Captive Splendors (25 page)

“Shhh. Hush, sweetheart. You needn't tell me. Don't you know, can't you feel, that our hearts speak to each other and make words unnecessary? Now hurry, fix yourself up. It's time I brought you back to your own bed. For now,” he amended, his voice throbbing with a meaning that made her pulses dance.

She should have been one of the happiest women alive, Wren thought miserably as she leaned over the rail.
Should have been!
The last time she had been alone with Caleb, she had been certain she had found love. But in the two days since then, Caleb seemed to have little time for her, and watching Sara manipulate him fed Wren's jealousy as if it were a festering sore.

Caleb's face was grim as he made his way from the galley to the deck. His ship was infested with women! Every time he wanted to take a brief rest on deck, there was a woman occupying his favorite seat. The captain of a ship could expect certain calamities, but one of them wasn't a covey of squabbling women. Between Wren's arrogant hostility and Sara's persistent offerings to him, he was ready to pull out his hair. There was no reason for Wren's aloofness. What did she want from him? He had thought she loved him, but when he remembered their last night together, he had to face the fact that it was
he
who had professed his love, not Wren! Was she playing him for a fool? Damn! he cursed, realizing a dull aching in his loins. And he had been so considerate of her, of her fears, of her hesitancy to make love. How fitting! he laughed bitterly to himself, wincing from the uncomfortable ache. I denied myself and now she despises me for it!

He strode rapidly, hoping to avoid Sara and another one of her half-tearful pleadings to take her to his bed. He was fast running out of excuses. But he was too late. Sara was lying in wait, about to pounce on him. At least Wren was not around to witness this little maneuver of Sara's. He steeled himself in anticipation, hoping he presented a stern, forbidding manner.

“Caleb,” Sara cooed, “how nice to see you on deck. You look tired. Was the watch strenuous this day?” Not waiting for a reply, she looked up at him and parted her lips in an inviting manner. Slowly, she let her tongue trace the outline of her mouth while she raised a hand to smooth a path on his cheek. “I have nothing to do, and I was wondering if we could have a talk.” She paused briefly. “You see, it's about Bascom, and . . . well, it's just too difficult to stand here and try to explain. You have such a—what I mean is, you're so forceful and masculine—so unlike Bascom. I just need someone to talk to. Please,” she pleaded, tears gathering in her eyes.

Damn it to Hell. He didn't want to talk to her in his cabin or to . . . he didn't want her in his cabin at all. Did she think him a fool? Evidently she did. He felt his face flush slightly and turned just in time to see Wren whirl on her heel and march out of sight. Son of a bitch! he almost howled. Once again Wren had misinterpreted what she had seen. Only this time there was no wounded expression, no hurt eyes. This time there was a piercing look of hatred shooting from those glowing eyes. She had wanted to kill him on the spot.

Sara had also seen the expression on Wren's face, and she smiled. She could care less how Wren felt. Wren was merely a silly child who was inexperienced in the ways of men and the world, while she, Sara, knew just how to entice a man. Hadn't she just convinced Caleb to go to his quarters? Men like Caleb didn't talk when they had a woman behind closed doors. Men like Caleb did what was expected of them. Caleb would never admit to Wren or to anyone else that they had only “talked.” With men like Caleb, the less said the better. It was enough that Sara made trips to his cabin. Let the others think what they wanted.

Damn brazen jezebel! Wren cursed all the way back to her cabin. Damn brazen womanizer, that's all Caleb van der Rhys is. If he couldn't get what he wanted from me, Sara will do just as well. Does he think I am stupid? The very next morning after
I
was with him, I saw
Sara
leaving his cabin. If he's going to take Sara to his bed, the least he can do is to do it in the dark. Oh, no, not Caleb! Broad daylight, for all the world to see! Dirty rotten womanizer—all he thinks of is one thing!

She threw herself on her bunk, a lone tear trickling down her cheek. One tear for Caleb. He wasn't worth more. Just one tear. She was so glad she hadn't given in to his lust! At least she could comfort herself that she hadn't allowed her flesh to weaken! Damn herself! She sniffed and blew her nose loudly as she got up from the bunk, banging her head sharply on the top board. She cursed again, long and loud, using every filthy expression she knew. Well, he could make a fool out of her only if she permitted it.

