The Pirate's Widow (9 page)

  
“He must be made to see the truth,” Olivia
declared.
 
“He must be made to see
this—this—vulgar harridan for what she truly is.”

  
Sir Thomas appeared in the open
doorway.
 
He had handed his hat to a
footman who stood waiting while he peeled off his gloves.
 
“Vulgar harridan, Mrs. Dougless?
 
Of whom can you be speaking?”

  
Seeing no way to avoid answering, Olivia
decided to brazen it out.
 
“I am speaking
of Caroline Jenkins, Sir Thomas.”

  
“Indeed?
 
And what can have brought on such a harsh description of a lady from
whom I have only known gentility and grace?”

  
“This ‘lady’,” Olivia told him, “arrived at
the parsonage this morning and threatened Mr. Dougless with bodily harm.”

  
“For what cause, if I may be so bold as to
enquire?”

  
“Mr. Dougless had occasion to discipline her
son after the wretch was heard boasting that he had received a knife in his
possession from some savage in Africa.”

  
“And what form did this discipline take?”

  
“The young rogue was caned, the usual
punishment for such sins.”

  
“Mrs. Jenkins, I take it, did not object to
her son having lied?”

  
Mrs. Dougless scoffed.
 
“She claimed his story was the truth, that
the knife was indeed the gift of some African king in return for her husband’s
assistance in restoring his daughter to him.”

  
“And have you reason to believe that Mrs.
Jenkins was lying?”

  
“I have no way of knowing, Sir Thomas.
 
But even if the story was true, for this
woman to force her way into Mr. Dougless’ study and threaten him . . .”

  
“I will speak to the parties involved,
madam,” Sir Thomas told her coolly.
 
“In
the meantime, I think we may consider this subject closed and I trust we will
not hear it discussed again outside these four walls.

  
Olivia Dougless compressed her lips but she
knew better than to argue.
 
“As you wish,
Sir Thomas,” she said tightly, exchanging a mutinous glance with Venetia who,
wisely, said nothing.

  
Callie, wearing her oldest skirt and a loose
cotton blouse that kept slipping from one bare shoulder, laughed, shading her
eyes, as Jem threw a bit of driftwood and watched the fat brown and white puppy
tumble after it.
 
Finn had delivered the
little dog, whom Jem had decided to name Rascal, earlier in the day.

  
Barefoot, Callie waded in the shallows, her
skirts held up, as the roly-poly pup growled at Jem when he tried to take the
stick out of its mouth.
 
“He wants to
keep it,” she called to Jem who picked up the puppy in his arms and came toward
her.

  
“Rascal,” Callie said, scratching the
puppy’s drooping ears.
 
“Jem cannot throw
the stick for you again unless you let him have it.”

  
But the puppy continued to growl at Jem’s
every attempt to retrieve the stick so, finally, Jem let the puppy down onto
the sand where it lay on its belly and chewed at its prize.

  
Jem and Callie both looked toward the house
as the sounds of a horse’s hooves approached on the road that ran behind the
cottage.

  
“Oh no,” Jem moaned.
 
“It’s Himself.”

  
Sir Thomas reined in his horse and swung
himself down.
 
He tied the reins to a
hitching post and made his way down the hillside to the shore.
 
Callie still stood in the shallows, her
skirts hiked almost to her knees.
 
Her
blouse, slipping from one shoulder, exposed flesh more tanned than elegant
ladies desired but smooth and inviting.
 
Her raven hair tumbled past her shoulders to her waist and Sir Thomas
couldn’t help wondering how it would feel sliding through his fingers.

  
“Sir Thomas,” Callie said, leaving the water
and letting her skirts fall to the sand.
 
“What brings you here this fine afternoon?”

  
He removed his hat, sparing a glance for Jem
who gathered up his puppy and ran further down the beach.
 
The boy had not so much as acknowledged him;
he was in need of a lesson in manners and the respect due his betters, Sir
Thomas decided.

  
“Caroline,” he said, reaching her side.
 
