Heather Graham - [Camerons Saga - North American Woman 02] (25 page)

“M
ilady, it is time.”

Skye stood quickly at Robert Arrowsmith’s words. She had been sitting restlessly in her room for what seemed like hours. It had not been so long, of course. At the lagoon the Hawk had helped her into her clothing—either the gentleman or the rogue until the very end—and then he had taken her into his arms one last time and cast upon her lips a kiss that would remain with her into eternity. She could still touch her mouth and feel the passion and pulse of it there now.

“You can stay,” he had told her.

She shook her head desperately. She longed to tell him about her father, that there was more. That she could not bear to wait for the day when they would come and tell her that the Hawk lay dead. Nor could she bear to awaken and discover that there were many more women in his life, that he took them when he chose, and that they fell too easily to his rogue’s smile and silver eyes, fell, just as she had done.…

“
You
can make me,” she had whispered.

His laugh was curt and bitter. “Can I? Ah, yes! Demand a
sum of Lord Cameron that is so high that all the nobility and honor of his fine house cannot pay it! Is that what you wish?” He brought his fingers to her lips. “Once you promised me everything. I brought you from the darkness of your dreams, and you promised me everything. And that is what I would require.” They stared at one another, and he smiled wistfully and touched her cheek. “Perhaps we will meet again. I have never learned from you just what demon it is you fight in the darkness. I enjoyed slaying the dragons of your dreams, and I would have put them to rest forever, had I the power. Adieu, love.” He dropped her fingers to her side. He brushed her forehead with his lips.

Then he disappeared into the water and crossed the lagoon, and she didn’t think to turn away when he arose again, striking and noble in countenance and bearing. He had dressed with swift, deft movements and leaped upon the snow-white stallion. He looked her way and lifted a hand high.

Then he was gone, and she rode back alone.

“No hurry, milady!” Mr. Soames told her. Negotiation would take some time. That was well, she thought, for her hair was still sodden and dusted with sand as was her riding attire. A bath was in order and Mr. Soames did not mind at all; he suggested it.

And so it was, she thought when she was done, hair shampooed, her body newly attired in bone and elegant green muslin and brocade, that she would meet her betrothed in cleanliness of garb, even if she did not remain so pure in body or spirit.

She had no wish to meet this man! she thought. Reckless thoughts of breaking free upon his very deck filled her mind. Dreams of what went on below filled her thoughts. The Hawk would refuse to take ransom for her, claiming her for his own forever. And she might then protest this paradise, but remain in his arms nonetheless.…

It was a foolish dream. She could not bear not to see her father. He grew older with each passing year. He was precious to her, and he was surely worried and anxious beyond measure.

She stared down at her lace-gloved hands. They were trembling.
A feeling of sickness surged in her stomach. She had to get out of here. She would forget. She was Lady Kinsdale, the very proud daughter of Lord Kinsdale, and she did not—by choice!—associate with pirates.

Aye, by choice, she had touched the Hawk, and been touched in turn.

By the time Robert came to the door, telling her, “Milady, it is time!” she felt as if they had come to take her to the executioner.

“It’s time?” she repeated.

“Lord Cameron awaits you aboard his ship, the
Lady Elena
. He wishes to sail with the tide.”

She swallowed quickly, trying to betray no emotion. “Will I see your master again?”

“I do not know, milady. Come along, please. Men will come for your trunks.”

She left her room behind. Mr. Soames was waiting at the bottom of the stairs. She thanked him for his services and felt more and more like a maiden walking to the headman’s block. She was being rescued, she reminded herself. Lord Cameron would expect her ardent thanks and appreciation.

Robert took her outside. Señor Rivas was waiting with a small pony trap to take her down to the dock. Robert helped her into the vehicle, then joined her. “I will see you safely to the
Lady Elena,
” he said.

Skye looked back to the house. She stared up to the window at the master’s bedroom. She thought that she saw the drapes fall back into place. Was he watching her leave?

She turned away from the window, feeling the fool. He had amused himself with her, then accepted payment to rid himself of her! She should despise him so very fiercely.

Tears welled within her throat. She knew that she would not shed them. She stiffened her shoulders and reminded herself that she was her father’s daughter, and that she would not fail or falter now.

