Pirate's Golden Promise (38 page)

Now to see Wynter so in love with Cort instead of himself ate away at his pride. He realized that Wynter would never love him as long as Cort was alive, and he'd never be free as long as Katrina breathed. His wife wasn't a wife in the true sense, and he hated her. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Mikel and another boy in a small boat on the river. A boat. A fatal accident. He hadn't thought about that, but the more his mind dwelled on it, the more his frown eased into a smile.

Upon Cort's and Wynter's return to the house, they were met by a frantic Gerta. “The baby is very sick!” she exclaimed. They rushed into the nursery, where Lyntje's pitiful cries greeted them. She sounded as weak as a sick kitten to Wynter's ears.

Wynter scooped up the baby. Instantly she knew the child ran a high fever. The baby's flesh was hot and dry, and she looked at her parents from droopy eyes. “Oh, Cort, she is so hot.” Wynter clutched the child closer to her.

“Apply cool washcloths to her,” he ordered Gerta. “And open a window in here. It's much too warm.”

All night they sat with the whimpering infant. By morning, her fever hadn't broken, and Cort sent for a doctor who lived five miles up the river. That evening, Dr. Bruin shook his head and handed a vial of medicine to Wynter with orders that the baby be fed the potion four times a day. “If the fever doesn't break by tomorrow, there is nothing left to be done,” he stated sadly.

Fear tore through Wynter. “She's going to die. Just like Fletcher,” she whispered.

Cort understood her anguish and held her against him. “Lyntje will recover,” he said with more confidence than he felt. The sight of the tiny child, fighting for her life, was almost more than he could bear. Throughout that long night, the potion was administered, the cool cloths applied, the child rocked. Wynter grew exhausted waiting for a change. At one point Lucy entered the room and insisted that Wynter rest. She refused, and Lucy sat with her, offering her silent comfort.

Near dawn, Wynter woke with a start at the sounds of delighted gurgles coming from the crib. Lucy had fallen asleep in her chair and snored softly.

Wynter went to the crib and picked up her beloved daughter. Lyntje smiled and began to suck on her thumb. She was hungry, but better than that, her fever had broken.

Wynter couldn't wait to find Cort, to tell him that their precious baby was better, that she'd live. A tiny sob of relief escaped Wynter, and Lucy glanced up, startled.

“The baby is going to be fine,” Wynter told her.

“Thank the good Lord,” Lucy intoned.

Wynter began to nurse the baby, who ate hungrily. Lucy smiled and Gerta beamed. The crisis was past.

Cort had looked in on the child a few hours earlier and had found that she still ran a fever. Wynter had been sleeping, as had Lucy and Gerta. He hadn't wanted to disturb them, knowing the vigil had exhausted them and that they'd done all they could. Instead he went downstairs and sat in the library, a glass of whisk
e
y to comfort him, and for the first time since his childhood, he prayed.

Never a man to make outlandish promises to his God, he stated his case as simply as possible. He asked God not to take his child away, to keep her safe. He worried that if Lyntje didn't recover, Wynter would fall apart. Thus, his prayers were twofold.

A slight noise behind his chair disturbed him. He turned and saw Katrina, peering intently at him. “I should not have intruded,” she said.

Her hair hung down to her waist, nearly wrapping her body in its gold loveliness. A white nightrail with lace at the neckline and long, full sleeves caused her to look like an angel. A tender smile curved her lovely pink lips.

“I didn't know you prayed,” she told him.

“Usually I don't. But I didn't think a heartfelt prayer could hurt under the circumstances.”

Katrina came and stood in front of his chair. “You love your daughter very much. I had forgotten how ardently you can love.”

“Katrina, please—”

She touched his hand and knelt beside him. “I never stopped loving you, Cort. Never. These past eleven years, you've been in my heart, my soul. So many times I would have gone mad had I not received a precious gift, my love. The most wonderful gift a man can give to a woman. I bore you a son, Cort. A Son. Not a sickly daughter such as Wynter has given to you. You see, even if Lyntje dies, you have your son to comfort you … and me, if you choose.”

Cort looked at her as if she were speaking a foreign language. What was the woman telling him? Mikel couldn't be his child. Mikel was Rolfe's son.

