Master of My Dreams (36 page)

Even the gig’s crew was smartly turned out,
the oars rising and falling in perfect unison as the seamen rowed
him through the harbor toward the towering hulk of the
flagship.

Christian kept his eyes straight ahead lest
someone see the anguish there—and thus missed the tiny rowboat that
passed him just off to starboard, carrying a young woman with
spiral-curling black hair toward the proud and mighty
Bold
Marauder
.

“Christian!” she yelled, standing up in the
boat and waving her hat before Jared Foley or Delight could pull
her back down.
“Christian!”

She saw his back go rigid, but the handsome
sea officer never turned.

“
Christian!”

The little rowboat tipped dangerously in the
water as Deirdre fought to keep her balance. He did not turn to
acknowledge her, and sudden worry filled her. What was wrong? Why
was he ignoring her? Dazed, she sat back down and stared at
Delight. “He went right by me,” she whispered. “Sweet Mary, he
didn’t even turn around, and I know he heard me!”

“I fear we’re too late,” Jared grunted as he
saw the admiral’s side party preparing to welcome the British
captain aboard the flagship with all the fanfare due a hero. The
shrill of whistles cleaved the air, mocking their hopes of securing
Roddy’s release. “Your fine English sea officer has done what he
came here to do, Deirdre—apprehend the Irish Pirate. It appears
that he has no further use for you, or for anything but the glory
such an accomplishment will bring him.”

“But no, he wouldn’t
do
that to me,
Mr. Foley! He has no reason to ignore me like that! He loves me!”
she cried, indicating the ring on her finger. “I
know
Christian, and he loves me!”

“But he loves his country more,” the man
said, resting on the oars and watching as the blue-and-white-clad
officer scaled the great tumble home of the mighty flagship.

“No! He wouldn’t cast me aside like this, Mr.
Foley! He just wouldn’t!”

“I beg to differ, Deirdre.” The printer’s
eyes gazed hopelessly into hers. “He just did.”

Chapter 30

The elaborate dinner that Sir Geoffrey threw
to celebrate Christian’s success had been more fitting for a king
than a mere naval captain whose latest accomplishment was just one
more in a series of triumphs that marked a long and decorated
career. Despite Sir Geoffrey’s praise and General Gage’s pleasure,
Christian was glad to see the evening finally come to a close.

Tired, weary, and wanting nothing more than
the solitude of his own cabin, he left the flagship to the piercing
shriek of the side party’s salute and the stamp and clatter of Sir
Geoffrey’s marines. Now, with the sea wind driving the unpleasant
scent of pipe smoke from his uniform, he stared longingly toward
the glimmering lights of the frigate he called home.

In the darkness, he saw figures moving on her
decks, along her gangways, gathering at her rail. His coxswain
called up to the frigate to alert the watch to his arrival, and the
decks became a flurry of activity. The gig moved into the orange
reflection that sheeted the water around the ship’s hull, passing
beneath the long bowsprit and the figurehead crouched just beneath
it.

The crew hooked onto the frigate’s main
chains, and he leapt the short distance. But as he made his way up
the black, forbidding side, he suddenly wished he were back aboard
the admiral’s flagship, where there were no memories to haunt
him—and no nightmares waiting to torture him the moment he closed
his eyes.

Christian pushed open the door to his cabin,
and was not in the least bit surprised to find
her
waiting
for him.

She was sitting on his bed, her thick curls
scattered over her shoulders. Tildy’s puppies were cradled in her
lap and all but lost in the voluminous folds of her skirts. Lantern
light framed her face and hair in a soft, heavenly glow.

“Christian,” she whispered brokenly.

“Get out.”

She didn’t move.

“Did you hear me?” he snarled. “I said,
get out
!”

They stared at each other, his eyes blazing,
hers wounded and sad. She made no move to leave, and he didn’t
trust himself to touch her. A tantalizing bit of ankle peeped above
her mud-spattered shoes, and he turned away, furious that she could
still arouse his interest after the treacherous way she’d treated
him.

The silence stretched on, until her eyes
filled with tears.

“Why?” he asked, his voice tortured. He
slammed his fist against the bulkhead and felt pain explode in his
wounded shoulder. “For God’s sake, Deirdre,
why
?”

