Captive Splendors (12 page)

Malcolm got to his knees and gazed down at her half-naked body, then hurled the final insult at her. “Your friend Sara's body is far more beautiful than yours; her breasts are larger, rounder and softer. She came to me willingly and we were together as one, each of us giving and taking. You're like a lump of clay,” he jeered.

Wren lay on the floor, making no move to cover her nakedness. What did it matter now if he saw her or compared her with Sara? Nothing mattered anymore. How could she have thought she loved this cruel, taunting man who was preening before the tarnished mirror, arranging his clothes as though nothing had happened? She wanted to cry, felt the need to shriek and howl, but she couldn't. All she could do was stare at the man who was tying his cravat with a nonchalance that frightened her more than if he had shouted and cursed at her. She saw his booted foot above her, but didn't believe, couldn't believe, he would kick her. She took the blow full in the left breast and rolled over in pain, retching as she did so. He stepped over to the dresser, fumbled in the bottom drawer and withdrew a black bundle.

“I'm going out now to see if I can turn this pittance you gave me into a sizable wad of money. I'm locking you in here; if you aren't here when I return, I'll hunt you down like an animal, do you understand? You wanted to come here and stay with me; now you've got your way. Don't think you can go running off to Regan to tell him how badly I used you. I'd be forced to kill you first. I want no screaming and yelling when I'm gone, or I'll have the landlady call Bedlam and tell them your mind snapped and you should be committed.” His toe prodded her in the armpit as he tried to make her roll over. “Tell me you understand what I've just said to you.” Wren nodded to show she understood, and Malcolm laughed. “You can't come close to a comparison with Sara,” he called over his shoulder as he walked through the door and then locked it.

The sound was final, terminal, as Wren staggered to her knees. She sank down on the lumpy mattress and pulled the spread over her battered body. Had he meant what he had said? Would he do as he had threatened? She admitted she was afraid to find out.

“Please, God, send Regan and Sirena to me. I didn't mean what I said. Please help me,” she prayed aloud.

She sat huddled under the spread for what seemed an eternity. Finally she crawled from the bed and searched for her clothes. What time was it? She should light a candle. Was he coming back, and if he did, what would he do? Please, God, help me, she begged over and over as she dressed.

At last she fell into a fitful sleep, only to awaken and cower in a corner of the bed when she heard a key in the lock. The door was thrust open, and Malcolm and four burly seamen entered the room.

“There she is, there's your prize,” Malcolm chortled drunkenly. “Get up,” he ordered, staggering over to the bed and dragging Wren by the arm to the middle of the floor. “I lost you in a game of cards to these fine gentlemen,” he hiccuped. “Take off your clothes so they can see what they're getting.”

“Please, Malcolm, you're drunk. You don't know what you're doing. Please don't do this to me,” she pleaded tearfully.

“If you won't do it, then I'll do it for you,” Malcolm leered, pulling at her gown and ripping it down the front till her body was exposed to the slavering seamen. “There!” Malcolm cried, lunging backward till he fell on the bed.

Wren tried to cover her body with her hands, but the men pulled and jabbed at her, each intent on doing what he wanted with her. She allowed it. She permitted it. She told herself she had no choice. She suffered and survived the onslaught. She knew it was the only way she would live to see another day.

Caleb didn't like the speculative looks Aubrey Farrington was bestowing on him. Once before Farrington had favored him with such looks, and he had ended up in a confrontation with Dick Blackheart. However, in all fairness to the gambler, there had also been an expression of deep regret in his eyes at the time. Caleb knew in his gut that if he looked more carefully into the old man's eyes, he would see that same regret now. His gut also told him it was time to cut his losses and let Farrington shift for himself.

If Sirena and Regan could cut their own losses and return to Java without Wren, then he could do the same thing for a few pounds. Farrington wasn't worth the aggravation Caleb was going through.

Cal's eyes traveled the length and beam of the ship and back to Farrington. There was something about the gambler that ate at him. Surely he wasn't getting maudlin about the old rake. If not, then why did this feeling of responsibility hang so heavily on his shoulders?

“If you'd just tell me the straight of it and stop beating around the bush, perhaps I could help you,” Caleb said briskly. “I'm wise to your tricks, Aubrey. You can't get away with what you did to me years ago. I know something's wrong and I want you to tell me what it is. And don't think for one minute I believed you when you swore you were virtually a pauper on the brink of bankruptcy. I made it my business to sniff around and ask questions. I also made it my business to check out your creditors, and do you know what I found out, Aubrey? They told me your credit is magnificent. At first I thought they were talking about someone else, not my old friend Lord Aubrey Farrington.”

“Listen, Cal, I had a brief run of good luck and came into a small inheritance, and that helped me clear up a few debts—personal debts,” the gambler whined.

“Children whine, fools whine, and you're neither,” Caleb said coolly. “This is the last time I'm going to ask you what's going on. If I don't like your answer, you'll end up with a stomach full of bilge water.”

“A small, personal business venture. Nothing which need concern you, Cal Truly, there's no need for you to give it another moment's thought. As a matter of fact, I've been seriously considering the idea of retiring and taking a sea voyage. For my health,” he added piously.