She sat for hours, perched like a bird ready for flight, figuring out how to destroy Caleb. She finally settled on the method of castration and racked her brain trying to remember how the Sea Siren had done in Chaezar Alvarez. It would come to her, and then she would do something. She swallowed as she recalled that Sirena had said there had been a river of blood. She hated blood. She would have to think of something else, some other way to make Caleb pay for all her sufferings. And I am suffering, she told herself. I can't eat, I can't sleep, she whined silently as she bit into a chunk of cheese and chewed rapidly. I'll hack off his leg at the knee, that's it, and then let's see if that jezebel wants a one-legged lover! And I'll chop off all of his fingers so he can't fondle Sara's pink-and-white flesh, she added as an afterthought.

She felt better. Once a decision had been made, the whole world looked brighter.

She was just stuffing another chunk of cheese in her mouth when Sara danced her way into the cabin, her dress buttoned sloppily and her long golden hair tangled and matted. Her lips looked bruised; her cheeks were flushed and her eyes sparkling. No woman had the right to look so . . . so alive and contented, Wren thought spitefully. She was the one who should be looking like the cat who had swallowed the canary. She would hack off all his toes—no, only five, because he would have only one leg, Wren added fiercely to herself. It seemed fair to her, ten fingers, five toes and one leg for making her suffer and putting her aside for Sara. Damn you, Caleb van der Rhys! She felt suddenly weak at the thought of what she was going to do to him.

“Wren, Caleb is so wonderful! Your brother is such a gentleman! I was so foolish not to have believed you all those times you told me how gallant he was. He knows how to make a woman feel like a woman.” Sara eyed Wren suspiciously, wondering if she had noticed her clumsily fastened dress and disheveled hair. To her own disappointment, Caleb hadn't laid a finger on her. He had demanded she speak what was on her mind and leave him to tend to his duties. Certain that Wren would think she had spent the last hour in Caleb's cabin, she had made herself scarce by hiding on the afterdeck, behind several crates of chickens. When enough time had passed, she had returned to the cabin she shared with Lydia and Wren, hastily rebuttoning her gown, tearing the pins from her hair and biting hard on her lips to redden them and give them a passion-bruised glow.

“Shut up, Sara. I don't want to hear anything about Caleb and how marvelous he is. Just tell me one thing. How would you like him if he only had one leg, five toes and no fingers? Just tell me that.”

“I think your jealousy has left you tetched in the head,” Sara said loftily. “Is it my fault that your brother finds himself enamored of me? Well, is it?”

“You're a slut, Sara Stoneham! You throw yourself at him! Any man becomes an animal when a bitch in heat wags her tail!”

“The pot calling the kettle black!” Sara spit. “If you want to think I'm a slut, then go ahead and think it. Caleb, however, doesn't share your opinion, and that's all that matters.”

“How could he know any differently? All he's ever known are sluts like you!” Wren shot back defensively. “But you're right. Caleb's opinion is all that counts, and if he loves you, then I wish you both well.”

Sara yawned, stretching her arms above her head. “I think I'll take a little nap before the dinner hour.” She fixed a sleepy eye on Wren and added, “Somehow your good wishes don't ring quite true. Is it my fault, dear little Wren, if Caleb prefers me?” Her voice dropped an octave and became sly. “It must be difficult to be rejected by a man, and doubly hard when you have been rejected by two men!”

Wren wanted to reach out and wring her neck or, at the very least, put her fist through Sara's sensuous mouth. Instead, she seethed inwardly till her stomach felt on fire. She had to get away from Sara, away from this cabin. Could she go on deck and chance running into Caleb? Never. She would go to the galley and talk to Gustave.

 

Out of the corner of her eye Wren saw Peter relieve Caleb from the watch. Damn! She had dallied on deck too long. Now she would have another confrontation with him, one she couldn't afford emotionally. Caleb worked his magic on her, and she was quicksilver in his hands. But not this time. Enough was enough.

A quick look over her shoulder proved that her long-legged gait was no match for Caleb's determined stride. He was just another womanizer, like Regan used to be. Like father, like son! Well, she wasn't going to be one of his “women.” She felt his warm breath on her neck as he grasped her shoulder and spun her around. “Take your lecherous hands off me,” she gritted. Shaking free of him, she proceeded to walk away.

Angered at her attitude, Caleb blasted out. “Just a goddamn minute, Wren. I want to know what's going on. Don't think you're going to pull one of your pouting acts on me like you do with Regan and assume it will work. If you have something to say, say it. Act like a woman!”