She stood, carefully put the puppies back
with her mother, and turned to face him. “I might ask the same of
you,
Christian.” Her eyes were tragic. “Does glory mean so
much to ye that ye’d abandon those who love ye?”

“What?”

“Ye gave me yer ring, asked me to become yer
wife— then ye pretended I didn’t exist. I didn’t do anythin’ wrong,
but ye ignored me when I called to ye in the harbor, treated me
like I wasn’t even there.”

He glared at her, his eyes blazing. “Why the
bloody
hell
should I have acknowledged you?” he roared,
ripping off his hat and hurling it to the table. “After what you
did to me!”

“I did nothin’ to ye! ’Twas
you
who
treated me like I didn’t exist!”

“Oh? And who is the one who is already
cuckolding her future husband
,
eh?” he snarled, frightening
her with the intensity of his anger. “Who was the one who professed
to love me when all the time her heart belonged to someone else?
Who was the one who worked so damned hard to win my trust, then
betrayed it with no care for the consequences?” Her face went white
with shock, confusion. “Don’t sit there and pretend you don’t know
what I’m talking about! You came here to try to save your damned
lover, didn’t you?
Didn’t you?”

“My . . . my
lover
?”

“A plague on you for your bloody deceit! The
game is up, Deirdre! I
knew
you’d come to me today with some
wicked plea to release him, and that’s the only thing you haven’t
disappointed me in, so help me God!”

“Christian,” she whispered, her eyes brimming
with tears, her voice trembling with hurt, “I have no lover ’cept
you.”

“How dare you stand there and
lie
to
me!” He clenched his fists at his sides, his mouth a slash of
anguish. “I
saw
you in the bugger’s arms, by God! I bloody
well saw you, Deirdre, so forget trying to tell me there’s naught
between you and him! I know now why you came to America. I know now
why you finally consented to stay with Dolores or Delight or
whatever the cursed hell her name is. You did it so you could be
close to
him!
I should have figured it out before—you’re
Irish, he’s Irish—by God, you even
look
alike—”

“Christian.”

She walked slowly across the cabin toward
him. Her face was very white, her eyes very purple, her lower lip
very red and swollen where she had caught it between her teeth. The
cross glittered from the folds of her shirt, a shirt, he saw now,
that was achingly familiar because it was one of his. Damn her.
Damn her to hell and beyond.

She came right up to him and stopped. He
caught the scent of her soap, her damp woolen waistcoat, her
rain-washed hair. Tentatively, she reached out and placed one hand
upon the gold insignia of his sleeve, the other against his
thundering heart. His jaw hardened and he clenched his fists at his
sides, every ounce of will straining to hold his temper in
check.

“The Irish Pirate is not my lover,” she said
flatly. Her eyes held his, beautiful, brilliant, and brimming with
unshed tears. “How could ye even
think
I’d betray ye like
that, Christian?” Her throat worked, and big, fat droplets began to
roll down her cheeks. “’Tis you whom I love.
You
. And it
hurts me that ye have so little trust in me that ye’d think I’d do
anythin’ to ever hurt ye . . .”

“I—
saw
—you,” he gritted out, shutting
his eyes and turning his head so he wouldn’t have to look at her.
“Damn you, Deirdre! I didn’t go back to Boston after I left you the
other night! I turned around and took a room in the tavern across
the road so that I could spy on the Foleys’s activities.” He
ignored her widening eyes. “Sir Geoffrey had intelligence that they
were rebels. Gage’s spies learned there was to be a patriot meeting
that night, and given that it was
my
task to apprehend the
Irish Pirate, and that he was suspected to be in league with the
rebels, I felt it prudent to learn all I could.” He tilted back his
head, unable to look into her eyes, unable to stand the soft
pressure of her palm lying against his heart. “But never did I
expect to see
you,
of all people, standing out in the road
embracing the bastard. I
saw
you, Deirdre. I saw you hug
him, kiss him, give him one of your precious Irish mementos.” His
eyes darkened with anguish. “Damn you, I
saw
you . . .”

For a long moment she said nothing. Then she
gave a heavy sigh and, trembling, bent her head until her brow
rested against his crisp lapels. “Aye, that ye did, perhaps,” she
said slowly. “Ye saw me in the arms of the Irish Pirate, I’ll not
be denyin’ it. And I’ll not deny that I love him, too, but not as a
lass loves her man, as I do you.”

