Heather Graham - [Camerons Saga - North American Woman 02] (26 page)

Oh, but she had been a fool! To fall for a pirate, a knave, and now discover that her heart remained twisted within his callous hands.

What had she desired? she asked herself. To live with a pirate? To lose her father forever? To wonder day after day if the rake she had sold all honor and pride for would return from his latest venture? No! One day he was destined to hang, or he would die upon the sword of another, like Blackbeard or Logan. No …

But she didn’t want to be here. Not aboard this ship. Not with the gentleman lord who had come to rescue her.

Her tears abated slightly. She needed time, and distance, she told herself. She needed to see her father, to cast herself into his arms, to cry her heart out and tell him that her world had been turned over, and she needed to learn to understand it, and herself.

It was going to grow dark, she told herself uneasily. And the Silver Hawk was no longer with her, a beacon against the night.

She rose, wiping her eyes. She saw no lanterns about the cabin, no candles. Beneath the washstand, though, she found a decanter of brandy. There were pewter mugs beside it but she did not bother with such a nicety. She pulled the stopper and drank heavily. The brandy burned throughout her. She felt somewhat better, somewhat stronger.

There was a knock upon her door. She threw it open and stared at the young man there in stunned surprise.

“Davey!”

It was the young, sweet lad from the
Silver Messenger
. She reached out and touched his shoulders, assuring herself that he was there. A smile of pleasure swept across her features. “Oh, Davey, you are alive and well!”

“And have been, Lady Skye,” he assured her, flushing and grinning broadly. “He was not a cruel master, milady.”

She gasped, drawing him into her cabin. “Tell me! Where have you been? What has happened?”

“Why, we’ve been at sea, milady. In your father’s ship. We weathered the storm, then held off Hatteras. They were sending messages, I believe. We met with Lord Cameron’s ship on the open water, and those of us who had been captured and sent to the hold were passed on over.”

“Were you cared for, Davey?” she asked with a frown.

“Aye, milady, a surgeon was sent down to the lot of us. The Hawk, he said, did not care to see any seaman in chains, so if we promised good behavior, we were free. We were even brought on deck for good, fresh air. It was not so loathsome a time, milady.” He paused, looked at her searchingly, then flushed. “And you, milady? I prayed for you daily. Are you well?”

She swallowed. “Aye, Davey, very well, thank you.”

He nodded and flushed again, and stepped away from her. “I came to see if you might require anything, milady. Lord Cameron would probably not take too kindly to my talking with you.”

“Lord Cameron has no right to tell me who I may or not
speak with, Davey,” Skye said flatly, standing. Then she paused, startled, and felt a peculiar sensation sweep along her spine. Her lips parted into a soft gasp, for she realized that the man had come up behind Davey, and stood, filling the doorway behind the lad.

Davey swung about, and whitened.

“Is your duty here done then, lad?” Lord Cameron inquired.

“Aye, sir!”

“Be gone with you then, son,” Lord Cameron said, his eyes not upon Davey but looking over the young man’s pale head, and finding Skye’s. She started to tremble. She hated that silver color, and hated that he could appear so like the Hawk.…

And so entirely unlike his black-sheep cousin.

“We have left the shoals and reefs behind us, Skye. I have come to take you to dinner.”

She folded her hands together tightly. “That is very kind of you, Lord Cameron. This is all … very kind of you. I do, however, find that I am very weary. If I could—”

“Lady Skye! I shall not keep you long at all, I promise. And I could not dream of allowing you to take to your cabin without a meal. I understand your distress, but please, I insist. You must come to dinner.”

There was a note of steel to his voice. Like his distant cousin, he was accustomed to command. What was it with these men? she wondered irritably.

“Sir—”

“Milady,” he said firmly, and offered her his arm.

She hesitated, then accepted, for short of total rudeness, she had no other choice, and whatever his feelings in the matter, he had risked life and limb to come for her.

He drew her arm within his and led her just down the hallway to the next door. “My cabin, milady. And should you need them, Mr. Morley and Mr. Niven share quarters just across. There are more officers down the hall, and the seamen’s quarters are the deck below.”

