Captive Splendors (23 page)

Caleb drew in his breath sharply. This beautiful creature standing before him couldn't be the same fire-breathing Wren who had so deftly defended herself when he had kissed her in Tyler Sinclair's garden. Nor the same girl who would have him believe she had killed a seaman and disfigured a man in self-defense.

He had to say the right words so as not to frighten her and cause her to run off. “It's all right,” he said gruffly. “Isn't that what a brother is for?” The moment the words were out he knew he had said the wrong thing. He wasn't her brother, didn't want to be her brother. That was the last thing he wanted. The vision of her as a child, staring up at him, flashed before his eyes.
Will you wait for me to grow up?

Wren backed off a step and lowered her eyes. Her voice was so soft he had to strain to hear it. “Somehow, Caleb, I never thought of you as my brother. I'm certain you don't remember, but a long time ago, the first time I ever saw you, I fell in love with you, the way a little girl does with her schoolmaster. I remember . . . remember asking you if you would wait for me to grow up.”

“And I said, ‘I may just do that.'”

Wren's eyes widened and she smiled. Suddenly a brisk wind came up and penetrated her cloak and thin nightdress.

“You're cold,” Caleb said, wrapping her cloak closer about her chin. “I don't want you getting chilled, not after what we all went through to make you well.” He took her by the hand and led her across the deck. “Come into my cabin. I have a bottle of brandy, and it will warm you.”

Obediently she followed his lead into the small cabin he had taken since giving the women his. It was lit by a dim, glowing candle, and when his hand reached out to lengthen the wick, she stopped him. “No, don't. It's so pleasant as it is.”

He filled two snifters with brandy and handed her one. “Drink up. It'll ward off the chill. Then back you go to your bed.”

“Don't treat me as though I were still a child,” she pretended to pout. “I'm grown up, Caleb, or haven't you noticed?”

Caleb threw back his head and laughed. “I've noticed.”

At his words a delicious tingle worked its way through Wren's veins, mingling with the warmth from the brandy. She felt drawn to him, yearned to have his arms encircle her as they had when he had helped her through her illness.

Caleb reached out and drew her to him. Her body seemed to have a will of its own as she moved into his embrace. Tenderly he covered her mouth with his and felt her lips tremble. His breath was warm upon her cheek, and his lips coaxed hers into a lingering kiss.

Wren felt his arms tighten around her, pulling her close against his lean, muscular body. She was aware of the warmth he offered and the tenderness of his arms. She knew without a doubt that he could have crushed her in a bone-breaking embrace, but his arms were gentle, holding, persuading, not brutal and forceful, as Malcolm's had been. The stubble on his chin scratched her cheek, making the soft contact between their mouths more gentle by comparison. This is Caleb, she told herself—Caleb, who would never hurt or degrade me. Yet the memory of what she had suffered at Malcolm's possessive, hurting hands and the indignities she had undergone at the hands of the seamen pervaded her consciousness.

Caleb held her, soothing away her tremblings with his lips, encouraging hers to part. He felt the slimness of her body through the light material of her nightdress, and the dual provocation of her high, full breasts against his chest. He slid his hands along her hips and pressed her firmly against his loins, taking pleasure from the warmth of her body against his rising desire. Her lips were soft and tasted of the brandy she had drunk. Her arms tightened around his back and her fingers lightly traced a path along his muscles. She felt so small, so pliable. He grew dizzy with his urgent need for her, a dizziness that climbed from his loins to his head. His desire for her became overwhelming, and his fingers found the opening to her nightdress. He wanted to rip the cloth from her body, to touch her flesh, to drink in her beauty, to be naked with her and make love to her.

Wren pulled her lips from his. In the frightened astonishment in her eyes he could read the lusty savageness on his own face. He felt himself beyond the point of judgment. No other woman had ever excited him this way, tantalizing him with her lips, teasing him with the pressure of her body against his. He knew only that he wanted, needed, intended to have the woman who had driven him to such passionate heights.

Indifferent to her terror, he picked her up and carried her over to the bunk. Dropping her down onto the mattress, he threw himself beside her, seeking her mouth with his own, his hands tearing at her flimsy nightdress in his eagerness for her silky skin and the place protected by her tightly clenched thighs.

Wren attempted to fight him off, making unintelligible sounds of protest, but he overpowered her by twining one leg around hers and pressing himself over her, reveling in the feel of her breasts against his chest. From deep inside him he growled, “I want you. I mean to have you.”

Wren struggled, images of Malcolm and the seamen heightening her terror. She raised herself up in a sudden movement and crawled down the length of the bed. He caught her by the ankle and pulled her backward, attempting to cover her with his weight. She drove her fingernails into his wrist, savagely slashing at him, her other hand reaching for his face to tear at it. Their eyes met, each staring at the other—the friend and the foe, the trapper and the trapped, the predator and the prey.