“What other bloody way
is
there to
love a man?”

“A moment ago,” she whispered, “ye said that
the Irish Pirate and I look alike. Did ye ever stop ’n’ consider
that I might love him not as a lover . . . but as a
brother?
”

He stared at her for so long, his heart
seemed to stop beating. The breath caught in his chest, and
speckles of darkness danced across his vision. Her words hung
heavily in the room, and her eyes were steady, unwavering,
questing.

“Did ye ever stop an’ ask yer prisoner what
his real name is?” she asked gently.

“Dear God . . .”

“And did ye ever stop and recall the face of
the lad yer press gang took from Connemara all those years ago,
Christian?”

He shut his eyes.

“
Did ye?”

“No,” he murmured, kneading his forehead.
“Oh, dear God, Deirdre—”

More tears were tumbling down her cheeks. “I
would never, ever do anythin’ to hurt ye, Christian,” she
whispered, reaching up to knuckle her eyes. “But to think that ye
trusted me so little as to think I would, breaks my heart.”

He collapsed into a chair, his eyes
anguished. “Why didn’t you
tell
me, Deirdre? By God, why
didn’t you tell me the Irish Pirate was your brother?”

“I didn’t
know
he was my brother until
I saw him at the Foley house,” she confessed. “And I haven’t seen
you
since ye left that evenin’. How was I supposed to tell
ye?” She came closer to him, her hands tightly clenched together,
her lips white with pain. “And would it have made a lick o’
difference if I had?”

“What do you mean?”

“Would ye still have gone after him,
Christian?”

He stared at her, then looked away.

“
Would
ye?”

He set his jaw. “I am a king’s officer,
Deirdre. I had no choice but to go after him.”

The breath left her chest in a deep, ragged
sound of defeat and despair. Slowly, she said, “And does that mean
that, as a king’s officer, ye can do nothin’ to free him?

Emotion warred in his face, and he raked a
hand through his hair. Then he lunged to his feet and began to
pace. “I must abide by my duty to king and country, Deirdre.” At
the windows he turned, his eyes dark with torment. “I cannot
release your brother. He is an enemy of the Crown and therefore
must be punished for his activities against it.”

She raised her chin. The hope was fading from
her face, and terror began to fill her eyes. He turned away, unable
to look at her. “They will hang him, Christian.”

He whirled. “By God, Deirdre, what am I to do
about it? I can do nothing to help him, not now!”

“Ye could just let him go.”

“And face a court-martial?”

“No one has to know about it.”

“I am a king’s officer, Deirdre! You don’t
understand, damn you!”

“Oh, I understand, all right,” she said
bitterly, her wounded eyes flooding with fresh tears. “Ye speak of
duty and gallantry and being an officer and a gentleman. Aye, ye’re
an officer, all right, and a fine one at that
—but ye’re no
gentleman.
Yer word, yer honor, are as hollow as a rotten
oak.”

She moved toward the door, her face tight,
her chin high. His hand flashed out and caught her arm. “What do
you mean?”

“Ye’re no gentleman,” she said. “A gentleman
always keeps his word. Ye
promised,
Christian, that ye’d
help me find me brother. Ye promised to return him to me, but now
ye’re goin’ back on yer promise. Ye’re goin’ to stand mutely by and
let him hang, just so ye can gather all the glory yer Navy can
bestow upon ye. Another medal for that fine and decorated chest,
another step up the ladder to promotion. Aye, ye’ll be an admiral
someday, I’ve no doubt. But if it’s men like you who make admirals,
then I pity England.”

“Deirdre—“

She pried his ring from her finger and held
it in the palm of her hand, lamenting all that it had meant, all
that it
could
have meant. “I’ve no wish to marry ye now,
Christian. I’ll not have a man who lacks honor, a man who breaks
his word to the woman he wants for his wife.”

“Deirdre, please, let me explain—”

“There’s nothin’ to explain, Christian. Ye
made me a promise to help me find me brother. Ye found him, all
right But if he is hanged and put to death for believin’ in a cause
that in his heart is righteous and just, then ye’ve taken him from
me not once, but twice.”