“I have come to speak to you about an
incident I fear may become a matter of gossip.”

  
“The Reverend Mr. Dougless, no doubt,” she
said.

  
“Indeed, yes.”
 
Sir Thomas’ eyes swept over her.
 
There was no denying that there was something
wild about this woman.
 
Everything about
her, her beauty, the fire in her eyes, her defiant independence, belied her
story of being a humble missionary’s widow, but the better Sir Thomas got to
know her, the more he wanted her, and the more he wanted her, the less he
wanted to know about who she might really be.
 
Still, if she had a secret it might be something he could use to his
advantage, leverage with which to possess her without the bother of marrying
her for he was a man used to controlling the people around him and this woman
seemed unlikely to be happily controlled.
 
She might well prove a handful if he made her the new Lady
Sedgewyck.
 
Sir Thomas resolved to
discover if the fiery Mrs. Jenkins had a secret that might make her more
amenable.

  
He tore his eyes away from the creamy
shoulder exposed by the loose cotton blouse that slipped from it revealing the
upper curve of her breast.
 
He smiled at
Callie as she looked up at him questioningly.

  
“Mrs. Dougless came to the manor today to
complain that you had threatened her husband with bodily harm.”

  
“And so I did,” Callie confirmed.
 
“He beat Jem with a cane, left him bruised
and bloody, and all because he thought Jem had lied, which he had not.”

  
“The use of corporal punishment is not
unusual for schoolboys,” Sir Thomas reasoned.
 
“I do assure you that I spent a great deal of time at Fitzalan sitting
upon a pillow after being caned for some transgression or another.”

  
“It’s barbaric.
 
If my son needs discipline, I will be the one
to provide it.
 
I will not subject Jem to
the parson’s notion of teaching.”

  
Sir Thomas could see it was hopeless to
reason with her.
 
He changed the subject.
 
“And what about Jem’s education?
 
Will he continue to attend school?”

  
“The parson’s school?
 
I hardly think so.”

  
“Not necessarily the parson’s school.
 
Boarding school, perhaps.”

  
“Boarding school?
 
Send Jem away?”

  
“He’s older than most boys when they go away
to school.
 
I myself was sent away at
eight.”

  
“Then I am sorry for you.
 
But I cannot imagine sending Jem away.”

  
“Without a proper education, he will stand
little chance of making his way in the world.”

  
“Jem can read and write and cipher.
 
He has seen more of the world than most
members of Parliament, I’d warrant.
 
And
since I believe he intends to make the sea his life, I hardly think he needs a
university degree.”

  
“Then perhaps the navy.
 
I have many contacts in the Royal Navy.
 
Jem could rise in the ranks quickly and . .
.”

  
“If Jem goes to sea, Sir Thomas, it will not
be as a mid-shipman on some naval vessel but as the master of his own
ship.
 
I daresay he knows more of
seamanship than many officers in His Majesty’s navy.”

  
“And how will Jem become the master of his
own ship without an education, pray?”

  
Callie had it on the tip of her tongue to
tell him that with the treasure Kit had hidden away Jem could be master of a
fleet of ships but she knew better than to even allude to it.
 
“Jem will make his way in the world, I have
no doubt, without the necessity of sending him off to Harrow or Eaton or some
warship.”

  
Sir Thomas sighed, frustrated.
 
Yes, this woman definitely needed a lesson in
humility.
 
“Well, there is no need to
discuss it.
 
I can see you’re
resolved.
 
But, as a friend, I would
advise you to take a little care in your dealings with people like the
Douglesses.
 
They can do your reputation
great harm.”

  
“I care little for the opinion of the
Douglesses or anyone foolish enough to listen to their tales,” Callie told him
coolly.

  
“I’ll bid you good-day, then, dear
Caroline.”

  
Sir Thomas turned and walked away across the
sand toward his horse that was tethered behind the cottage.
 
Yes, this tempestuous beauty must be tamed
before she could be ridden.
 