She nodded and tried to smile. When he pushed open the door, she entered quickly, eluding his touch. She looked
around quickly and found it to be a more practical than elegant place, though all seemed to be in the best of taste. His desk was heavy and finely polished and heavily laden with charts. Warm velvet drapes fell over the windows in a deep sea blue, matching the simple coverlet that lay over the bunk against the far wall. A table had been brought to the room. A snowy white cloth lay atop it and a complete silver setting, and handsome plate with soft flowered designs.

Lord Cameron closed the door to his cabin behind him and walked behind one of the handsome high-backed chairs, pulling it out for her.

“Milady?”

“Thank you,” she murmured, sliding into the chair.

He did not join her. He walked over to his desk, to a decanter there. “Wine, my dear?” He turned about to face her with a curious smile. “Or have you already been indulging?”

“What?” she gasped, staring his way. There was a look of steel about him that made her think that she had underestimated the man.

“Forgive my very bad manners, milady,” he said apologetically. She avoided meeting his gaze. She could not bear to see the color of his eyes.

“You are forgiven.”

“You have been through an awful ordeal. You are certainly entitled to—indulgence.”

How did he manage to make the word sound so frightfully decadent?

He came to the table, setting a glass of deep red wine before her. She was tempted to grab it and swallow down the liquid in an instant. She could not let this man so unnerve her! He was no pirate, she reminded herself, but a lord of the peerage. He was sworn by honor to certain behavior, and she need not fear him.

She did not fear him. She picked up her wineglass and sipped upon it and forced herself to meet his eyes. “Yes, it has all been quite an ordeal.”

He drew back his own chair and sat opposite her. “I heard wonderful things about your valor, Skye.”

“Did you?”

He nodded to her gravely. “The crew rescued from your father’s ship told us how you battled the pirates in defense of the Irish maids. They say you fought unbelievably well. They say that you won.”

“I know something of swordplay.”

“Yes, your father told me. You do not know something of it; you know it very well.”

“Yes.”

“So you bested the first pirates.”

“Yes.”

“But not the Silver Hawk.”

Despite herself, she felt her eyes fall. “No.”

He was silent, silent so long that she wished she could scream or meet his stare boldly and brazenly and shout out the truth of it all.

“But he did not injure you?”

“No, Lord Cameron, he did not injure me.”

“Skye! We are soon to live together as man and wife. My given name is Petroc, a whim of my mother’s, and those who are close to me call me Roc. I would hear that name from you.”

She smiled stiffly and felt a chill sweep over her. As last she could meet his eyes, for he had ceased to plague her about her adventures. “Roc,” she murmured obligingly.

“It sounds well upon your sweet lips, milady.”

“Tell me, sir,” she said, sitting forward. “How is my father.”

“Well and good,” he assured her. “He will meet us at Cameron Hall.”

“Cameron Hall?” she said with dismay.

“What is wrong with that, milady?”

“Nothing. Why, nothing, of course. I had just thought that we would sail for Williamsburg.”

“Ah.” His dark lashes fell briefly over his eyes. He stood and moved away from her, sipping his wine and idly pulling back one of the drapes. It was nearly dark beyond the light from the cabin, Skye saw.

He dropped the curtain. “Williamsburg has vastly changed, you will discover. Governor Spotswood has moved into his
new manor, and it is all but complete. He has hosted many an elegant ball there. The magazine is complete and filled with muskets and swords for the militiamen. The Bruton parish church has been rebuilt since you were home, and more and more merchants flock to the town daily. Even coming from London, my dear, I believe that you will be impressed with the growth of our capital city.”

“I’m sure I shall.”

“Not that we shall be so very close to Williamsburg.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“Cameron Hall, milady. It is a good three hours down the James. Closer to Jamestown, but on higher ground. We do, of course, come into the city now and then. You will not be so completely isolated.”

She felt as if the bars of a new prison were falling quickly shut upon her.

“I wonder, milord—”

“Oh, you needn’t fret so uncomfortably, milady. I have already heard that you are opposed to the marriage.”

She stared at him, her eyes flashing. “Well, milord, I have heard that you, too, were opposed!”

He inclined his head, smiling. “Ah, but that was before I sailed the seas for you, milady!”

She flushed, and swallowed down the whole of her wine after all. Lord Cameron quickly stood, taking her glass to refill it. She watched him walk away. He was a tall man, too, with a long back and broad shoulders. She imagined that beneath his finery he was well muscled and toned. She shivered suddenly, and did not know why. He was unerringly polite, yet she sensed that his temper might be great when provoked.