Two tears welled in Wren's eyes and coursed down her cheeks, and from her throat came a desperately pleading voice. “Not you, Caleb. Please, I beg you,” she whispered. “Never you!”

Caleb looked into her eyes for a long moment. Suddenly he reached for her and brought her into his arms, kissing her tenderly and brushing the tears from her face. She buried her head in his chest, her body trembling with unshed tears and remembered terror. “I don't think I could ever have forgiven you,” she sobbed, the hot tears scalding his flesh.

From out the mullioned windows of the sterncastle, the moon could be seen dipping into the ocean. Soon it would be light.

Like two abandoned children, they huddled together on the bunk, one forgiving, the other begging forgiveness. The hours passed and Wren's tears were dry; yet still she hid against his neck, and from time to time, at long intervals, she sobbed.

Caleb's desire had completely subsided, even to the point that he was indifferent to Wren's hand which had slipped between his legs. The weight of what he had nearly done to her lay heavily on him. He realized that he had almost brutalized her, and he was deeply saddened. Knowing that she had been raped and abused and denigrated, he considered his brutality and unquenchable lust unpardonable. And yet, she had pardoned him. She was holding him tightly and taking comfort from him. He cradled her, feeling the warmth return to her body, knowing that, above all else, he loved her. He wanted her, but he wanted her to desire him, to seek him as her lover. Bewildering thoughts rampaged through his head. How could she desire him when the very thought of giving herself to a man filled her with terror?

When the sun's first golden light stained the sky at dawn, Caleb remembered Regan's words. Patience, he had said. Nuzzling against Wren's fragrant drape of dark hair, Caleb once again tightened his protective embrace. Closing his eyes as a smile came to his lips, he repeated the word to himself.
Patience.

The
Sea Siren
kept true to her course, rollicking amid the low swells, her sails full of wind and promise. The sun was just lifting over the horizon and glinted gold off the starboard porthole. Sara lay in her bunk, watching the progression of light as it cascaded through the mist-sprayed glass. At the sound of the door opening, she quickly closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep.

Hours before, she had awakened and noticed that only one figure occupied the adjoining bunk. Wren had gone out, and now she was returning. A rustle of whispers reached Sara's ears, and she recognized the other person's voice before Wren had shut the cabin door. Wren had spent the night with Caleb.

With an animalistic keenness, Sara knew that their meeting had been less than innocent. She could feel the heat coming from Wren's body across the room; she could almost smell the aura of sexuality surrounding her. For one instant she knew a sense of futility. She would bear her child, a bastard, a fatherless, nameless creature who would never have the advantages of honor attached to its name. Her fingers rode over the barely perceptible swelling of her belly, imagining she could perceive the life within. She herself would be an outcast, branded with the mark of an adulteress, an embarrassment to her family and the object of derision.

No! she screamed silently. Never! She would have her way yet. Regardless of what she had to do, Sara Stoneham would become Mrs. Caleb van der Rhys, and the devil take the hindmost.

A corrosive jealousy burned through her soul. Wren! Wren had always had the best of everything. The best clothes, the best family, the most love . . . even Malcolm! Well, she wouldn't have Caleb. No matter what Sara had to do to stop her, Wren would never have Caleb!

Later that morning Sara descended the ladder into the hold to see Bascom. She tolerated her mother's inquiries about her health and felt herself rebel against her father's black looks. His expression seemed to accuse her of having left the flock for the conveniences and luxuries topside. Facing down his paternal disapproval, Sara drew her brother aside.

“I knew you would see the error of your ways and come back to your family,” Bascom told her as he followed her over to the ladder, where no one could hear their conversation. “Come, it is time for our morning prayers.”

Sara stared at him with unseeing eyes. “I have to tell you something. And you must listen to me and forget your silly prejudices.”

Bascom peered at his sister and frowned. She looked peculiar. Perhaps the Lord was going to take her to Him. If it had to be someone's time, Bascom was glad it was Sara's. She was a foolish girl and served no real purpose in the world. Besides, the Lord willing, that way Sara would not live to disgrace the family. Now that he headed a congregation, his good standing and good name were all-important.

“What is it, sister?” he asked, his haunted eyes scrutinizing her face. “Have you done an evil thing and want to pray for forgiveness?”

“Of course I've sinned. Everyone sins!” she answered impatiently. Her eyes were bright and almost feverish, glaring at the hard lines of his face. “I want to tell you a secret. Promise me you'll keep my secret till the ship docks in America. Give me your promise as a messenger of the Lord; I'll accept nothing less, Bascom.”

