Captive Embraces

by Fern Michaels

  Chapter Thirty

  Regan and Sirena stood together near the wheel, their eyes turned toward starboard as the high cliffs of Dover loomed in the distance. The early-morning sun cast a golden light over their chalk-white surfaces and they seemed like sentinels guarding the gateway to the Atlantic.

  Regan’s arm slipped around Sirena’s waist, his hand warm and confident against her bare midriff. She turned to smile up into his eyes. She was ready to face anything, anyone. She was restored.

  The current and the tide complemented the winds and the Sea Spirit sailed toward the end of land as if the ship knew that beyond the soaring cliffs she would find open water. Regan and Sirena found themselves holding their breaths. If their instincts were correct, Blackheart would be hiding on the westerly side of the jutting cliffs. It would be only moments before they gained free water and they waited expectantly to see the Rana slide out of hiding and follow them out of the channel.

  Sirena’s prayers echoed Regan’s. Dear God, let Caleb be alive and well.

  Ten minutes out into the Atlantic and a cry was heard, “Sail ho!”

  Regan and Sirena had seen it also and he looked to her to give the order. “Loosen sail!” her voice rang out, strong and sure and unwavering.

  “A kiss for luck, sweetheart,” Regan murmured, finding her lips with his. “This is your show, Sirena, give him hell!”

  The sleek, three-masted frigate was coming about. “Heel to starboard and make ready to come alongside!” she ordered her crew. “Willem, to the wheel! Jacobus, down below!”

  The old man was about to protest, but saw the determination in her eyes and realized it was useless. Coffee mugs clattering, he went toward the galley, closing the door behind him.

  “Regan, look! There he is! Jan, hand me the spyglass.” Their attention was focused on the Rana’s mizzenmast. Lifting the lens to her eye, she focused on a figure secured there with his arms stretched behind him to encompass the thick, sturdy beam.

  “I see him, Regan. Here, look. He’s alive!”

  Regan took the glass from her. She saw some of the tension go out of his shoulders and the lines of his mouth relaxed. “So he is, the young cub. Thank God for that.” Regan trained the glass on the oncoming ship. “I count six crewmen and old Blackheart himself. Good Lord, Sirena, have you seen him?”

  He handed her the glass. “There, on the quarterdeck.”

  Sirena focused on the Rana’s quarterdeck. She gasped when she saw Blackheart hobble across the deck, one leg dragging behind him, his left arm held at an awkward angle. “No wonder he wants to kill me. He’s maimed beyond all help, Regan, and I did it to him.” She allowed the hand holding the spyglass to fall to her side. Her eyes clouded over.

  Regan took her by the shoulders. “I won’t have you punishing yourself for what’s become of that scurve. He should have died long ago when you found him among my crew. He’s an evil man, Sirena, and never forget what he did to you. Never. Remember your uncle and your sister and what he did to them! You can never go back, Sirena, only ahead, and it has come down to either you or him!”

  Regan’s words awakened a long-dormant portion of her memory. She thought of the man Blackheart had once been, strong and powerful and evil. Only the evil remained. She had once thought herself rid of the stain he had put upon her; she had thought that part of her life over, dead along with Blackheart himself. But it wasn’t; it could never be as long as he drew breath. But how could he fight in his present condition? It would be worse than murder.

  Seeing Caleb stretched on the mast strengthened her resolve. Caleb. He was the reason she had survived the ordeal with Blackheart’s crew. Caleb. He had nursed her back to health. He had instilled in her a will to survive. He had witnessed her debasement with eyes older than time itself and his compassion and understanding had seen her through the most terrible trial of her life. Sirena lifted the glass to her eye again. Caleb was still strapped to the mizzenmast, struggling against his bonds. She remembered another time she had seen him strapped there, with the flesh of his back exposed and taking a cruel lashing at Blackheart’s hands. And the boy had not cried out. That was the most terrible part of it all. His silence and his wordless suffering.

  And that last day flashed through Sirena’s memory, when her spirit and will to survive had been restored and Blackheart sent her to his cabin. Her eyes narrowed and her chest rose with deep, heavy breaths. That was the final straw and she would never forget or forgive him. Her skin had had a crawling sensation for what she knew he would do to her. “You’re mine now,” he had growled. “The crew won’t come near you again.”

