Shadow of the Corsairs

by Elizabeth Ellen Carter

  “Let me look at you,” he said. She raised her face to his as he asked and watched his eyes as they seemed to trace every line on her face. She ought to feel self-conscious, but she did not. She met his eyes unreservedly. And his eyes, as dark as night, looked as if they wanted to feast on her.

  She felt a thrum in the depths of her soul as those eyes stripped her bare – and yet, she felt it was not lust that ruled him. If she had to call it a name, it would be wonder, surprise as though seeing a mirage, an illusion.

  She wanted nothing more than for Jonathan to swoop down and kiss her, to stoke her desire with his own until the conflagration of their passion consumed them completely. She held out her hand and he took it. “Something happened while we were at sea,” he said, as he folded her into his arms at last. “A battle... it was a close thing, and there was a moment I thought I’d stop fighting, let the sea claim me, so I could return to my wife and daughters. I could see their faces in my mind –”

  Oh, how she was glad he held her close, so he couldn’t see the anguish on her face right now.

  “– then I saw you and I wanted to live. You helped me survive.”

  Jonathan pulled back and rubbed away the tears from her cheeks, allowing her to see his own unshed tears that glittered in the firelight like diamonds.

  “Kiss me,” she whispered. “Touch me. Please?”

  His eyes settled on her lips. They tingled and she supposed they deepened in color.

  “Do you know what you’re asking, Morwena?”

  No. Actually she had no idea, but she nodded anyway. She had always prided herself on her practicality, her logic. But for this, she had no plans. She was only ruled by instinct when it came to this man.

  Her mouth opened to his and savored the fullness of his lips on hers. Jonathan’s arms tightened, pressing her closer. Then restraint left him. He plundered her mouth with his tongue. Morwena groaned and matched him.

  Jonathan’s mouth left hers and trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses across her cheeks through her hair and down her neck.

  His hands spread across her back, his fingers slipping through the buttons of her gown and touching bare flesh, awakening desire in her being.

  He bent forward, forcing her to cling on to him, her arms twining around his neck. Every part of their bodies touched. She threw her head back, offering him the tops of her breasts and he took them with his mouth. His hands traveled lower, caressing the small of her back and lower still until his fingers splayed across her buttocks. Morwena ground her body against his and cried out in ecstasy.

  “Mellesse...” It was a whisper, nothing more.

  Morwena might have thought she imagined it, if she hadn’t seen the expression on his face.

  She pulled out of his arms. Jonathan did not resist. She took a couple of shaky steps away until she could sink down onto a chair.

  His voice was hoarse with emotion. “I was always faithful to my wife – even when I was months away from her.”

  “And you love her still.”

  She closed her eyes and lowered her head so she could bear the millstone of humiliation properly, as she deserved.

  “She is a part of me of me. I could not forget her, even if I wished it.”

  “And I would never ask it of you. It was selfish of me to think that I could, perhaps...”

  She heard Jonathan move in front of her and cover her balled fists in his much larger hands as he fell to his knees before her.

  “The way I feel about you, I’ve felt for no other woman except Mellesse. For two years after she was gone, I was dead inside. I thought that was the way it was always going to be for me. Then I met you. You are so passionate and full of life. You helped me to remember what it is to live again.”

  He let out a long breath.

  “I love you,” he said. “And I thought I was ready to move on, but...”

  The silence that followed spoke eloquently of his regret.

  “You should go.” She opened her eyes to see him nod his agreement. He rose and headed for the door.

  “Forgive me, Morwena.”

  ***

  “So, what do you think?”

  Jonathan started from his internal musings. He pulled a carpenter’s square from his satchel and held it over the hatch. It ran true. That was a surprise. In fact, everything they had seen on this vessel had been a surprise.

  Certainly, she was nothing to look at. Nico had learned the ship’s owner had fallen on hard times and could no longer afford to crew her – let alone keep her in trim.

