The Golden Cross

by Angela Elwell Hunt

  “She is a dutiful and obedient girl,” Tasman interrupted, a thunderous scowl darkening his brow. “She will wed whomever I choose for her.”

  “That may be,” Sterling answered, turning his gaze to the other gentlemen, “but sirs, the matter of my betrothal has nothing to do with what transpired on yonder island. As you saw, the natives attacked. Fortunately—” He inclined his head toward Visscher. “—this officer was able to swim to safety. But the old gentleman, the rowers, and the chaplain could not swim or were overpowered by the savages. After I escaped, I examined each of their bodies to make certain there was nothing I could do for them.”

  “But what of this girl?” Dekker posed the question, his eyes gleaming like volcanic rock as his gaze raked Aidan’s face and form.

  “Why was she spared?” Holman asked.

  Sterling lifted his shoulder. “Apparently they did not see a woman as a threat. I believe they saw her—” He turned to Aidan, his eyes caressing her softness. “—as a treasure.”

  “But how did they know,” Holman insisted, “that she was a woman? We have watched over this ketelbinkie for months, and yet we never knew.”

  “May I remind you, skipper,” Sterling paused and delicately cleared his throat, “the young lady wore no doublet or coat, only a shirt. And when the boat sank, she was thoroughly wet.” He lifted a brow, not wanting to explain the obvious. From the sudden rise of color in Tasman’s face, Sterling knew the facts had been received and correctly interpreted.

  “This does not explain how a woman got aboard my ship in the first place,” Tasman growled. He looked at Aidan with a cold and piercing eye. “If you are to blame for this, Doctor, you ought to be hung from the yardarm for the entire company to witness your treachery. I expressly forbade any women on this voyage—”

  “Captain, the fault was not Dr. Thorne’s.” Silent until this moment, Aidan’s quiet and feminine voice, uncloaked now, broke the stillness. She returned the captain’s stare, her eyes sharp and assessing. “If the truth be told, the idea belonged to Heer Van Dyck. He wanted to create a truly memorable map, and so he dared to bring me aboard for the sake of the art.” Her eyes filled with tears at the mention of her mentor, but she managed a tremulous smile. “He disobeyed your order, but I’ll not allow you to blacken his name. He was a gentleman in every sense of the word, and totally protective of me. He never intended that I should be exposed, or that my presence should cause strife upon your ship.”

  “Van Dyck was a perfectly capable map-maker,” Visscher protested, leaning forward with one hand upon his knee. “Why would he need an unskilled woman’s help?”

  “I once asked him the same thing.” Sterling stopped the pilot with a stern glance. “And he said that the older he grew, the more clearly he realized his shortcomings. In truth, sirs, he assured me that Aidan—” He paused, glancing sharply at Aidan. She had once told him her full name, but she might not want him to share it here.

  “O’Connor,” she said proudly, drawing herself up to her full height. “My name is Aidan O’Connor.”

  “Your name might be Mary Queen of Scots, for all I care.” Tasman slapped his hand upon the table. He narrowed his eye as he stared at Sterling. “So you discussed this with the cartographer before yesterday. You obviously knew a woman was aboard my ship.”

  Sterling’s face burned under the accusation. It was too late to backtrack; he had slipped and revealed another secret. Well, truth was better revealed than hidden.

  “Yes, sir, I knew.” He lightly touched his forehead in a mock salute. “But she kept out of the way, worked only with her master, and distracted no man from his job.”

  “Not even you?” This quip came from Dekker, who leaned his cheek on his hand, his dark eyes snapping with insolence.

  “I did not shirk any of my duties,” Sterling answered quietly. He could not say she had never distracted him; indeed, she had occupied his thoughts and dreams for many a day and night.

  Tasman shifted his gaze to his officers. “Well, sirs, I have an unattached woman upon my ship, something I have expressly forbidden. Any other contraband would be tossed over the railing. What on earth am I to do with her?”

  Dekker opened his mouth and lifted a hand as if he would speak again, but Sterling was quicker.

