Heather Graham - [Camerons Saga - North American Woman 02] (19 page)

“Out, Rodgers!” Robert Arrowsmith commanded gruffly.

“Aye, sir, aye! Good day, Lady Kinsdale.”

The door closed. Skye let out a long, uneasy breath.

She stood still for several seconds, then turned back to the window seat and stared out to sea. Would Logan really come for them? She shuddered. She had lied so deeply to the Hawk. She knew he was a better man than any of the others. A man to be respected.

And … were he not a pirate, she would have admired him.

As the long afternoon waned, Skye dozed in the window seat. She was awakened by a loud blast of one of the ship’s cannons. Jerking up in terror, she stared out at the sea.

They had slowed their pace to a mere crawl and she could just see the shore. Far to her left stretched white sands and long grasses. To her right she saw towers, high brick towers rising on either side of a slender channel. They approached that channel.

She sank back, her heart thundering. Home, the Hawk had called this place.

A cannon fired in answer from one of the towers. Skye lay still as she felt the ship move through the channel. Then she bolted up again as she heard laughter and words of welcome.

They had come to rest against a long wooden dock, and the plank was being lowered. Men were teeming off of the ship, being greeted by their fellows.…

And by their women.

Skye gnawed her lip, straining to see. Many of the sailors were being hugged and caressed by women, old women, young women, pretty young barefoot girls, and somber-looking matrons.

There was a whole community here! she thought. Bone Cay. It seemed that the Hawk ruled his own little kingdom. The Hawk! There he was himself, tall, lean, and striking in an elegant black frockcoat and knee breeches. A small blond woman yelled something and he laughed to her, picking her up in greeting, swinging her about. He set her down and she stared up at him adoringly. Another sailor joined them, and another woman. Skye experienced a strange searing sensation that brought a flush to her features. She swallowed tightly against the pain. She hated him, she wanted nothing to do with him, and she was glad that he was back to his beloved mistresses.

She started, falling back from the window as the door opened. It was Robert Arrowsmith.

He bowed gravely. “Milady, if you will accompany me, please?”

“Where are you taking me?”

“To your room within the castle.”

“The castle?” she inquired imperiously.

“ ’Tis what we call the house, milady, for it is made soundly of stone, a fortress if you like. You will be safe there.”

“I will be a prisoner there.”

Robert paused. “A safe prisoner, mam’selle.”

She accepted his arm, eager to quit the ship but determined that he would not know her mind. He led her from the cabin and across the deck. The sails were furled now, and the deck was silent and still.

Robert Arrowsmith led her over the gangplank. A hush fell over the dock. Men and women stared at her, and she stared in turn. Robert led her through the crowd that thronged around the ship.

The people gave way, parting to give them an open path.

Then she saw that the Silver Hawk was still there. Indeed, he awaited her. He sat mounted upon a huge white steed, his plumed hat low on his head.

Skye paused, ignoring the pressure of Robert’s arm upon her.

“Come, Lady Kinsdale!” the Hawk shouted to her. “Welcome to the Hawk’s Nest! Do hurry along.”

“I’ll not!” she shouted defiantly. It was the gravest pleasure to humiliate the man in turn.

But he was not humiliated. He cast his head back with a thunder of deep laughter, and she was left to gasp as the white horse thundered down upon her. She stood her ground.

She should have turned to flee.

She should have … but she did not. And upon his snow-white stallion, the Silver Hawk seemed to fly on the wind. And leaning from his seat, he plucked her from the ground, sweeping her before him, and racing toward the fortress that rose ahead of them.

And still the deep husky sound of his laughter rang against the coming of the night.

VII

T
hey did not ride far. Skye had just dug her fingers into the stallion’s mane when she saw tall stone walls rising above her. The wind swept by them and the sandy earth churned as they came upon a set of wrought-iron gates, opened in expectation of the master’s return, or so it seemed.

The horse unerringly turned and brought them through a courtyard to a high rising porte cochere. The Hawk reined in, setting Skye upon the ground. He touched his plumed hat. “Milady, my house is yours,” he said simply.

Smiling, he turned the horse around. He led the animal around the side of the house. Skye watched him go, and then paused, staring about herself in ironic dismay. No one was near her; she was neither chained nor confined. But she had probably never been more of a prisoner, for there was absolutely nowhere to go. The Silver Hawk had chosen his base of operations well. The island was surrounded by coral atolls and shoals, deadly to the unwary sailor. His harbor was protected by the deep, natural U shape of his island. The channel was protected by the towers with their massive guns. It would take
an army to come in here and clean out his rogue’s den. And for a prisoner, there was very simply nowhere at all to go. The island was his. The people who lived upon it were his.

And she was his, she reminded herself. Worthless—or not worth any great sum, or so he had said. But still, his prize, and as such, he had fought for her, and he had kept her. And he had brought her here.

She shivered suddenly. Not because it was cold, and not because she feared him, but because she was afraid to be there, upon the island with him. She knew not why.

She turned about and followed the handsome brick path to the door of the imposing structure. She shouldn’t be afraid. This was where she would wait for her father or her fiancé to rescue her. The Hawk would surely grant her some privacy here. It was a huge domicile.

She lifted her hand to knock, but the door opened before she could and to her surprise the Silver Hawk stood within the door frame. She frowned and he quickly arched a brow. “I left Samuel in his paddock, milady. You did take your sweet time to enter.”

