the New World—to Santiago, Chile.”

  The words were foreign to Edwin and he repeated them softly. “Why?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What were your duties to be?” He stared at her, putting his hands on her upper arms without thinking while he held his breath.

  “I was to be maid for the captain.”

  “That’s irregular as hell. What were your duties?”

  “To serve him.”

  “How?” he snapped, his fingers tightening.

  “You are hurting me! Your father will know…”

  “Tell me, Quita.” He watched her as emotions played over her features, and his worst fears were confirmed without her saying a word.

  When she spoke, it was a whisper. “I was to be his mistress.”

  Edwin’s head reeled as he thought of Lianna’s innocence being taken by a rough sea captain. “Damn you,” he said.

  “Unhand me! She wanted to exchange places, no matter what! She said anything would be preferable to the marriage! I tried to talk her out of it!”

  “Did you tell her she would be his mistress?”

  There was a moment’s hesitation and then she whispered, “Sí,” and he knew she was lying. His fingers tightened on her arms again, and it took all his control to keep from striking her.

  “You lying wench!” He stared at her as her wide black eyes peered at him through the heavy veil, and suddenly he laughed, a mirthless chuckle as the irony of what had happened struck him. “You kept her from the marriage and that at least gives me a chance to get Lianna back and lead the life I desire. You and I are alike, Quita. You too, want riches.”

  While she stared at hi
m in silence, Edwin relaxed his grip and rubbed his hands on her arms. “I can’t blame you. You have a chance for something that never would have come your way otherwise.”

  “I warned her she might not like servitude…”

  “I wish you luck. I’d have done the same if I had had the chance. ’Tis hell to be poor.”

  Her black eyes widened. “You are unhappy because you love Señorita Melton.”

  “I’m unhappy because I’m poor. Luck to you, Quita!” He kissed her cheek and strode down the gangplank. He turned to wave to Quita; then his gaze shifted to El Feroz, sailing out of the harbor.

  “Lianna…” he whispered, clenching his fists, as he imagined Lianna’s innocence taken from her. She could not know what she had done with her life. He threw himself into the saddle and turned for home, determined to pack his belongings and another week’s wages and then return to sail with Captain Turner.

  “Santiago,” he said aloud. He would have to get into the squire’s library and find it on a globe.

  When Lianna lifted the bonnet and heavy gauze veil away from her face, the mate sighed in admiration.

  “Saints be!” His gray eyes raked over her in a manner which caused Lianna to blush. He grumbled in a low breath, “Josh will be pleased this time.” He raised his voice. “Stay inside. Been aboard ship before?”

  “This is my first voyage,” Lianna replied softly.

  His brows raised. “You talk like a lady but look like a temptress from the sea.” He shook his head in a disapproving manner. “We’ve lost Josh for most of this voyage.”

  “You call him Josh?” she asked in surprise.

  One corner of his mouth lifted in a sardonic manner. “We’re relatives by blood.”

  “Oh, I see.” She looked closer at his rugged face. “Is he your father?”

  Her question brought a laugh that softened his features, but his voice remained cynical. “No. I’m Fletcher Chance, his bastard brother. We shared the same father.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry!” Lianna blushed once again.