  “Excuse me, Captain,” he said, stepping forward and nodding formally, “but if you’ll give me a moment alone with the lady, I believe I will be able to provide an answer.”

  Tasman’s nostrils flared with fury as his eyes met Sterling’s, but when none of the other officers supplied a suggestion, he lifted his bantam frame from the chair and thrust his hands behind his back. “Ten minutes,” he said, moving stiffly toward the door. “We will leave you alone for ten minutes, and then you will provide a satisfactory solution, or I will hang you from the yardarm.”

  “Captain?”

  Tasman paused before the door, his back to Sterling. He did not turn his head. “Yes?”

  “I am, of course, assuming that you no longer consider me fit to become your son-in-law.”

  When Tasman answered, his quiet voice held an undertone of deathly cold contempt: “Dr. Thorne, I would sooner burn in the fires of torment than allow you to stand for one moment in my sweet daughter’s presence.”

  Sterling exhaled slowly as the other men filed out. Dekker paused and lifted a questioning brow in Sterling’s direction, but Sterling ignored him. He concentrated instead upon Aidan, who had paled and swayed slightly at the captain’s stern response.

  “He hates you now, you know,” she whispered as the door closed. “The captain despises you on my account.”

  He gave her a lopsided smile. “He will not always hate me. As soon as we have returned and the V.O.C. makes heroes of us, all will be forgiven.”

  “Still, ’tis dangerous to be disliked by the captain,” she continued absently. “I, for one, would not want to be in your shoes.”

  “I was hoping you would.” Sterling reached out and gently grasped her shoulders, turning her to face him. “There are only two possible solutions to this conundrum. I know seamen, and I know how they think. The captain could decide to maroon you on the next friendly island we discover—”

  A tremor passed over her face, and a sudden spasm knit her brows. “Surely the next option is more pleasant!”

  “I would hope so.” He softened his voice and his grasp on her shoulders. “If you would not care to be marooned, perhaps you would prefer becoming my wife. If you live in my cabin, you will be safely out of the sailors’ way. The men may be rough and coarse by nature, but they will respect a man’s wife … especially if she is a lady.”

  He closed his eyes, unwilling to face any signs of despair or reluctance in her eyes. “It is the only way, Aidan.” His voice echoed with entreaty. “Marry me, and you shall live.”

  Caught off guard by the sudden vibrancy of his voice, Aidan stood stock-still. The tiny cabin whirled around her. Marry him? It was the second time he had proposed such an arrangement, and there was no more love in his voice or words this time than there had been at the first. He could not love her. Until a moment ago he had been unhappily in love with Lina Tasman, the captain’s “perfectly delightful daughter” who loved someone else. Sterling wanted to marry Lina; for Aidan he felt only obligation. He had brought her back aboard ship as a result of his sworn oath never to do harm, and so he had decided to do the chivalrous thing and propose marriage.

  Marry him? Oh, how she would love to, if she could have his heart as well as his protection. She had never met a man like Sterling Thorne, one who was brave and passionate and strong and capable, but he did not even know what she truly was. He imagined her some exalted and extraordinary lady; how would he react if—when—he learned she was nothing but a Batavian barmaid?

  He could not love her. He had only kissed her in order to save her from that determined savage. If Lina Tasman had been hanging on that rigging, he would have bestowed that kiss with true fervency. He had acted bravely, but
acts of desperation could not be a solid foundation for a marriage.

  “Aidan?” She looked up, and found his eyes searching her face. His voice was soft with disbelief and hurt; he had interpreted her silence as refusal. “Would you truly rather be marooned or harassed rather than live with me?”

  “No.” She lifted her hand and placed it gently upon his chest. “I will marry you, Doctor, but in name only.” She steeled herself against the thought of his seeking out Lina Tasman again, but he seemed confident that he could convince Abel Tasman to forgive all this. “When we return to Batavia you may have the marriage annulled. You will be free to go—I will want you to go where you like and do what you will.”