“Samuel?” she murmured. “Not the Silver Wind? Not the Hawk’s Messenger, or some such. You named your horse Samuel?”

“Sam for short. He much prefers the abbreviation.” He reached out and caught her hand, drawing her into his fortress. The entryway was in shadows, but she could see his eyes, smoke gray now, and haunting. “I’m sorry if I disappoint you, but I’m afraid that I was just a lad when Sam was born, and therefore I named him quickly. He’s twenty-three now, and I’d not disturb his tranquillity with a change of name to suit my fancy.”

“Twenty-three?” Skye said. The huge, sleek animal looked to be a young horse. “He has aged well.”

The Hawk smiled slowly, and to her great distress, Skye felt her heart quiver as he drew her close. “I take very good care of all living creatures within my domain, milady. Alas, I tried take good care of you, but you are forever fighting my efforts.”

“Perhaps, sir, it is because I am not your property to be cared for. I am neither pet, nor beast of burden, nor—yours.”

A smile touched his lip. “Well spoken, milady, but then that is part of your appeal.”

“Ah! But still a woman, and worth only so much!”

“Your worth is still debatable,” he said. The words were simple and light, but the silence that followed them was not, for she felt both the warmth of his hands and the heat of his appraisal, and it seemed that a lingering question hung upon the air. She flushed and pulled from his grip, spinning to see the entryway.

It was grand. It was huge, with doors leading to rooms on either side. The walls and ceiling were paneled, and then lined handsomely with weapons of warfare, cutlasses, rapiers, scores of hunting rifles and muskets and brown Besses.

“Impressive,” she muttered.

“Every man and woman on the island knows where to come in case of attack.”

“And every one of them shall die with you?”

He shrugged. “They are here by choice. I force no one to live here.”

“You have forced me.”

“You, milady, are visiting, and naught more. Come along. I shall show you the rest of the house.”

He took her hand into his own. To the right was a library with a guest bed, to the left was the butler’s pantry—complete with butler. The man stood so silently awaiting their arrival that Skye gasped to see him living, alive and well. He was tall and strong of build, white-haired and immensely dignified. “Mr. Soames,” the Hawk said in introduction, and Mr. Soames bowed to her very gravely. “What you need, he will give you.”

“With the greatest pleasure, milady,” Soames said, and bowed.

He might have graced the finest English manor! Skye thought, and she wondered how on God’s good earth such a man had come to work in a pirate kingdom.

“All the pleasures of home,” she murmured softly.

“What was that, Lady Kinsdale?” the Hawk said. She was
certain that he winked to the butler, and that the butler winked in return. It was all a joke perhaps.

No, it was not joke. The cannons upon the protective towers were no joke. The skill of the Hawk was hardly amusing to the men he had robbed of ships and plunder.

Soames excused himself and closed the door upon his domain. The Hawk was staring at her. “Well?”

“Quite remarkable.”

“The house itself is remarkable, don’t you agree? But not so difficult to construct as you might imagine. Brick makes wonderful ballast. I was able to have this all brought within the span of a few years.” He walked her along the hall and paused, pushing open a set of doors. A long, claw-footed mahogany table stretched before them. It would seat at least twenty people, she thought. “The formal dining room.”

“For those ‘state’ occasions?” she taunted.

“For negotiations,” he corrected. “Your very worth might well be negotiated right here, milady.”

“With whom do you negotiate?”

“No man fears to come here if he is invited, Lady Kinsdale. Your fiancé is well aware of the truth of those words. There is no safer haven upon the seas than this.”

He drew her out and closed the doors. Pointing toward the rear of the house, he told her, “The ballroom, milady. And occasionally we do have balls.”

He barely let her see the long room before he was whirling her around again and pulling her toward the stairway. It was big and broad with a velvet runner. A manservant polishing the banister bobbed to her and saluted the Hawk. “Sir, ’tis good to see you home, sir!”

“Mr. Tallingsworth, Lady Kinsdale. He, too, will be delighted to see to your every comfort.”

“Yes, milady,” Mr. Tallingsworth said.

She nodded skeptically and the Hawk continued to lead her upward. The second floor, too, seemed to stretch endlessly. He did not attempt to show her the length of it, but rather paused to the right side of the stairway, pushing open a door.

It was his room, she knew instantly. The dominant furniture within it was a huge four-poster bed in a dark walnut. Full-length
windows lay open to the breeze coming off of the sea, making the room cool despite the heat of the day. There was a huge desk on the other side of the windows, and there were chairs and a daybed in front of a marble-manteled fireplace. In the center of the room was a fine cherrywood dining table, far more intimate than the large table downstairs.

“Your personal domain?” she inquired. She knew that he was watching her as she studied his room.

“Umm. Through here,” he said, and he took her hand, leading her to the back of the room. He opened a doorway there and they entered a second chamber, not much smaller than the first. But whereas the larger room had been beyond a doubt decorated for a man, this room was softer. It might have been decorated to resemble a lady’s chamber at Versailles. The delicate, white furniture appeared to be of French design. The drapes at the windows were sheer and trimmed with gold thread, and a gilded mirror hung over the fireplace. There was a card table and a huge wingback chair before the long windows, and the dressing table came complete with a set of silver combs and brushes. The chamber looked almost like a bride’s room.