“Milord—”

“Roc, Skye. Please, you must be comfortable with my given name.”

“Roc—” She paused, gritting her teeth. He came around, facing her. He placed her wineglass down before her again and moved away, this time perching upon the corner of his desk. He waited expectantly. “Roc, I do with all my heart appreciate your trouble and valor in coming so swiftly to my rescue. And the expense, of course—”

“The expense?” He arched a brow.

“The—the expense,” she repeated, faltering. “The ransom! I’m sure that he charged you dearly for my return.”

“Why, not at all, milady.”

“You are too polite and generous, milord.”

“Not at all. I tell you the truth. The pirate didn’t charge me a single farthing for your return.”

She gasped out loud, coming to her feet. “He what?”

Lord Cameron’s dark lashes flickered over his silver eyes. “Why the distress, milady? We paid for the seamen, the ship, and the maids, but you, my dear, were returned to us through goodwill.”

“He did not even charge you for me!”

His brow flew up. She quickly tried to hide her distress, falling back into her chair, swallowing down her second glass of wine.

“I repeat, my dear, he did not charge for you.”

She lowered her head quickly, but there came a knock upon the captain’s door, and Lord Cameron quickly answered it. “Thank you, Mr. Monahan,” he said, directing a hefty sailor with a huge serving tray to the table. “My dear, this is Mr. Monahan, the cook’s assistant. Mr. Monahan, my Lady Skye.”

“Lady,” Mr. Monahan said, bowing deeply as he set the tray down with a flourish. He lifted the silver cover from the serving plate. “Pheasant, milady, stuffed with nuts and cornmeal and raisins. I hope that it will be to your pleasure.”

“I’m sure that it shall, Mr. Monahan,” she said sweetly. Then there was silence as Mr. Monahan prepared the plates. Skye waited uneasily until he was gone and cast a gaze toward Lord Cameron. Her heart catapulted when she discovered that he was staring at her deeply and intently. The cabin was too small for the two of them. She longed to escape him. She desperately, desperately needed to be alone.

“Do you feel ill?” he asked her when Mr. Monahan had left them. He took his place opposite from her.

She shook her head. “I—I’m fine.” She wasn’t fine. She didn’t feel well at all. She picked up her fork and played idly with her food.

He was still watching her, paying no heed to his food. “The
governor intends to clean out the pirates, you know. Lieutenant Governor Spotswood, that is. He is bold man, adventurous and determined. Where other men in power turn their heads, he stands strong. He will see all the pirates swept from the seas, skewered through or brought to trial. Then they may hang from the neck until dead.”

She set her fork down.

“Skye, whatever is the matter?”

She shook her head, then she stared at him. “How can you be so callous? The man is your cousin.”

“Cousin!” He shuddered. “Several times removed, milady, I do assure you. And lady, after all that has been done to you, I would think that you would rejoice to know that the scourge will be cleansed from the sea. Can you find the likes of pirates pleasant? Logan and his crew? The late One-Eyed Jack? Mr. Teach?”

“Of course not! I find them despicable. It’s just that—”

“What?”

“You spoke of one who is your own blood, that is all.”

“Barely, milady.”

“Even your looks—”

“An accident of birth, and I don’t care to be reminded of it.”

“But you do know one another! You negotiate and speak, else I could not be here so swiftly.”

“Bone Cay is the safest of the pirate havens, and the Hawk is perhaps the most dependable of the buccaneers; no more, milady. Aye, we speak. We come to agreements, that is all.”

She lowered her head, still feeling queasy. “There is a precedent,” she murmured.

“Pardon?”

“Sir Francis Drake,” she said, and then she realized that she was repeating words she had heard from the Silver Hawk.

“Yes?” Lord Cameron arched a brow.

“He—he was a privateer. Men set sail against the Spanish, and even when we were not at war, Elizabeth turned her head while her Englishmen ravaged Spanish ships. When the Stuarts came to the throne, the mode continued. We created these men. And now they flourish. But where does the line come,
Lord Cameron? Some were privateers, sanctioned by their governments. Some are cutthroats, and some simple thieves.”