A Pirate's Wife for Me (22 page)

"You're a lecherous, two-timing louse!" Either she didn't believe him — smart girl — or she didn't care if he bled to death.

"You're cold-hearted," he observed. Crossing his legs, he leaned back against the seat in a commendable imitation of relaxation. "I can't take advantage of you while you're awake. You won't let me." Obviously, his admirable logic meant nothing to her, for she sputtered like a tea kettle coming to full boil. He only wished he could see her — to fend off further blows, of course.

"You, sir, are a despicable cad with no morals or manners!"

"You were better with an insult when you were sixteen, my Cate."

Dropping into the accent of the Edinburgh tenements, she said, "Black-'earted bastard wi' a dung worm where yer John Willie should be." Whirling away, she stomped off leaving Taran sitting with his mouth hanging open.

Obviously, just because the lass didn't commonly use vulgarity didn't mean she didn't know it.

With so little time left, he was a fool to so anger his wife. Taran laughed at himself. Before it was over, he would anger her even more. And pleasure her, and teach her, and learn from her.

Taran heard the squeak of boards as someone — someone big, with a limp — approached. He tensed. Without his vision, he was impaired, and some sailors, even on the most honest of ferries, could be dangerous.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

"Bit of a handful, is your wife."
The voice was deep, resonant, with the slightest inflection.

Like his, Taran realized. This man came from Cenorina.

"That she is. She'll settle soon enough." He extended his hand. "I'm Taran Tamson."

It was taken in a firm grasp and shaken. "Captain John Dunbar, formerly of the Royal Navy."

Taran rose to his feet. "You retired to command this vessel?"

"Retire?" Captain Dunbar snorted. "I guess you can say I retired. You can't see, but I suffered a skirmish off of Morocco. Didn't amount to anything, but I got lead in my leg and there's no way to remove it, so I was mustered out. Fifteen years ago, that was."

Shocked, Taran realized he knew this man. He hadn't known his name; the conceited, egotistical youth he had been didn't care about a mere captain. But fifteen years ago, Captain Dunbar had had brown, straight hair, firm blue eyes and the tanned skin of a career sailor. And a limp.

"Damn pirates," the captain said.

The captain didn't seem to know Taran. Of course, Taran had been seventeen when he made the crossing to Cenorina that last time, but what a test for his disguise!

"I'd kill every one of them pirates with my bare hands if I could. Sent me from a great ship to this little dingy with a single shot."

Taran nodded with appropriate empathy.

The captain took Taran's hand, placed it on his arm, and led him toward the port side of the ship. "Was it pirates who caused your problems?"

The wind blew at Taran's back. His hair, suddenly so short, whipped at the edges of his face. "Never grappled with the lowly scum, myself. I got sent home from India blind and enfeebled because some rajah got it into his head he could defeat the whole British army."

"Idiot."

Cautiously, Taran placed the blame, hoping for information without betraying himself. "'Twas the Russians' fault." They reached the railing. Taran grasped it and used it for balance. "They told him we were weak, gave him ammunition, and then left him to it."

"Russians." Captain Dunbar spit without deep and throaty vigor. "Bastards have spoiled this route with their comings and their goings. Them, and the Spanish, the French, the Portuguese. Every week, I used to ferry wealthy Cenorinians to Ireland or England or anywhere else I put in. They went to visit relatives, or shop, or whatever rich people do to entertain themselves. Now not a one of them has a ha'pence to rub together — but Sir Maddox Davies still goes to England. He still visits."

"What's that got to do with the Russians, the Spanish, the French and the Portuguese?" Taran asked.

He heard the hiss of a match and caught a whiff of pipe tobacco. "I shouldn't say anything. It's my job if I do."

"I'm going there to live, man. I'm blind already, dependent on that lass for my sight and my living. You can't send me in not knowing what the damned foreigners have to do with Cenorina." When Captain Dunbar still hesitated, Taran added the clincher. "Not if there's danger. I've got to care for the wife."

"Ach. Very well, then, but you didn't hear it from me, and I don't know a half of it, I'm sure. Foreigners come in to the harbor in their own ships, little, swift sloops that whip in for a few hours. When they're there, I have to hold out on the ocean. I'm not allowed into harbor. Those foreigners come after Davies visits England, and I suspect he goes over and spies a bit, then comes back and sells the secrets. Why else would they bother to come and go so quick?"

Taran couldn't believe it. The best men of Throckmorton's English spies had not been able to grasp the idea of such a bold plan, and this backwater captain had watched and learned. "Have you told the authorities?" Taran asked.

"What authorities? The idiots in Poole? I'm nothing but an old sailor in charge of ferrying goods back and forth until my eyes roll back in my head from the boredom." Captain Dunbar's scorn oozed from his tone. "What do I know?"

Taran was taut with tension. "Are you saying you told people in England, and they didn't listen?"

"Told the head of the harbor and the captain of the local militia. Laughed in my face, they did." Captain Dunbar spat loudly.

When Taran told Throckmorton about this miscarriage of justice, Throckmorton's wrath would be strong and terrible. "You should have insisted on talking to their superiors."

"I'm married. I've got three daughters yet unwed and a son to put through school. I can't risk this job for a hunch."

"Nay, I can see that." Unfortunately Taran could. The man was caught between drowning and the sharks. "You really think Davies is selling English military secrets?"

"I don't know. I only know Cenorina is changed. No one goes in and out without permission, and I'm not allowed to set foot outside of the harbor area. Sir Davies seems like a gentleman of sorts, but there's something havey-cavey about him, make no mistake about that."

"Thank you for warning me."

Captain Dunbar's voice turned away from Taran. "Your missus is coming around the stern. Are you newlyweds, then?"