“Don't lie, Katrina. Please don't be untruthful about such a thing as my own child.”

“Mikel is your son. I would never lie about that. Rolfe dislikes the boy because he is of your seed. Oh, Cort, I love you so!”

She would have leaned forward and kissed him, but Cort pushed her away. “Do you know what you're saying, Katrina? Have you any idea?”

Nodding, she grabbed at his hand. “I am saying that Mikel is your child, and that I have loved you and shall love you forever.”

Cort sat, too stunned to move. He didn't realize, nor did Katrina, that Wynter watched from the doorway with huge tears running down her cheeks. The happiest of days for her, the day she could tell her husband that their child would live, had become the most painful.

She left them alone and went upstairs to the nursery.

“Wynter is very unhappy,” Lucy informed Dirk a few weeks later as they sat on the bluff beneath a dazzling July sky. “I sense that things are not right between her and Cort, but I haven't any idea what might be wrong.”

Dirk chewed on a blade of grass, his gaze resting on Lucy and not about to be removed. To Dirk, a man who had thought that women were only good for one thing and that was to pleasure a man, Lucy was the most beautiful woman his eyes had ever beheld. As many times as he told her how lovely she was, Lucy protested she was skinny and freckled with hair the color of carrots. From the moment he met her all those months ago, he'd loved her, and now he couldn't believe she loved him, too. But the relationship had progressed easily and naturally from bidding each other a good day to picnics on the bluff. Lucy had been the one to invite him, and from that day to this, they managed to find time to be together. The only dark spot on the horizon that Dirk could see was Lucy's errant husband. She'd filed divorce proceedings in New Amsterdam the previous week, and the final decree couldn't arrive too soon for Dirk. He wanted to marry Lucy Somerset as soon as she was free.

“I've noticed a distance between the captain and Wynter, but, Lucy, don't fret over it. All married couples have their share of problems. They'll make out fine, I'm sure.”

“I do hope so. Wynter and I never got on well, but I'm very fond of her now. You know, Cort and Wynter need some time to themselves. I believe I shall suggest this to Cort.”

“Don't meddle, Lucy.”

Lucy dimpled, her mind already made up.

Cort appeared in the nursery as Wynter played with Lyntje. Gerta moved busily about, putting the child's clothes and playthings in order. He watched the two people he loved most in the world cavorting on a blanket in the middle of the floor. The baby was now attempting to crawl. Her small behind was lifted skyward, and on her two knees she rocked back and forth, going nowhere but loving every minute of it. Her little gurgles of delight echoed Wynter's gentle laughter.

“Wynter,” he said, and stooped down to pick up Lyntje and hold her high in the air. “Pack your bags. We're going to New Amsterdam.”

“Really? We're going on a trip?”

Cort's eyes twinkled. “A honeymoon trip. You can't expect we'd stay imprisoned at Lindenwyck forever. Governor Stuyvesant has invited us to his home, and I thought this would be a good time to be alone.”

“I can't leave the baby.”

He wondered why she protested. He had thought she'd be thrilled to go away with him, the two of them alone. Lucy had told him she felt they needed time to themselves, and Cort thought so too. Something was bothering Wynter, and had bothered her for well over a month. “Gerta will take good care of the baby, won't you, Gerta?”

“Ja, I will. You have no worry about the little one. I look after her fine.”

“See?” He put down the baby as if the matter were settled. “Gerta is here, Lucy and Lena are here. Lyntje is in the best of hands. So, have Mary pack your bags. The sloop is being readied.”

Wynter sighed, admitting silent defeat, and went to pack. Cort looked after her, a frown on his face. Something was wrong, but he had no idea how to reach her. She'd been silent as a clam lately. But he couldn't think about that now. He'd received a letter from the governor, asking him to come to New Amsterdam for a special meeting. News had arrived from a merchant friend of Stuyvesant's that warships had left Portsmouth, England, in May for New Amsterdam.

The
Sea Bride
had helped the Dutch cause. Most of the plunder had been turned over to the governor, but Cort didn't believe that pirating would aid the colony now.

Cort bestowed a loving kiss on the baby's forehead and went to hurry Wynter along. He hoped she thought this jaunt into New Amsterdam was for pleasure. She had no reason to believe otherwise.