“If you're contemplating a sea voyage, that can only mean the law is either hot on your heels or breathing heavily down your skinny neck. It was a mistake on my part to reoutfit this ship, wasn't it? You allowed me to go ahead, make all the arrangements and have the handbills printed, and now you tell me you're considering a sea voyage. Good fortune to you, Aubrey. I'm sailing the
Sea Siren
on the morning tide, so I imagine this is the last time we'll be together. I do wish you well.” Caleb nodded curtly and made ready to leave the ship. If ever the old fox is going to talk, now is the time, he thought to himself.

“Where are you heading? Back to Africa or Java?” Farrington asked as he followed Caleb to the gangplank.

“Wherever the sea takes me, I suppose. The
Siren's
hold is empty, so I'll make good time wherever I go. My business affairs can manage themselves for at least a year, giving me a little time to see the world. Although I must admit I have a hankering to feel the trade winds and see my homeland again.” Caleb watched Farrington's reaction to his noncommittal answer with a covert glance.

“Ah! To be young again! To go wherever fortune leads! You are truly blessed, Cal. Would that I were young again and free! The end of my story might be quite different indeed. So you say you might go on to the colonies? I hear America is the gateway to a young man's dreams,” Farrington said wistfully, his sharp eyes never leaving Caleb's face.

“No, I didn't say I was going to America, you just did,” Caleb answered flatly. “But I have had contact with the Dutch West India Company. Did you know they have fur traders working in their commission in the colonies?”

“No, I hadn't heard,” Farrington lied. “Why, did they approach you? Surely they can't suppose you'd be interested in giving up the sea for a life in the woods skinning animals.” Farrington gave a mock shudder.

“Not quite, Aubrey,” Cal laughed. “At this time they have a small development of Dutch settlers somewhere in a place they call the Connecticut Valley. They're looking for someone to exchange goods and money for the skins. It hardly seems like an adventure to me.”

“The colonies, you say?” Aubrey questioned. Then he suddenly held out his hand for Caleb to shake. His eyes turned cloudy and vague. He couldn't involve the boy again, not after what he had done to him the last time, the gambler ruminated. At least then he had had excuse enough. Dick Blackheart had bought up all his debts and held his very life on a thread. Turning Caleb over to the scurvy pirate had been a matter of survival. This time it would be unconscionable. There were ships' masters, men who were operating on the edge of the law, men who would willingly take a chance for a price, men who did not value their reputations and convictions the way Caleb did. After all, Farrington scolded himself, a man must have some pride, some small measure of self-respect However, Caleb wasn't a boy any longer. He was a man, and capable of looking after himself. Self-respect and pride be damned! He'd ask him. All Cal could do was say no, walk away and call him an old reprobate. Well, he'd been called worse.

“A drink, Cal, before you leave?” Aubrey suggested softly. “A little small talk and another drink. I have something to tell you, something you may find very interesting, a little matter we can both profit from.” Aubrey's watery old eyes implored Caleb to accept the offer, and he smiled when the younger man dropped his sea bag in anticipation of Aubrey's fine imported rum.

Caleb settled himself on a tack box and marveled at the beautiful day, a day rare in England as far as he was concerned. He took a long drink from the rum bottle and passed it back to Farrington to show that he was ready for any and all secret confessions on the gambler's part. A gull swept down, screeching and hawing, only to take wing and soar westward. “Amazing wing spread,” Caleb remarked, somewhat startled by the intrusion.

“Yes, amazing,” Farrington agreed. “However, I detest the things, as I have to clean their droppings from the deck several times a day. I'm not really a bad sort, Cal. In here,” he said, placing his hand on his chest, “I am a loyal and conscientious person. I try to do my bit for my country, and if some moneys find their way into my pocket, so much the better. If I don't do it, then someone else will.” He took a healthy swig of rum.

“Do what?” Caleb asked curtly.

“I'm getting to it; just give me time to get my thoughts in order. I want you to understand that when I was first approached to do . . . to do this . . . this . . . well, when I was first approached, I said no. I said I didn't want any part of it. Then when Baron Sinclair himself came to me and said what a noble gesture I would be making, I had second thoughts. After all, Cal, the Baron is a highly respected man, and we both know he wouldn't do anything that was . . . illegal. In all fairness to me, though, I did not commit myself on his first visit.”

“How many visits did it take till the price was right?” Caleb demanded as the bottle of rum found its way to his lips again. By the looks of things, it was going to take the whole bottle and then some for Aubrey to get to the point.

“Three, four—who remembers?” Farrington said vaguely, reaching for a fresh bottle and uncorking it with a loud plop. He drank greedily, savoring the warmth and fire of the Jamaican rum. Another gull swooped down, emitted its loud, screeching complaint and then left its droppings next to Farrington's booted foot. He pretended not to see them as he inched away to lean more comfortably against a coil of neglected rigging.

“Well?” Caleb prodded impatiently.

Aubrey gulped, swallowed the rum in his mouth and sat up straight. “I've been smuggling, if you like that word, tariff-free supplies and transporting Puritans to the American colonies for a price.”

