Lord Of The Sea (24 page)

Sir Graham just raked a hand through his hair and pouring himself a glass of lemonade, went back to the railing, watching the distant contest.

Brendan joined him, a glass of the cool beverage in his own hand.

The shadows grew longer as they sipped their drinks and watched the distant competitors climb higher for each dive.

“Kind of makes a man wish he were young again,” Sir Graham finally admitted, grudgingly.

Brendan took a last swallow of his lemonade. “You’re only as old as you feel.”

“Or so they say.”

“Whomever
they
are.”

Silence.

“Rather does look like fun. . . .”

“Aye, now. It sure does.”

Night was coming on now. Blessed, concealing, conspiring darkness.

Sir Graham straightened up. He looked over at his father-in-law, and a slow, reluctant grin curved his lips as the two of them met each other’s gazes.

Brendan smiled.

Sir Graham smirked and rubbed his jaw.

An hour later, when Mira went looking for them, she found an empty verandah, abandoned lemonade glasses and heard, coming from across the harbor in the direction of Kieran’s sloop
Sandpiper
, loud splashes, her son-in-law’s whoops and guffaws, and beloved Irish laughter that she recognized as Brendan’s own.

She slapped at the mosquito sucking a hole in her arm and smiling, went to check on Maeve.

All was right in her world.

Chapter 26

In the end, Captain Delmore Lord ended up sharing a drink, laughter, and stories of their respective childhoods with his recklessly wild American cousin in the latter’s cabin, and the subject that the Englishman had come prepared to discuss, was never raised.

Captain Lord went back to his ship that night feeling strangely liberated, and happier than he could remember being since he was a little lad in long ago Hampshire.

Connor Merrick went to bed that night beneath the stars, cradling Rhiannon in his arms and thinking about what she’d said about having to prove himself.

Vice Admiral Sir Graham Falconer and Captain Brendan Jay Merrick went to bed that night aching in places they didn’t know existed, and the following morning could barely walk.

Connor came upon them both in the library, where his father and the admiral were enjoying a morning cup of coffee.

“Faith, that last jump really took a toll on my knee.”

“You think your knee is bad? My shoulder feels like someone stuck a knife in it and twisted.”

“I was stiffer than the wind out of the nor’east when I got up this morning.”

“Well, it was your bloody idea, not mine.”

“Nobody forced you to go, lad.”

“You think I’m going to let my father-in-law show me up?”

Connor walked in, frowning. “What are you two talking about?”

“Ah, lad, just getting old. Getting old.”

“I don’t want to hear it. It’s depressing.”

Connor plucked a book from the shelves, flipped through it without looking at it, put it back, and sat down. Stood up. Went to the window. Came back.

“You make a body tired just looking at you,” the admiral said. “Don’t you ever sit still?”

“Not for long.”

“How’s my new daughter?” his father asked, rubbing his knee. “Did she get her sea legs yet?”

“Working on it.”

Connor went to another shelf. Picked up another book.

Put it back.

Brendan glanced at Sir Graham, and shifted painfully in his chair. “What ails you, lad?”

Connor turned, took a deep and heavy breath, and let it out. “Rhiannon’s wondering where we might live. I haven’t even given any thought to that. I’m not ready to settle down.”

Sir Graham just looked at him and shook his head. “You should have thought about that before you tied the knot.”

“You should have thought about that before you forced me to.”

“Forced you to? It was your own reckless behavior—”

“Stop it, both of you,” Brendan said wearily.

“She also said she loves me,” Connor said, beginning to pace. “Imagine.
Love
! Why is it that that’s all females think about? All they want? That’s why we give them babies, so they
have
something to love!”

Sir Graham leaned his forehead on thumb and finger and slid his father-in-law a quiet, sideways smirk.

“Yes, speaking of babies,” Brendan said innocently, “I do hope you don’t waste any time on giving your mother and I another grandchild. We’re not getting any younger, you know.”

“
What?!
”

“Babies.”

“For God’s sake, Da! Have you no shame?”

“None.”

“Right, I’ve heard enough. I was always told that it was the children who embarrass the parents, but you’ve managed to turn that belief on its ear. And honestly, Da, when are you ever going to get rid of that ridiculous old hat?”

“I like my hat. Brings back memories.”

Connor shook his head, made a noise of impatience, and strode out.

*     *     *

“That’s one hell of a mosquito bite you have on your arm, Mother,” Maeve said, watching Mira absently scratch at a reddened welt on the inside of her elbow. “Stop digging at it and it won’t itch so bad.”

