The Sea Witch
Page 3
Unable to settle down, Ambrosia prowled her father's study, touching a hand to the objects that littered his desk. A ship's log that had belonged to his grandfather. His first sextant, which he'd used as a boy to chart a course around the coast of Cornwall. She picked it up and closed her eyes, trying desperately to feel the warmth of his touch. But all she felt was the coolness of the metal in her hand.
With a sigh she unrolled the map of the world, placing heavy objects on all four corners to keep it from curling. Then she lifted a candle to study the routes her father had traced across the ocean. She felt a heaviness around her heart as she read her father's precise script. He'd taken such pride in his work. And in the fact that he was doing his monarch's bidding.
Across the room she spotted the hooded cloak her father had always favored on his short visits home. She picked it up and buried her face in the folds, breathing him in.
"Oh, Father. I can't bear knowing I'll never see you and James again. I need you here. We all need you. Please don't leave us floundering in this storm, without a compass to guide us. " The tears threatened, and she had to swallow hard to hold them back. Though it was difficult, she lifted her head and took in several deep breaths, struggling for composure. When she turned, she caught sight of a tall figure in the doorway and shrank back.
"Forgive me, Miss Lambert. " Riordan stepped into the light. "I had forgotten to give you this earlier. I'd tucked it into the pocket of my coat, so that it wouldn't he lost. " He handed her a thick book. "This is the ship's log from the Undaunted. Your father wanted you to have it. " He took a step back, annoyed with himself. "It was never my intention to intrude upon your grief. I'll leave you now. "
"Nay, Captain. " Ambrosia cradled the book to her chest, then straightened her shoulders. "Please stay. I have a need to talk to someone about my father and my brother. "
He nodded. "I understand. " Rubbing his hands together, he glanced toward the fireplace. "Would you like me to make a fire?"
"That would be nice. I'll fetch some tea. Or perhaps you'd prefer ale?"
"I would. "
She walked away and returned a short time later with a tray. For a moment she caught her breath at the sight of Riordan just straightening from the fireplace. With his jacket absent she could see that he was lean and muscled, and, like her father, his face and arms sun-kissed from his years at sea. Dark hair spilled over his forehead in a most appealing manner. He brushed it aside with his hand, then looked over to see her watching him.
"I'll take that. " He crossed the room and took the tray from her hands. "Where would you like it?"
"Over here. " She indicated a round table set between two chairs drawn up before the fireplace.
When they were comfortably seated she poured him a tankard of ale and handed it to him before pouring herself a cup of tea.
She sipped, then said softly, "My brother spoke of you, Captain. He held you in high esteem. " She didn't bother to add that James had spoken of Riordan Spencer with a reverence usually reserved for heroes.
"I regarded James as a friend. And I loved your father as though he were my own. Our paths often crossed. And when we would put into port, we would share a tankard. Always, your father and brother spoke of their home, and the three lovely young women who held their hearts. And now that I've met you, I can see why. "
"Tell me about Father's last day. "
"I already did. "
"Nay. " She shook her head, sending black curls tumbling. "I want to hear everything. Everything he and James said. Everything they did. I have this desperate need to know, Captain. Do you understand?"
He stared at her for long moments, seeing the pain she was suffering. Her loss was so grievous. And yet she was so incredibly brave.
He nodded. And then, searching his mind for any detail that might ease her grief, he went through that last day, and the terrible storm that had followed. Through it all she remained silent. But in her expressive eyes he could read the torrent of emotions.
Her voice softened as she told him, "From the time he was just a little boy, James always wanted to follow Father to the sea. By the time he was ten and one, there was no stopping him. And so Father took him along on his first voyage, and when James came home with his tales of adventure, I was so jealous. "
"I find that hard to believe, Miss Lambert. "
"It's the truth. My sisters and I are accomplished sailors, Captain. There is nothing aboard ship we can't do as well as any member of a crew. " She saw his look of surprise, before he covered it by turning to stare into the fire. "And often, when Father found himself shorthanded, he would permit my sisters and me to accompany him on short voyages around the coast. When I turned ten
and one, I begged him to allow me to join his crew as James had done. And when he refused I was absolutely devastated. "
Riordan turned to look at her. "Your father's work was dangerous. And often violent. That sometimes makes the men who engage in such work violent as well. I can understand why he wouldn't want his daughters involved. " His tone rang with emotion. "At times it's a dirty, thankless job. Certainly not for the faint of heart. "
She was on her feet, her eyes blazing. "I assure you, Captain Spencer, my sisters and I are neither delicate nor faint of heart. "
He smiled as he stood, towering over her, and she realized how darkly handsome he was. Handsome, with a hint of danger.
"Forgive me, Miss Lambert. I wasn't speaking of you and your sisters. I was merely stating a fact of life at sea. "
Without realizing it he caught her arm. A mistake, he realized. For the mere touch of her caused a tingling in his hand that sent heat rushing through his veins.