“You have my word, sister. What troubles you? Confess to me, and we'll pray together to make it right.”

“We could both pray till the cows come home, Bascom, and it wouldn't make my problem come right. I'm with child, brother. The father of my unborn child is being kept prisoner in the locker box of this ship. Wren maimed him horribly and he's disfigured. I thought him dead till I followed Lord Farrington, who was bringing him food in the middle of the night.” Her eyes turned cunning as she watched Bascom pale and then flush a rosy hue. “This is your chance to get back at Wren for humiliating you in front of your flock. Trick her into the locker box and leave her with the animal who rests inside. She wants to take Caleb from me now. Captain van der Rhys,” she amended. “Don't you see, Bascom? If I can trick the captain into thinking the baby is his, he'll marry me, and you won't be saddled with me or lose face with your flock You can't afford another mistake; after all, your very own wife left you and is spreading all manner of lies around the top deck. Wren wants Captain van der Rhys for herself. She ruined the first man I loved, and now she wants to ruin Caleb, too. Say something, Bascom,” she insisted.

“Merciful God, forgive this poor sinner. . .”

“Forget your merciful God and say you'll help me.”

“Very well, sister. Tell me what it is you want me to do.”

Sara whirled on him suddenly. Her eyes were blazing in her pale face. “I don't want you to do anything, you miserable excuse for a man! I'll do what has to be done myself! I just came down here to tell you to pray that I succeed!”

For the first time in his life Bascom Stoneham was speechless. He completely forgot it was time for morning worship. Somehow the devil had taken possession of Sara's soul, and that was almost more than he could comprehend.

 

While Sara sunned herself on deck and Bascom preached the horrors of sin to his congregation, Wren joked with and teased Lydia as she proceeded to teach her the basics of cards. Lydia teased and joked in return, delighted that Wren had returned to her normal, cheerful self. She suspected that Captain van der Rhys had a great deal to do with Wren's uplifted attitude, but she kept her own counsel.

Wren was bent on teaching her new friend how to act the foil for her own cheating, and Lydia proved to be an apt pupil. “But what if we're caught?” she asked fearfully of her teacher.

Wren sniffed disdainfully. “We're sailing the high seas. Caleb is the only authority we have to contend with. The worst thing that could happen to us is that he would throw us in the brig. Somehow I don't think he'll do that. Now, this is what we'll do. After lunch we'll entice Farrington into a simple game of whist, and when we see that he thinks we're not keen card players, one of us will suggest playing for money—and then well take all of his! Do you think you can do it, Lydia?” Wren asked anxiously. “I'm doing this for you, you know. When we get to America, you're going to need a great deal of money to live on.”

Lydia's blue eyes were wide and incredulous. Her life had certainly changed since she had met Wren. She had divested herself of one husband, found the first mate to her liking and openly flirted with him, become a card shark in a matter of a few hours and was now ready to fleece, with her accomplice's help, one professional gambler. She giggled. She was having the time of her life. “Of course I can do it,” she replied confidently.

“Just keep your wits about you. Aubrey Farrington has the eyes of a hawk and knows every card trick and then some. Remember, look dumb, and always be surprised when you win. Tomorrow we'll have to think of a way to get Bascom up here so we can relieve him of his hoard. Today will be a sort of practice session. Just keep flexing your fingers so you can handle the cards with no wasted motion. Don't be nervous,” Wren warned. “If either of us appears jittery, Farrington will become suspicious. Gamblers are a suspicious lot.”

Lydia's eyes boggled. Wren was the most fascinating woman she had ever met. What a pity the captain didn't think so. Lydia shrugged. Wren was right—all men were bastards. She would reserve her judgment of the first mate, Peter, until she knew him better.

As Wren had suggested, the card game began after lunch and was still in progress as the afternoon wore on. Caleb, from his position in the wheelhouse, watched it with narrowed eyes. Aubrey was taking a beating, and it looked as if his bank roll was being depleted. Squeals of merriment from the girls every time they won made Caleb wince. Wren had never once looked in his direction all afternoon, and soon it would be sundown. He could feel in his bones that trouble was brewing and that somehow she would be at the bottom of it. Any minute now he expected Bascom Stoneham to charge up the ladder and drag his card-playing wife below, praying loudly all the while.

His shoulders tensed as he watched Wren, her dark hair flying wildly in the stiff breeze. Her laugh, each time she won, chilled him to the bone. It was a damn good thing Aubrey had no vested interest in the
Sea Siren,
or he would truly have cause for worry. He saw the gambler rise and excuse himself with a motion indicating he would return—with more money, Caleb assumed.