Before them lay the docks. She saw the two tall ships there, both tall and proud. The
Lady Elena
, and the
Silver Hawk
. She had never realized before that the pirate had drawn his name
from his ship. She looked at the beautiful figurehead, a silent sentinel.

The
Lady Elena
lay with a woman’s figure upon her bow, too. It was an Indian, Skye thought. An Indian maiden with long flowing hair and buckskin dress. What a curious choice for Lord Cameron, she thought.

The docks were busy. Men loaded supplies aboard the
Lady Elena;
seamen scrubbed deck and knotted rope. Skye saw all the hustle and bustle as the pony trap came to a halt and Robert Arrowsmith helped her down. Señor Rivas tipped his hat to her and Skye smiled, telling him good-bye. Then Robert led her along the broad plank that stretched from the dock to the
Lady Elena
.

She was a larger ship than the
Silver Hawk
, Skye thought. She seemed to carry fourteen guns, with a narrow and high-rising hull. She would be a fleet ship; if not quite so swift as the pirate ship, she was more heavily armed and could probably fight well upon the open sea. Lord Cameron was a merchant, she knew. His fields were filled with tobacco and cotton and corn, and his ships endlessly plied the routes between the mother country and the New World. He armed himself very well against pirates, she thought. And yet her father had thought that he had done the same, and still the
Silver Messenger
had been taken.

“There he is!” Robert said suddenly.

Skye’s heart slammed hard against her chest and her breath seemed to catch within her throat. Her palms were damp. She was not afraid of Lord Cameron! she assured herself. But she was nervous about this first meeting. She did not yet know what she meant to say or do, or how she would manage her life from now on. Thoughts of this meeting had been difficult enough before she had come to know the Silver Hawk; now it seemed a travesty.

“Where?” she murmured uneasily.

“There,” Robert said. “At the helm. He speaks with Mr. Morley, his quartermaster, and Mr. Niven, his first mate.”

“He captains his own ship?”

“Always, milady, if he is aboard.”

She could see only his back and his form, and nothing of his
face. He was dressed in a fine fawn-colored brocade coat and soft brown knee breeches. His shirt was white beneath his waistcoat, laced and frilled, spilling from his cuffs and neck. He wore a cockaded hat with eagle plumes above a full powdered wig. He was a tall man, and seemed able.

“Milady?” Robert said.

She realized that she stood there, upon the plank. Robert took her hand and led her forward and helped her to leap down to the deck.

“Milord! Milord Cameron!” Robert cried.

The man paused, passing his ledger to the mate on his left. Robert urged Skye along, bringing her up the four steps to the high-rising helm. She stared downward, carefully holding her skirt lest she trip upon the stair.

“Milady, let me assist you.”

The voice was low and well modulated. The hand that touched hers was gloved in soft leather. She accepted the assistance, and looked up slowly.

A startled gasp tore from her lips.

He was nothing like the Silver Hawk, nothing at all. He was clean shaven and his powdered wig was neatly queued, and he was dressed totally as the lord. He was young, and his features were striking and clean cut and strong.

It was his eyes …

Only his eyes …

They were the same as his distant cousin’s, so very much the same. Silver-toned and arresting, perhaps more so on this man, for the very white of his powdered wig made the darkness of his lashes and brows all the more striking.

He arched a brow, stiffening at her look. “Milady, be not afraid! I am Petroc Cameron, sworn to defend you, and not that heathen cousin of mine. The eyes, I’m afraid, are an accident of birth. The resemblance has always been a matter of distress to me, but never so much as now, as it causes you discomfort!”

Discomfort … he did not know the depths of it!

“Sir!” she managed to murmur.

“Milady …” he said. She thought that there was warmth
to his whisper. He held both of her hands and studied her swiftly. “You are well?” he said anxiously.

“Very.”

“Thank God for that,” he said, and turned to his men. “Mr. Morley, Mr. Niven, I give you my lady Skye. Skye, all and any of us are at your service, and we will strive to erase the horrors of the past days for you.”