He would
send a messenger to Penzance when he returned to the manor; he knew just the
man to ferret out whatever secrets she might have.

*
   
*
   
*
   
*

  
A fortnight later, Callie was seated in Sir
Thomas’ carriage having reluctantly accepted an invitation to accompany him to
dinner at the home of Sir Basil and Lady Scropes near Penzance.
 
They drove through the town and Sir Thomas
called for the coachman to stop so that Callie could admire the beautiful view
of Mount’s Bay and Mont St. Michel in the distance.
 
But it was the sight of a British Navy
warship riding at anchor that captured her attention.

  
“That ship,” she said softly, feeling the
blood drain from her cheeks.

  
Sir Thomas leaned over to peer out the
window.
 
“Yes, that’s
H.M.S. Vengeance
.
 
I am acquainted with her captain.
 
He was only recently given the command.
 
She’s a fine vessel, I must say, for all that
she is a former pirate ship.
 
I understand
she was once called the
Crimson Vengeance
.
 
Her former master, Kit Llewellyn, was hanged
at Execution Dock along with his crew.
 
The Admiralty bought the ship and the prize money was divided among the
crew of the navy ship that captured her.”

  
Callie stared silently at the ship.
 
True, it bore different colors than Kit’s
preferred crimson and black and a British flag flew from its stern, but the
sight of the ship there, so close, brought back such a flood of memories that
Callie trembled.

  
Sir Thomas ordered the coachman to drive
on.
 
“Would you like to go aboard her, my
dear?” he asked.
 
“The captain has
invited me to dine with him on Thursday next.
 
Flora asked to accompany me but I’m certain my friend would not mind my
bringing another lady to grace his table.”

  
Callie caught her breath.
 
To board that ship again, to tread her decks
once more . . . yes, she longed to do so but she wondered how it would affect
her now that Kit was gone.

  
“Yes, Sir Thomas,” she answered, fighting to
keep a tremor from her voice, “I should like to accompany you.”

Chapter Eight

  
Callie was sitting on the edge of her bed
the next evening when Jem returned from a day spent with Finn.
 
He knocked at the door then opened it, a
smile lighting up his freckled face.

  
“Callie!
 
Look at this shell I—.”
 
He
stopped, his smile fading, as he saw the tears shimmering on her cheeks.
 
“What is it, Callie?” he asked, coming to her
side.
 
“What has happened?”

  
Callie drew a long, shuddering breath.
 
“The
Crimson
Vengeance
, Jem, I saw her last night.”

  
Jem looked behind him and closed the bedroom
door.
 
“The
Crimson Vengeance
?
 
But
how?
 
Where?”

  
“She’s anchored in Mount’s Bay.
 
After dinner last night, Sir Thomas had his
coachman drive through Penzance and I saw her there, anchored in the
harbor.
 
She’s a British warship now,
renamed the
H.M.S. Vengeance.
 
I nearly fainted when I saw her.”

  
“Those poxy bastards!” Jem hissed.
 
“Turning her into a navy scow!”

  
“Sir Thomas apparently knows her
captain.
 
He’s invited me to dine with
him aboard the ship next week.”

  
“You’re not going, are you?”

  
“Yes, I am.”
 
She held up a hand to silence Jem’s protests.
 
“Think about it, Jem, if I can manage to do
it, I can see if Kit’s ledger is still there in its hiding place.
 
If it is . . .”

  
Jem’s face lit with comprehension.
 
“We’ll know where his treasures are.”

  
Callie nodded.
 
“And we can leave here, if we need to, and go
anywhere in the world knowing there’ll be treasure there, waiting for us.”

  
“Will we need to leave here?”

   
“Perhaps.
 
There are those who resent Sir Thomas’ attentions toward me.
 
They would cause us trouble if they could.
 
If they managed to find out who we are . . .”
Callie rose from the bed and went to the window.
 
The endless sea stretched away from the
shore.
 
“We could take passage aboard a
ship.
 
Run to the New World.”