  Sirena had backed away, dreading the touch of his pawlike callused hands. But there was no escaping his long arms which pulled her toward him, crushing her. With savage intent, he had wound his fingers in her sable curls and yanked her head back until she had thought her neck would snap. His thick, wet mouth had burned her throat where he kissed her, nipping at her tender flesh, making her recoil.

  “Sirena!” She had been so lost in her thoughts the sound of Regan’s voice startled her, making her jump. She had retreated so far into the past and with such concentration she had not even been aware that the Rana had pulled alongside, dangerously close. Blackheart had left a scarce ten feet between the hulls and the two ships rose and fell together on the swells like lovers in the throes of passion.

  Her green eyes flashed and skimmed the decks of the Rana, the hunted searching for the hunter.

  “Sirena!” came a hoarse cry from the deck of the sterncastle. “Are you ready to feel the point of my blade?” Blackheart hobbled crablike across the deck, his once great height diminished by his maiming. She could see him clearly now, his face a feral mask of vengeance, a fire of insanity banked in his eyes.

  “How do you like the popinjay I’ve secured to the mizzenmast? Have you come to watch me carve his guts from his body? I told him you would come! I knew you would!”

  “So I have,” she called back, her voice, strong and clear, rang out over the water. “And now that I am here, what is your next move?”

  “Don’t you know?” he laughed. “Can’t you guess? Shall I come to you or will you come to me?”

  “Stay there! It is fitting I end it where it all began—on the Rana!”

  Regan looked hesitant when she asked him to heel into the Rana and throw a plank between the rails. Her finely muscled legs found their footing and she stepped lightly and quickly across the plank and leaped onto the deck of the Rana. She avoided Caleb’s eyes, not wanting to see what she would find there. She had expected Regan to follow her, but when she quickly looked about, he was nowhere in sight.

  “Come and get me, Blackheart,” she beckoned with her rapier. “Let’s get it done with. Or don’t you have the guts? Did I kill at least that in you?” Sirena brazened.

  “As you can see, I’m not quite the man I was. So, I have come prepared to even the odds.”

  “Sirena!” Caleb cried. “Watch out. He has a pistol!”

  Sirena rapidly sidestepped as the ball whizzed past her ear and soared out to open water. Blackheart stood holding the smoking weapon.

  “Would you have me believe you would end this so quickly? After all these years of planning, that you would merely point your gun and finish it? And what would you do with the remainder of your life?” she asked. “What would be your reason for living?”

  Her alert eye saw his hand tremble. She knew that he, too, had thought of this. Once the Sea Siren was dead, Blackheart might just as well follow her corpse into the sea. All the purpose to his life would be swallowed beneath the swells.

  His good right arm reached into his belts and withdrew another pistol, and she heard the click as his thumb brought back the hammer to cock it. He laughed, a wicked, menacing laugh. “Your cutlass will do you little good, Siren! You won’t get close enough to me to use it! I mean to shoot you dead where you stand. I should have spilled your blood along with the rest of the crew when I first set foot aboard thi
s vessel so long ago. I was a whole man then, and I had other appetites as you must well remember. But I’m as good as dead now, with what you’ve left me. And the dead belong with the dead, Sea Siren. It will be you and me for the rest of eternity!” He threw back his head and laughed, taking his eyes off her for that one second.

  Like a flash of lightning, she closed the distance between them, holding her cutlass out before her, ready to sever his arm from his shoulder if he raised the pistol in her direction again.

  Blackheart recovered and waved his arm, menacing her with his weapon. “I’ve got a good shot left in me, Siren, and you’re going to have it.” He leveled his arm, directing the barrel straight at her; she could see his finger playing with the trigger, seemingly reluctant to have it done with.

  Was this how it was going to end? she thought wildly. Here on the deck of the Rana without a chance to defend herself? At least she had given him that ... a chance.

  Over the rail of the sterncastle a figure climbed. Regan! He dripped seawater on the deck, his hair was plastered to his face. That’s why she hadn’t seen him after she boarded. He had gone overboard and swam to the Rana’s stern, taking the dangerous climb up the anchor chain and halyards.