Even the sight of the busy port of New Amsterdam did little to take Wynter's mind off the scene she had witnessed in the library. She knew that Cort watched her with puzzled eyes, and that his patience was growing short. However, she couldn't broach the subject to him about Mikel. For some unfathomable reason, she felt threatened by Katrina's admission of Mikel's paternity and even guilty that she had accidentally overheard. Though she knew that Cort still loved her, she feared she'd lose him. A child was a strong bond between a man and a woman. And she'd given birth to a daughter, not to a son who could inherit Lindenwyck.

After being in the town for a day, Wynter grudgingly began to enjoy herself. Shopkeepers smiled in friendliness when Wynter and Cort patronized their little stores. By the end of the day, they had returned, laughing and loaded down with purchases, to Governor Stuyvesant's house inside Fort Amsterdam.

A ball was to be held that night in honor of the newlyweds, and many influential people in the colony would attend. Wynter threw down her packages on a bed built into a wall, and sank into its downy softness.

“I think I'm much too tired to attend the ball tonight,” she told Cort. “My feet ache so.”

Cort threw off his jacket and sat on the bed beside her. He pulled her legs onto his lap and began to massage her aching toes. “I have a remedy for that, my love.” He grinned wickedly, causing Wynter's heart to beat harder. Her bones felt like jelly whenever he touched her, but lately, since learning about Mikel, she felt unable to fully respond to Cort. Lovemaking had become a chore, which she never thought would happen. She feared she'd lose him, but she knew that if she didn't stop dwelling on Katrina's admission, Cort was as good as lost to her.

His long arms snaked out and caught her by the waist. He pulled her onto his lap and kissed her with such intensity that she felt dizzy. He would have gone further, but Wynter pushed away and gave him an apologetic smile. “I think I should bathe and dress. The governor's guests will be arriving soon.”

Cort began to undo his shirt and flung it on the bed. “Yes, that would be a good idea,” he stated harshly. “You don't want to keep people waiting.”

She said nothing else and then summoned Mary to help her with the bath water. However, she knew that Cort was angry, and when she stepped into the warm tub minutes later, tears misted her eyes.

Governor Stuyvesant stood among his guests on his silver-studded wooden leg. Though he smiled and greeted his guests warmly, there was a look of anxiousness in his eyes which Wynter couldn't help but notice. She also didn't fail to miss the pretty blond-haired daughter of one of the governor's friends sidling up to Cort. The girl's laughing eyes and ruby lips put Wynter in mind of Katrina. What made it worse for Wynter was that Cort seemed to be enjoying the girl's attentions. She practically fawned upon him, and her low-cut gown showed off her creamy expanse of bosom, which was quite ample.

I don't belong here, Wynter found herself thinking while she indulged in too many glasses of wine. Cort should be married to a Dutch woman, like Katrina or this girl. Not to me, an Englishwoman from a totally different background … and a woman who bore him a lowly daughter.

Despite the pleasant time that others seemed to be having, she had a terrible headache. Excusing herself from a kind but talkative woman, Wynter went outside to catch a breath of the late summer's air.

A heaviness hung over the night. The sky was starless, and the only light came from street lamps flickering in the nearby streets. Sitting down on a bench outside the doorway, she fanned herself with her kerchief and smoothed down her gray silk gown. She'd bought the gown only that morning on her jaunt into town with Cort. He'd insisted she buy it, claiming the color matched her eyes, Well, now her eyes were clouded with tears and she felt so alone.

She heard the door opening and, glancing up, she was a bit surprised to see Cort. He came and stood before her. “Wynter, whatever is the matter with you lately?”

“I have a headache. It will pass in time.”

“Will it? Or am I your ‘headache'?” Cort folded his arms and surveyed her.

“Don't talk in riddles Cort. Go inside and entertain your little friend. What was her name? Saki, Suki? Heaven only knows.”

“I don't know her damned name. Nor do I care to know it. She isn't the problem. You are. Now, tell me what's wrong.”

Wynter lifted her head defiantly. How dare he speak to her as if she were a child, in that condescending tone of voice! “Nothing is wrong. Leave me alone!”