"No, but we weren't married long when I shipped out, and I think she had greater hopes than to be married to a blind, half-crippled man."

"Will you take some advice from an old salt?" Taran smelled strong puffs of smoke. "Take your belt to her now. She'll shape up, and you'll both be better for it later."

"I just got back from India. Tonight'll be our first night alone together. She'll be fine in the morning."

"Ah. Aye. A woman alone in bed is prey to all kinds of foolish fancies. She needs a man to keep her occupied." Captain Dunbar nudged Taran. "You look like the type to keep her busy half the night." He cackled.

Taran grinned modestly.

Captain Dunbar raised his voice. "Here's your missus, back from her refreshing stroll."

Cate came to Taran's side and placed her hand on his arm. "Thank you, Captain, for entertaining Taran while I walked off my sickness."

"A bit of the
mal de mer
, was it? I'm glad you're better now." Captain Dunbar nudged Taran again. "In an hour, we'll be docking in Cenorina. Must go take care of duty. Happy hunting, Mr. MacLean."

The captain's limping shuffle had not yet died away before Cate demanded, "What were you two smirking about?"

"He was giving me marital advice."

"Is there any man in the world who isn't a fool?"

Taran decided to treat that as a rhetorical question. "He suggested beating you."

"That would not be a good idea."

"No." He clasped his hands and leaned on the rail. To his surprise, he found he was enjoying himself. "I know more enjoyable ways of subduing you."

"If you don't stop making such intimations, I'll become discomfited and unable to complete my mission."

"You mean you wouldn't be able to pick a lock?"

"Exactly."

"My dear, I saw you work, remember? You were unshakable, and you proved without a doubt you could open any lock in the dark, in a storm, during a ball, on your head, even if we were … well, no, not then, but at any other time."

He heard her take a long, exasperated breath. "I'm going for another walk."

He caught her by the arm. "You heard the captain. Stay. I haven't seen my home in nine years, and I'm blindfolded. I want you to be my eyes."

She didn't refuse.

He had known she wouldn't refuse him. She might think she hated him, but she wanted him, too. He could almost feel the tug of the chain that bound them as she pulled back from her own desires.

"What am I looking for?"

"Islands. First they'll look like a drop of green mist on the edge of the world. As we approach, they'll take shape, growing tall into the air, and the green will separate into trees and you'll see the white spray of the waves on mossy rocks …" He was either a fool or a poet, and he no longer knew the difference. He only knew he so desperately wanted to see his home he made music with his words, and opened himself up to her laughter.

But she didn't laugh. She said only, "I can see three islands."

He grasped the rail tightly. "There are four. The other, Luxúria, is over the horizon, small, warm, rugged, beautiful. Like all my islands."

"The ship is flying across the water, but I still can't see it. The others are coming closer, getting larger."

"Rugosa Antigua is the farthest, not large, and the holiest spot on Cenorina, with a monastery that's falling down and a few monks still living there, scraping out a living. The royal family is buried on the island, and you can almost smell the sanctity there among the ruins." When, with God's help, he'd won back the kingdom, he would make a pilgrimage and say his thanks. Or, if he didn't live, he would be buried beside his ancestors.

"It sounds … beautiful."

"It's lonely." He'd grown used to loneliness, even in a crowd, and for years the idea of Rugosa Antigua had tempted him with its isolation.

Now Cate stood beside him, dragging him back to life.

"The island to the left is small and far off, a sandy brown at the waterline with patches of green as the island climbs."

A picture built in his mind. "That's Namoradeira."

"We're closing on the one directly ahead. I can see a fishing village. There are nets drying on the fences and the cottages are thatched. It looks … poor."

He didn't move, but he was angry. Poor. How could it be poor, when the sea swarmed with fish and tall mountain walls protected the interior valleys from poor weather so that crops grew there in abundance? "The island is Saint-Simone."

"But now we're headed straight back out to sea."

"The pilot is following the channel to the capital. The capital city of Arianna sits in a cup, embraced on all sides by gentle mountain slopes. Overlooking the harbor on one side is the old royal castle, a battered wreck abandoned for two centuries. On the other side, guarding the harbor, sits a fortress bristling with stone battlements and a tall watchtower." He didn't need his vision to know where they were. Cate — and his heart — told him.

Perhaps Cate and his heart were one and the same.

"Arianna has long been a jewel in the royal crown, known for its fine homes and quiet culture. You'll see. It is a beautiful place." He wanted her to see his home, to take it to her heart. "We'll make the turn soon."

"We're slowing. You're right!" With more than a trace of suspicion in her voice, she asked, "Are you sure you can't see through that blindfold?"

"I'll not tempt fate until I have to." For all his dislike of being so hobbled, he knew his own weakness. If he had left the slightest gap so he could see, he would look, and by his actions everyone would know the truth. "No, I can't see."

"This island is like the hump of a great, long, green dolphin slipping through the mist. It appears whenever the fog parts, then slides back. It's tall — so much taller than the isle of Mull. The beaches are rocky, when I see one, but mostly I see cliffs that stagger down to the ocean. And there's a thin silver waterfall. Oh, there's another one! And another one! The island is so beautiful."

"Can you see Arianna now?"

A hesitation.

"Cate? Can you?"

"Yes. The city is not quite so splendid as you described."

He caught a whiff of something foul. Rotting garbage and sewage left in the streets. "Is it as bad as it smells?"

"Aye. It is a wasteland, a once grand place now gone to the pigs."

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

No one was there to meet them.

Cate and Taran stood on the dock, her trunk and his bag beside them. The sailors trudged back and forth from the ship to the large storehouse.