  So, Jonathan, along with Elias and Hardacre, had spent the better part of a day examining the three-masted schooner from stem to stern. It was clear she needed some work. Some time in dry dock would definitely help.

  Jonathan put away his instruments, and stood and scratched his face. The beard he started to grow the day he last saw Morwena had now become long enough to trim.

  “How much does Vecchio want for her?” called Elias, now making his way back down the mizzenmast.

  “Still too much,” admitted the captain. “But he’s had no other offers and he’s not likely to get any either.”

  “Have you decided on a counter offer?” Jonathan approached the skylight where Hardacre now sat, peeling off a line of desiccated varnish from a piece of beading.

  “I was thinking of seeing him tomorrow and suggesting a third of his asking price.”

  “What did you offer before?”

  “A quarter.”

  Elias burst out laughing. Jonathan wasn’t that far behind.

  “You’re lucky he didn’t boot you out on your arse!” he said.

  Kit grinned. “If he’s serious about negotiating and as desperate as Nico believes, he’ll come back to me. I haven’t spent half my life saying ‘hatha ghaliah ghidan’ – that is too expensive – to succumb to some Sicilian merchant’s tale of woe.”

  Hardacre stood and stomped a boot, as though listening to something.

  “See, she’s still solid.”

  “Salem maelekum!”

  Jonathan looked up. There, on the dock, an Arabic man raised his hand to attract their attention.

  “As-salamu alaykum, Captain Hardacre!”

  At first, Jonathan didn’t recognize the man. But as he raised his head, the light caught his face. Hardacre bounded down the gangway to meet the stranger.

  Elias peered over the side with him.

  “Isn’t that the captain of the galiot we destroyed six months ago? The one we delivered to Benghazi?” Jonathan asked.

  “I think you’re right, his name was... Shar-something. Sharrouf. That’s it – Ahmed Sharrouf.”

  Jonathan nodded, the name slotted into place.

  “What on earth he is doing here?”

  Elias shrugged. “Kit has a habit of cultivating the most unlikely people.”

  “Do you think Hardacre trusts him?”

  “No, I don’t think so. You know when you have Kit’s trust. He invites you into his world. He hasn’t even invited Sharrouf to join him up here. And look – see how he has his arms folded? His right hand is touching the knife at his waist.”

  Elias went to pick up his own satchel, but Jonathan remained to watch the two men walk off together, disappearing in the shadows into the alleyway between two warehouses.

  “Should we go off after them?” Jonathan yelled across the deck.

  Elias shook his head. “Kit would have said if he wanted us. We may as well head back to the Terpsichore.”

  Elias fell silent but Jonathan felt the question rather than heard it. The anticipation was there, coiled, just like a cat ready to leap.

  “There’s still enough daylight, if you wanted to pay Morwena a visit.”

  And there it was...

  “No, I’ll go back to the ship with you. The family needs time together. Thomasso has just returned from staying with his sister. I’m still not sure he understands his eldest son is dead. How do you mourn someone like Pietro?”

  Elias looked
ahead to Mount Pellegrino, his expression thoughtful. “There are many reasons to mourn – Pietro was lost to them as a son and a brother long before his death. That’s worth mourning. The fact there was no repentance before death – that is another reason to mourn. We also mourn to stay farewell; a recognition that we’ve reached a fork in the road. ”

  Jonathan considered Elias’ words. He loved Morwena and knew it in the depths of his being. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.

  Whenever he gave it thought, he could see a future ahead for them. When he had returned from his narrow escape at sea, all he could think about was seeing Morwena’s face and hearing her laugh. So why was it, when he caressed Morwena, indeed was ready to make love to her, he saw Mellesse and whispered her name?

  He left the ship and walked with Elias in silent companionship. That’s one of the things he appreciated about this man. He seemed to have a knack of knowing when one needed to talk and when he wanted to stay silent. Hardacre had no such regard.