“Itch? It’s driving me bleedin’ mad. Our winters back home might not be as nice as yours are down here, but I wouldn’t trade them for your bugs. These damned— why hello, Rhiannon my dear. Why don’t you join us for a cup of coffee?”

Rhiannon, who had come over with Connor to see the new baby, shook her head and took a seat.

Mira eyed her in concern. “Everything all right? Fists and mittens and all that?”

Rhiannon’s mouth dropped open and she blushed wildly.

“Honestly, Mother, some things are best not talked about.” Maeve had been tense, irritable and of unpredictable temper for most of the time that Rhiannon had been here on Barbados, but finally looked serene and at peace as she reclined in a chair, little Grace at her breast, her thick, glossy chestnut hair pulled over one shoulder and spilling over the baby’s tiny back.

“Well, I can tell when something’s bothering a person, and my new daughter looks troubled. What ails ye, dear? That son of mine treatin’ you all right?”

Rhiannon was not used to such plain-spokenness. She sat down, took a deep breath, and looked at the spritely woman who was her mother-in-law in some despair.

“I’m worried about Connor,” she said, at last. “The longer I’m with him, the less I feel like I know him. It’s as if he’s hiding something.”

“It’s not like Con to be secretive,” Maeve said. “Though it would take a fool not to figure out what he’s been up to these past few days.”

“Once a privateer, always a privateer,” Mira said.

“It’s not that,” Rhiannon said. “Well, maybe it is. It’s just that he’s so—so
driven
. He puts all caution aside and does things that are reckless, if not dangerous. It’s as though he thinks he has something to prove. If not to the world, then to himself.”

“Ahh, and you’re worried about him.”

“I can’t help but be worried about him. I’m afraid he’s going to take one too many chances and end up getting himself killed.”

Maeve’s face had gone still and she looked down at her baby, her eyes troubled. Mira noted it and rising, touched Rhiannon’s arm, indicating that she follow her out of the room.

Outside in the corridor, Rhiannon paused. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No, no, not at all,” Mira said. “But you know, my daughter has the Irish gift of the Sight. She has visions, sometimes, of things that are about to happen, and she had a dream last night about death. I don’t want to upset her.”

“Death? Whose?” Rhiannon asked, alarmed.

“I don’t know, and neither does she. But Maeve’s not often wrong about such things.”

“Now you have me really worried.”

“I don’t mean to upset you, my dear. Not much we can do about it, anyhow.”

The two of them walked slowly down the hall. “Was Connor always like this? Even as a little boy?”

“Yes, I’m afraid he’s always been a daredevil. Some would say, a troublemaker. Even back when he was in school we had our hands full with him.”

“What happened?” Rhiannon asked, eager for this glimpse into her husband’s formative years.

“Well, Connor never could sit still, and he wasn’t much of a student. Had a hard time with school work, and was always gettin’ punished for fighting with the other boys.” Mira gave a sheepish smile. “Probably gets that from my side of the family.”

Rhiannon nodded thoughtfully.

“He was constantly bloodying someone’s nose, or gettin’ himself into one kind of trouble or another. Connor’s not stupid, but book learning came hard to him and still does . . . so he tries hard to find other ways to prove himself. ”

“He has nothing to prove to me. I think I was already half in love with him back in England when he was rescuing all those prisoners from the hulks and endangering his own life in the process. He’s perfect just the way he is. Why doesn’t he see that?”

“Because he will never think he’s perfect, until and unless he is his father.”

Rhiannon grinned. “Surely, even he’s not perfect.”

“Maybe not,” Mira said, smiling wistfully. “But he comes pretty damned close.”

*     *     *

Sir Graham’s staff put on a delicious afternoon meal of roast pig accompanied by great pitchers of planters’ punch, lemonade, and Bajan rum. Liam Doherty, who was staying aboard Kieran’s sloop
Sandpiper
, entertained them all with stories of his best friend’s daring and clever exploits during the American War of Independence, much to the delight of everyone in his small audience except Brendan himself, who raised a hand, shook his head, and tried to change the subject.

“Faith, Liam, you exaggerate the details of that particular tale every time you tell it,” he said, reaching for a second helping of pork. “Your memory’s going, old man. It was only a few men we stole off that British frigate, not two dozen.”

“Twenty-five, and there isn’t a thing wrong with me memory.”

“You stole twenty-five men off one of our frigates?” Alannah asked, amazed.

“Liam’s telling tales, Mrs. Cox. It was all a long time ago. My complements to your chef, Gray. These papaya tarts are delicious—”

“Liam’s right,” Connor said, sitting beside Rhiannon. He had slipped off one sandal and, hidden beneath the tablecloth, was absently rubbing her ankle with his bare toe. “It
was
twenty-five.”