She could not speak. She nodded to Lord Cameron’s mate and his quartermaster. Mr. Niven was young and blond and blue-eyed, and though his smile was as grave as the circumstances, his eyes were merry, and she thought that she might like him very well. Mr. Morley seemed more staid and strict; he was bewigged like Lord Cameron, and solid in posture.

“Mr. Morley will see you to your cabin, milady,” Lord Cameron told her. “I will be with you as soon as possible; I’m afraid that I must now see to our embarkation.”

She nodded, turning around to say good-bye to Robert. She would miss him.

Robert was gone. He had left the deck without a word.

There was a touch upon her elbow. She turned again to see Mr. Morley standing there, a grave expression upon his heavy jowled face. “If you’ll come with me, my lady?”

She nodded vaguely, but she had no desire to leave the deck. The plank was being pulled, and seamen were climbing into the rigging to half-hoist certain sails to catch a steady breeze and move them carefully down the channel. Small boats—the
Silver Hawk
’s small boats—came to the bow, preparing to guide the
Lady Elena
away from the treacherous shoals.

“Milady?”

“Mr. Morley, I should like to stay on deck.”

Mr. Morley shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. “Lord Cameron has ordered that I take you to your chamber.”

“I will not be ordered about by Lord Cameron, Mr. Morley.”

“He thought that you would despise this island, this place of your imprisonment, and would be eager to see your last sight of it.”

She smiled sweetly and with a tremendous guilt upon her
heart. “I sail away, Mr. Morley, and the breeze is fresh and sweet.”

The
Lady Elena
moved away from the dock. A command was shouted, and men scurried about. A sailor paused before Skye, bowed his head to her in flushing acknowledgment, and said, “Beg pardon, milady?”

“Oh, of course!” she murmured, and stepped aside. He cast his weight against the rigging for the mainsail, seemed to dangle upon it, and shouted for aid to pull up the canvas. Another of his fellows came along, and between them, the huge mainsail rose above them.

“Come, milady, please!” Mr. Morley urged her.

She sighed, but could not leave the deck. She pushed past him and hurried to the hull, looking backward to Bone Cay.

She saw a figure upon the pirate ship where it lay at berth, quiet and restful.

Sunset was coming on. Sunset, and the tide. The island and ship and channel were bathed in color. Red draped beguilingly over the ship, the sand, the men and women milling upon the dock. She looked from the rise of the island to the outline of the house and walls back to the dock, and to the ship, an elegant lady in the sunset. Then she blinked back a sudden surge of tears.

He was standing aboard his ship, she thought. The
Silver Hawk
was floating there. The
Lady Elena
pulled swiftly away, but still, she knew that it was he. He stood tall upon the deck, his arms akimbo, his legs well spread apart as if he rode the waves, even though the ship lay at dock. He was dressed all in black, from his sweeping hat to his booted feet. The plume and brim fell well over his eyes, shielding his face from her view.

But it was he, she thought.

He lifted his hand to her in a final salute.

To her horror, a cry tore from her throat and she spun around to a very startled Mr. Morley. “Please! I’m ready. Take me from the deck to my quarters, now, please!”

She was half-blinded, she thought. He caught her arm and led her, and without him she would have tripped over the cleats and rigging. They came to a narrow passage of steps,
and Mr. Morley warned her that she must take very grave care. She scarcely heard him.

They stepped below, and he led her quickly to the aft, throwing open a chamber door there. The cabin was huge, with windows stretching around the hull for her pleasure and ease. There was a large bunk, elegantly covered in white linen, and secured tight to the wall. There was a screen for her privacy, rows of books, a washstand and pitcher and bowl, a circular window seat, and a mirrored dressing table. It was all beautiful, all elegant, all well fit for a lady, one who was honored and cherished.

She could barely glance about herself.

“Thank you!” she told Mr. Morley.

“Lord Cameron will be with you soon. Supper will be served in his cabin as soon as we are clear of the shoals and reefs.”

“Thank you. I shall look forward to our meeting.” She dreaded their meeting with all of her heart. At the moment, though, she wished only to be free from Mr. Morley.

He bowed deeply to her and left. Skye swiftly closed her cabin door and cast herself down heavily upon her bunk. Tears suddenly fell swiftly and forcefully down her cheeks, and she found herself swearing aloud. “Damn him!”