  Jonathan recalled Pietro’s funeral. He had not stayed long; the demonstrative wailing among the great assembled mourners affected him viscerally. It was so unlike the mourning of his own culture where voices were hushed and the family given time to quietly reflect and reminisce.

  Truth be told, he had also hated seeing Morwena dressed all in black before they left, her face drained of color. The dark circles under her eyes were a testament to her distress. Now, after the hash he had made of things, all he could do was watch from a respectful distance and ignore his own unanswered need for some similar closure.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  January 1812

  Jonathan caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror of the master cabin. He didn’t look like himself. He had trimmed his beard and was dressed not in the well-worn clothes of a sailor at sea, but rather a dress uniform. The wool of his cloak tickled the back of his neck, but he did like the line of the deep blue jacket across his shoulders and the way in which it tapered to his waist.

  He liked it. He could get used to this.

  Elias poked his head in the door and grinned. “Stop admiring yourself in the mirror. You’ll become as vain as Kit.”

  “Is that possible?”

  “Perhaps not, but is it a risk you want to take?”

  Jonathan laughed in return.

  “He’s waiting for us on deck.”

  “Do you think this is going to work? Surely it would be wise to wait for a reply to the letter.”

  “It’s already been two months and Kit is too impatient to wait longer. In any event, whatever happens, Lord William Bentinck is not going to forget the name of Kit Hardacre.” Elias gave a lopsided smile. They climbed the steps to the aft deck.

  Elias straightened the sleeves of his jacket. “I’ve never met a lord before? Have you?”

  “Titles and fortunes are as fleeting as the wind, my friend,” Jonathan answered. “I was once a lord, or at least the equivalent of it in my country. All that matters in the end is wisdom and character.”

  “‘Do not forget wisdom and she will protect you; love her, and she will watch over you’,” Elias quoted. “I think our dear captain needs a bit of wisdom to watch over him.”

  “Agreed. But I have to ask, would it be as much fun?”

  They joined the captain, whose blond hair gleamed silver in the sun while the gold earring dangling from his left ear sparkled in it. On his hands were several gold rings, a couple featuring sizable diamonds and rubies.

  “Well, if he was looking to be remembered then he’s going about it the right way,” Jonathan muttered under his breath.

  “Very pretty, Cap’n,” added Mr. Grace. “Pretty enough to kiss.”

  “But alas, you, Mr. Grace, are not!” Kit laughed. “Now, my party has arrived. Let’s see if we can talk our way into an audience with the commander in chief.”

  “Ahoy, Captain Hardacre!”

  Everyone turned. A sailor forgot himself and whistled. Morwena looked at him and curtsied. In her day clothes, she was beautiful. But in a gown of red and white floral silk, she was magnificent.

  “What are you doing here?” Hardacre asked.

  “I’m going with you to see the governor. I’ve brought things he might like – see?” She carried a sizable basket over her arm. Behind her, Nico carried an even larger one, which he immediately handed to Jonathan.

  “It is only right we show hospitality to the English,” said Morwena, “and show them Sicilians are clever and industrious people – but he needs someone he can trust to purchase the very best. How is he to know? Perhaps, I shall make friends with his good lady wife.”

  “Or you’ll make a suitable distraction for the guards.”

  “Why, Captain, that had never occurred to me,” said Morwena, her eyes bright with mischief. Jonathan’s heart swelled. This woman was a jewel.

  The villa taken by Bentinck was a hive of activity. Despite having arrived some months ago, it seemed that the esteemed general and his wife had not yet completed moving in.

  The party from the Terpsichore walked into the outer courtyard as a group.

  Jonathan observed that since they were dressed alike and in the formal European naval style, the locals paid them no mind. And, the further they ventured into the villa, the more he spotted men dressed in crisp military uniforms bearing a striking similarity to what they wore. Apparently not a coincidence...

  Morwena walked between him and Elias, as though being escorted, while Hardacre led the way as if he owned the place.

  “Does Hardacre know where he’s going?” Jonathan asked Elias under his breath.

  “I don’t think so.”