“Now Connor, lad, you weren’t even there.”

“No, Da, but I’ve heard the story enough times from Mother, and she
was
there.”

“It was twenty-five,” she said, with an infectious, impish grin. “Under cover of night, your father sailed
Kestrel
right up to the British frigate that had been chasing us all day, sent a note across via two of his young crewmembers who were pretending to be local fishermen, and coerced twenty-five of His Majesty’s tars to join our crew.”

“You both exaggerate,” Brendan said with a dismissive shake of his head, and looking up, caught Rhiannon’s admiring gaze. He grinned, his honey-colored eyes twinkling. “Don’t believe a word they say,” he told her, and talk moved on to little Grace, ships, appreciation for the meal, and how hot the day had been. Eventually, Maeve excused herself to go feed her baby. Liam nodded off in his chair and began to snore. The plates were cleared, Ned clambered up on his grandfather’s lap and asked him to tell him more stories of the American Revolution, and even Connor, usually unable to sit still, stifled a yawn.

“Let us go take a walk, Rhiannon,” he said, poking around with his bare foot beneath the table until he found his other sandal. “I’ve been sitting too long.”

He got up, tall and handsome, his curls haphazardly tousled and his long, well-muscled calves and bare feet tanned beneath the ragged fringe of his canvas trousers. He helped Rhiannon up from her chair and, making their excuses, they headed downstairs and outside.

It was early evening and the heat of the day was subsiding, the ever-moving trade winds rustling through the coconut palms. The shadows were long as they walked down the path toward what Rhiannon had come to think of as their own little cove.

“Oh, look,” she said. “Someone’s hung a hammock between those two trees.”

Letting go of his hand, she walked over to the net crescent, tried to sit in it, and was promptly dumped into the warm sand as it flipped over. In a tangle of skirts, she came up laughing as immediately her husband was there, reaching down to help her up.

“Silly girl,” he said fondly, “hasn’t anyone ever shown you the right way to get into a hammock?”

“I’m afraid not.” She brushed sand off her arm. “Perhaps you can instruct me!”

With his back to the hammock, he sat down and in one quick movement, brought his legs up. The contraption swung gently as he stretched comfortably out in it. He looked over at her, his mouth curved in that playful grin that she so loved.

“See? It’s not so hard.”

“You’re a show off, Connor Merrick.”

“I’m lonely. Come join me.”

She eyed the swinging hammock dubiously, but he reached a hand up and as she took it, he yanked her down on top of himself; the hammock swung dangerously and Rhiannon let out a little shriek, but he hooked an arm around behind her to steady her and a moment later, she found herself stretched out alongside and partly atop him, her head comfortably pillowed in the cup of his shoulder, his heart beating beneath her ear and the trees, the sky, moving gently back and forth, up and down, as the hammock swung gently with the last of the momentum.

“Mmmm,” he murmured, his arm cradling her close. “This is nice.”

They lay there together, listening to the surf down on the beach moving rhythmically against the shore, the chattering of monkeys in a distant tree, and feeling the trade winds playing with their hair.

Rhiannon’s hand slipped beneath Connor’s shirt.

“I could touch you all day,” she murmured, her fingers circling the small, pebbly nipples before moving out over his chest.

He just smiled, looking at her with a lazy, assessing gaze that reminded her of a predator at rest, watching her and waiting to see what she would do.

“Do you think anyone can see us?”

“I don’t know. Do you care?”

“Well, of course I care.”

“You are my wife now, Rhiannon. Mine. We don’t need to hide our feelings for each other from anyone.”

And with that, he took her hand and guided it down to his pantaloons, where she felt the strength and power of his arousal pushing up, hard, against the fabric.

Rhiannon’s head jerked up, and she looked toward the house. “What if someone comes and finds us?”

“Live a little, my dear.” His grin was wicked.

And with that, he shifted slightly in the hammock and, still holding her hand against himself, hooked his other arm around her neck and pulled her down to kiss her.

Rhiannon melted beneath the delicious onslaught. He tasted of papaya tart and the rum with which he’d washed it down, and his mouth was firm and insistent against her own. Beneath her hand he swelled full and hard, and as her lips parted to receive his tongue, as her senses began to swim with delight and anticipation, she rubbed him through the rough canvas trousers.

“Maybe we’d better . . . go aboard
Kestrel
,” he managed, between groans.

“Live a little,” she parroted, rubbing him harder.

“Live a little? Hmph! I think I’m dying.”

She laughed, running her fingers up and down his bulging length until he reached down, found the hem of her gown and tossed it over himself, covering their actions from anyone who might come upon them.