  Her words, once she got them out, struck Sterling’s heart like the sharp and sudden blow of a thrown dagger. She cared nothing for him—that much was evident in the patronizing way she now patted his chest, like a great lady showing affection for a beloved servant or pet. She appreciated his gallantry, his courage, and perhaps even his devotion, but as soon as he was no longer needed, he would be free to go. Her voice had emphasized the word—she wanted him to go.

  Sterling dropped his hands from her shoulders and stepped back, feeling a rush of heat burn the back of his neck. She was a descendant of Irish kings, fine and well-bred, but there had been fire in her kiss and passion in her heart when her lips lifted to meet his. Perhaps she was not completely out of reach. If he was any kind of man, he could make her care.

  “So you will wed me in name only.” His voice sounded thick and unnatural in his own ears. “But you will have to share my cabin. For your own safety—there is no other way I can protect you.”

  Her long lashes shuttered her eyes as she looked down. “I know.”

  He cleared his throat, pretending not to be affected by her words. “I will find the captain and make the arrangements,” he said, his heart thumping erratically in his chest. “You’d best fetch your things from the cabin you shared with Heer Van Dyck. Francois Visscher will no doubt appreciate being rid of your paints and papers.”

  “I’ll go now.” She turned and opened the door, and Sterling caught it behind her, watching her slim form move through the doorway and across the deck. A score of entranced men stopped their work to watch her walk, a slender vixen in a flowing shirt and baggy breeches, a tide of red curls tumbling down over her back.

  Sterling shook his head and stepped out of the cabin. He had to find Tasman and make one final arrangement before a wedding could take place.

  Sterling found the captain standing at the taffrail with Francois Visscher. Gerrit Janszoon and Witt Dekker had just climbed into the barge that would row them back to the Zeehaen, and Dekker’s brow lifted in another unspoken question when Sterling appeared at the railing.

  Ignoring the men in the barge, Sterling waited until the rowers moved the boat out of hearing distance before he addressed the captain.

  “Captain Tasman?”

  Tasman turned, his brilliant brown eyes fixed upon Sterling. “You have an answer for my predicament, Doctor?”

  “Yes. The young lady has agreed to become my wife.” Sterling forced a smile, for surely a bridegroom ought to appear happy. “We would be pleased if you would perform the ceremony at once.”

  “Indeed I shall.” Tasman’s brow wrinkled with contemptuous thoughts, even as his lips curled in a knowing smile. “Better late than never, eh, Doctor? Perhaps I should be grateful that you will not wed my daughter—”

  Frowning, Sterling interrupted. “I will have you know, sir, that I have not behaved improperly toward the lady, and her own conduct has been quite above reproach.” He paused. “I was betrothed to your daughter.”

  “That did not stop you from kissing the wench before every man on these two ships.” Tasman spoke softly, but the venom was clear. “Did you take one moment to think of my daughter, sir, when you drew that false ketelbinkie into your arms? My daughter will undoubtedly meet these ships at the port. She will be there, dressed in her finest gown, awaiting your return, and you will step forward with another woman upon your arm!”

  Sterling flinched but did not retreat. “I assure you, sir, that I never meant to hurt Lina. I would do anything to spare her pain, but at the time I could think of no other way to save the map-maker’s ward. Even now I can think of only one way to keep her from becoming a hindrance upon your ship, so I am prepared to take her as my wife and my responsibility.”

  “There is another way.” Tasman tilted his head slightly, then jerked his chin toward the retreating barge. “Another officer has considered my daughter’s feelings and honor. In an effort to spare Lina from the shame of a broken betrothal, Witt Dekker has volunteered to marry the map-maker’s wench.”

  Sterling felt an icy finger touch his spine.

  “That,” he spoke slowly, searching for words, “would not be a good idea.”

  “Why not?” The angry color was fading from Tasman’s face, but his eyes were still narrow and bright with fury. “Does the woman mean so much to you?”

  Disconcerted, Sterling crossed his arms and pointedly looked away. “We are a good match, I think. She is English, as am I. We have endured a recent trial together. She has agreed to marry me, not Dekker. She does not know that officer, and I cannot believe she would want to marry him.”