Very carefully he released his hold on her and took a step back. "I can see why your father took such pride in his children, Miss Lambert. "
"Did he say so?" There was such hunger in her eyes. Hunger to know everything about the father who would never return to her.
"Aye. Often. He spoke of you the same way he spoke of his work. "
"And how was that?"
"With a fierceness that only a true sailor can understand. " Riordan didn't realize that his own tone had taken on that same note of hushed intensity. "Once a man has tasted life at sea, it steals his heart and plants a
restlessness in his soul, until there's little room for anything else. The sea is his home, his refuge. His mistress, though she is often cruel and fickle. "
His words sent a thrill along her spine, for she'd often heard her father speak of his love of the sea in a similar manner. "And what of you, Captain Spencer? Now that you've lost your ship and half your crew, will you return to the sea? Or have you had your fill of death and destruction at the hands of this fickle mistress?"
"I assure you, Miss Lambert, there is nothing that would cause me to turn my back on the sea. "
She nodded. "I'd expected as much. "
As she started to turn away, he closed his fingers around her arm again. This time he steeled himself for the expected heat. "Though I know this isn't the proper time, I would like to talk to you about the Undaunted, Miss Lambert. "
She struggled to ignore the splinters of fire and ice curling along her spine. What was it about this man's touch that caused such a startling reaction? "What about my father's ship?"
"I would be happy to oversee the repairs, and make her seaworthy once more. "
"You would do that?" She turned to him with wide eyes.
For the space of a heartbeat he couldn't find his voice. He was, quite simply, drowning in those eyes. "My own ship is lost. The Undaunted can, with the proper repairs, be ready to set sail within a fortnight. And then, if you and your sisters are willing, I'd be happy to buy it from you. "
She shook her head. "I thank you. But the Undaunted isn't for sale. "
"But Miss Lambert—"
"Not for any price, Captain Spencer. "
"I don't understand. Will you keep it here, anchored like some sort of shrine to your father and brother?"
"She's a ship, Miss Lambert. A seaworthy vessel, meant to sail to foreign ports. It would be a sacrilege to use such a ship for nothing more than fancy tea parties. "
"Is that how you see us, Captain?"
"What I see... " He wasn't even aware of the fact that his fingers had closed around her upper arm once more. Or that he had dragged her so close he could feel the sudden breath of air on his cheek as she looked up at him. His tone softened. Lowered to a caress, "... is someone too grief stricken to think clearly. "
"I assure you, Captain, my mind is perfectly clear on—"
Her words were abruptly cut off as he dragged her against him and covered her mouth with his.
He hadn't meant this. Hadn't meant to even touch her. But one look into those angry eyes and he'd felt the most amazing sexual jolt, one that had him reaching out to take. To touch. To taste. And now, with his mouth on hers, he was free to indulge himself.
Her lips were the sweetest he'd ever tasted. Cool, like the English mist, but with an unexpected fire that caught him by surprise. She tasted wild and sweet, like a meadow after a spring rain.
He swallowed her little gasp of shock and took the kiss deeper until she sighed and leaned into him.
His hands were in her hair, though he couldn't recall how they got there. And his mouth was whispering over her face, brushing soft kisses over her cheeks, her forehead, her nose, before returning to claim her lips.
Ambrosia had never in her life been caught so completely off guard. One minute she'd been coherent and expressing an opinion. The next, her mind was wiped clear of all thought. It was the most incredible feeling. As though some strong, unknown force had taken over her will.
Her lips heated and softened under his. Her skin warmed at his touch. Her blood seemed to slow and thicken, inching through her veins like molten lava. Her heart was pounding in her chest, her temples. And all she could do was hold on, while his hands, his lips, worked their incredible magic.
Riordan knew that he'd stepped over a line. Knew that he had no right to take advantage of her at such a vulnerable time in her life. He had to end this. But not yet. Not just yet. Not when her lips were so soft and willing. Not when her body was pressed just so to his, making him all the more aware of the desire that ran hot and fierce through his veins, taking over his will.
Her breath came out in a little sigh, and he pleasured himself a moment longer, lingering over her lips until he could find the strength to lift his head.
Calling on all his willpower, he took a step back, breaking contact. "I'll leave you now. We'll talk about the disposition of the Undaunted some other time. "
"I've made my position clear. There's nothing more to talk about, Captain Spencer. "
"Riordan. " His smile was quick and dangerous. "After what we've just shared, 'Captain Spencer' seems far too formal, Ambrosia. "
He turned away, needing to put some space between them. Those stormy eyes were still far too tempting. And those angry, pouting lips had his heart tripping over itself.
Ambrosia Lambert was, he realized, like the ocean on a fine summer day. All cool and calm on the surface. But underneath lay a raging whirlpool that, unleashed, could take a ship, or a man, down.
Ambrosia climbed to the widow's walk and began to pace its length. She needed this release from the storm of emotions raging inside her. Emotions that had her reeling.