  Blackheart saw her attention focus on a point behind him, and turning, he saw Regan approach and fired. The sharp, crackling sound rang out over the waters.

  Sirena acted instantly on impulse to finish Blackheart. He had dared to attack Regan. No one, not the Devil himself would be permitted to harm the man she loved! All reluctance because of Blackheart’s disabilities was dispelled. In three long leaps she covered the distance between herself and the pirate. Her cutlass found its way between his ribs as he moved to face her.

  She watched the expression on his face pass from hate to incredulity. Blackheart sank to his knees, clutching his chest. Blood bubbled up in a froth on his lips and drenched the deck red.

  He lay crumpled on the boards, more dead than alive. His mouth worked with difficulty as he tried to utter his last earthly words. Stepping close to him, Sirena watched his hand reach out to grasp her boot. His grip was loose, no strength in his meaty, pawlike hand. He breathed harshly, choking and sputtering on his own blood. “You should have finished it the first time. And now it is done.”

  Sirena backed away, pulling her ankle free of his hand. It was a full moment before she realized Blackheart was at last dead.

  Regan came to stand beside her as they turned to face the commotion behind them. The crew of the Sea Spirit had come aboard the Rana, blades and pistols drawn. Blackheart’s men, having no stomach for a fight, agreed to come peacefully.

  Together, Regan and Sirena went to the mizzenmast where Caleb was still held by his bindings. Taking the dagger from his belt, Regan cut his son free and clasped him tightly. No words were necessary. In tacit understanding they clapped one another on the back, the way men do at times to express strong emotion. Caleb turned to Sirena, a sheepish grin on his face. Instantly she was in his arms, both forgiving and being forgiven for the anger that had been between them.

  Blackheart’s scurves were escorted across the plank to the Sea Spirit and Jan offered Sirena a jaunty salute.

  “Capitana!” Willem called from the quarterdeck. “Shall I toss him over the side?” he asked, pointing to Blackheart’s inert form.

  Sirena’s eyes fell to the body near Willem’s feet. Her eyes became cloudy and her expression sober. Her eyes flashed spars of green lightning and her voice was stern and crisp. “Give him a decent burial, Willem. Take him aboard the Sea Spirit and have Jacobus prepare him for the sea. And when you say a prayer for his soul say it at the top of your voices. Perhaps it will serve to remind God’s angels that once he had a soul.”

  Jacobus smiled toothlessly and called from the deck, “Can we go to Cádiz, now? Wilhelmina will be worried about me!”

  “Who?” Sirena called, her eyes puzzled.

  “Wilhelmina!” he answered. “Frau Holtz!”

  “Is he serious?” Regan laughed. “Could it be Frau Holtz has found the love of her life?”

  “It must be,” Sirena answered, her face glowing with happiness, “even I didn’t know her first name. If she’s told it to Jacobus it must be true love.”

  The crew wrestled with Blackheart’s body, taking it to the Sea Spirit to prepare it for burial. Sirena’s quick eye saw Caleb follow the men, and then remove the stout board bridging the distance between the two ships. “Caleb!” Sirena called. “Where are you going?”

  “I thought you and Regan could take the Rana back to port! You don’t need me! I’ll sail with the crew. Do you think you can handle it or should we tow you in?”

  “We’ll handle it, son! Won’t we, Sirena?” Regan asked, his voice husky with emotion.

  For answer, Sirena smiled up at him, her eyes saying what his heart needed to hear. Caleb beamed across the distance. Somehow, somewhere, Regan and Sirena had found each other again. Their being together was as good and natural as the wind in the sails and the spindrift misting in the air.

  “Where to, Capitana?” Jan called.

  Sirena looked up at Regan, waiting for his answer. Her emerald-green eyes revealing all he needed to know. She would follow him anywhere in this world or the next. He was her world.

  “Back to London to clear up our business and then to Cádiz!” Regan called back. “Caleb tells me there’s a new addition to our family. A little girl with dark hair and laughing eyes! Then we’ll catch the trades and sail back to Java. Back home!”