  Tasman did not reply, but slowly pursed his lips in a thoughtful expression. Standing erect, he thrust his hands behind his back and stepped so close that his breath brushed the hair falling upon Sterling’s shoulder. “At least be honest with me, sir.” His eyes snapped with malice. “If you want the cartographer’s assistant instead of my daughter, you shall have the woman you choose. But know this—if she causes one moment’s trouble aboard either of my ships, I shall set you both ashore at the first possible opportunity. Do you understand?”

  Sterling found a perverse pleasure in the captain’s challenge, and he smiled. “I will marry her now, sir. And you need not worry about anything. She is a lady and quite capable of handling herself.”

  Tasman nodded abruptly. “Bring her to my cabin with a witness,” he called over his shoulder. “I shall take care of this irregularity immediately.”

  Sterling paused a moment after rapping on the door, then closed his eyes in relief when a voice bade him enter.

  He stooped to enter the small cabin, then relaxed when he saw T’jercksen Holman at his desk, a quill in his hand. The skipper lifted a brow as Sterling entered.

  “Come in search of other adventures, Doctor?” Holman asked, a trace of amusement in his voice. “I’m afraid you’ll find nothing here. I am a family man, I have simple tastes. There’s not a single woman to be found hiding among my trunks.”

  “I do not seek adventures, sir; I’ve had my fill of those today.” Sterling clasped his hands at his waist, feeling at once foolish and presumptuous.

  Holman shifted in his chair, then folded his hands. “Then why are you here?”

  Sterling drew a deep breath. “The captain has agreed to marry me to the lady. We are to be wed at once, in the captain’s cabin. I am to bring a witness, and I thought of you.”

  Holman smiled, a quick curve of thin, dry lips. “I am honored.” He reached for his hat. “And I would not want to keep an anxious bridegroom waiting.”

  “There is one more thing.” Sterling bit his lip as Holman froze at his desk. “My bride, sir—the lady has nothing to wear but the boy’s clothes she brought aboard. And since she will henceforth be living among us as a woman, I thought it only right that she have a woman’s gown, particularly for the wedding.”

  Holman gave a brief croaking chuckle. “Do you not find her attractive in breeches?”

  “Of course, sir.” Sterling looked down at his hands and grinned. “But so does every other man aboard.” His smile faded. “And I know that you bought silk gowns for your wife and daughter while we were anchored at Mauritius.”

  Holman frowned, his eyes level under drawn brows. “Why should I deprive my family in order to please a
red-haired wench who has the bad sense to turn up where she ought not be?”

  Sterling looked the skipper directly in the eye. “I would not deprive your family, sir, but I believe you would seek the best for your bride, were your wife in Aidan’s place and you in mine. You are an honorable man and a gentle soul; you would not suffer a woman to be wed in a man’s clothes when she could be outfitted like the gentle lady she is.” He drew a deep breath. “I would be happy to reimburse you for the expense once we reach Batavia—as soon as I receive my wages.”

  “You certainly shall, for there is a limit to my generosity,” Holman answered, standing. He moved to his bunk, then knelt and pulled out the trunk that rested beneath his bed. He lifted the lid, then shifted several dark-colored doublets and breeches until he uncovered two bright piles of silk, one green, one brown. “My wife and daughter will not be deprived, no matter how fervently I wish you well,” he said, slowly pulling the fragile fabrics from his trunk. “When we return to Batavia, you will pay me three hundred guilders.”

  “Three hundred!” Sterling protested, his mind reeling. He remembered inquiring on his mother’s behalf in a dressmaker’s shop in Batavia. The most ornate ball gown in the shop sold for ninety-five guilders. Three hundred was outright robbery, but Sterling had no other choice. Van Dyck had said that Aidan was an heiress, and a lady of quality could not be married in men’s rags—even if she was marrying a virtual pauper.

  “Three hundred guilders … each,” Holman answered, standing. He thrust the bundles of silk into Sterling’s arms, then gave him a broad smile. “Now—shall we attend your wedding?”