by C. K. Brooke
And she was only wearing a slip of fabric. Returning to her senses, she grabbed her change of clothing and pulled it on. “I’m decent,” she announced, once she’d tucked her hair out of the collar, eyes shyly downcast.
In her periphery, she sensed him turn, could feel his gaze on her. “How did you know to come down when you did?” she asked him.
“I didn’t.”
Em blinked. “Well, thank you for saving me.” She hated the monotone way it came out, sounding almost as if she meant the opposite. It was only because her throat was so dry, the emotion was lost in her words.
Slowly, so as not to startle her, the man moved in and rested his hand on her back. “You’d have done the same for me.” He offered a small, knowing grin.
Em only coughed.
He went to the pitcher at the bureau and poured her a glass of water. Em drank deeply.
***
Miers didn’t extinguish the lantern that evening, and the young woman beside him didn’t ask him to. She lay there, watching the ceiling, hands folded over her abdomen as though she was relaxed. But he could tell she only did it to stop them from shaking.
Truth be told, he wondered the same thing she’d asked—how he had known to come when he did. He had simply felt compelled. He knew an enemy was on the loose, and from the moment she’d bade him goodnight, Miers had felt uneasy seeing her go. Thank God he’d decided to look for her as soon as he did. He dreaded to think what might have happened to her, had he gone about his duties for the evening instead.
He forced himself to inhale evenly. The moment Ginty’s lantern had illuminated that mongrel atop the girl, with his foul hands on her, Miers went for the kill. And he would do it again if he could. Indignation surged through his veins. He couldn’t bear to see Miss Winthrop handled by any brute.
Including the one she was supposed to marry.
He glanced over at her. With a yearning he’d never quite known, he longed to take her into his arms and placate her, reassure her that he would permit no harm to befall her, ever. But was it a promise he could keep?
“Miss Winthrop,” he whispered, before he lost the nerve.
“Yes?”
“I…” The words tangled and died on his tongue. “I hope you sleep well tonight.”
“The same to you, sir.”
He thanked her. As if he could sleep at all.
Chapter 13
Movement of any sort felt better. Though still unnerved from the night before, Em knew she was out of danger the following day as she strolled on the commander’s arm under the beaming sun.
“We’re almost to our destination,” he informed her, stopping with her at the prow. “I’ve never asked you, what is your plan once we arrive to Barbados?”
In the far distance, a team of dolphins leapt over the waves, sunlight shimmering off their silvery skin.
“I haven’t actually thought of one,” Emeline confessed. “The night I fled, I was only thinking about getting as far away from home as possible.”
Redding leaned against the rail, his tall shadow casting over her in a strangely soothing way. “Are you going to return?”
The thought of home tugged at her chest. “I know not whether I shall be welcome back. Perhaps by now, my parents think me a disgrace. I may simply have to find work in Barbados,” she said.
His brow furrowed. “Work? Without a chaperone, no references? Miss Winthrop, the only kind of work you may find there is…is…”
She interrupted his sputtering. “Well, where else shall I go?”
“I…” He scratched back of his neck. “I plan to return to Connecticut after all of this is said and done, should I be so fortunate to succeed. And you can come with us, if you want.”
“Us?” There it was again—that sinking sensation. “You mean,” she said slowly, “you and Mrs. Newbury?”
“Yes.” He smiled warmly at the mention of her name, which only made Em feel cooler inside. “And we can introduce you to the folk of New Haven, help you get a fresh start there. Assuming she and I make it out of Barbados with our lives, right?”
Em tried to return his grin, but was quite sure she grimaced. No, she wasn’t interested in joining him and Mrs. Newbury. The happy couple could return to New Haven together. She wasn’t going to tag along like a child between them.
Her bitterness, however, quickly transformed into guilt. The poor woman was being held captive, after all, and heaven only knew what she was enduring. How could Em have the nerve to resent her? For all Mrs. Newbury must’ve been through, losing a husband so young—why, she deserved a man as kind and genteel as the commander to rescue her and sweep her away to a new life with him.
Truly, it was too bad for Em. But it wasn’t Mrs. Newbury’s fault.
“Er—listen.” The man hesitated, then reached into his breast pocket. “I was waiting for an appropriate time to give this to you. But now,” he fished deeper for whatever it was, “I suppose no time will ever be appropriate.”
He withdrew a sparkling green specimen. Em leaned in to see. It appeared to be a piece of jewelry, in the shape of an elegant salamander.
“Are those emeralds?” she breathed.
“Yes.” He opened the clip behind it. “They are.”
Deliberately, he held the fine piece up to her hair and tucked it in. Em froze, motionless, as he secured the clip in her hair. She had never worn something so valuable. He was giving it to her?
Why?
She hadn’t the chance to ask him, for the commander lifted her hand, kissed it softly, and lowered her limp arm back to her side. With a salute, he was off, back to duty, leaving her speechless at the prow.
***
“Listen up,” pronounced Captain Crawley, the braids in his black beard rippling in the night breeze.
The pirates on deck hushed, torchlight illuminating the angles of their dirty faces. Em watched silently.