In her whole life she'd never been kissed like that. It had left her shattered. Riordan Spencer was unlike any man she'd ever known. There was such raw, seething passion in him. A passion that excited her, even while it frightened her. Perhaps that was what bothered her the most. Not the kiss, but her reaction to it. To the hint of danger and mystery of the man who had acted so boldly.
She thought of the deacon, Ian Welland, who had spent the past two years working up the courage to shake her hand after Sunday services. For permitting that, he considered her daring. What would he think if he knew that in the space of mere hours of meeting a stranger, she had permitted him to kiss her with such intimacy? Not only permitted it, but actively participated in it?
If the truth were known, she would probably be condemned as a harlot. But for some strange reason, she felt no remorse. All she felt was a sense of wonder. As
though she'd just uncovered some rare, hidden part of herself that she'd kept buried for a lifetime.
She stopped her pacing to touch a finger to her lips. They felt different somehow. Softer. The taste of Riordan Spencer was still there. He'd tasted of the sea. All dark, swirling waters and the pull of deep, compelling tides. Exotic. And decidedly dangerous.
She'd always loved danger. In fact, like the rest of her family, she thrived on it.
She resumed her pacing. Determined to put Riordan Spencer from her mind, she gave in to other thoughts that she'd been avoiding.
It was time to face some hard facts. Her whole world would never again be as it had been. Her beloved father and brother were never coming back. On the morrow she must plan a fitting tribute to two men of the sea. In addition, she had a household to run. The future of her sisters to see to. Elderly family and servants who would depend upon her generosity to see them through a comfortable old age.
But how? She paused to stare up at the midnight sky, visible now that the fog had rolled out to sea. How was she to accomplish all these things, when all their father had left them was this house and his ship, the Undaunted?
They could get by, for now. With spring just blooming into summer here in Cornwall, they had a full larder, and a generous garden planted. They wouldn't soon go hungry. But she must come up with a plan that would take them through the winter, and all their winters to come.
She could make a good marriage, of course. With someone who would provide for her family and elderly retainers. It was what Mistress Coffey would advise. But the thought of marrying someone simply for security was repugnant to Ambrosia. She'd been privileged to witness the love between her father and mother. Until her mother's death, there had been a deep and abiding affection between them. Her mother's untimely demise had left a void in her father's life that no other woman could have filled.
Ambrosia closed her eyes, and for a moment all she could see was Riordan Spencer looking at her in that dark, unfathomable way that made her pulse race and her throat go dry. Nay. She would never marry any man simply for the sake of security. She wanted a man who would make her burn for him. A man who would speak to every deep, dark secret she'd ever harbored in the farthest recesses of her heart.
Numb with cold, and in need of rest from the thoughts that plagued her, she lifted her skirts and made her way to her room. Once there she slipped into her nightshift and brushed her hair, long and loose, in preparation for bed. Before she could settle herself between the covers, however, her gaze fell upon the ship's log, which she'd placed on her night table.
With a feeling of love she traced her fingers over the frayed leather cover. Then, as she opened the book, a thick envelope, bearing the royal seal, fell to the floor.
She bent and retrieved it, then began to read.
To some you are a privateer. But to me you are so much more. Because of your courage, my friend, England remains free. But unlike those nobles who are rewarded by their grateful king with tracts of land and glorious estates, men like you are forced to ply their trade in secret. Your only reward is this sealed missive from a grateful king, thanking you for your loyalty. And the knowledge that you have served your country with courage and honor, my friend.
For long minutes Ambrosia sat staring at the letter, feeling such love and pride and grief that it was almost overwhelming. Her father had not been a simple ship's captain, carrying cargo all over the world. He'd been a loyal and trusted friend to King Charles of England, putting his life on the line for the sake of crown and country. And at the request of that king, had become a privateer, a sailor who attacked th
ose ships that sailed for countries considered the enemies of England.
She thought of all the fine silks and satins her father had brought home through the years. The fine ales, the crystal, the occasional silver and gold. That had been his only payment for risking his life for his country.
The answer to all her questions came as clearly as these words, written in the king's own hand. She and her sisters would, quite simply, carry on their father's noble work.
She tossed a shawl over her shift and hurried out to wake Bethany and Darcy. There was not a minute to waste.
"Then you agree?" Ambrosia had dragged Bethany from a sound sleep and hauled her into Darcy's room, where the three were now huddled in the middle of their youngest sister's big feather bed.
"Aye. " Bethany nodded, sending fiery curls dancing around her cheeks. "Isn't that what Father meant when he sent word with Captain Spencer that we must carry on?"
Darcy smiled. "Father wouldn't have taught us to handle the Undaunted unless he wanted us to take up where he left off. Nobody is more qualified to sail her than we
are. But will the crew follow our orders? You know how they feel about a woman aboard ship. "
"I've thought of that. " Ambrosia lowered her voice. "We need a ship's captain. Someone strong enough to take command of the crew, but still committed to carry out our orders. And I believe Father has sent him to us in our hour of need. "
"Captain Spencer?" Bethany looked at her sister with new interest. "But we don't know anything about him. What if he should prove to have some... unsavory traits?"