  
“Who are you?” a deep voice asked from the
doorway.
 
Finn stood there.
 
“And why would you need to run?”

  
“I invited Finn to dinner,” Jem told
her.
 

  
“Who are you, Callie Jenkins?” Finn asked
again.

  
“Tell him, Callie,” Jem pleaded.
 
“I’m tired of lying to him.”

   
“The truth, Callie,” Finn said solemnly,
“or I’ll walk out that door and never come back.”

  
Callie hesitated and Finn turned and left the
cottage, the door slamming behind him.

  
“Callie!” Jem urged.
 
“Don’t let him go!”

  
Lifting her skirts, Callie ran after
Finn.
 
He was down on the beach, striding
purposefully away from the cottage.

 
“Finn, wait!” she cried.
 
“Please, wait.”

  
He stopped and turned toward her.
 
“Well?”

  
Callie turned to Jem who had followed
her.
 
“Go inside, Jem, I want to talk to
Finn alone.”

  
“But Callie!”

  
“Please, do as I say.
 
Just this once, don’t argue with me.”

  
“Cyrus,” Finn said to the dog at his heels,
“go with Jem.”

  
“Come on, Cyrus,” Jem called, and the
massive animal trotted off in the boy’s wake.

  
“Let’s walk,” Callie said, starting off down
the beach.
 
“I can’t keep still.”

  
With Finn beside her, Callie walked along
the shore as the waves rolled in.
 
“Understand,” she said softly, “that by telling you what I’m about to
tell you I am putting my life and Jem’s in your hands.”

  
“They’ll be safe there,” Finn vowed.
 
“Tell me.”

  
As they walked, as the sun dropped toward
the western horizon setting the clouds afire with color, Callie told him
everything—about Kit, about her time aboard the
Crimson Vengeance
, about how Jem came to be with them.
 
When she reached the part about Kit’s capture
and execution, she paused and daubed at her eyes with the end of her sleeve.

  
“The last thing he did,” she told Finn, “was
to arrange, somehow, for me to escape.
 
I
was thrown from the cart.
 
I didn’t want
to run but Kit told me to.
 
I met Jem in
the crowd and we ran together.
 
I thought
we’d be safe here.
 
But the quiet life of
anonymity isn’t quite what we’ve found.”

  
Finn was silent and Callie looked up to find
him smiling down at her.
 
“You find our
predicament amusing?”

  
“A missionary’s widow,” he said softly.
 
“I thought you so prim and proper.
 
I’ve been uncomfortable around you from the
start because I was afraid you’d think me crude and vulgar.”

  
“Prim and proper,” Callie echoed.
 
“I’ve seen things that would shock you, Finn
Blount.
 
I’ve danced around a blazing
fire on Ocracoke Island surrounded by a hundred pirates.
 
I’ve drunk rum with Blackbeard, thrown dice
with Calico Jack Rackham, I’ve ridden in a cart through London bound for
Execution Dock determined to die beside a man I loved and foolishly thought I’d
grow old with.”

  
“Piracy is not a profession where men grow
old,” Finn reminded her.

  
“I know that, I knew it then, I just didn’t
want to believe it.
 
I thought Kit was
invincible.
 
So when Kit died, I just
took Jem and ran; tried to find a place so isolated that no one would ever suspect.
 
But even here someone could find out.
 
That is why we may have to go further; away
from England.”

   
“No one here would have any way of
knowing.”

  
“I hope not,” Callie admitted.
 
“If they were looking for former pirates in
St. Swithin there are others they’d look at first.”

  
“What do you mean?”

  
Callie shook her head.
 
“I cannot tell you that.
 
I cannot betray a fellow buccaneer.
 
In any case, Jem wanted me to tell you the
truth and I’m tired of lying to you as well.”

  
“But why were you so upset tonight?” He
gently touched the remnants of her tears.

  
She told him of seeing Kit’s former ship in
Penzance harbor and of Sir Thomas’ invitation to dine aboard her.