“You what?” Caleb exploded. “You're an ass, Farrington!”

“Among other things.” The gambler smiled. “As I said, if I didn't do it, someone else would. Actually, I started out transporting the Puritans and then worked into the smuggling little by little. Sinclair doesn't know about that end of it, and I'd just as soon he never found out. It hasn't been easy. My last captain was hung by the neck at dawn's first light on the last voyage. The passengers were thrown into the sea and my cargo sacked by vicious pirates. The captain had no experience, though he came highly recommended.”

“What happened to your ship?”

“Only the good Lord knows. Now, my present problem is this. I have accepted money and given my word that I would have a ship ready to sail. I not only accepted the money, I spent it. My life isn't worth a farthing,” he said pitifully. “There's this one zealot who I know is going to do something terrible to me. He's got the fires of Hell burning in his eyes. I need you, Cal, and I need the
Sea Siren
to take these people to the colonies. Whatever you can get for the cargo will be yours free and clear as your fee for the sailing. What do you say, my boy? Will you do this one small favor for an old friend?”

“You don't want much, do you, old friend?” Caleb replied quietly, sobering immediately from the impact of Farrington's words. He wasn't surprised at the man's request; he had known it would be something for which he, Caleb, could swing by the neck.

Seeing Caleb's hesitation, Farrington pressed on. “It's your cup o' tea, my boy. Adventure, profit and women. Why, you could clean up and have the adventure of your life! I have it on fact that the women in the colonies are beautiful beyond compare. And hungry, if you know what I mean.” He winked. “Hungry for
real
men, not like those plaster saints who care more for their prayer meetings than they do for warm-fleshed, fair-haired women. A few months of your time, profit from your Dutch company, women, adventure . . . who knows? Perhaps you'll even want to become a partner with Sinclair and me!”

How well the old buzzard knew him. In one breath he had said the two things that appealed to Caleb: adventure and women, and not necessarily in that order.

Farrington, refusing to lose any ground, continued. “You can hold your own against any odds. I've seen you at your best and at your worst. I'd feel very relieved if you'd take on this . . . this mission.” He was beyond sobriety and he knew it, but he couldn't relinquish the bottle to Caleb till he heard his answer. “Think of it in terms of helping human beings.”

“For a price,” Caleb laughed. “You wouldn't surprise me if you sold your soul to the devil. You're an ass, Aubrey.”

“Old Horny wouldn't want it, and you're right, I'm an ass, but then most men are in my position. You've agreed, so that makes you an ass, too.” He hiccuped drunkenly.

Caleb grinned. He hadn't said yes and he hadn't said no. The old fool had known he would do it; he wouldn't have become so sotted otherwise. “You're right, Aubrey,” Cal said, getting to his feet. “I'm going back to the Baron's to say my good-byes to Sirena and Regan, and I'll be back late this evening. At that time you damn well better be sober and have everything in readiness. I'll sail as soon as the
Siren
is outfitted and supplies are aboard.”

Farrington waved a limp hand to show he understood and winced as another gull left its droppings, this time on the tip of his shiny boot. He peered at the mess through bleary eyes and shrugged. Loud snores grated on Caleb's ears as he departed the frigate, a wide grin on his face.

He hated going back to the Sinclairs' house. He had heard about the fiasco between Sirena and Malcolm and Wren. When Wren was discovered missing, he had been the first person Regan had come to, hoping that Wren had run to him. Regan and Sirena were in a foul, depressed mood over Wren's departure. If the day ever came when Caleb decided to take a wife, he'd make damn certain she was kept under lock and key with a cloth stuffed in her mouth. How could one little slip of a girl cause so much commotion and heartache?

Well, he couldn't worry about Wren now, especially after what she had done to him. Damn women! For now it might behoove him to stop by Sinclair's offices and announce that he was now a third partner in Tyler's illegal enterprise. He wondered vaguely how stiff the penalty was in this country for privateering. Whatever it was, he wouldn't dwell on it. He had committed himself to Farrington, and he would keep his word. In a few days he would feel the roll of the decks beneath his feet again. What matter if he was going to the new land, America? By picking up his orders from the Dutch West India offices, he could even add to his profit.

An uncomfortable feeling settled between his shoulder blades. By now he should have some definite direction in his life, some goal to work toward, like his father had when he first worked for the Dutch East India Company. It was true he was in his father's employ and that he ran the offices in Africa, but that wasn't his business. A man needed something he could claim as his alone. Something he sweated for sixteen hours a day, so that one day he would have a legacy to leave behind. And here he was, getting ready to take to the sea to transport human cargo to another land. He felt footloose, adrift, aimless. When he returned, he would take a long, hard look at his life and decide where he was going and what he would do.

Caleb considered himself a man, equal to his father, yet Aubrey Farrington constantly referred to him as a boy. Was there something about his makeup that the old man could see and he couldn't? Was there something invisible that marked him as a boy? “Bah!” He spat into the road. He was a man and he knew it. If he were to take a testimonial from every woman he had bedded in his life, each one would vouch for the fact that Caleb van der Rhys was a man.