“We make port on the morrow,” growled the captain. “We won’t be staying long.” As he continued to address his crew, Em’s focus drifted. The journey had seemed so fast, and yet so long, all at once. Could it really be she was a full week away from her family and fate in Jamestown? What must her parents be thinking by now? And how much trouble would she find herself in, if she returned?
She peered up at the moon, and raised a hand to touch the salamander clip in her hair. She still hadn’t removed it. It remained nestled above her ear, precisely where the commander had fastened it. She had studied her reflection down in the cabin for a while, earlier that afternoon. It was a stunning gift to commemorate their harrowing, whirlwind voyage, and the unexpected friendship flowering between them.
Friendship. She stroked the emeralds, tracing the curl of the salamander’s tail. The more she thought of the way Redding had given it to her, the look in his eyes after she’d saved his life—as well as when he’d saved her—the more confused her heart grew. Could it be that he’d begun to feel something more than friendship for Em, in spite of his obvious feelings for Mrs. Newbury? But that wouldn’t make sense. How could he hold affections for two women at once?
She didn’t know what to think when he came up beside her, as though her thoughts had summoned him, and slipped his hand into hers. “My dear, I’m sure you’re ready to disembark tomorrow.” His voice was light as usual, but it carried.
“Just as I was finding my sea legs too,” said Em loudly as the captain retreated and a few sailors passed by them.
Commander Redding faced her. The corner of his mouth turned up at the sight of the clip still in her hair.
“I’ve been admiring your gift all day,” she told him.
“So have I.”
Her grin wavered.
“Or rather,” he brought his thumb beneath her chin, “what I should say is, I’ve been admiring you.”
Her heart missed a beat. She tried to speak, but could only whisper, “Mr. Redding?”
His eyes darted to the crewmen behind her, and back to her. She couldn’t trust he
r ears when he instructed her, “Kiss me.”
Her pulse popped. “What? Kiss you—now?”
His arms encased her, his nose lowering to hers. Emeline shivered with undeniable pleasure. “Mr. Redding,” she murmured, “the only man I intend to kiss is my husband on my wedding day.”
“Kiss me,” was all he repeated, at the bottom of his voice, a low, thirsty plea.
“You are commanding me?”
“My heart,” he uttered, “commands me.”
His lips were just spaces away. Em had no excuse—and she wanted none. Trembling with anticipation, she lifted her chin and laid her lips over his perfect, exquisite ones.
His shoulders relaxed and his eyes closed as he pulled her in. Em melted, dissolving as he returned the kiss, working his mouth over hers, his long fingers spreading across her back.
The deck spun when, at last, he released her.
Breathless, Em pulled back. “Who did I kiss?” she asked uncertainly on her exhale. “My false husband, or the real Commander Redding?”
He opened his eyes, surveying her beneath low lashes. “Both.”
Every fiber in her body felt awake, alive, buzzing like tiny bees.
But her mind strayed to the prospect of morning, when the captain said they would make port. The commander’s mission was for another woman. Em’s head gave a tiny shake. “What about Mrs. Newbury?”
She didn’t know what to make of the flash of understanding that passed through his eyes. “She has nothing to do with us,” he said.
“Are you certain?”
“Emeline,” he murmured, his lips finding hers again.
That was all the response she got, until she simply decided to believe him. Her arms wound around his neck as she inhaled, drunk on the sweet, masculine scent of him. She would not try to resist.
***
Barbados
Morning light trickled under the closed door, casting early shadows across the walls. Em opened her eyes. Her cheek was warm upon the man’s blouse as his chest rose and fell gently beneath it, in the rhythm of slumber.
Her stomach rippled like a wind-tossed sea. She didn’t recall falling asleep in his arms. The last thing she remembered was him holding her in their cot, stroking her hair, kissing her brow…how good it had felt to be adored.
Seeming to sense her, Commander Redding awoke, his face serene. Em lifted her head from his chest and sat up beside him.
“We’ve arrived,” he said quietly.
“Really?” She smiled, smoothing her skirts over her ankles. “How can you tell?”
“I can feel it.” He sat up as well, his clothing wrinkled. “We aren’t moving.”
Em closed her eyes, trying to feel what he felt. “Are you sure?” she asked again. “Because I still feel like we’re sailing.”
“You’ll feel that way for a while,” he told her, rising from the cot. “Even on land. After enough time at sea, though, one learns to sense the difference. The subtleties.”
Em watched as he fumbled about the cabin, stepping into his boots, finding his jacket, splashing water over his face…looking anywhere but at her. Something was suddenly wrong. He appeared unfocused. It was much like when they’d first met, when he’d barely seemed to notice her.
“Mr. Redding?”
He turned. The look on his face flattened her spirits. Where was the sweetness, the contentment, the adoration he’d displayed the night before? He looked like a different man all of a sudden, anxious and conflicted and sorry, all at once.
“Miss Winthrop, I owe you a profound apology.” He spoke as though he’d been a drunkard who’d now awoken sober, eyes laden with contrition. “Please, forgive my dishonorable behavior. I had no right to do what I did last night.”
The rigger might not have been sailing anymore, but Em felt like her heart was floating away behind them.