  Arm in arm, Sirena and Regan entered the captain’s cabin. His hand lifted her face to his and he gazed lovingly at her beautiful face. As their lips found each other’s, they knew with silent understanding that here, aboard the Rana, they had discovered their love. Here they would find it again.

  In Regan’s arms, protected by his love, Sirena’s world became whole again. She was his woman; he belonged to her. Here she could feel his outpouring of love for her; and she returned it. Regan’s arms tightened, pressing her closer, holding her as though he would never let her go; giving Sirena her reason for being. She would always be happy here; wanting, needing, loving to be here, in his captive embrace.

  If you enjoyed CAPTIVE EMBRACES be sure not to miss the next book in this exciting series

  CAPTIVE SPLENDORS

  Read on for a special preview.

  A eKensington e-book exclusive on sale March 2014.

  Prologue

  Soft sounds emanated from the center of the large four-poster bed which dominated the geranium-silk-draped room. Impatiently tossing back the bedcovers and exposing their naked bodies to the chill air which even the fire in the grate would not dispel, Caleb van der Rhys rolled over onto his back and brought her with him. In the fire’s glow Celeste read his features, seeing there his unadulterated lust and thrilling to the gleam of dominance in his night-dark eyes.

  Grasping her hips firmly, he lowered her body onto his, watching the display of emotions cross her face. Her fingers tore into the furring of soft hair on his chest and stroked the tight cords of muscles banded across his ribs. His hair was tousled and dark against the pillow and his eyes bore through her, seeming to command her senses, greedily enjoying the pleasure he was giving her. His strong, lean thighs accepted the burden of her weight; his hands caressed her breasts, then strayed to where their bodies merged, becoming one.

  From below, the throb of music could be heard, and the familiar clinking of taproom glasses blended with laughter. As her passions mounted, Celeste lost her awareness of the sounds in Madame du Toit’s bordello. The man beneath her was all-consuming.

  She felt his eyes burning into her, watching for the approach of her ecstasy. Low moans of desire escaped from deep in her throat, her pulses raced, and a thin sheen of moisture veiled her skin. Suddenly she felt herself tumble backward against the mattress; he followed her movement, burying himself deep within her. And still his eyes watched her, triumphant now, realizing the power he held over her sens
es, fulfilling her passions while he slaked his own.

  In the two years Captain van der Rhys could be counted among Celeste’s clientele, she had always found herself looking forward to his next visit. Lusty and powerful, he was a magnificent lover, showing many sides to his expertise. Even now, as she watched him dress, she realized the power he exuded, the heady, masculine strength and potent domination he held over women.

  Demanding, forceful, yet with a boyish charm which most women found irresistible, Caleb sat on the edge of the bed and pulled on his soft knee-high boots.

  “If you like,” she whispered, her voice a soft, contented purr, “I could meet you outside Madame du Toit’s.”

  He smiled, seeming to weigh her words. “Meet me where, my sweet? My ship is my home. Ships’ captains don’t’ usually keep apartments in port.”

  “Marseilles is a very big port,” she pouted. “You come here often. I could keep the apartment for you, see to things . . .”

  He threw back his head and laughed, the sound filling the room. “Could you, now? Celeste, don’t ruin the evening. I’ve told you before, I have no need for an apartment and less need for a woman to keep it for me. Isn’t it enough that the time I do spend in France I spend here with you?” To soften her disappointment, he leaned over and buried his face in her breasts.

  “No! It is not enough! Once again I will be the laughingstock among the other girls. I am the only woman you seek out here at Madame du Toit’s, and yet you care so little for me that you do not keep me for yourself.” Her lower lip jutted out in a display of pique, and her finely arched brows came together over the bridge of her upturned nose. “I think perhaps you have other women.”

  “Certainly I have other women!” he answered good-naturedly. “Just as you have other men!”

  “But that is my business!” she retorted, throwing back the covers and kneeling beside him, wrapping her scented arms around his neck in gentle persuasion. “How would I live otherwise? I am sick of Madame du Toit’s. Why is it you never bring me out to your ship? I could stay with you, be there whenever you wanted me, instead of only for a few hours at night.”