   
“I know where a few of Kit’s treasure
caches are.
 
Not all of them; I’d need
his journal for that and that was hidden aboard his ship. If it’s still there.
. .”

  
“How will you feel, going aboard that ship
again with all the memories?

  
“I don’t know.
 
It worries me.
 
Could I keep my composure?
 
Would I betray myself before Sir Thomas and
the ship’s captain?
 
There is still a
warrant for my execution, Finn.
 
I could
still end my days at Execution Dock with the tides washing over me.”

  
“That will never happen,” Finn said
fiercely.
 
“I’d kill any man who tried to
take you.
 
Trust me when I say that,
Callie.”

  
Callie looked up into Finn’s blue eyes.
 
“I do trust you,” she whispered.
 
“Oh Finn, I do.”

  
“Little pirate wench,” he said,
smiling.
 
“I envy Kit Llewellyn having
you there, wild and free, aboard his ship.”

  
“Do not envy him; that life cost him
everything.”

  
“But he had you, if only for a while, to
love him.”

  
“Would he think my love was worth dying
for?”

  
Finn moved closer in the dim half-light of
the cave.
 
His rough hand caressed her
cheek as his arm drew her nearer.
 
“Perhaps I’ll find out one day, Callie Llewellyn.”

  
Callie leaned toward him and wound her arms
about his neck.
 
Tilting her face toward
his, she offered him her lips.
 
Finn’s
kiss was soft, gentle, his lips brushing hers, his tongue tasting her
sweetness, as his arms pulled her against him.
 
His big hands splayed across her back molding themselves to the curve of
her waist, the swell of her hip.

  
Callie’s heart pounded as she felt her
breasts crushed against his broad chest.
 
It had been so long since she’d been held in a man’s embrace, felt his
hands caress her, felt the proof of his desire.
 
Had you told her that day in London that she’d ever want another man to
love her, she would have denied it but there, in that ocean-washed cave where
the cool evening air smelled of salt spray; she was Finn’s for the taking.

  
And it was Finn who broke the spell.
 
His hands dropped away from her as he stepped
back, his breathing shallow and ragged.

  
“Finn,” Callie said softly, reaching for
him.

  
“Not now,” he said, “not like this.
 
One day you’ll come to me, I pray, not when
you’re frightened nor when you’re uncertain but when you’re free and filled
with want.”

  
“I am filled with want,” Callie breathed.

  
“You’re a passionate woman, I can see
it.
 
But I think Kit’s still in your
heart.
 
And then there’s your other
suitor.”

  
“Other suitor?”

  
“Sir Thomas.”

  
“Damn Sir Thomas Sedgewyck!
 
He can go hang for all I care.
 
I just don’t know how to make him leave me
be.
 
I didn’t want to take the clothes,
you know, but the dressmaker said she’d be ruined if I refused them.”

  
“Still, he’s not a man you need for an
enemy.
 
He’d not take rejection lightly.”

  
“No, I don’t think he would.
 
And if he knew about all this . . . Finn,
could he cause trouble for you?”

  
Finn shrugged.
 
“He could.
 
He could set the Revenuers on me, I suppose.”

  
“Why does everything have to be so
complicated?”

  
“It keeps life interesting.”

  
Callie frowned.
 
“I’d settle for boring!”

  
“This from the woman who danced around the
fire on Ocracoke Island and drank rum with Blackbeard,” Finn teased.

  
“So what can we do about all this?”

  
“Wait and see.
 
That’s all we can do for now.
 
And try not to worry.”

  
“Easier said than done; and what about Sir
Thomas?”

  
Finn shrugged.
 
“Play his game; let him court you.
 
Just promise me I’ll never have to see you as
his lady.”

   
“That’s an easy promise.
 
The first thing he’d do is send Jem
away.
 
He as good as told me so.”

    
“The bastard.
 
Of course, the first thing you’d do is send
away that grasping old mother-in-law of his and Spindle shanks.”

  
“Spindle shanks?”