A short while later Farrington appeared, his brow furrowed in deep thought, his hands clenched tightly into fists. Casually, he placed a gemstone next to the girls and nodded. Even from this distance Caleb could see Wren's eyes widen, and he heard Lydia giggle. Wren tilted her head and picked up the stone. She turned it this way and that in the dimming light, finally putting it between her teeth and biting down hard. For Christ's sake, Caleb fumed, she acts as if she knows what she's doing! She nodded to Farrington to show she accepted the gem as his bid. The gambler bit into his lower lip and threw down his cards. Wren's trill of delight was blood-chilling.

In the course of the next few hours, with the aid of lantern light, Aubrey Farrington tossed nine more gems into the center of the small ring and managed to lose each one of them.

Caleb knew in his gut, in every bone of his body, that Wren and Lydia were literally cheating the pants off Aubrey, and he was powerless to stop it. Serves the old fox right for gambling, he told himself, and to be done in by two women would be more than Aubrey could bear.

The game wore on long into the night, with both women winning consistently. The moon rode high in the sky when Farrington tossed what he said was his last gem into the ring. He looked at his cards, spat over the rail with uncanny accuracy and staggered to his feet. He was less than gracious as he stared down at the laughing women and said, “You two . . . ladies have got to be the smartest or the dumbest card players I've ever had the pleasure to come across. I know that you cheated me, but I don't know how. I'd appreciate it if someday you'd tell me how you did it.”

Wren gurgled deep in her throat and Lydia smiled beatifically. “For shame, Lord Farrington,” Lydia admonished. “We played fair and square and trounced you soundly. Let's not hear any evil talk of cheating, or we'll be forced to call you out. How would that look—two ladies dueling with a gambler? For shame, thinking such a thing!”

Caleb winced again and groaned aloud. “Women!”

Back in their quarters, Wren threw her arms around Lydia and both of them laughed hysterically. “We have a fortune here,” Wren said, opening the palm of her hand. “We have to keep them safe, but where?”

“Perhaps Captain van der Rhys would keep them safe for us until we dock,” Lydia replied hesitantly.

“You can just forget that idea, Lydia. We have to come up with a hiding place ourselves. The crewmen know we won all these gems, and some of them didn't look as if they would be above cutting either of us down for this little treasure.”

 

Just after lunch the next day, Caleb knocked on the door to the cabin he had given over to the women. Hearing a bid to enter, he opened the door and found Wren and Lydia intent on a game of cards. Apparently Wren was teaching Lydia the finer points of the game. Sara sat sullenly on her bunk, repairing a ribbon on some feminine undergarment. He saw her eyes light when he stepped into the cabin, but he carefully paid her no attention. If Sara were one to kiss and tell, she would have done so by now, and Wren seemingly had no knowledge of what had transpired between the blonde and himself. So much the better.

Caleb signaled Wren, who left her cards on the table and moved toward him, a question in her eyes. He was planning to draw her outside on the deck to say what he had come to say, but then he decided there was little use in trying to be secretive. Shipboard was the last place to keep a secret, since everyone lived so closely together. Even with the Puritans, whom he had allowed to come above once again, everyone's business was everyone else's.

“I'd be honored if you'd share my dinner with me this evening, Wren. Gustave has promised something special from the galley.” His eyes were warm as they rested on her, and Wren felt her heart skip a beat.

“When and where?” She smiled, relieving him of the formality of his invitation.

“Eight bells, my cabin. I'll just have come off watch.”

When Wren turned back to her game with Lydia, neither woman had seen the burning hatred that banked in Sara's eyes. After taking her place at the table, Wren turned only once to glance at the blue-eyed blonde. Sara's stare was pointed enough to bore holes through her back.

 

 

Caleb watched the door close behind Gustave and turned to scrutinize the table which had been set for Wren and himself. It had been a long watch, and he looked forward to a leisurely dinner with her. A bottle of wine and two glasses dominated the center of the cloth-draped table, and he decided he would struggle with the cork before Wren appeared.

A light, tapping sound at the door announced her arrival. He bade her enter and was pleasantly surprised when he saw her. Her long sable hair was coiled around her head, emphasizing the graceful length of her neck and the feminine slope of her shoulders. She wore several layers of petticoats and a prettily laced chemise.

“Once before you came to this cabin without benefit of a dress,” Caleb said softly, his voice husky as he took in the ivory tones of her complexion and the womanly softness swelling above the top of her chemise. “Good God, woman, where are your clothes?”

“The Puritan garb is so dull and unfeminine,” she pouted. “Lydia and I thought this would do me as well as a gown, and at least I feel pretty in it.”