He donned his jacket and fastened the buttons. “I vow it will not happen again.”
“Mr. Redding,” she said again, more firmly. He only glanced at her. She got up and moved in front of him, forcing him to face her. “What are you saying? Was the man I kissed last night false, after all?”
He regarded her guiltily. “No. But…”
“But what?” she demanded, confused.
He sighed heavily, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Please. I just don’t want to do anything else I’ll regret.”
“You regret kissing me? Is that what you are saying? Is this because of…?” She couldn’t get the name out, but she knew it had to be Mrs. Newbury. Who else?
When he didn’t deny it, only lowered his hand from her shoulder, Em looked away, unable to mask her disappointment and humiliation.
“You’re a lovely young lady,” he insisted, taking up the sack he’d won in the raid. Of course—he would waste no time bringing it to the woman’s captors. He would go to her now; she was the whole reason he was there. “Do not think this is your fault. It is entirely mine.”
There were many things Em wanted to say in response. But she bit down on her bottom lip, quelling her tongue and refusing to look at him. No matter how he tried to soften the blow, the truth was that Em was second-best. And now that they’d arrived, and the prospect of a reunion with his first love was underway, he was choosing Mrs. Newbury instead.
Emeline permitted him to escort her up the companionway, but the moment they reached the top, she left his side.
The first thing she noticed, apart from the deck bustling with crewmen as they prepared the landing party, was the wind billowing through her hair. She peered out to the greenery that shocked her eyes, and palm trees leaning in the wind, then down at the crystal clear waters rippling at the hull.
Barbados was beautiful, exciting and exotic—or at least, it should have been. But Em was too hurt to appreciate much of anything at the moment. She moved out of the way as the crew worked the masts and prepared to disembark. Truly, Commander Redding had never seemed the type of man to lead a woman on, to steal her kisses and then change his mind.
She touched her mouth. Was there something wrong with the way she kissed? But there couldn’t have been, she reminded herself. Not with the way he’d kept returning for more.
She tried to block out the raw, recent memory of his tender smiles, his lips dancing cautiously over hers the night before. It had felt so perfect and right. How could she have been so wrong?
If he was loyal to Mrs. Newbury, Em decided, then he should have said so when she gave him the chance. Her only conclusion was that she must have sorely misjudged Miers Redding.
Unless there was much he still wasn’t telling her.
Chapter 14
Hardly anyone was at port, and Crawley assured Miers that no one would recognize the Rose there. This appeased the commander, but only somewhat. He descended the boarding ramp at Miss Winthrop’s side, his mind tangled with his heart.
He was glad—so glad—that they had finally arrived. Eliza was there on the island, possibly nearby. He was closer to her than he’d been in years, and he was desperate to see her again. He only prayed that she was all right, that those pathetic criminals hadn’t done any harm to her. He would waste no time to find her. And he would bring her aboard the Rose, and sail her to safety with him if it was the last thing he ever did.
Yet, in spite of his determination, he felt low. The reason was walking right beside him, looking like a cat who’d been kicked. His chest ached.
Just the night before, he had kissed the most beautiful girl he’d ever met. He should’ve controlled himself. For he’d known all along that he could never keep her. Not after his deeds at sea. He had betrayed his office and fraternized with outlaws. He couldn’t risk Miss Winthrop facing any consequences for his actions by affiliation with him. For heaven’s sake, the girl was in enough trouble as it was. She didn’t need him dragging her further down.
Though it pained him to lose her, he knew he’d never had her to begin with. Her parents would never sanctify their daughter consorting with a pirat
e’s accomplice. And even if, on some wild impulse, Miers asked Emeline to run away with him, it would only disgrace her. Besides, she would never be happy outside of her family’s blessing. Not for long.
The procession was eerily quiet as they reached the dock. There wasn’t much to say over the roar of the wind that rippled Miss Winthrop’s shawl over her shoulders. Miers made to wrap an arm around her to keep the shawl secure, but she flinched. The man relented, moving back.
Barbados was a constant current of hot wind rippling through shoulder-high grasses and towering stalks of sugarcane. As The Black Rose’s landing party emerged down the gangway, Ramses Crawley fell into pace at Miers’s other side.
“Where do they want you, Commander?” he grunted out of the corner of his wild beard.
Miers hadn’t brought the second ransom note with him. He’d read it so many times, he had it committed to memory. “The Sugarcane Inn.”
“We’ll keep an eye out,” croaked the captain.
There wasn’t much to see at first, apart from palm trees, some scattered huts, and plantation houses dotting the hilltops. Once they reached town, however, they didn’t have to look far through the throngs of residents, as many people black-skinned as white-skinned, to spy the plain, unassuming wooden building with a splintered sign rocking in the boisterous breeze.
“The Sugarcane Inn,” Miss Winthrop sounded out the words on the sign.
Miers and the captain glanced at each other. They exchanged nods, while Miers’s heart began to hum. She was there—Eliza was somewhere inside that structure, having no idea that he was about to arrive to her rescue.
“Commander?” murmured the captain. “You give the orders.”
Miers’s jaw tightened. “Sundown,” he decided. “Till then, we lay low.”
***