Grow up! Act like a woman! Didn't he know any other words? She whirled around, her eyes spewing fire, her small hands clenched into fists. Before she knew what she was doing or could even think about it, she had clasped both hands together and brought them up under Caleb's chin with every ounce of strength in her body. “I
am
grown up, or hadn't you noticed? I am a woman. As a matter of fact,” she said viciously, “I think I'm too much woman for you to handle. You need someone like Sara to mew and weep on your shoulder. That,” she spit, “is the only thing that makes you feel like a man!” An angry, hurt sob caught in her throat as she turned and raced down the deck.

Caleb rocked, stunned from her blow and at her words. Then he sprinted after her and this time pulled her to him from the waist. He held her in a viselike grip, his strong fingers digging into her shoulders. His eyes were mocking and full of devilment as he stared down into her flushed face. “You're jealous of Sara. My little bird is jealous of Sara.” His marveling tone was more than Wren could bear.

She forced all emotion from her voice and spoke slowly and distinctly. “On the contrary, Mr. van der Rhys.” She made his name sound like an obscenity, and Caleb gritted his teeth. “If the bed-hopping Sara is what you want, then she is what you shall have. Stay away from me before you end up giving me one of the social diseases that Sara is so fond of sharing with her . . . friends.”

Caleb's face drained of all color at her words. Jesus Christ, that was all he needed, a good dose of the clap! Damn her eyes, was she lying? She certainly sounded as if she knew what she was talking about. Christ, was that subject something women spoke of? How many men they had—The thought was so horrendous that Caleb backed off a step and had to fight to get his breath. Damn her to Hell. He should have taken her by force when he had had the chance. He was less than a man, and, by God, if he did have the clap, she would have it by now, too. When a van der Rhys fouled up, he fouled up all the way. She had to be lying. Sara was a Puritan, and Puritans just didn't have things like that. Or did they? Sara certainly was knowledgeable, almost as professional as some of the whores he had known.

If he could have seen the wicked smirk on Wren's face, he would have killed her then and there. He stormed into his quarters. Before this voyage was over, he would have Wren in his bed with or without his social disease, and this time he wouldn't be a gentleman about her and her damn fears. This time he would act like the man he was. And then he'd wring her goddamn skinny neck and laugh while he was doing it. And he'd wring Sara's neck right along with hers. Women!

 

Sara wanted to strike out at Wren when she returned to her bunk. In the dim light Sara imagined she saw a warm smile on her face, a satisfied look a woman wears when she has just made love. The same warm, contented look she herself had worn so many times with Malcolm. She watched Wren with deep hatred as the girl snuggled between the covers and drifted off to sleep. She couldn't let Wren steal Caleb away from her. Caleb was hers. After all, he was the father of her child. How easy the words fitted once she had decided in her mind that Caleb was to become her unborn child's father. She had decreed it, and that was all that mattered. In time Caleb would come to accept it without reservation, if he thought of it at all. Caleb was an honorable man. Honorable men always did what they were supposed to do, and he was supposed to marry her. Men were also stupid. They believed what they wanted to believe. Men always liked to know that their seeds had sprouted. That made them feel manly and protective. And if there was one thing Sara needed now, it was protection. She couldn't allow Wren to steal Caleb from her. She had to do something and do it soon.

She lay for hours formulating one plan after another and then rejecting each of them for various reasons. Aubrey Farrington was close to Caleb, a confidant and good friend. Wren was in love with Caleb, any fool could see that. Farrington and Wren stood between “her” Caleb and “their” child. Therefore, they would have to be eliminated. A smile tugged at the corners of Sara's mouth, and her eyes took on a glazed, faraway look. She rolled over and slept, satisfied that she had at last decided on a plan of action.

 

On his way to the wheelhouse the following morning, Caleb's face was black with rage at his circumstances. All through the morning he watched the three women sun themselves on deck. Each time his eyes fell on Wren, his heart lurched. When he looked at Sara, his eyes became speculative and brooding. Lydia, on the other hand, brought a soft smile to his lips. When he saw Wren lean over the rail, an alien feeling washed over him. She tripped on the hem of her skirt and almost fell into the churning water. He gasped as his throat tightened. If she had gone over, it would be the end for him. How could that be? he questioned himself. The answer was simple. He, Caleb van der Rhys, loved Wren. Totally. As he had professed to her their last time together. Since the beginning of time, men had loved women. Why had he thought he could go through life and never truly experience that feeling? Because, since the beginning of time, women had been wily and devious and manipulative in regard to men, and he hadn't wanted to be trapped into those circumstances.