  They climbed a wide staircase to a hallway where there were more men in uniform than there were household servants.

  It was here their party started attracting attention.

  “Good morning, gentlemen.” Morwena offered a winning smile. “I welcome you to Sicily. I have a gift for you.” She turned to Jonathan and pulled a small jar of preserved lemons from the basket he carried. She presented the gift to the most authoritative looking of the men.

  “What else do you have in there, young lady?”

  She removed the cloth covering of the basket she carried, unveiling its contents. The man peered inside and examined the bottles and jars; the aroma of fresh-baked goods reached him and, like flies, the other men seemed to gather.

  Jonathan took another step closer – a form of protection as much as it was possessiveness. “Do you think Lady Bentinck would accept this as a gift from the people of Sicily?” she said. “I have something here for everyone.”

  Jonathan dutifully hoisted his basket up as more sailors moved in until they were surrounded. Morwena effortlessly held court, offering a smile to each man who approached. She spoke about the goods she brought and recommended the best places to dine and to purchase gifts for sweethearts back home – and, of course, handed out circulars, in English, promoting her business.

  Jonathan stayed at her shoulder, aware that Kit and Elias had retreated into the background as the sailors gathered around. A quick glance about now revealed they were no longer in this part of the hall.

  Once the goodies had been picked over, the officers moved away. Morwena touched a man on the arm. His coat was covered in bright metal and enamel medals, and perhaps indicated some status, but as to what, Jonathan couldn’t begin to guess.

  “Will you escort us to see the general?” That honey-sweet request, delivered in English with the lilt of the Sicilian accent... it aroused Jonathan and he suspected many of the other men hanging about were similarly elevated.

  Their be-medaled escort stepped between them to take Morwena’s arm, forcing Jonathan to walk behind. That left him free to observe. The inside of the villa was a new landscape to explore. They climbed another staircase and he was aware there was yet another above. Here, there were fewer men in uniform and more servants. This must, he deduced, be the residential quarters.

  He caught a
flash of blond hair ahead of them and, as they rounded the corner some yards behind Hardacre, another man emerged from one of the rooms. Their escort stood to attention. The man before them was dressed like a king, with the same regal bearing.

  This must be Lord William Bentinck. He was a strange-looking man. His eyebrows looked heavy enough that they might slip and fall down his cheeks. His nose was prominent but flat at the end.

  By the sum of his parts, this lieutenant-general was certainly unprepossessing, but his eyes told the truth of the man – they were dark blue like the sea and shrewd with it. There was something about his bearing that resonated with Jonathan.

  “Duckworth! What the hell is the noise out here?”

  “Visitors, sir,” answered their escort.

  “I can see that. What are they doing up here?”

  Morwena stepped forward and dropped a curtsy. “I am Morwena Gambino, Your Excellency. I have a gift for you and your wife.”

  “Then I thank you, madam. Duckworth will be glad to take that from you.”

  Bentinck looked directly at Jonathan. Jonathan looked directly back. After a moment, he received a slight nod. Then Bentinck noticed Kit Hardacre and started.

  “Dear God! A blond-headed Byron...”

  With the attention turned to him, Hardacre took the stage like a masterful performer. He offered a flourish and a bow, and – since he had been compared to the poet – the beginning of a rhyme.

  “There once was a lady from Crewe, who –”

  “Explain yourself, now, sir!”

  Hardacre smirked. “My Lord William, may I introduce myself? I’m Captain Christopher Hardacre. I have some information that will prove vital to your efforts here in Sicily.”

  “Well, you’ve called at a very inconvenient time, Captain. Now, if you’d make an appointment with my adjutant –”

  “According to your adjutant over the past two weeks, it’s always an inconvenient time.”

  Bentinck’s voice rose to an indignant shout. “I’m a very busy man –”

  Hardacre cut him off.

  “The Dolphijn, the Bey of Tunis, the Corsairs of the Barbary Coast. Now, do I have your attention, Your Excellency?”